Page 82 of The Trouble with Flings

Grant catches it, but Jock’s right there, arms outstretched, blocking him. Grant fakes the shot, spins, and fires a pass to Ryan. Jamison has one hand up, the other pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. Ryan takes the opening and shoots. The ball drops cleanly through the net. The three of us erupt into cheers.

“That’s how it’s done!” I say, and high-five Ryan.

Grant claps Ryan on the back and says, “Nice shot, Lacroux.”

“Hope you boys are taking notes,” I say to Wells, Jamison, and Jock.

Jock retrieves the ball. “We’re just letting you think you’re ahead. It’s all part of the strategy.”

“It is?” Jamison cocks a brow.

“Jesus, Remington. Get with the program,” Wells says. “We’re psyching them out.”

We all crack up.

Jock tosses me the ball and says, “Try not to embarrass yourself this time.”

Wells and I check it, then I dribble the ball up the court. He sticks to me like glue, talking the entire time. I get a step on him, drive toward the basket, and snap it to Ryan as he cuts in from the side. Ryan catches it, goes up, and banks it off the glass. Grant and I cheer him on.

“Man, you’re a lucky bastard today,” Wells says.

“That’s called skill,” Ryan says.

“He’s been doing that same shot since the day we met him,” Jock says.

“That’s what the ladies complain about,” I say, and we all laugh.

We continue playing and giving one another shit. Grant dribbles toward the basket. Jamison cuts past him, stealing the ball, and shoots. The ball swishes through the net. Jock and Wells cheer.

“Nicely done, Remington,” I say.

“It’s not complicated,” Jamison says. “Every shot is just a parabola. Constant gravity, a predictable arc. There’s the air resistance to consider, but in the end, it’s all about trajectory and velocity.”

“Dude, you make my brain hurt,” Wells says. “Please tell me you don’t talk to women that way.”

“Hey, Jamison,” Ryan says. “Maybe that dating app you’re helping to create can weed out the women who might not be able to keep up with your intellect from the ones who can. Finding those commonalities through an app would help the rest of us do the same.”

“I guess that’s something to consider.” Jamison crosses his arms and says, “But surveys show that women consistently rank intelligence, ambition, and personality above looks for a partner.” He flashes a coy grin and says, “Statistically speaking, I’m doing just fine.”

“Shit, I’d better start studying,” Ryan says.

Jamison and Grant check the ball. Jamison passes it to Jock. Jock spins toward the basket and takes a shot. The ball circles the rim, and we all hold our breath until it drops in.

Wells throws both arms up. “Yeah, baby! That’s all you, Jock!”

My phone rings on the bench with Jennifer’s ringtone, “Girl on Fire.”

“What the hell is that?” Grant asks.

“A phone call,” I say, heading over to the bench.

“Since when do you have an Alicia Keys ringtone?” Wells practically hollers.

“And an extra swagger in your step,” Ryan calls out.

I flip them off without turning around. They crack up as I press the phone to my ear, heading out of earshot, and say, “How’s my wild girl?”

“Pretty good, considering a food fairy just showed up at my door with all my favorite dishes from my favorite Mediterranean restaurant.”