“Hoping to send it to my editor next month.” She smiles, but her eyes never leave her computer screen.
The car ride to the arena is filled with blaring music. Chrissy is usually all over the place with her taste. She can rap for forty-five minutes and then switch to country for the next. It’s an entertaining car ride, especially when you add in her driving ability, and it’s literally the ride of your life.
“We’re here, bitches!” Her sing-song voice rises as she turns the volume knob down on the radio.
I glance out my window and take in the sight before me. Large metal columns form the front of the arena spelling out Atlanta. Thousands of fans are filing in, creating long lines at the front of the building. Traffic is being directed as people rush across the street to get in line.
We park the car near the back entrance. All the parking spots at the front are, of course, filled. I climb out of the backseat and squeeze between the door and the car, careful not to hit the vehicle parked beside us. My sister’s wonderful parking skills.
“Damn, Kelsi. Your ass in those jeans!” Jennifer shouts. She walks by and smacks my ass playfully. “Ya know what? We’re going to get you laid tonight. You need some fun.” Her laughter makes everyone else laugh. Jennifer has two different types of laughs; she has her genuine laugh, which is when she really finds something funny, and she has her hyena laugh, which is her fake-as-hell laugh. The one she is currently using is her hyena laugh and you can’t help but laugh at her laugh.
“I am not getting laid tonight.” I adjust my purse strap so it’s across my body. Chrissy is leaning against the side of her car, smirking at me. “What?” I toss my arms out to the side.
“You are so going to draw attention tonight, little sis.” I glance down at my outfit, unsure of what the fuss is about. I’m wearing a Hawks T-shirt that’s tied in a knot at the side, skinny jeans that actual fit me for once, and red Converse. My hair is down in loose waves and my makeup is minimal like always.
“What? What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask my sister. She laughs in return.
“You don’t see it, do you?” She tilts her head as she steps closer to me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “You draw attention without even realizing it. You have that sweet, innocent vibe but you also put off that you’re fun to hang out with.” I raise my eyebrows at that admission. “That’s not what I mean.” She laughs and shakes her head, throwing her arm around my shoulders as we follow the other two, who are halfway to the arena entrance. “I’m just saying, you’re the total package and you’re oblivious to it.” She squeezes my shoulder then steps ahead of me.
I frown, thinking about what she just said.
I haven’t been with anyone since Kyle. I’ve had no desire to meet men or date. My heart was broken in that relationship and I don’t want Carson to go through heartbreak either. He asks about his dad and I just answer him as truthfully as I possibly can, which usually ends up with me avoiding the topic or changing it all together. It’s hard to find the words to explain to your child that his father never wanted anything to do with him.
When our tickets are scanned, we take the steps two at a time down to the court floor. Somehow, Jennifer has gotten us floor seats for tonight’s game. Free. Not going to ask how she managed that because I think we all know. Jen enjoys her male company, and loves the friends with benefits roles.
When we show our ticket stubs to one of the guards by the railing, he steps aside, shoving his arm out in front of us, pointing in the direction of our seats. I’ve never been to a game and sat courtside before; this is all new. I actually haven’t watched a game since I was with Kyle. Carson usually watches games when he’s with my dad, but I try to avoid basketball altogether, yet here I am. At a fucking Hawks game. I lost a bet with Chrissy and this was my pay up. She bet that her class would collect more box tops than mine. And well, I lost. By one freaking box top.
It’s different down here, only three rows of cushioned, folding chairs with quite a bit of space between us and the actual arena seats. The lights seem brighter and I feel completely out in the open, exposed.
“These seats are awesome, Jen. How’d you manage to score these?” My sister raises her brows flirtingly at Jennifer, suggesting what we all know. Jennifer is a playgirl. Is that even a thing? If not, I’m making it one because that is the most accurate description I can think of to describe her.
“Please, he wants a second date so bad, he’d do just about anything.” She leans back against her chair, pretending to be badass. “Besides, we all know I’m not big on the two-date thing. I’m more a ‘hit it and quit it’ type of gal.”
“You are incorrigible.” I laugh and swat at her arm. Gabby hasn’t really spoken since we got out of the car earlier. She is definitely the quieter one of the bunch.
“I’m going to run and grab some nachos, y’all want anything?” Gabby stands, sliding past us.
“I’ll take some nachos and a beer, please,” I reply, handing her some cash.
“Anyone else?”
They both reply a beer.
Tip-off is approaching, and the lights kick off; the arena gets quiet. The spotlight swirling wildly on the court floor causes the fans to scream.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your Atlanta Hawks!” the announcer rumbles, and the applause is deafening. The floor is shaking from all the stomping.
The players run from the tunnel. All large and masculine. Jennifer, being the hoe she is, groans beside me. She’s enjoying the view, and I’ll admit the view isn’t that bad. They run around their half of the court before stopping by the home bench. Several players form a path for the starters to run through.
“Up first, your power forward. Number thirty-seven, Chris Cole!” The announcer screams his name as he bounces up from his seat on the bench. He fist bumps all the players before shaking hands with the referees and the Hawks opponents’ coaching staff. Once he’s finished, he returns to stand at the end of the path of players.
“Up next, your small forward for the Atlanta Hawks, Mason Nile!” Mason follows suit and goes through the motions the same as Chris Cole.
Another player is announced when Jennifer nearly comes off her seat with excitement.
“And now, your two favorite Royals. Number twelve, Cal King!” The crowd erupts, everyone in the arena is standing. Flames shoot up from the top of the goal posts. This player does the same as the past players except he comes to stand in the center of the pathway.
“Number thirty-four, Landon Prince!” I didn’t think the arena would get any louder, but clearly, I was wrong. I’m unable to even hear Jennifer talk about how sexy the Royals are but I know that’s exactly what is coming out of her mouth right now by the look on her face. I can’t disagree, this man is purely gorgeous. I watch as Landon Prince runs through the path, preparing for a jump before smashing his chest into Cal King. The other players all pat them both on the back as Landon moves to shake hands with the refs and coaching staff. He fist bumps a few players from the opposing team before he moves to find a seat on the bench.
Gabby comes back, hands full of nachos and beer. I stand to help her when another blast of fireworks erupts, causing both of us to jump, nearly dropping everything.