The Baller's Baby (2 page)

“You waiting for the team to come out, too?” a nervous young woman asked, looking as if her eyes might pop out of her head.

Stacey smiled obligingly. “I'm an athletic manager. I have one of the Rockets under contract and need to speak with him.”

“Wow, that's cool.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is. It's my job so the sheen sort of wore off a while ago, but I definitely love it. Most days, anyways.”

“So who's your contracted player?”

“That's confidential. More for him than me. My life is boring, mainly because I do the same thing every day. He, however, has a whole life outside this locker room that's private. If he shares information with people it's because he wants to, not because someone shared it for him.”

“Wasn't Cole Winslow great tonight?” the young girl gushed. “Well, until the last quarter anyways.”

“He was definitely doing well.”

“He's fine as hell, too.” The girl smiled, anxious. “Those gorgeous eyes, oh, and that smile!”

Stacey grinned. Leave it to young women to think that looks were the only thing a guy had to offer. At her age Stacey knew better. Still, she couldn't argue with the girl, Cole Winslow was damn fine, for a white guy.

“Here they come!” the young woman squeaked, her platinum blonde hair bouncing in time with her impressive, if fake, chest.

The double doors to the locker room opened and players poured out into the tunneled hallway. Stacey watched the blonde woman attach herself to the first available player who smiled at her, making her way seamlessly out with the team to greet news and media people. Seeing Cole near the back of the throng, Stacey reached out a hand, laying cool fingers on his arm. She felt his muscles tense a moment before deep blue eyes landed on her.

“Can I help you?”

“I'm Stacey, Stacey Patterson. We spoke on the phone about switching your c-contract...” Stacey stammered. Talking in the abstract about Cole Winslow's looks was one thing, having him stare at her with those incredible eyes was something entirely different. Stacey wasn't sure attraction even covered what he pulled at in her.

“Oh, right. Hey Stacey. I'm Cole, obviously.” Cole turned and continued down the tunnel with an arrogant strut, clearly assuming Stacey would follow.

“I watched the game,” Stacey continued, practically running to catch up to Cole's long strides. “You did awesome, until that last quarter.”

“Yeah, I don't know what that was all about,” Cole admitted, dismissing her concern. “Maybe we just weren't meant to win tonight.”

“Not meant to win? Seriously, that's what I get, what your
fans
get?”

“What do you want from me, Ms. Patterson? The games over and there's no one who can relieve that.”

“No, but you could have made sure it didn't go down this way,” Stacey stated, plunging right into the fray. “Look, I know that tonight would have turned out differently if you'd done the summer drills. Even if you'd shown up for the try-outs, at least you'd have gotten some practice in.”

“I did the best I could, Ms. Patterson. Nobody goes without mistakes, just because mine happened on the first game doesn't mean I won't improve. It doesn't mean that I'll do it again.”

“Really?” Stacey said, irritated. “I'm not a psychology major or anything, but I'm pretty sure the best indicator of future behavior is what was done in the past.”

“Not necessarily,” Cole stated, rolling his eyes. He had such a dismissive attitude towards his career. Did he not take it seriously? “Look, I've got to meet the press now.” Leaving her behind, Stacey watched as Cole headed into the craziness of the paparazzi; flashing lights and quick shouts yelling over one another. Feeling defeated, Stacey found her car and headed home. She changed into her baggiest sweats, cranked the heat in her apartment to ward off the chilly autumn air and slouched down on the couch to watch reruns of
Friends
.

                                                        ***

Cole always took the flashing lights and portable recorders shoved in his face in stride. He answered every question, even the annoying ones. Eventually, the paparazzi moved on and so did Cole; life assumed its normal role. He hung out with friends afterward, enjoying drinks and company. By the time he made it home, his bed was practically begging him to lie down. He stripped off his basketball warm-ups and took a shower, letting the hot water beat the knots out of his body as he finally relaxed. Crawling beneath the cool sheets on his bed, Cole closed his eyes on a sigh. He tried for nearly an hour to sleep before finally giving up.

It irritated him that Stacey Patterson had been so blunt about his shortfall.
Not that she wasn't right
, Cole thought, irritated even more. Still, she didn't have to say it out loud, as if she'd know it'd happen all along. It was like she wanted him to slip up. The woman was a looker for sure, with all that kinky black hair and those dark eyes that illuminated intelligence and sheer willpower when she pierced you with them. She had an impressive figure, even in blue jeans and a Rockets jersey. He'd tried convincing himself that she had been an imposter, but the way she'd held her credentials was natural, as if she did it all the time.

Unable to sleep and knowing he wouldn't be able to until he figured it all out, Cole pulled on a tank top, threw on a sweatshirt against the chilly air and headed for his Maserati Ghibli S Q4. Revving the engine, Cole punched the button for his Siri navigation system. “Hello Mr. Winslow,” the automated voice said. “Siri, I need an address in the city for a Stacey Patterson.”

“There are three Stacey Patterson's within the city limits Mr. Winslow.”

“She's an agent and lives on the North side, I think.”

“The address is 457 N. Platt River Road. I've taken the liberty of uploading it into the navigation area.”

“Thanks Siri.”

“Absolutely Mr. Winslow.” Noting the distance and route he needed to travel, Cole punched the 404 horsepower engine and felt the power surge through the engine and propel him down the highway. Screeching his tires to a halt, Cole stopped outside a nice community that looked tight knit, as if someone had plucked it from the pages of
Good Housekeeping
. Pulling slowly up to a gorgeous Victorian style condo, Cole had to admit that Stacey Patterson had style and taste.

Cole strode up the walkway and sighing deeply rapped on Stacey's front door. He waited a beat, looking over her clean and organized porch. He hoped she wasn't one of those women who had a place for everything and needed it to be there so she wouldn't freak out. Not seeing movement, Cole knocked again, louder.

“Coming!” Cole heard Stacey call, “I'm coming, just hold on a second.” She answered the door wearing baggy sweats, her curly afro-ish hair disheveled and messy in a way that made Cole smile.
At least she didn't worry about her looks all the time
, he thought. “Oh god...” Stacey paused in surprise. “Please, come in. I'm sorry, I just usually don't have company over after dark.” Cole noted how she fluttered around her kitchen trying to find a hair tie that apparently didn't want to be found. “Just stay there and I'll be right back.”

“Sure,” Cole answered, still amused. He looked around her kitchen and living room, pleasantly surprised that while she seemed to be organized for sure, she didn't seem to mind a little clutter, as long as, things found their way to their rightful pile eventually. Hearing her footsteps, Cole turned toward her living room area again. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Stacey replied, looking stunning, despite her frumpy, Saturday night look.

“So I couldn't sleep when I got home. I couldn't get what you'd said to me out of my head. I get that I messed up. I understand that I should have done training camp and practiced this summer, but that's in the past. I can't go back there. I don't want my profile and career to suffer because I was too full of myself to listen to sound advice.”

“Okay,” Stacey sighed. “Well if that's truly the case, then we need to work on your fundamentals every day. You'll be practicing with the team, but there's more you can do. We'll meet at the arena for an hour after your last practice every day. You put in the effort Cole and I'll get your career where you want it to go. Plus I'll show you some trade secrets that will have your profile in front of every coach in the NBA.”

“I'm good with the Rockets,” Cole said.

“Yes, I'm sure you are. Loyalty is a great trait, however, if you want to be more than a glorified grunt, the NBA is where you want to be,” Stacey replied in her no-nonsense tone.

“Alright. I'll meet you there tomorrow afternoon, about 5pm,” Cole agreed. He shook Stacey's hand and turned to walk out her door.

“Cole?” Stacey called softly.

“Yeah?”

“You weren't terrible tonight, but off your potential is all.”

He gave her a sweet grin. “Thanks.”

                                                        ***

The next day flew by for Stacey. She updated contracts for three of her players, posted new profile information and pictures, looked over a contract that one of her athletes had been offered and made about a million copies, which required changing the toner on the copier. With toner ink on her fingers, she slipped behind the wheel of her Mazda MX-5 Miata. Pulling into the parking lot of the Bixby Center, Stacey was surprised, to say the least, that Cole was already there. Leaning against the hood of his impressive car, she thought he looked tired to put it mildly.

“Hey,” Stacey greeted, stepping out of her car. She had yet to change into her workout clothes and was still wearing her apricot colored shirt and dress pants. Her heels clacked against the asphalt as Cole slid into step next to her.

“You don't look ready to work on fundamentals, Ms. Patterson.” Cole noted with a grin.

“I will be. Impressive car you have there, Mr. Winslow. Who knew you'd be into electrical energy and tree hugging?”

“I'm not a tree hugger, if you must know. I like Tesla's design and I'm not going to balk at the fact that I don't have to buy gas. It saves me quite a bit of money overall, actually.”

“Alright, alright.” Stacey chuckled. “Don't get your panties in a bunch.

Thanks to Cole calling ahead, Max, the security guard, who'd stopped Stacey the night before, was there. He gave her a polite, if appreciative, smile.    

“It's different in here when there aren't a ton of fans filling the bleachers,” Stacey said, her voice echoing off the walls.

“That it is,” Cole agreed, scanning her face as if searching for something in particular. “I'll grab the basketballs from the locker room while you change.”

“Sounds good.” Stacey gave him a smile before heading for the women's bathroom. She stripped out of her shoes and clothes with a satisfied sigh. Dress clothes were nice if you were enticing someone to see you in a new or different light. As a wardrobe choice, however, they stunk. Grabbing one foot Stacey lifted her leg over her head in a complex Lord of the Dance pose, exhaling with the motion. She held there, stretching her core muscles and those in her leg.

                                                        ***

Cole looked around the court and bleachers for Stacey. Slightly concerned, he headed for the women's bathroom, wondering if Stacey had run into some sort of trouble. He heard soft music coming from the bathroom and knocked once, calling out Stacey's name.

“You okay in there?” When there was no answer, Cole slowly pushed the door open. He walked into a small foyer and sitting area that had cushioned seats and a small coffee table adorned with magazines across its surface. Moving further into the bathroom, Cole went around the corner, stopping dead in his tracks. In the distance, just a few feet away, Stacey stood in his vision. Only, she wasn't Athletic Manager Stacey anymore. No, she was smoking hot, delightfully flexible, and he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Cole didn't breathe for fear he'd disturb whatever it was she was doing. Her leg was pulled up over her head in a pose that made Cole's loins hurt and his heart race. The movement left her shirt to ride high on her slender waist, exposing a slender frame. She held the pose endlessly as Cole watched her. Finally, after a time lapse that Cole was sure would have left him stiff and in pain, Stacey fluidly let her foot go. It fell gracefully back down to the floor just before she registered his presence.

“Oh god,” she squealed. “You scared the shit out of me.”     

“S-sorry...” Cole stammered. “I thought maybe you'd run into trouble. I knocked but you didn't answer and then, when I saw you doing that, whatever it was, I couldn't take my eyes off of you. You looked so...so..." he threw his hands in the air for a loss of words, "Serene."

“It's a very calming exercise and it loosens the muscles in my legs and torso,” Stacey informed him.

“It looked painful.”

“So does your mishap.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Touche`, Ms. Patterson.”

“Okay, so if we're going to work on your setbacks and make you NBA material, you need to call me Stacey. Ms. Patterson is my mother and it makes me feel old.”

“Alright. If you call me Cole, I'll call you Stacey.”

“Deal.” Stacey smiled. “Now, let's work that body.”