Rebound Page 6

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be good.” Chippy picked up the jersey and they left his room, closing the front door to the house on their way out. Obie started the shower for a quick cleanup so he wouldn’t smell like lotion and the garden. Then he styled his hair and made sure his face was presentable before slipping on a T-shirt, then the jersey over it and a pair of jeans that he knew made his backside look completely doable. He took a look in the mirror and almost changed into a different pair. This was a sporting event. And even though Bri was as hot as a bonfire on steroids, they had gone out once as friends—that was all. He had no reason to think there was anything between them. Besides, Bri was a client, and Obie was not going to get into any of those ethical gray areas. Starting a relationship with him would be unprofessional and could only end badly.

  The door opened as Chippy and David clamored inside. “We’re ready. Are you?” Chippy chimed up the stairs.

  “I’m ready, Miss Thing,” he answered as he hurried down.

  “Well, damn…,” David said as he gave him the once-over. “For someone who professes that you’re only friends with this guy, that he’s just a client, you’re wearing your metronome pants.”

  “I am not, whatever the hell that means.” Obie rolled his eyes in an overdramatic fashion.

  Chippy giggled. “It means those damn things are so tight that when you walk, your ass slides from side to side. If you were a train, you be saying, ‘fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, choo choo.’” He pulled his arms down to imitate blowing a train whistle.

  “Then I need to change.” He knew it. He should have just worn an old pair of jeans rather than these newer ones.

  “No time, honey,” David countered. “We need to go now. There’s an accident on the road into the city and we are never going to get around it if we don’t leave right now.” He already had the door open and was making shooing motions. “Let’s get out of here.” He stepped out the back door and hurried out to where he’d parked his Fiesta. It wasn’t much bigger than Obie’s Smart car, but it did have a tiny back seat. Since he’d gotten the tickets, that meant Chippy was the lucky one crammed in the back.

  They no sooner got the doors closed than David zipped out of the alley and down to the street, practically cutting off three people as he made the turn. The man was a menace on the road, and Obie held the oh-shit handle and prayed until they got onto the freeway and came to a stop a mile later. Then, and only then, could he breathe again, but only because there was no place to go.

  It took half an hour before they passed the accident, and then Obie wondered if they were going to be involved in one of their own as David floored it, weaving in and out of traffic until they got through downtown and pulled up in front of the stadium. Man, he’d never been so damned happy to get anywhere as he was when they turned into the parking lot. Obie leaned over the seat, handing the attendant the pass Bri had given him. They were motioned around the lines of cars waiting to park and zipped up to the front into a reserved section before sliding into a spot.

  “Now that’s what I call a parking space.” David puffed up enough that you’d have thought the preferential treatment was because of him. Obie didn’t disabuse him of that notion and pointed toward the nearest door. “That’s where we need to go.”

  “Are you sure?” David asked, seeing the two huge men on either side of it. “They’ll snap us like twigs.” He sounded a little frightened and turned on at the same time. David definitely had a type, and it corresponded to the guy on the left, who had blond hair, a surfer’s tan, and arms that filled his T-shirt. The other man, with his dark hair, was more Chippy’s type, but the perpetual sneer on his lips was probably going to keep him away.

  “Yes, Bri said to enter here.” Obie marched right up to the door and showed the men the tickets that Bri had messengered to him. The blond looked him over, his eyes widening, and then handed him back the tickets. The other guy looked at them as well, sharing a glance with his compatriot before motioning them inside with a crisp movement. Obie went straight through with Chippy, while David lingered for just a few seconds before following behind them. “It’s right up here.” Obie pointed and led them up to an entrance, and then, following the seat layout, down closer to the front. Another man stood at a gate of sorts, and Obie showed him their tickets.

  “Gentlemen,” he said gently, opening the gate. “Wait here, please.”

  Obie stood off to the side, waiting until he came back. “Holy crap,” David whispered. “No wonder they looked at us like we were from another planet.”

  Obie glanced around at the men all sitting there, looking at them as if they were an exhibit in the zoo. Most were wearing jerseys and jeans, and some had scruffy beards. These were guys, regular guys. Certainly none of them wore eyeliner or a touch of sparkle above the eyes. Some even curled their lips upward or turned away to talk to the guy next to them. Obie lifted his head, turned toward where the man had gone, and waited. There was no way he was going to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him react to them.

  “Obie,” Bri said as he made his way over on his crutches. “Come on through.”

  “Bri Early?” one of the men asked, hurrying forward with his hand extended. Suddenly the other men were up from their seats, with more following behind. Bri shook hands with each one and smiled, taking a few minutes and signing some autographs.

  “Excuse me, guys, I need to get off my feet,” he told the gathering crowd, and backed inside the enclosure. Obie joined him with David and Chippy, and then the gate was closed and Bri slowly made his way back to where he’d been sitting. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “No,” Obie answered. “You remember David and Chippy.”

  “Of course.” Bri motioned to four chairs right at the edge of the court, maybe ten feet from where the other players sat. Obie got the guys seated and then took the chair next to Bri.

  “This is something,” Obie said, his left foot bouncing on the floor. Some of the other players approached to speak with Bri, and he introduced them all. Obie was in heaven.

  “Sam Griffith,” Obie said as a tall man approached, his bright smile contrasting with his dark skin.

  “Sam, this is Obie,” Bri said. David and Chippy were deep in their own conversation by this time. “He’s helping me get back on my feet. Sam is—”

  “The best forward in the league, in my opinion,” Obie said, a little starstruck. “The way you thrust yourself into the air is a thing of beauty.” The much bigger man’s hand engulfed Obie’s as he shook it.

  “I’m glad you think so,” Sam said.

  “In the game against Boston last year, I thought you were never going to come down at that toss-up. It was amazing.” Sam was known for his ability to hang in the air, defying gravity for that fraction of a second that it took to give him the edge. “I love watching you and Bri play. It’s amazing.” Obie could barely contain himself as a whistle blew and Sam excused himself to join the rest of the team.

  “You know your stuff,” Bri said.

  “I’m a huge fan.” He stood and showed Bri the back of his jersey with the name Griffith emblazoned on the top. “David is wearing the one I have with your name on it.” The teams filed out onto the court and the players were introduced, waving to the crowd and putting on a short shooting exhibition. The Washington Governors did the same thing as they were introduced, to the delight of the crowd.

  “See Rogers over there,” Obie said, leaning close to Bri. “He’s nursing his left arm a little.”

  “How can you tell?” Bri asked.

  “Watch him shoot. It’s good, but he’s compensating, and his right arm is going to ache by the end of the evening.” Obie smiled as the players lined up for the start of the match.

  “This is only an exhibition game, so the guys should be having fun as long as no one does something stupid to get the others going. Donald isn’t playing. He was specifically uninvited to ensure there’d be no repeat of last time.” Bri seemed pleased.

  Once the
national anthem was sung, the game got under way.

  “Guys, just watch, this is really cool,” Obie whispered to David and Chippy.

  “Oh, we’re watching,” David cocked one eyebrow. “There’s so much to see.” Obie knew his friend was more interested in the players than the actual game.

  “I meant the game,” Obie hissed.

  “You watch your ball game and we’ll watch ours,” Chippy retorted, and Obie stifled a groan, figuring he’d leave his friends to have their own fun, focusing his attention on the contest in front of him.

  “This is so awesome,” Obie said, turning to Bri. “Thanks for inviting us. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.” He jumped to his feet as Sam scored a three-pointer, clapping, jumping, and yelling at the top of his lungs. He sat back down as play resumed, and one of the Rockets stole the ball, heading back downcourt, passing it to Sam, who did a repeat. “Damn, that was smooth.”

  “It’s what Sam does,” Bri said, with a hint of disappointment. “I should be out there.”

  He bumped Bri’s shoulder lightly. It was as intimate a gesture as he dared in a setting like this, but his heart felt for him. Obie knew what it felt like to be on the outside looking in on things he wanted, but couldn’t have. “I know. We’ll get you back to playing condition just as soon as we can.” The Rockets scored big again and were pulling ahead.

  At the end of the first period, the Rockets were in the lead, and the players were having a ball, by the look of things. The Rockets took their seats and one of the officials wheeled a rack of basketballs onto the court. “What’s this?” David asked.

  “Hoop shoot for charity,” Bri answered. “Each shot is a hundred dollars. If you make it, you get a team-signed ball.” He pulled out a red ticket and handed it to Obie. “Go for it.”

  “You want me to shoot?”

  “Yeah, Obie, go win yourself a ball,” David teased.

  “Do you want to try?” Bri asked David and Chippy, who both shook their heads.

  Obie leaned close to Bri. “They’re only good with balls that are attached.”

  Bri rolled his eyes. “Then head on out and get in line. It goes fast.” Obie stood and went right onto the court. It almost felt as though he was stepping onto hallowed ground, following the crowd of kids and adults as they lined up on either side of the court.

  Sam stood near him, with other home-team players spread out to watch. It added to the excitement and pressure of trying to make that single shot.

  “Well, what do you know. If those jeans were any tighter and that walk a little lighter, you’d float up to the basket, princess.” The asshole standing in line behind him knocked Obie lightly, just to let him know he was talking about him. Obie didn’t turn around and ignored the guy. “Hey, princess, can you even throw a ball?” He knocked Obie harder, and he had to take a few quick steps to catch his balance.

  Obie turned to face the idiot and found Bri hobbling his way across the court. “Sam, this guy doesn’t get to shoot,” Bri said, pointing and glaring at the asshole. “Take him out of line for being unsportsmanlike.”

  “Hey—” The guy turned and came face to face with a six-foot-six, pissed-off basketball player. “I paid my money.”

  Bri took a crutch step closer. “Then take your shot and stop running your mouth or you will be removed from the stadium.” The line moved, and Bri stayed with Obie in line.

  “You don’t need to do that. I can take care of myself. He was all mouth and shoved like a girl.” Obie raised his voice a little. “Only bullies pick on people smaller than them.” Obie turned, glaring at the asshole until they reached the front of the line. “You go first,” he said, dramatically stepping aside. “Let’s see you do it.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bet you can’t shoot for crap.”

  Bri backed away as the man stepped to the free throw line. “One shot, from here,” the attendant said, handing the unkempt bearded guy with greasy hair the ball.

  “Do you ever back down?” Bri asked.

  “You have to fight stupid somehow.” Obie waited as the guy took his shot, the ball hitting the rim and bouncing right back at him. The attendant caught the ball and motioned for the asshole to step aside.

  “You can do it,” Bri said, and Obie stepped up. The attendant said his piece, and Obie stood on the line, glanced at the idiot who was watching him, and shot, clear and easy. The ball moved through the air, arced, and then… swish, nothing but net. “That’s awesome,” Bri told him as Obie was handed his autographed ball. He made eye contact with the asshole and then turned away, walking with Bri back to their seats.

  “You’re good with the unattached kind of balls too.” Chippy was still jumping up and down in excitement when Obie returned. David seemed about ready to wet himself.

  “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.” He flashed a satisfied grin to each of them and then turned to the people behind him. About five rows up, a little girl in a wheelchair sat next to the aisle. Obie went up and handed her the ball. She was probably about six or seven, with deep brown eyes and a crooked smile that lit her face. “Honey, would you like this?” She took it, holding it to her with a grin that lit up the entire place.

  “Are you serious?” her dad asked from next to her. “What do you say, Kimmy?”

  “Thank you,” she said, still hugging the ball.

  “You’re welcome.” Obie shook hands with her dad and was about to go back down.

  “Kimmy and I watch basketball together all the time. We have since I could hold her on my lap. She really wanted to go out there and shoot.” The part about her not being able to was understood.

  “I’m glad she’s happy. Enjoy the rest of the game.” Obie turned and took his seat again.

  “You were on the JumboTron,” David said and pointed as they replayed the clip where Obie gave Kimmy the ball. The caption underneath read “Play of the night.” Obie swallowed and turned away.

  “I didn’t do it for that. I mean, I would have liked the ball, but it’s going to mean a lot more to a child than it is to me,” he said softly.

  “That’s why it’s special,” Bri told him as he bumped his shoulder. “You did something kind because that’s who you are.” He turned, and Obie tried to read his expression. Regardless, it sent a river of heat running down his back and made him wonder just what was going through Bri’s mind. Obie hadn’t thought this was a date—at least he hadn’t thought that was his intention—but it was sure feeling that way. And he had worn these pants, which were tight enough to cut off the circulation to his legs if he didn’t sit right. So there was that. But Bri hadn’t mentioned that this was anything other than a night out as a thank-you for his help. Still, the way Bri looked at him sometimes, with heat and longing in his eyes, tugged at Obie’s heart. Because underneath, he saw fear, cold and hard, just waiting to spring forward.

  The basket-shooting ended and the second half got underway. Only now, the seriousness of the first half seemed to have disappeared. This was about grown men showing off. Trick shots abounded, and both teams seemed to forget about any sort of game and just had fun. It was a joy to watch. “He’s looking at you again,” David whispered when the crowd clapped to cover his voice.

  “Who?” Obie asked.

  “Bri,” David said with a wink. “Every time you turn away, he watches you, and when you turn back, he’s suddenly interested in the game.” He nudged Obie’s shoulder. “You know, maybe I should ask him his intentions. I am your best friend, and I need to know he isn’t going to mistreat you or just use you.” David sat back as Obie stifled a cough. “Because if he just wants to use someone, I’m definitely available.”

  Obie choked, and Bri gently patted his back. One of the guys tossed a bottle of water their way, and Bri caught it, offering it to him. “You okay?” Thank God he hadn’t heard any of that little exchange.

  “Yes.” He sipped some of the water and used the bottle as cover to glare at David. Once he settled down, he took another drink, getting
comfortable and watching the rest of the game, though he found himself glancing at Bri out of the corner of his eye just to see if he was indeed watching him. David might have been telling the truth, but then again, it was hard to tell. So Obie gave up, watching the fun until the timer ran out and the game ended. The players all shook hands and headed off the court as the spectators filed out toward the exits.

  “Do we get to go into the locker room or something?” Chippy asked. “I mean, we got to sit down front and all. So, we should get to do that too.”

  David smacked him on the shoulder before Obie got a chance to do it. “Behave. You don’t get to ogle the players as they change. That isn’t included in the ticket… though it is something I’d definitely pay for.”

  “Stop gossiping like old ladies,” Obie chastised the guys. “No, you don’t get to go in the locker room to see everyone’s business. How would you like it if I opened up your bathrooms? Those men would be shocked at the gels, mousses, creams, glitter, makeup, and God knows what all they’d find in any of them.”

  Bri had stopped ahead of them, and he glanced back, thankfully amused. At least the guy wasn’t running for the hills, though that could come later. “Do you really have all that stuff?” he asked, in what Obie could only describe as complete disbelief.

  “Of course,” David said, striking a pose as others shifted around him at the top of the stairs. “Do you really think nature gave us everything you see?” He shook his head. “God, no. It takes hours for us to look this good. We have to wash, primp, tease, comb, color, gel, and style… and that’s just our hair.”

  “Hold it there, Paul Mitchell. That’s enough. Bri doesn’t need to know all this.” God, it was going to scare the man all to hell. “Let’s just say that our bathrooms are full of product, and as we get older, we collect more and more of it.” He caught up with Bri. “You, on the other hand, look great.” He wanted to trace that little line across Bri’s forehead. It made him look distinguished. “You have one of those faces like Sean Connery’s. The older you get, the better you’re going to look. Now, me? God… I’m just glad you haven’t seen my uncle Jeremiah. I’m going to look just like him, I know it.”