Page 30 of The One Timer

I need to put her aside. We agreed to one night only. But damn. Besides, it’s crazy to track her down. That would almost put me in the stalker category—which I am not.

“Talk to you later, Gran.”

Sitting in the back row with Sabien on one side and Jason on my other, our usual spots this season, I see Link walk in the door and look around for a seat. He’s been sitting in random seats and, sometimes, by himself since he arrived.

“Yo, Link.” I wave him over when he turns my way. “Sit here.” Coaches Nash and Spencer enter the doors at the bottom of the stadium-style film room as Link sits next to Jason.

“Overall, great job yesterday; now let’s focus on where we can improve,” Coach Spence says.

“You know some teams get the morning off after winning an away game,” some rookie moron says from up front. We four look at each other, smirking and shaking our heads in agreement.

“That was a fucking bonehead thing to say,” Link says.

“Even I’m not that fucking stupid,” Sabien says.

Jason snickers, covering his mouth as Coach Nash, playing the heavy, as usual, lights into the poor sucker.

“You’re quiet,” Sabien says to me. “Did your mystery girl, Emery, tire you out last night?”

“Who’s Emery?” Jason asks.

“A hot girl from Boston that Jason met last night after the game.”

Jason nudges me with his elbow. “Did you take her home?”

I nod. Stupidly.

“To Portsmouth?” Sabien asks. I give him a look that says none of your fucking business, but I’m too late with that.

He shakes his head. “You drove her all the way from Boston to Portsmouth and back? Does this mean you’re going to be consorting with an enemy fan now?”

“I wish,” I mutter. “Nope. One night only. One damn special night, if I’m being honest.”

Coach Spence starts up the film and commands our attention, and the only good thing about the excruciating exercise of going through game film one frame at a time is that it keeps Sabien and the guys from giving me shit about Emery. Because giving each other shit about anything and everything is what we do.

Usually, I’m right in there with them, giving and taking as well as the next, but not today. I don’t have the stomach for taking shit about Emery. I feel too raw and conflicted. Deep down, I’d fucking love to see her again for a repeat of last night, but at the same time, even deeper down, I know it would be the wrong thing to do. Not sure why or how I know, but seeing her would mess up my game focus, and that’s the last thing I want.

We file out of the film room to the dining room in our new mega-sports facility with the rest of the team. As usual, Jason is ahead of everyone, and Link is right on his heels. I’m at the back of the pack, slowed down by Sabien, who makes a point of not rushing to the dining room.

“You want to see her again, don’t you?” Sabien says, semi-surprise in his voice because he’s seen my laser focus since I arrived and has gotten far too much trash-talk mileage out of it.

I shrug. We file into line, cafeteria-style, except this food is nothing like the cafeteria food I’ve eaten, which was only in college. The menu is dominated by meat, with fish and greens of all kinds, and always pasta and potatoes.

It didn’t take long for Sabien and me to become fast friends, starting at pre-training camp when I was still living at Gran’s. He and I have something odd in common, something I wouldn’t have thought twice about, but that he finds fucking fabulous.

We’re both from money. Old money. The kind of cake with a patina that makes it worth more than the ten figures in the net worth column. I won’t lie. Our old family money billionaire status contributes too heavily for comfort to the bond we have.

It’s odd because I’ve never made it a practice to dwell on money—and my family never made it a practice to snob it up like elitists. Maybe his family is different. Jury’s out. Either way, he’s decided all on his own that I’m smart to be cautious about getting involved with women, assuming it’s all about protecting the family jewels—the actual jewels, not the ones I carry with me—the ones I shared generously with Em last night.

At the egg and bacon station, I pile food on my plate. This should help with the hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach.

She was so sweet and tart at the same time and as authentic as snow on a cold morning. I still can’t fucking believe she takes no credit for being a knockout and doesn’t expect her looks to carry her like other women do. She takes nothing for granted, and if she has an agenda, I couldn’t find it. I’d bet my left nut she’s not the kind of woman who would have her eye on my money—if I ever see her again.

Which doesn’t seem likely. Fuck, that’s a depressing thought. Adding fruit, I finish filling my plate and head for the table where Jason sits with Link. Sabien follows, and we take our seats at the table.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” he says.

“About what?” Jason asks.