“You wanted to see me, Coach?” I say as I enter Coach Hack’s office. I wipe my sweaty palms down my gym shorts in case he expects me to shake his hand. I always get nervous when I’m called in to meet with authority. God knows I’ve fucked up enough in my life. I never know when something is going to bite me in the ass.

“Yes, Kyle. Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. You can stop sweating now.”

“Thank god, because I was about to swear to not doing it, sir,” I say, relieved.

“Well, that’s good then. Listen, take a seat. I called you in here to let you know that the AD is doing some things differently this year regarding the basketball team and you in particular. The president would like us to promote your Oscar Robertson Trophy win from last year and make sure the hype is up for you being a repeat contender. You know that hasn’t happened for any Division I program since 1983. This is a big deal. It would help with recruitment and ticket sales.”

“So what’s gonna be different?” I ask, because he’s making me nervous again. I’m used to change in my life, but it’s usually a bad thing.

“Well, there is going to be more press at the games, both home and away. More hype on campus. More advertising focused on you. And, more pointedly, we’ve hired a sports photographer to capture photos of you that the university will use to promote you and the program.”

“What does that mean?” This doesn’t sound good to me. I rub my forehead and feel the wrinkles bunching up under my fingers.

“Nothing you should worry over. Just know she will have a camera pointed more often in your direction,” he says. He hands me a stack of pictures from practice the other day. “We would like less scowling and a little more smiling. You enjoy playing, don’t you?”

“Well, yes. But I’m here to win and the smiles don’t happen until the scoreboard proves it,” I explain.

“She’s going to be at all practices and home games. Get used to seeing her. Her name is Aran. Please introduce yourself, but don’t get too friendly. She’s here to do a job and so are you. Understand?”

“Is this that redhead from the other day?” I ask. Please say no. Please, God, no. I watched Kelly approach her the other day. Fireworks didn’t go off, but I know this isn’t going to end well for me. She was up my ass for two days asking me spiteful, jealous questions.

“Yes, it is. You need to deal with this. Handle whatever or whomever you need to handle. And yes, I’m talking about your girlfriend. I know how she is. I hear shit, you know. And smile for the camera, Kyle. That’s all I wanted to talk to you about,” he says before picking up his phone to make a call, dismissing me.

“Yes, Coach,” I mumble as I leave his office. What the fuck am I supposed to tell Kelly? Fuuuck!

I’m so pissed that I want to punch something, so I head over to the weight room for conditioning. I need to blow off some steam. I should have just declared for the draft last year then I wouldn’t be putting up with this bullshit. NBA scouts were following my every move. My dream was right there and I should’ve grabbed hold of it. Another fuck up in a long list of many, but I promised Mom I would graduate. I want to stick to that plan, but the fucking plan keeps twisting on me.

That redhead is going to be nothing but trouble for me. I feel it, way down deep in my gut. I noticed her as soon as she descended the arena stairs in those heels. Fuck, the whole team noticed her. They acted like assholes with their whistling. She appeared to be some kind of a reporter here to do a story on the team. I was ready to dazzle her and give her the show of a lifetime, but the more she walked around and I caught a whiff of her perfume…I knew I was in trouble and better stay away.

Women don’t smell like that where I come from. But damn, I love a tall woman too. It seems like every girl I date is short; it’s like taking a rag doll out to dinner. I feel like a child with a toy when we hold hands. I want a woman I know I won’t break.

It’s easy to visualize those long legs wrapped around my shoulders. I lose all control when women wear heels, and she rocks them. Fucking 4” heels at that. I wanted to rub against her ass the minute she bent over to remove them. Her hair color alone makes my dick hard. It’s not that fake bright red, but it’s not orange either. It’s somewhere in between—bronze maybe—and natural. I don’t know what you call it, but it’s gorgeous.

Most redheads are sassy and fiery as fuck. But I only want them that way in bed. I can live without the personal drama that seems to be part of the package. My very first girlfriend was a redhead. Samantha— she created this weakness within me. They’re my kryptonite, which is why I try to avoid them. I date blondes. Hot-as-fuck blondes. They’ll try anything once, and will usually let you talk them into doing it again.

So why the hell am I thinking about this Aran chick? She’s cast some kind of witchery on me. I’m definitely drawn to her. Those eyes pull at me, like she’s a magnet. Damn it. I need a distraction. I slam the weights down and text Luke, my best friend. He’ll straighten me out.

K: Where’re you at? I need you at weights.

L: Motherfucker, I’m in class. Where you should be.

K: Fuck you. I’m already done with classes.

L: WTF ever.

K: Just get over here bitch.

L: Be there in 10.

I need my fucking brain put back together. We’ve been best friends since middle school and he’s the only one here that knows my true home situation. Luke knows me best and knows how to keep me focused.

I head over to the vending machine and buy two waters. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s working out with me. Luke Shay is not the athletic type. He’s a brainiac here on academic scholarship, while I’m here on athletic scholarship. We both worked our asses off to make that happen. He’s that one person in life that you know you can’t live without. He’s loyal as fuck, which is more than I can say about any of the women in my life.

Luke strolls into the weight room right on time in sweats and a T-shirt. Thank the work out gods above, because I would hate to listen to him bitch and moan about working out in khakis and a button down. That’s happened, and I’m still hearing about it. At least he’s learning.

“Hey, motherfucker. What’s so damn important that I had to cut class?” he asks.

“Fuck you. You’ve got two minutes to stretch out your shit before we take a ride around the weight room. Get to it,” I yell.

* * *

“So, you get an exclusive photographer for the season to graphically promote this potential second nomination for the Oscar Robertson Trophy? She’s supposed to hype up your statistics before the NBA draft, which will only make you look like the god that you are, and your whining that the university is doing this for you? Yeah, your life really sucks, dude.”

“C’mon. You don’t even know the whole story yet,” I explain.

“Then tell me the story. I know you’re a promotions man. You suck fame and success up like a sponge. You’ve always been that way,” he laughs as we head to the showers. “You know you want your name in lights more than anything, but you also want everyone to know your name is up in those lights. I get it man. I really do, but I don’t see a problem here.”

“Her taking my picture is only a small part of the problem,” I groan. “Man, you gotta see her. She’s a redhead.” And just saying those words causes me to adjust my dick in my shorts. When she focused her camera on me during the team huddle, I had predatory thoughts in my head. Like a bear tracking its prey by scent, I had followed her around the room. I knew exactly where she was every second she was on the court with those bare red toes taunting me….like blood bait. Luke will never understand in words. He’s gotta see her. He’ll know.

“Just come to practice with me in an hour. You’ll see. I can’t explain it, but I need your help. Let’s go grab some fish tacos first. I’m starving.”

We enter Haas Pavilion an hour later and go our separate ways—me to the locker room and Luke to the bleacher seats to wait for the show. Our first scrimmage is two days away, and Coach Hack wants us to do a full run-through.

The room is buzzing with the typical gym noises when we enter as a team. I scan the seats. So far so good; there isn’t anything out of the ordinary —no press or scouts watching yet.

I scan the bleachers for Luke and find him sitting three rows back from the court. Directly in front of him is the redhead, Aran. She’s isn’t wearing her heels this time, but damn, she looks great. Her hair is pulled back in one of those fancy braids. She’s got the widest, most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen. I look into them and she’s all I see.

Comfort casual must be the name of her game today because she’s wearing gray joggers, and a plain purple t-shirt covers up that angel body. Her bright red converse high-tops are much more appropriate than the heels, even if they’re not as hot. She’s tall and, even in sweats, has luscious curves. I swear I could span her waist with my hands, but it would take more than that to grab that ass. Oh, that ass. Those hip-hugging joggers show it off much better than the dress she was wearing the other day.

“Ow, motherfucker!” A basketball smacks me hard into the center of my shoulder blades. I spin around and see Dante, the team Captain, smiling like he won the lottery. “Why the fuck did you bounce a ball off my back?” I ask. “Jackass.”

“Bro, we need to start the game and you’re staring off into la-la land. Hustle now. Move it!” he drills.

See, I fucking knew this shit would happen. She’s a distraction that I don’t need on the court. The whistle shrieks and we all move into action when the ball flies through the air. Finally. This is what I am great at. This game. Best. Fucking. Sport. Ever.

At the first break, I glance over at Luke and he shrugs his shoulders at me, then sends me a few of our childhood secret hand signals. We speak our own language, and can read each other like a book. Right now, he’s telling me he has no solutions for my problem, but he knows I’m fucked. I know to give him time though. He’s a genius when it comes to solving my problems. Something will come to him. I’m just glad he gets me.

Right before the end of the unofficial second half, I jump up to grab a rebound, but someone tips the ball towards the baseline. I reach out to grab it and miss, slamming my body into the hardwood and sliding. The impact burns my arm as my sweat grabs the floor, and I slide feet-first into the wall. Dante helps me up and all I can see when I stand is Aran, who is standing right next to me, startled. I almost slammed into her because she was trying to get an action shot.

“Are you alright?” I ask, wanting to make sure I didn’t hit her. She nods her head, but doesn’t utter a word. I step back onto the court, but time is called and it’s over. Coach has seen enough, I guess.

“Daniels, make sure the trainer looks at that arm before you leave today,” Coach Hack hollers.

“Sure thing, Coach,” I answer as I head to the locker room to shower. The redheaded temptress is waiting for me in the hallway outside the locker room .

“Hey, Kyle. I’m Aran. Has anyone told you why I’m here?” Her eyes sparkle as she waits for my response. Her voice is warm and sexy, making me think of cold winter nights tangled together in bed with my hands on her ass grinding….a rush of heat works its way through my chest stealing my breath for a moment making me gasp. I’m drowning in her sultry eyes and soft smile. Just the slightest movement of her lips is too much. The warmth and comfort she radiates is giving me a funny sensation in my gut. I can't be this close to her. Why the hell does she affect me this way?

“Yeah, Coach Hack filled me in on the promotions campaign. You got your shots of me while we were in the gym. So, is there something else you need from me right now ‘cause I'm kind of in a hurry,” I snap. I didn't mean to be so harsh with her. I know she has a job to do, but I don't like any of this. Especially my inappropriate thoughts of this beautiful woman invading my brain. I should be concentrating out on the court.

“Well, I was hoping we could grab a drink or maybe some food and just get to know each other a little since we're going to be working with each other for a while,” she says.

I can't let this girl keep getting to me. Damn, she smells so good. The more I ignore her the better off I’ll be. Why does she have to be so fucking hard to ignore? “Nah, I don't think so. I was told not to be friendly with you. Besides, I already have a girlfriend. So, no. We won't be hanging out. Now if you’ll excuse me? I need to shower,” I huff.

Her eyes squint and her nostrils flare as she takes in the rejection. She shakes her head. “Wait…what? I’m not here to try to fuck you okay? I was only trying to make this situation less awkward for the both of us, but never mind. If you want to continue being an ass, that's fine,” she scoffs.

I run my hands through my hair calming myself before I speak. “Look, Blaze. I don’t want you taking pictures of me, but I guess I don’t get a say in it. You have a job to do, but so do I. For me, you’re just a sideline distraction and I don’t need that shit. Understand?” I grab the door handle and pull it open to leave, but she stops the door with her foot. That red-headed temper flairs and her green eyes snap.

“You don’t have to like me or the situation, but understand one thing here. You and me and these pictures are happening, whether you like it or not. I was hired to digitally promote you, and I will. Get used to the idea, because I’m not going anywhere,” she bellows.

She turns on her heel and stalks away from me. My dick got hard halfway through her speech, but now it outright fucking hurts because of the way her ass is swaying in those joggers as she stomps off. God help me.