King of the Court Page 5

  ESPN wants to interview me in two weeks, and they’ve sent the proposed questions to my PR team. They already cut what they saw fit and forwarded the questions on to me so I could shave them down even more. I don’t mind them asking personal questions, but it doesn’t mean I’ll give them anything worthy of printing. They always want to ask about my parents, even though I’ve given the answer a million times: mom passed away, dad’s a shady character but kept a roof over my head until I was old enough to fend for myself. End of story. I suspect this time around they also probably inquired about Shelby, but if those questions were present at the get-go, my team has already scrubbed them on my behalf.

  I read through a few of the questions at the top of the list then lose focus as my mind wanders back to this morning when I stood in the hallway of the diner talking to the blonde waitress. I saw that asshole, Patrick he said his name was, watching her while she worked. Everywhere she went, his eyes followed her. I read him for what he was straight off the bat, so when she went off down that hallway and he slid off his stool to follow her, I went after them. Not soon enough though. No, I was fighting my instincts at first, telling myself I was reading too much into the situation, but when I turned that corner and caught him hurting her, I saw red. I might not have had the best childhood, but even I know you don’t put your hands on a woman without her consent.

  When he let go of her and turned to introduce himself to me, I couldn’t look at him, much less speak to him. I would have done something I regretted. I’d have grabbed him by the neck and slammed him back against the wall, squeezing his airway until he knew how fucking serious I was. I didn’t let my blood boil over though. I let him pass and kept my focus on her, the one who truly mattered in the situation.

  Who is she to me? No one, and yet here I am, thinking about her for the hundredth time today. I wish I’d pushed her for more information, pleaded with her to tell me the full story. How badly is he hurting her? How far would he have taken it had I not interrupted?

  Fuck.

  I close my laptop and decide I’ll finish my work later. I need to get to sleep because tomorrow before our early-morning practice, I have somewhere to be.

  There’s no one else out front when I pull up and park at Dale’s in the morning. It’s still dark outside so it’s easy for me to look through the windows of the diner and spot the blonde waitress moving behind the counter, opening up the restaurant all by herself. I sit for a second, watching her while she works. I want my reaction to her to cool off, but it hasn’t. Far from it. My heart started pounding the moment I spotted her.

  Her pale blonde hair is loose and wild, like the kind of hair they try to sell girls with all that beach spray shit. She bends down then pops back up, carrying a huge canister for brewing iced tea. She turns to face my direction for the first time as she plops it on the counter, and I take her in with a strained tightness in my chest.

  I know that as beautiful as she is from this distance, it pales in comparison to seeing her up close. Yesterday, when she bent over me to set down my breakfast plate, I took in the details. She has a hundred tiny freckles that dot her tan face, clustered across her nose and cheekbones. They’re at war with her pale blue eyes to be her most prominent feature, but from way out here, I can’t see them. I see the more obvious details: her lithe frame, her shapely legs, her all-out sex appeal.

  God, she’s young though, and sitting out here makes me feel like a pervert. Hell, maybe I am, but I can’t make myself stop looking at her. It’d be hard to explain to someone else just how specifically I crave her. They’d confuse themselves with the fact that I barely know her, that we’ve barely said two words to each other, and that’s fair, but they don’t know the rest of it. They aren’t inside me, feeling this rush. They aren’t in my head as every single thought seems to hinge on how it’s possible that this girl, out of every girl I’ve seen in the last few months, is the one who could bring me back to life.

  I slide out of my car and head inside. The bell on the door announces me, but the waitress doesn’t turn around.

  “Mornin’. We’re not open for another ten minutes, but you’re welcome to take a seat and I’ll be with you in just a second.”

  I open my mouth to speak and let her know it’s me, but she’s already pushing past the swinging door and heading into the kitchen, leaving me out here alone in the empty dining room. I head up to the counter and take a seat on a stool near the spot where she was working a second ago.

  I grab a menu from the stack nearby and mull it over.

  She walks through the swinging door a moment later, and I hear her stutter-step before I glance up. “Oh.”

  Again, I can’t seem to form the words I want to. If Anthony were in here, he’d shoot the shit with her straight away, but I can’t even work up the nerve to say good morning.

  She looks past me toward the door, as if expecting more people to walk through, but when she realizes it’s just me, she visibly swallows as if flustered.

  “Hey, morning. Like I said, you’re welcome to sit and I could start you off with some coffee, but Cook’s still getting prepped back there.”

  She’s already grabbing the coffee pot and heading my way before I can respond. She slides a mug in front of me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, studying her face while she concentrates on her pour.

  I watch her still then she finally flicks her gaze up to me, a soft smile playing at the edge of her mouth. “Did I not introduce myself? My nan would kill me for that.”

  She reaches across the counter with an outstretched hand, and when I take it, I curl my hand around hers, feeling her tremble. Maybe she’s scared because we’re alone in the dining room, or maybe my size is throwing her off. I’m not exactly small, but then she recovers and shakes my hand up and down twice before pulling away and plopping the coffee pot back down on its warming pad.

  “You still didn’t tell me your name,” I point out.

  She laughs and drops her chin to her chest before spinning back around to face me.

  “I’m Raelynn.”

  “Raelynn,” I repeat, making a subtle grunt of appreciation. “Cute.”

  Her cheeks burn pink from my minuscule compliment, and I decide even more so that the name fits her.

  “I’m Ben.”

  Her grin stays put as she responds. “Oh, I know. Believe me. Ben Castillo, right? You’ve been the talk of the town these last few days.”

  I look down and reach for my coffee.

  “Are you as talented as they say you are?”

  I shrug, not denying it.

  She hums and gets back to work rolling some silverware.

  “You play basketball, right? In the NBA?”

  I glance up at her and frown as I try to read through the bullshit. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone who had to ask me what I do. I almost don’t believe the innocent act until she shrugs as if she really doesn’t care.

  “It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me. I was just making polite small talk. We can discuss the weather instead if you’d like.” I can tell she’s trying to clamp down on a cheeky smile, so I relent.

  “Yeah, I’m in the NBA,” I say, leaning against the back of my stool and crossing my arms.

  “Where do you play?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  Her brows hike up. “Really? I lived there for a while.”

  Little Raelynn in Los Angeles? I can’t see it.

  “Where?”

  “Closer to Pasadena. What about you?”

  “I have a place out in the Hills.”

  There are other houses too, but I won’t tell her that. Her eyes are already wide.

  “I always loved it over there, but I rarely made it out. I didn’t have a car in the city.”

  “Really? How’d you get around?”

  “Took the bus,” she says with a laugh, as if I’m a total idiot.

  I’m not, I’m just a little out of touch with reality. Not like this girl in he
r diner dress and worn sneakers. She’s the epitome of harsh reality, and it’s with that sobering thought that I remember why I wanted to come in here in the first place.

  “Can you tell me about your friend? The one in the hallway yesterday?”

  The mere mention of him shutters her good mood. Her gaze shifts down, her shoulders slump, and her smile slips from her lips.

  “He’s not my friend.” She points to the menu in front of me in an attempt to change the subject. “You gonna order?”

  “I thought the cook was still getting prepped.”

  She frowns. “Right. Yeah. I forgot how early it is.”

  “Who is he then? The man who left that mark on your wrist?”

  She sighs and props her hands on her hips as if to say, Are we really going to do this?

  I don’t move a muscle, letting her know I have all day. Or at least the next thirty minutes.

  “He’s the owner’s son. Dale’s oldest.”

  “Not your boyfriend?”

  I earn a scowl for that question. “No. Not my boyfriend. Listen, it’s not really any of your business who or what he is. We don’t even know each other. Did you come in here to get breakfast or to insert yourself into a situation where you don’t belong?”

  “What would have happened had I not shown up in that hallway?” I press, trying to get her to take this seriously.

  She sniffs and looks away, her jaw locked tight with annoyance. “The same thing that always happens. He’d have backed off eventually. He’s not as dangerous as he seems.”

  My derisive chuckle causes her blue eyes to sweep back to my face.

  “What is it you’re after anyway? A thank you? Because you’re not gettin’ it.” She huffs sarcastically. “Order or leave. You’re wasting my time.”

  I lean forward as my heart pounds. She has so much life in her I want to bleed it out and take some for myself. She wants me to leave. Her eyes dart between me and the door, hoping I’ll vacate this stool and give her peace.

  Instead, I slide my menu across the counter to her.

  “I want the same thing I had yesterday,” I say, my voice harsher than I intended.

  Her jaw ticks in annoyance as she takes the menu and disappears back into the kitchen. I hear pots and pans clanging. She’s gone longer than I expected as I sip my coffee and listen to all the commotion going on back there. It’s ten minutes later when she comes back out carrying a plate of food that looks nothing like what I ate yesterday.

  She drops it down in front of me like it’s an insult to have to serve me.

  “I know it’s nothing fancy, but just eat it and leave. You’re annoying me and I have better things to do than wait on some nosy jerk.”

  “I’m not a jerk.”

  “But you are nosy.”

  I shrug, giving her that much.

  I look down at my breakfast. There’s scrambled eggs and ham on my plate, along with some cut-up fruit. It looks good, but also not quite right. There’s no rhyme or reason to how the fruit’s been sliced. The scrambled eggs are a little runny. It’s obvious my food’s been made by an unpracticed hand, and when I look up at Raelynn, she’s scowling at me.

  “You cooked me breakfast?”

  “What? Not fancy enough for you? See if I care.”

  I barely stifle a grin. I like this side of her as much as I like any other side of her. She’s no shrinking violet, that’s for sure.

  I glance pointedly at the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “Cook’s not in yet. He had car trouble this morning,” she continues.

  I tilt my head in question, and she answers as if she can read my mind.

  Why’d you lie earlier?

  “I didn’t want you knowing we were alone.”

  “Smart.” I motion to the plate. “You want some?”

  She rears back in confusion. “Do I want some of your breakfast? Absolutely not. What is it with you? Aren’t you busy enough with all your basketball stuff without coming in here and tormenting me?”

  “I’m hardly tormenting you. If I were…you’d know it.”

  I don’t miss the shiver that runs down her spine at my words.

  Good. I’m glad to know she’s not immune to me, no matter how much she acts like she is.

  I start eating while she goes back to work, trying her best to ignore me. A few minutes later, a bell chimes behind me and a Southern-accented voice calls out.

  “Mornin’, Birdie.”

  “Hey, Doyle. Cook’s not in yet, can I get you some coffee?”

  “Sure. That’d be fine. I got nowhere to be this mornin’.”

  I don’t turn back to see if Doyle recognizes me. If he does, he’s smart enough to leave me in peace as he takes a seat at a booth far enough away that I can’t see him in my periphery. I keep eating as Raelynn gets Doyle his coffee. When she makes it back behind the counter and finds me watching her, she scowls.

  “What?”

  “Birdie?” I ask, referring to how Doyle addressed her.

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, it’s my last name. Some people call me by it.”

  I hum in interest, and she continues, “You don’t get to call me that though. You don’t get to call me anything. Are you done yet?”

  She takes my plate out from in front of me before I can scoop up my last bite of eggs. My fork’s hanging in midair. I’m smiling, and that only seems to annoy her more.

  “Well, thanks for coming in for breakfast, but you better get moving,” she says, pointing toward the door. “We need the counter space.”

  My smile only widens.

  There’s not a soul in sight waiting to take my place, but I have to get going anyway. I stand, drain the last of my coffee, grab some cash from my wallet in my back pocket, and then leave it underneath my empty cup.

  “Thanks for breakfast, Birdie.”

  She grumbles something under her breath that I can’t hear, and I leave the diner with a full-fledged smile on my face, knowing I’ll be back tomorrow morning for more.

  Chapter Six

  Raelynn

  It’s noon and I’m still reeling about Ben coming into the diner for breakfast. I can’t believe how I treated him. What I said! The attitude! I’m not usually like that. I mind my own business and try to be as polite as possible to everyone I meet, but he just kept needling me and there’s only so much I’m willing to take before I have no choice but to needle right back. Even worse, I think he might have liked it.

  I’m all over the place trying to pin down my opinion of him. I go back and forth between thinking he could be a bit shy and reserved, but then he opens his mouth and I realize that’s not the case at all. He’s arrogant and demanding. He thinks I owe him information about my life and who I’m dating? I should have lied and said Patrick was my boyfriend just to see his reaction, but ew, I wouldn’t ever want to joke about dating a guy like him, even just to get a rise out of Ben.

  I’m out on a two-lane highway, driving and eating my lunch at the same time. I’m in a hurry trying to get to my afternoon job. The cleaning company sent me out into the middle of nowhere today, and I’m none too pleased about it considering how much gas I’m burning trying to get there. A souped-up truck lays on its horn behind me and then swerves around Nan’s car to speed away.

  “Good. Get! I’m going the damn speed limit!” I say with a mouth full of burger.

  Annoyed, I drop the rest of my burger back into the to-go container on my passenger seat and wipe my mouth and hands with a napkin. I should finish my lunch. Lord knows I need the calories, but thoughts about Ben have my stomach twisted into a gnarly knot.

  I groan and check the directions I jotted down. The address sounds familiar, but I can’t put my finger on why. It’s definitely nowhere I’ve been before, I know that much.

  Finally, up ahead, I see the street sign I’ve been looking for and I pull off the highway onto a dirt road. I wince when rocks start pinging the bottom of the car. The old hunk of metal is barely running as is; th
ere’s no telling how much longer it’ll keep puttering along if it gets battered to hell.

  I look around for a farmhouse or some place that needs cleaning, but there’s nothing on either side of the road. The dirt road slips through dense forest, and then there are a few breaks and stretches of farmland. Eventually I start to see some cabins popping up in the woods. They’re fancy A-frame structures with floor-to-ceiling glass. Nothing like your grandpa’s dusty log cabin, that’s for sure. These look like hidden treehouses that would rent for a thousand bucks a night, easy.

  The cleaning company failed to pass on any helpful tidbits beyond a simple address, so I drive slow past the cabins until I come to a break in the trees that gives way to a large clearing. I stop the car and stare, shocked at what I see. This isn’t just a little cluster of cabins—this is an entire micro-city hidden in the woods. There’s a main house in the center of things with buildings spaced out strategically around it. There’s a paved parking lot for cars and tons of people walking around. To be honest, it almost looks like it could be a weird cult village, but then I see the Olympic symbol blown up and painted on the side of what looks like a sports complex and everything clicks into place. So this is where the basketball players are training while they’re in town. Interesting.

  “Ma’am! Ma’am!” someone hollers, grabbing my attention. A guy in a black security outfit comes running for my car, clearly out of breath. “You can’t just drive in here.”

  Oh crap.

  I roll down my window.

  “You blew right past me back there,” he says, bending over and clutching his knees, dragging in deep breaths. “We don’t allow press.”

  “Oh.” I laugh. “I’m not press. I’m here to clean a house, I think.”