Love Delayed (3 page)

One of the things I kept hearing him call out was the word
stentro
. I didn’t know what that was, but when he stood still, he’d hold his crotch in some form and often say,
stentro
. It wasn’t until nearly two hours after their arrival that I’d caught on. A ball went out of bounds and this time Angela went to fetch it.

“
Steeeenton,” she purred rather loudly, I’m sure to gain his attention.

One of the giants stopped and turned to her. Angela tosse
d the ball with a girlie flicking of the wrist. The basketball barely made it over to him, but he picked it up and graciously thanked her.

“You’re welcome, Stent,” Angela shouted sexily again, curving her body into an “S” shape.

Hmmmm…so that’s Stenton Rogers?

Things from that point
on were pretty eventless. By Tuesday, I regretted taking on this quest with Angela. When Wednesday rolled around, Angela asked to stay until after the guys were through changing in the locker rooms. I didn’t want to; I was tired and preferred catching my daily nap. Nonetheless, I’d agreed.

“
Oop-oop!” Angela jumped in place while we stood in the hall right outside of the men’s locker room. “Here he comes! C’mon,” she whispered rapidly with the least amount of conspicuity as she could, then pulled me by the arm and sashayed over to where the men were exiting.

“Oh, look at this,” the short guy
with almond skin similar to mine tapped Stenton Rogers on the arm. “It’s the two caddies.” He did his usual groping of himself as he laughed at his own joke.

I looked up to the tree-
towering man, Stenton Rogers, and my eyes quickly averted from his glower. I know I must’ve looked all of eleven years old with that move, but my eyes couldn’t stand to look at him for long now that he was in my face. It was like looking directly at the sun on the brightest day.

“
Heeeeeey, guys!” Angela sang. “We just came by on our way out to say good day training earlier. I see your passing technique has improved.”

I glanced over
at her with the look of death. I didn’t know anything about basketball, but had sense enough to know you didn’t critique professionals when you didn’t play.

I watched the flirtatious grin that played at her lips as she pouted them mischievously.  

“We ‘bout to get into some
business thangs, but later we gonna have a few drinks with some buddies of ours. You ladies are more than welcome to join us,” the short one offered greasily then swiped his tongue over his lips.

I saw the way he sized up my
breasts and Angela’s thighs respectively. It made me incredibly uncomfortable. What was more disconcerting was Angela jumping at the opportunity. She literally jumped to face me, begging me to agree. I couldn’t believe she bought that as an appropriate invitation.

“I have class tonight,” I reminded her.

Within a beat, Angela squinted her eyes at me, clearly seething at my response. This was for her. I enrolled in this stupid program for her. She was up close and in Stenton Rogers’ face. Here was her opportunity and if this weak and disingenuous invitation was it, she’d be taking the rest of the journey alone.

“What time and where?” Angela
whipped her head back to them and eagerly asked.

The short dude looked up to the
tatted tree, Stenton Rogers. “You’ll be done with your interview by seven?” Before the lanky guy could reply, the midget answered. “Yeah, seven would be good. We’re meeting at a small spot in Philly. Write me your number and I’ll have my people text you the address.”

Write down her number?
Really?
I watched as Angela scrambled for her purse, in search of a writing utensil.
It’s 2006; who still writes down phone numbers when they could easily be plugged into cell phones?

Someone’s phone rang. Everyone went searching for theirs except for Angela who was scribbling her information on
the back of a receipt.

“I’ll meet you outside. I
gotta take this,” the tall guy mumbled. His voice was nasal, yet husky, forcing me to steal a glance at him for the second time. He didn’t pay us a parting regard before walking off.

“Here you go,” Angela shoved the paper to shorty. “Stent is going to be there, right?” No one could miss the
zeal in her voice.

“
Oh, yeah,” he returned, not even looking at her when he answered. He slickly pushed the paper in his pocket and took off in the wake of his giant friend. “It’s been real, ladies. Looking forward to seeing you later,” he tossed over his shoulder.

Angela turned to me and silently jumped up and down in
anticipation once he was no longer in sight.

“You’re so going to cut class for this, right? Fo
r me,” she begged, out of breath.

I pulled her by the hand in the opposite direction to the back parking lot. “Absolutely not. I can’t skip class, Ang.”

On the ride back to my campus, I listened to Angela give me all the reasons she believed I should go down to Philly with her, even guaranteeing me as the godmother of her and Stenton Rogers’ first baby. And all the while I told her no.

The next day at the country club was
completely uneventful. On the way back to campus, Angela told me how the short guy, whose name I learned was Alton Alston, asked why we didn’t join them. She said she gave him some bogus excuse about having to go to class as a means of not appearing too desperate. She
was
desperate! Angela said she’d come up with a plan for getting into Stenton Rogers’ bed soon enough. We only had a few weeks of their pre-training season to make her dreams come true.

That
Thursday, I was still at my assigned post, bored out of my mind. It was only 9:30 and my stomach was already growling. I’d only had time to grab an apple and water on my way out that morning because I’d overslept and had to rush out of the door to meet Angela. I was up the night before, writing a paper that made up a good portion of my summer grade. I made sure to knock out a class in the summer since my scholarship generously covered the expense.

I wanted to
complete my undergrad career as quickly as possible; I had responsibilities awaiting me. My family. Angela didn’t take summer classes at Rutgers. She was fortunate enough to not have to even work. Her parents thought this
Working Toward the Stars
was actually a significant course. The one credit that it provided wasn’t worth the five or so hours a day I dedicated to it. I would have much rather been somewhere sleeping or reading. 

That morning, as my thoughts ran amok, wishing I was anywhere but at a country club serving millionaire jocks, I recalled
Bernard, the choir director at our church, saying he was going to post a video of the regional choir he belonged to, practicing for their submission to the next
McDonald’s Gospelfest
.

I was squatting behind the bar
, perusing my Facebook timeline for it when I heard, “Are you supposed to be doing that or serving drinks?” The tone was brusque, his silky chords poured, not just in my ears, but over my entire body causing my pulse to race.

I didn’t think, I only felt the echoing of his vocal chords
in my core, then panicked. I jumped from the floor, nearly crashing into the small cart. The last time I’d looked up, they were practicing some type of fake-out passes with some guy named Olajuwon. I only knew this because that’s what they called him on the court and he wore a t-shirt with that name printed on the back. 

“Can I help you?” I finally
glanced up…and I mean
up
.

My eyes traveled his all black jersey. I
idly realized no one ever wore official league jerseys to the country club, he was no different. But what jolted my attention was the ink. It was an entirely different experience than that from afar. This man’s arms and neck were covered in red, black, and yellow tattoos; from the portion of his chest that I could see, all the way up to his neck, and down to his knuckle.

I don’t think I’d ever seen so much
graffiti on a body before in my life. There were so many shapes, colors, words, and expressions. There was an embossed star on his neck, just below his earlobe, a meticulously jagged barbwire that was etched around his neck and came around to his chest, expanding into a larger image that his jersey concealed. On his left shoulder was a pair of skulls with red eyes and other fiery ornaments, and just below that was a tribal sun. And surprisingly
to my dismay
, that was all I could observe considering his stance in front of me.

I could easily get lost in isolating each one and discovering the total
ity of them individually. I found it strange that those markings made his presence extremely…masculine. What was more eerie about this ink encounter was the fact that I was surprisingly drawn to them. Me! Drawn to marks that marred the beauty of natural skin!

My eyes trailed up to his
orbs and that was my undoing. Stenton’s eyes were a rich combination of brown and gold hues, some even sparkling, snatching the breath from my hyperactive lungs. They reflected like marbles. The cinnamon skin on his face was free of inked patterns. His eyebrows were thick and handsomely bushy. His nose was moderately wide and long reaching just above his neatly trimmed mustache. And his lips were full with the top spread wider than the bottom, making them resemble the shape of a heart. I found myself biting my bottom one, embarrassed by my assessment of this man’s assets.

Wow! Angela is going to have some tall
and handsome babies!

“I
did
want something to drink, but Facebook seems to be the service of the day,” he said pointedly glancing at my phone.

I
pushed it into my pocket, straightened my shoulders and asked, “What can I get for you, Mr. Rogers?”

His long
, inked and corded arm reached toward me, “Your phone, please.”

My heart sank. Not that I cared about being released from this stupid program, but I didn’t like the idea of failing at something, even
something as brainless as
Working Toward the Stars
. His tone made me feel like if I didn’t at least cooperate, he’d report me. I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated. My eyes scoured the court. No one was paying us any attention.
Yet
. I sighed as I pulled my phone from my pocket and handed it to him.

He handed it right back, “Password.”

I rolled my eyes, took it to unlock it and handed it back. Stenton tapped a few times and I could tell he was strolling down my timeline. I figured he was trying to see if I’d shared any pictures from the country club recently. He probably went into my inbox, too.

“I could rat your ass out,” rumbled from his
throat.

I shrugged my shoulders. “And I could show the world your horrible jump shots.” My eyes gestured over to the Olajuwon fellow. “I could tell everyone how you need assistance from a guy with a name like that.”

His thick brows pinched, and tempting mouth curled into a controlled grin, simultaneously. He held my gaze for a minute before going back to my phone, flicking away. I was incredibly annoyed by his invasion of my privacy to see if I had breached his. Then I caught Angela’s questioning glare from across the court. I shrugged my shoulders slyly, or so I thought. When I glanced back up to Stenton Rogers, I was met with a scowl sans the grin as he followed my line of sight over to Angela.

He handed my phone back to me. “I
f I find any pictures of me in here, I’ll know they came from you and I’ll have you reprimanded.” His tone was derisive. 

My heart pounded in my chest. “And if I find you scored a jump-shot
, I’ll know you’re the world’s biggest fraud who doesn’t have any natural talent.” I met his glare.

What in the world was I talking about? I knew nothing about sports!

“Is everything all right here, Mr. Rogers?” I heard just behind me.

I turned to see the
site coordinator, Jeffery, headed our way.
Shoot!
I was in trouble. I wouldn’t survive the embarrassment of being escorted off private property. And how would I get back to campus? Angela and her Stenton-Rogers-obsessed self wouldn’t leave this gig to run me up the highway.

All I could do
was stare at Stenton with coldness in my eyes and chin in the air. I would go with my dignity, not giving him the satisfaction of my groveling.

His eyes were stapled to mine as he
replied, “I was just asking Ms…” He was asking for my name. Inexplicably besieged, I couldn’t think quick enough under his piercing gaze to give it to him. But Jeffery did.

“Barrett. Elizabeth…” Jeffery provided
, respectfully.

That answer only further intensified Stenton’s glare.

“Yeah…Ms. Elizabeth Barrett here to be sure to keep enough Pepsi products on ice. That’s all I drink.” Stenton never moved his eyes, so I’m sure he caught my deep exhalation of relief.