The Tip-Off: A Smart Jocks Novel Page 4

  Nathan steps next to me and shoves his hands in his short pockets. “Not entirely empty, bro.”

  “You’re staying?”

  Wes chuckles, making me realize I did shit to hide the disappointment in my tone. It’s not that I don’t like Nathan, I was just excited for a week of no distractions.

  “I don’t have the cash to blow.”

  I know full well Joel wouldn’t let him pay for anything if he went, but I get not wanting to be a charity case.

  “He’s just sticking around to hang with Gabby,” Wes adds, earning a smack on the arm from his girlfriend.

  Nathan’s smile is on the embarrassed side, but he doesn’t deny it, just shakes his head and heads toward the house.

  “I think it’s sweet he doesn’t want her to be here by herself,” Blair says after he’s gone. “She’s still adjusting, and I don’t think she likes being alone.”

  Maybe it’s my own guilt for the way last night went down, but Blair’s gaze seems to bore into me as she provides the last bit of information on her best friend.

  “Let’s load up,” Joel calls out. He’s wearing Ray-Bans and a vacation smile.

  Blair hangs back as the rest of the group gets in the car.

  “Have a good trip.” I take a step toward the house and she calls out, “Zeke, hold up.”

  I like Blair, I do, but the look on her face tells me she’s about to ask me a favor I’m not going to like.

  “I have a favor.”

  Called that. I blow out a breath before I ask, “What’s up?”

  “Can you check in on Gabby this week? I know you’re busy preparing for the draft, but I’d feel better about leaving her if I knew she had someone looking out for her.”

  I jab a thumb back to the house. “Nathan doesn’t have shit going on this week. Why not ask him?”

  “Because…” She worries her lip before continuing. “I trust you and I know you’ll keep her safe.”

  I run a hand over my head and sigh. Nathan can barely look after himself so yeah, I get it. And it isn’t that I mind doing it, but I’m probably the last person she wants checking in on her. I slept like shit last night, Gabby’s ocean blue eyes filled with so much hurt and anger as she fled from the gym haunted me all damn night.

  I stare past Blair’s head to Wes sitting in the car. He watches our interaction carefully through the backseat window. I’d do anything for Wes, we’ve had each other’s backs for four years. No questions asked, whatever the other needed. And he’d do anything for Blair. “Yeah, okay. I’ll check on her while you’re gone.”

  Blair lets out a high-pitched squeal and throws her arms around my neck. “Thank you so much. You’re the best.”

  She runs off toward the car and hops in, giving me a little wave and a big grin as they pull away from the curb.

  And just like that, my week of focusing on myself is shot to shit.

  * * *

  Three days later I’m sitting at The Hideout doing my first check-in on Gabby and also meeting with my agent. Two birds, one stone and all that.

  “My assistant Colleen tells me you still haven’t set up a social media account.” Sara’s expression is amused, but her tone is serious. “If you don’t want to do it yourself, we can hire someone to do it, but having a social media presence is non-negotiable. Most college athletes already have them and boast big followings. It’s good for endorsements. Colleen emailed you some photos with suggestions for posts, but mix in a little of your personality, too. You have the week off. Hang with your friends, snap a couple pictures and post them. People want to know what it’s like to be you.”

  Sara Icoa, my agent, is no-nonsense. I love that about her. Unless she’s telling me things I don’t want to hear.

  I grumble as I take another large bite from my salad. Social media is just one more thing pulling my attention from practicing, and I’ve already received plenty of endorsement offers, but I don’t argue against her logic. I’m paying her for a reason.

  She offers me an apologetic ‘this is just how it is’ look before moving on to the next topic. “I anticipate you’ll get your official invitation to the NBA Combine later this month, so keep up with your workouts and the diet.”

  I swallow the soggy vegetables in my mouth and prepare to speak, but Sara holds up a hand. “I know, I know, I don’t need to remind you, but I feel better having said it.”

  She closes the portfolio in front of her and I’m struck with how young she looks in her jeans and white t-shirt, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. It’s only her third year as an agent, but she’s been just as good and thorough as she promised. “This is gonna be fun.”

  “It’ll be fun on June twentieth.” The date of the draft. Until then, it’s a singular focus. I’m so close, no holding back now.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Gabby’s bubbly voice asks, standing at the foot of our booth, eyes never leaving Sara.

  Sara politely declines and hands Gabby the empty salad plate in front of her and then looks to me. I could go for dessert or maybe a cheeseburger, hell, I’d even eat another salad, but I just shake my head.

  Gabby drops the check. “No rush. You two are the only thing stopping Brady from sending me home early.”

  I glance around The Hideout. Place looks weird so dead, but most students left in search of fun or family over spring break.

  When I turn back, Sara has her wallet out, paying our check.

  “I’ve got the tip,” I offer and drop some cash on the table.

  Brady, the manager of The Hideout, approaches our table with a wide smile. “Zeke. Good to see you. How’ve you been? We haven’t seen you in a while.”

  “Doing good, Mr. Williams, just been busy.”

  “Ah, I bet. Number one draft pick right here in my restaurant. It’s exciting.” His eyes crinkle as his lips pull into a wide smile.

  I glance at Sara who’s holding in a laugh.

  “It is. Thank you.”

  “Was everything okay? Did Gabby take good care of you?”

  I glance behind him at the wait station where Gabby briefly meets my gaze and then rolls her eyes.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Alright.” He knocks on the table. “If you need anything, you let me know.”

  I shake my head as he retreats.

  “Better get used to the attention,” Sara says and then pulls out her phone. “Alright, let’s talk schedule.” She gives me the rundown for the next few weeks.

  Adrenaline courses through my veins as she gives me dates for interviews with teams that are likely to be picking in the top five. It’s finally here, only weeks away, and I’m so ready.

  “Alright, I’m sorry to eat and run, but I’ve gotta drive to Phoenix for another meeting. Let me know if you need anything.” She scoots out of the booth and I follow suit. “Don’t forget what I said about social media. If you haven’t created an account by tomorrow, I’ll assume you want me to hire someone to do it for you.”

  “Thank you for driving down,” I say. “Have a safe trip back.”

  I sit back down in the booth, pop a cucumber into my mouth, and withdraw my phone from my pocket. As promised, Colleen sent over a dozen images and post suggestions. At the very bottom in all caps, she’s written: P.S. DON’T FORGET TO ADD AT LEAST FIVE HASHTAGS TO EACH POST. P.S.S. HAVE FUN!

  Fuck my life. Looks like my days of avoiding social media are officially over.

  6

  Gabby

  “Hey,” I say tentatively as I stand at the edge of Zeke’s table. He’s been sitting here by himself staring at his phone for over twenty minutes.

  He looks up and the scowl on his face falls away. “Hey, Gabby.”

  “Did your phone do something to hurt your feelings or is that just your standard glare?”

  Setting it down on the table, Zeke lets out a rush of air before answering. “I don’t understand Instagram and hashtags - people are still using those? I thought it died off when people started using it in everyday s
peech.” He makes the symbol with his hands. “Hashtag, I don’t get it.”

  I resist the urge to laugh. Barely. He looks so defeated. The best college basketball player in the whole country is frustrated over an app I mastered at thirteen. It’s a nice boost to my fragile ego.

  “I’m closing out, so Savannah is going to take over your table.” I take a step away only to find my boss, Brady, scrutinizing my every move. Everyone knows Zeke is his favorite customer, he makes no effort to hide his giant man crush. Brady cranes his neck to get a better view of the situation and I let out a sigh and turn around.

  “Would you like some help?”

  My offer seems to take him by surprise, and he looks me over slowly. His gaze holds a second longer before his eyes flit away. “It’s alright. I’ll ask one of the guys later.”

  Maybe it’s the fact he wants me to leave, or the fact my boss will appreciate me more if he sees me buddying up to Zeke, I can’t say for sure, but instead of leaving him alone, I take a seat across from him, pick up his phone and hold it out. “Hashtag procrastination.”

  “I don’t even have any followers yet, so it’s fine. It can wait.”

  I pull my phone from my apron pocket. “What’s your username?”

  “Just my name, all one word,” he answers.

  “There.” I set my phone down after following his new account. “Now, your fans demand more.”

  He smiles a bit as he takes his phone and opens the app. I feel my phone vibrate next to me and know he’s followed me back. Is it pathetic to be excited that I’m the first person the great Zeke Sweets followed on Instagram? Maybe I’ll get a byline in his Wikipedia page someday.

  “Do you have a photo picked out for your profile and first post?”

  “I have some options.”

  It takes five painful minutes where I want to take his phone and do it for him, before Zeke has uploaded a profile picture, copied the text his agent suggested for his bio, and selected a photo for his first post.

  “Let me,” I demand when he’s hovering over the keys trying to figure out what to write below the posed photo of him in his Valley jersey. It’s a promo shot I’ve seen before. Zeke looks big and intimidating, muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, and mouth pulled into a determined line.

  He hands over the phone without protest, but he eagle-eyes my every tap.

  “See you at tip-off. #ballislife, #focused, #thetip-off, #valleyu, #firstpost.”

  “Wow,” he finally says when I’m done. He takes his phone and stares at the still un-published post. “You came up with all of that in like five seconds?”

  “Not my first time, big guy.”

  I hear the sound the app makes when he publishes the post and he actually lets out a sigh like it’s been an exhausting effort.

  “So that was your agent?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool. I expected her to be in a suit and to scream out things like ‘Show Me the Money!’ Does she have a mission statement?”

  He chuckles. “Jerry Maguire.”

  “Ooh right. Blair mentioned how much you like Tom Cruise. So, what kinds of things does a sports agent do for you? Isn’t the draft still a few months away?”

  “Gets me practices with teams, interviews, social media shit.”

  “So, it’s not just an Instagram-specific hatred?” I ask, amused.

  “I’ve never used any of them before today. Don’t see the point.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He lifts a shoulder and lets it drop.

  “Social media is huge and growing every day. The big NBA guys have followings the size of some countries! I read somewhere the market value for a single Lebron James tweet is over one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars.”

  “I know, I got practically the same spiel from Sara. I just wanna play ball, not post cheesy photos of myself.”

  “The NBA is a business, like anything else. Think of Instagram as an extension of the interviews. Plus, it’s a cool way to promote yourself and let people know a little about you. A behind the scenes look, if you will.”

  He holds his phone out toward me so I can see the screen and the notifications of new followers and likes.

  “My work here is done.” I stand, pocket my phone, and the check holder with the signed receipt for their meal. “Next time, I’ll show you the apps you can download to automatically curate the best hashtags.”

  “Now you tell me,” he mumbles to my back. I’m a few steps away when he says my name. His low voice caresses each syllable. I take a deep breath before I turn to face him. His eyes are sincere and apologetic. “Thank you for this, and I’m really sorry about the other night. I had fun shooting hoops with you.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  7

  Gabby

  Since I moved to Valley before the end of the semester, I’m currently living alone. The plan is for Blair and Vanessa to move in over the summer, but in the meantime, my apartment is pretty bare and lonely.

  And, I hate to say it, but living alone isn’t as much fun as I thought it’d be. From the safety of my parents’ house, it seemed so grown up and awesome. Bills, coming home when and if I wanted, leaving messes with no one to bug me about dirty dishes in the sink or laundry sitting in a clothes basket were just a few bullet items that somehow represented a life I’d been missing out on.

  Turns out, what I’d been missing out on is a lot of sleepless nights. Every noise, and there are plenty living in an apartment, makes me jump, but even worse is the eerie quiet. Too much time alone with my own thoughts and insecurities leads to a lot of late-night TV watching to drown out the silence. I’m going to be a walking zombie before Blair and Vanessa move in at the end of the semester.

  I stifle a yawn as I walk around the back of The White House and enter the back yard.

  “You came!” Nathan calls as he exits the house carrying two beers. Bright blue swim trunks hang from his hips and I gawk, mouth open, as he walks toward me. “Here ya go.”

  I drop my bag and towel by the large, sparkling pool, take the beer even though it’s barely ten o’clock in the morning, and shake my head before popping the top. “Nathan, your abs have abs.”

  He winks. “Abs for Gabs.”

  Just when I’m about to call him out on his ego, he looks down, a shy smile tugs at his lips.

  “Gabby, you know Tanner Shaw and Marcus Malone?” He motions to the pool where the guys are hanging out.

  Shaw raises his beer and Malone waves in greeting.

  “Hey!” A trio of voices draws my attention to the slider Nathan just came out of. The three girls are bikini-clad, hair pulled up in messy buns, and one of them carries a large unicorn floatie.

  “Shelly, Tara, Simone, you girls know Gabby? She’s a friend of Blair’s from high school.”

  We offer awkward hellos and I take a seat next to the pool, dipping my feet in the cool water. Before I’ve finished my first beer, more girls have shown up and everyone has moved to the pool for water ball, which is basically just basketball in five feet of water. Two floating baskets are positioned at each end of the large pool and the teams are divided up evenly. Shaw and Nathan are on one team with Shelly and Simone against everyone else. I’m sitting on the edge cheering them on and occasionally making a final decision on fouls.

  Nathan splashes me playfully as he swims back on defense. “You want in this game? Malone needs all the help he can get.”

  “Next game,” I say and stand. “I’m gonna go get another beer.”

  As I enter the house, the blast of air conditioning on my wet legs pulls a shiver from me. I toss my empty in the recycling and grab another beer from the fridge, but instead of heading back out, I walk toward the noise coming from the TV room.

  Zeke’s reclined in a large leather chair, phone in hand, a deep line of annoyance creased between his eyes.

  “Hey,” I say, hovering in the doorway. “Hashtag blues?”

  He nods without loo
king up. “Sara wasn’t all that impressed with the numbers for my first post, she wants me to post something more personal.” He turns the phone so I can see his screen. It’s a picture of Joel kicked back on a lounger, perfect body on display, the beach and ocean as a backdrop. “Is this the shit people really want to see?”

  I walk all the way into the room and take the seat next to him. As I place my beer in the armrest cupholder, I feel his eyes on me. I realize that my low-cut swimsuit is doing nothing to conceal my nipples’ reaction to the cool air at the same time he does, which only makes them tighten harder. His gaze holds a beat longer before he looks away.

  “Maybe I should just pay someone to do it for me.” His low voice rakes over my skin.

  “I have an idea.” At my words, he looks to me hopefully, and I stand. “Come on.”

  It takes some convincing to get Zeke in swim trunks. Though, Lord knows why because he is wearing the things.

  “Z!” the guys call out to him when they catch sight of us coming outside. For a guy that seems to prefer to be alone, he’s got a lot of people just dying to hang with him.

  The game is put on pause as Zeke and I get into the water and are added to teams. Nathan swims up to me and whispers, “You’re some sort of miracle worker getting Zeke to join. He never gets in the water.”

  “Really?”

  He nods just as the game starts back up. It doesn’t take long before Zeke forgets that he’s a grumpy fun-hater and starts to get into it.

  Nathan and Zeke communicate wordlessly, passing the mini basketball around and moving in the water with ease. The other guys are good, too, but Nathan and Zeke have the kind of comfort and compatibility that speaks to their years of being teammates. It’s damn impressive and I give up any pretenses of playing. I’m not providing a lot of value, anyway, occasionally stealing a bad pass and then quickly sending the ball sailing to someone else, so I slip out and grab my phone from a lounge chair.

  Every time Zeke gets possession, I snap as many pictures as I can, hoping at least one comes out capturing him as a fun, carefree college guy. I gotta admit, being his personal photographer isn’t a bad gig. And when he’s smiling and having fun, I find myself wanting to be around him even more. So does everyone else. They slap his back, give him fist bumps, the girls get handsy on defense and bat their eyelashes. How can a guy that’s so insistent on keeping people at arm’s length be so well liked?