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Lucas Ramirez groaned as he realized that the coach was going to make them run another mile, probably just for kicks. At twenty-three, Lucas knew that the odds were stacked against him as the youngest player on the team. Most people don’t get picked up fresh out of college, but he lucked out. But that wasn’t the only reason the odds were stacked against him. Lucas was also half Spanish, and he knew that it set him at a bit of a disadvantage because although most people would be horrified if you mentioned race within the NBA, he knew it was very much a thing. It wasn’t obvious, but he noticed the way some of his teammates snickered at the way he pronounced certain letters, and how they elbowed each other when they caught a glimpse of his Spanish flag tattoo. Maybe it was a bit cheesy, but he liked that tattoo. He hadn’t been to his country in five years, and he missed it terribly, but he knew that he was where he needed to be to make his dreams come true.
At 5’7’’ he was taller than most of the guys on the team which earned him respect, and with his jet black hair, chocolate brown eyes and fit physique most women would glance his way when he walked past.
He had a reputation for being the ladies’ man, and he enjoyed it.
It didn’t hurt too that once he threw in a word or two in Spanish, women would practically drool over him. It definitely didn’t hurt to be a Spaniard in America.
Lucas panted as his breathing began to turn a little ragged due to the fact that the coach had been over working them lately in preparation for the big game on Friday. He knew that the coach was doing what he thought needed to be done, but running the team ragged before the big game was only going to make them exhausted by the time the actual game would roll around.
He took in a huge gulp of air as he finally made it past the first mile, and he threw himself onto the wet grass and breathed deeply.
“Good job, Ramirez,” The Coach practically tossed at him as he jotted something down on his clipboard. With side burns, a patch of receding blonde hair and a physique of someone who used to be in shape, Coach Carter looked like he was tough as nails on the outside, and for the most part he was, but only those on his team knew that he was a big softie on the inside. He was like a surrogate father to most of them, and they loved him even more for it.
Unable to do much, Ramirez simply grunted and gave his Coach a thumbs up as he waited for his lungs to stop feeling like they were on fire. The blood stopped pounding in his ears, and his lungs finally felt functional a few minutes later, and he raised his head a millimeter as he watched the rest of his teammates slowly cross the first mile and collapse much like he did.
“That was some fast running, Spanish,” one of his teammates, Keith threw at him as he grabbed a bottle of water. He screwed the cap open before he dumped the water all over his hair and shook it off.
Some of the other teammates yelled out insults at him as some of the droplets of water landed on their bodies, but most of them were too tired to actually do anything about it.
Lucas watched him carefully wondering if this was another one of their pranks, or if he generally meant it.
“Thanks, dude,” he offered cautiously as he threw himself back on the ground to gaze at the sun. He and Keith had been teammates for months now, but this was the first time he had spoken to Keith directly. He knew all about him of course, half English, half American with a legendary reputation with the ladies much like himself until he found out he had a kid.
That seemed to be the case with two other members as well, Blake and Mark.
He wondered how the hell they had managed to get themselves into this situation, and he thanked his lucky stars that he was fortunate enough to have avoided that scenario.
Although he never forgot the fact that he almost ended up in that very same position.
Her name was Lorena De la Vega.
She was a fiery brunette who had lived just across the street from him in Madrid, and her liquid grey eyes somehow managed to entice him. At the tender age of seventeen, he was convinced that he was in love. But, what he confused for love was probably nothing but lust and teenage hormones.
Lucas pulled the brakes on that train of thought as he slowly began to backtrack to whatever he was thinking about before that.
He tuned in just in time to hear his teammates talk about getting together later for a game of pool at this pub off Lincoln Boulevard.
“Can you play, Spanish?” Keith asked casually as he watched him.
Lucas froze as he realized for the first time that Keith was actually having a conversation with him that didn’t involve barking out tactics during a group huddle. The rest of the teammates seemed unaffected by the conversation, but he could tell by the way they tried to seem too nonchalant that they were actually listening.
Keith was offering him an olive branch, and for the life of him, Lucas couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he wondered at this sudden change of heart.
“I’m alright,” he said finally. In reality, he had probably only played pool once or twice in his entire life, but he supposed he could remember enough to get him through a game with the guys. Especially if it meant finally bonding with them.
“Join us tonight then, seven o’clock?”
“I’ll be there,” Lucas confirmed as he hoisted himself off the grass and headed towards the ice box with the water bottles.
Keith smiled at him and titled his water bottle in salute, and Lucas did the same as he wondered if Keith was up to something.
***
Lucas pulled up to the address that Keith had texted him three hours ago after having gone home, showered and had a bite to eat.
He frowned at the exterior with its bright neon light and the motorcycles parked out front. He usually avoided places like this because he knew that a lot of the people who hung out here were pure blooded Americans, and if they caught even a whiff of foreigner between them, they’d pounce like hellhounds.
He scratched the back of his head and wondered if it was really worth bonding with the guys. He supposed he could try to make a conscious effort to fit in, and that way he wouldn’t have to turn around and leave especially because he wouldn’t have a good excuse as to why he didn’t show up.
