Mr. Fiancé(118)

"I know," I reply with a smile. I've been smiling all day, it seems, and I can't stop it. Not that I want to. "That's not as crazy as the thoughts going through my head right now, though."

"Which are?"

"Ditch the dorm room. My apartment is a two-bedroom place, though of course, I’d rather you stay in mine. We could turn the other into a study room or something."

Carrie smiles and kisses my cheek. “That sounds amazing, but let’s not move too fast. If things are going well after mid-terms, we can talk about it. I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

I shake my head sorrowfully. "Nope. At least, not at practice. I'm suspended, remember? I meet with Coach B on Tuesday."

"What are you going to do?"

I smile and stroke her hair. It's so beautiful, pale gold and silky, and I've spent all day marveling at it, whether spread out on a pillow underneath me or flung into the air as she rides on top of me. "I'm going to do the right thing, or maybe, just what I know you would want me to do, and what I should do. Don't worry about it right now, though. Go crack those books. I'll see you Tuesday, maybe. We're still on for a study session Tuesday night, right?"

"Right," Carrie says. "Good night, Duncan."

"Good night, Carrie."

I get back on my bike and ride away, stopping by the athletic complex. I don't know why, except that I want to look on the stadium again, even if I can't go inside the Pavilion. I shouldn't even be here. I'm suspended from the team, and I can't even be in the building until Tuesday.

I see someone else outside when I pull up, and as I get closer, the street lamps reveal that it's Alicia Torres. I respect her, even if I've never told her as much. She's got too much heart as a basketball player not to.

"Hey Chicha," I say as I take a seat on the big concrete steps that lead to the upper levels, where you go into the Pavilion in order to get tickets and go to the big arena inside. She hates the nickname. It's one that her big brother gave her when she was a baby, and I'm the only person she lets get away with it. Probably because she knows I don't give a damn if she wants me to use it or not. "I figured basketball would have the day off."

"We do. I came in for some personal work," Alicia says, setting her bag down. "You know, hanging around here isn't the smartest idea. I think there's about a hundred people who want to kick your ass right now."

"Yeah, I figured the same thing. The whole football team, even the scout team Rudys. But . . . well, I've never been the smartest person.”

Alicia chuckles and takes a seat on the steps beside me, her bag between us. “You said it—not me. I can understand it though. I mean, I've gotten tossed out of three games myself, and Coach has made it clear that if I get tossed for techs again, I'm sitting out a week."

"You certainly picked the right school to go to, with your personality." I chuckle, and Alicia joins in. "But?"

"But, I've never heard of you losing control like that. I was in the stands, and I'll be honest, it scared the hell outta me watching you. You were about ready to kill someone, I think."

"At the time," I sigh, looking at the distinctive arcs of the lights of the football stadium curving up into the night, dark but still visible against the background lights of the city. "I probably was. You're right. I've never lost control like that before."

Alicia hums, as if she'd expected it. "I don't know what caused it. Honestly, I don't really care, either . . . no offense."

A car pulls up before I can reply, and Alicia grabs her bag. "That's my ride. Take care of yourself, Duncan, and get your head right. Good luck with Coach B on Tuesday."

Alicia jogs down the steps and climbs in. In the dome light, I see that the driver is a guy, and she gives him a kiss on the cheek as she slides into the passenger side before the door closes and they drive off.

After she leaves, I lean back, looking up at the moon, my mind spinning at what she said about me losing control. My dad really has done a number on me.

Up to this point in my life, as much as I disliked him, I’ve been just like my father. I’ve been Winston Hart, recast in a younger, slightly more athletic frame. Hell, Dad was a basketball player in college, and Mom, at least before she got tired of his shit and took off, was an athlete as well. She was wife number two for him, about five years younger . . . and he cheated on her soon after I was born, at least from what I’ve heard. I wish Mom had stuck around longer, or at least to see me, but after Dad's lawyers got done with her, she moved back to New Jersey, where she was from. I’m not even sure how that happened, but with money, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I haven't heard from Mom in years.