Kyle...

The dribbling of the ball.

The screaming fans.

The booing rivals.

The squeaking sneakers.

My coach yelling, "Get your head in the game!"

Those were the sounds that fueled me and pushed me. The sounds that, oddly, made me feel at home.

It was time to shut this shit down. Time to let this team know that they didn't make a mistake drafting me. That it wasn't a horrible idea to put me in for our injured player in the final quarter.

Follow the play Kyle, follow the play! The NBA finals were not the time to show off your skills. Especially when there was just a minute left on the clock, and we were one point behind.

Screams of anger and excitement filled the arena when the ball was taken from the rival player's hand.

My teammate passed it to another player, then that one dribbled down the court and then passed it to Jacoby.

Jacoby was our Jordan. The play was always to pass the ball to him if possible. Today was no different. Especially knowing that this was his last game. He had to go out with a bang.

He dribbled the ball down the court but was blocked by one of the rival players. He tried to run past but was blocked by another. He looked up at the clock and watched as the numbers went down.

He was trapped.

Dread filled our team, as the thought of us losing the game by one point looked like it was about to be a reality.

He looked around the court for someone to pass the ball to. That was hopeless, there was no one close enough to the basket. Well, except...

His eyes landed on me.

"No no no no no, noooooo!" I screamed in my head. This was not part of the plan.

But Jacoby didn't care. Without hesitation, he threw the ball my way. I easily caught it.

As much as I felt like freezing in place, this was not the time.

I quickly made my way to the basket with ease as no one was around to block me. No one expected them to pass the ball to the rookie.

Before I knew it, I was staring right at the basket.

Without hesitation, I positioned my feet and arms and took the shot.

You know how things go in slow-mo in a movie when the player was making the final shot? That's exactly what it felt like to me. Like the ball was taking forever to get to that damn basket.

The whole arena was silent, everyone was at the edge of their seats.

The ball got closer and closer. I was tempted to close my eyes and cross my fingers.

The ball finally got to the rim, and I watched as it circled it once...twice..., and then went through the net when the buzzer went off.

The crowd erupted as I was bombarded by my teammates.

I did it. I actually shot the winning shot.

Things seemed to go quickly after that. We were whisked to the locker room where we cheered our lungs out. For the first time ever the coach and all the players were giving me the props I always thought I deserved. We then went back to the court for the ceremony and that was probably when the reality of the win finally hit me. Speeches were made, pictures were taken with the trophy, and we headed back to the locker room to get ready to head out to the real celebration.

As we got ready, we watched Jacoby at the post-game interview, answering those usual questions they usually throw our way. Then came the part I was most excited to hear about.

"Now that final play, you passed the ball to Wright. Was that part of the plan?" A reporter asked.

"You really think it was our plan to throw the ball to the rookie?" He asked and the reporters chuckled, and so did the players in the locker room.

I frowned. Was no one going to acknowledge what I did?

"So then why did you pass the ball to him?"

"Honestly, cause I knew he could make the shot," he simply stated. "Look, I know he's the rookie and he was a little bit cocky when he first joined the team. But he's good, great actually. He might actually be better than I was when I started. As much as his eager ass gets on our nerves, that boy has something special, and I'm happy that I could retire, knowing that my team is in good hands with him around."

The TV screen started to look blurry. Damn it!

I was a 24-year-old grown-ass man, I shouldn't be getting teary-eyed over this.

But I must admit, it felt good hearing someone I looked up to speak so highly of me. Everything else he said was true too.

I was one of those little cocky rookies that came on the team thinking he was the shit. I mean, what else would you expect? I've been praised for my skills since I started playing when I was 7. Colleges had been eyeing me the minute I stepped out on my first game at high school. I had offers from NBA teams in my first year of college. Would have joined right then and there too, but Kendra Wright was not gonna have her black son go to college and not finish it, not even if it was because of the NBA. I begged dad to ask her to change her mind, but he said he wasn't about to go up against my mom on this. Wuss.

Speaking of the two, I grabbed my phone to check if they had called or texted. There were no missed calls but there was a text. In true Mom fashion, there was a whole video of her crying and saying how proud she was of me. She started going off on a tangent before my dad took the phone from her.

"Proud of you son. Enjoy your celebrations and call us tomorrow morning. Love you." That was what he said before stopping the recording.

Gotta love those two.

The interviews went on without a hitch. And before I knew it, our whole team was at a rooftop club, having the time of our lives.

"Yo, Wright!" I heard my name being called and turned to the voice.

I saw my boy Paxon making his way to my table.

"What's this fool doing here?" Myles asked.

"I invited him," I answered.

"Why?"

"You're not my only friend you know."

"I should be."

"Man, why don't you like him?"

"What's up 'No daddy squad!'" Paxon called out and he reached us.

Myles gave me that 'This is why' look.

"Congratulations on the win man," Paxon said.

"Thanks man," I said as we hugged.

"Myles."

"Paxon."

The two glared at each other.

"Y'all better not start ok? This is about me." I said before either had a chance to say something slick about the other.

They may get on my nerves, but I've never been so grateful for two people other than my family. Myles and I were far from friends when we first met. He was actually one of the boys that bullied me back in middle school. It took my mom writing an exposé and us being roommates at basketball camp that summer for me to realize that the bullying was just him acting out because of his abusive father, and wanting to be liked by his "friend". Paxon and I met in college. He was the party animal that slept around with every girl he met, kinda like uncle Alex did back in the day, according to dad. I don't quite remember how he found his way into Myles and I's little unit, but I'm certainly glad he did. Myles would beg to differ though.

"I was just gonna remind him that we do not like that name," Myles said.

"Look, we all got shitty dads, doesn't mean we have to ignore it. We should embrace it. It's made us into the men that we are."

"Ignoring it has been working out pretty good for me."

"Same here," I added.

"And there are no girls around, you can stop with the mentally aware act," Myles added.

"Well of course there are no girls here, you're here," Paxon grinned.

"You know what..."

"Guys, stop! I didn't invite you guys here so I can be a referee."

"You're right," Paxon said, " Myles and I will behave, right?" He turned to the other one.

I stared at my friend with pleading eyes.

"Fine," he finally answered.

"Alright!" I clapped before calling over one of the servers for drinks.

"Free drinks over here ladies!" Paxon shouted.

"Man, what the hell?" I asked.

"What?" He asked like he didn't know what he had just done.

"I'm not buying drinks for a bunch of random girls."

"And why not? After that shot on the court you deserve every girl in this building," he said pointing to the rooftop. "Plus I need some girls for my music video."

"And there it is," Myles shook his head. "There's always some ulterior motive."

Paxon was an aspiring R&B singer. He's not particularly popular, but he swears that his name is getting some traction. My boy could sing that's for sure but he didn't have the creative mind to make music videos, nor was he willing to pay someone to do it. As a result, his videos come out like they were made from Windows Video Maker.

"So you're using me and this very important thing in my life to get girls for one of your wack-ass videos?" I asked

Myles chuckled to himself.

"Man, my videos ain't wack," He defended.

"Miamibaddie69 seems to think otherwise," Myles joked.

I started laughing this time. 'Miamibaddie69' was a random commenter that always had something mean to say about Paxon's videos.

"I don't care what you guys say, I know one of y'all is behind that damn account," he said.

"Man, we don't have time for that," I said.

"And I'm pretty sure it's some random girl that you hooked up with and didn't call the next day," Myles added and I nodded in agreement.

"You know what, shut up!" Paxon brushed us off and walked off to a group of girls that were making their way over.

Myles and I laughed to ourselves before taking the drinks that were brought to us.

The rest of the night was spent enjoying the party, ignoring Paxon's begging to help him get girls for his videos, and pulling my friends apart.

It was thirty minutes past midnight and Myles finally got up to leave.

"I'm leaving you guys for the night," he said.

"Already?" Paxon teased.

"Unlike you and Kyle, I have an actual job," he said before looking at me. "And your mom is going to kill me if I'm late on my first day."

"She most definitely will," I said. "See you later man."

"You're not even gonna try to get a number?" Paxon asked, pointing to the girl a few feet away who was shamelessly trying to flirt with Myles all night. "And you guys say that I'm the wack one," he shook his head.

Myles shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out a napkin. He held it up with a smirk, showing the digits written on it.

Paxon's eyes widened. "How? You barely said anything to the girl."

"Unlike you, some of us have actual game," Myles smiled before waving and walking away. "See you guys later."

We watched as he quickly made his way through the crowd to the elevator. He was actually excited to get home.

My mom had finally opened up her publishing company and magazine and needed an art director. Myles was into stuff like that and had a real good eye for it. His whole apartment was filled with paintings and drawings that he'd done himself, and they looked amazing. I had to use a little nepotism to hook my boy up. And mom was pretty grateful because that was one thing she didn't have to worry about anymore.

With my best bud gone and Pax running after every girl that gave him a look, the night went on slowly. I was about ready to leave when Paxon came back and directed my attention to the bar.

"That girl has been staring over here all night," he said.

"What girl?" I asked, searching along the bar.

"That girl, right there," he pointed.

I was about to ask again when I spotted her. She looked away quickly when she saw me looking at her.

"She's fine right?"

That was an understatement. I don't think I've ever seen a girl as beautiful as she was. And I've been a basketball player since middle school, so I've had my share of hot girls throwing themselves at me. She had her hair up in one of those slick long ponytails and was wearing a gold dress that hugged her body in all the right places, no matter how much she seemed to try and hide it. And that dark brown skin of hers...wow. The hanging lights on the rooftop were doing wonders for it.

"You should introduce yourself," Paxon urged.

"I don't know man," I said. She had kept her head forward since being caught, and seemed stiff like she knew we were staring. "I don't know if she wants to talk to anyone."

"Then why the hell was she looking over here all night?"

He had a point. She was the one looking over here first. But I couldn't ignore the nerves that crept up on me. I've approached many girls, and have had my fair share of rejection, but this felt different. Rejection from her felt like it would be worse.

"You're punking out aren't you?"

"No," I quickly defended. I was not about to admit to the self-proclaimed 'New York's Finest' that I was scared to talk to a girl.

"Then go," he said, giving me a hard nudge forward.

I found my balance before my face hit the ground. "What the hell man?"

"Go!" He pointed to the bar and stood there waiting.

I contemplated running off, but this felt like a challenge, and I wasn't the kind to back down from a challenge.

I took a deep breath and slowly made my way to the bar. I needed the time to come up with something to say. It had to be smooth, but respectful. I had to make a good first impression. I stopped in my tracks when I saw a guy taking a seat next to her, sending a charming ass smile her way. Seemed like I wasn't the only one who spotted her. I sighed in disappointment, ready to turn and walk away, but then saw her roll her eyes in annoyance when the guy called the bartender to order a drink.

I smiled to myself, time to play the hero.

I continued walking, with purpose this time, to the bar. I was a few feet away when she turned in my direction again. Our eyes met and an odd sensation entered my body. Her eyes widened in surprise, she wasn't expecting to see me so close. But neither of us seemed to want to look away, and that gave me the push I needed to keep walking.

Our intense eye contact was cut short when a woman crashed into me, her drink spilling on my shirt and leather jacket. I looked down at myself and silently cursed.

"Oh my god," the woman slurred, "I'm so sorry."

"Katie!" another woman ran up to her, "I told you to not go anywhere." She was probably the friend stuck babysitting the drunk. "I'm so sorry, she's had a little too much to drink."

"It's Ok, I'm fine," I lied. How was I supposed to go talk to Gold Dress looking like this?

The pair walked off as I tried to shake the droplets off. My jacket would dry soon enough, the shirt, not so much. I looked up at the bar, expecting to see an amused face and feel immense embarrassment.

But, she was gone.

Her drink was still there. The guy who was trying to chat her up was still there. But her, gone.

I dropped my head in disappointment. A stupid drunk girl ruined my chances.

I went over to the bar and quickly snatched the few napkins that were sitting in the dispenser. I dried off my jacket and realized that I'd need more for my shirt.

"Hey, y'all got any more napkins?" I asked the bartender that was close by

"There should be some more in the back, I'll be right back," he said before leaving.

I took the jacket off, hung it on the closet stool, and looked down at my shirt. It was actually worse than I thought. How full was her damn cup?

"Shit!" I cursed under my breath, holding the edges of my shirt out.

"Need some help with that?" I heard a voice say next to me.

I looked to my side and saw some brown eyes and long lashes staring at me, a napkin between her slender fingers and an inviting smile on her red lips.

Maybe my night was going to turn out well after all. 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And there it is guys, first chapter of Playing Wright!

I really hope that you guys enjoyed the chapter and are look forward to reading more.

Don't forget to share the story and add it to your libraries and reading lists. Help me get the word out there!

And if you have any ideas for the book, I'm all ears!

And just a quick little announcement. Your girl is moving to England at the end of the week! It's about to be a crazy next few weeks for me. But fear not, I wrote a few chapters ahead in preparation for this, so the next chapter should be up next week Friday and I'll continue to update on Friday every week (unless something comes up). If you start seeing some odd update times, just remember I'm in a different time zone now.

As always , see you guys next week! 

Edit (02/01/24): It has been AGES since I updated this book and wanted to read through and edit the existing chapters before I add the new ones. If you are a past reader, look out for a few changes. If you are a new reader, you have nothing to worry about.