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He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and we went back inside to clear out our lockers. When I finally got back to my truck, my brain started workin’ overtime. Coach always told me to hold on to the Juvie he met, but I didn’t even know who he met. He didn’t know me; neither did my teammates know the real me. The people who knew me were either dead or back home.

This fame didn’t mean shit. I didn’t give a fuck ’bout this money either. Even baseball was somethin’ that I did. My team was the closest thing I had to family in L.A. Gettin’ close to me came with a price, and I already paid too much.

I pulled up on my block and slowed down, makin’ sure I wasn’t bein’ followed. Sometimes paparazzi got too fuckin’ bold. Them niggas would hop fences and shit just to get a picture of me. When I pulled into the driveway, the garage was already open. Ni’s Range Rover was backed in, crooked as fuck. I squeezed my Lamb beside hers, then cut the engine.

You would think after years of routine, I would be used to this shit. Years of livin’, sleepin’, and smilin’ for cameras and set-up appearances with the same woman would make me feel somethin’ deeper. The most I had for Ni was respect. But even that had limits. She was somethin’ else that I was allowed to have. I dragged my hand down my face, grabbed my duffel bag, then went inside.

Walkin’ inside, I could smell whatever she was cookin’. The grey marble floors were so shiny, I could see my reflection. Ni had all the curtains pulled back in the living room, lettin’ the breeze blow through the house. High ass ceilings made this house look bigger than it already was. Crazy thing is, I didn’t even choose this house.

In the kitchen, Ni stood at the stove in one of my old jerseys, dancin’ to whatever was in her headphones. I stood back, watchin’ her hips wind to the music. Ni was bad, though. Her thick, chocolate ass thighs peeked from under my jersey. Anklets stacked on each ankle, tattoos wrapped around her legs, and her long locs fell past her ass. She’d been to the salon too. She had a lil’ color on the ends.

I wonder if she tryna fuck tonight.

I dropped my duffel in the corner as I made my way over to her. When I walked past her, I smacked her ass, and she jumped. Her head snapped toward me, her nose crinkled up and shit.

“JuMarion! You scared the shit outta me.”

I opened the fridge and grabbed a water bottle. “Start payin’ attention. What you cookin’?”

“Asshole,” she mumbled, snatchin’ her headphones off. “At least wash your hands before you go in the fridge.”

I dropped onto the stool at the island. “My hands clean. What’s for dinner?

“Surf and turf. Lamb chops, salmon, sweet potato mash, broccolini, and a side salad. Nothing major. Are you going to eat? I made enough.”

Ni ain’t do nothin’ halfway. If she cooked, the whole kitchen smelled like a Michelin-starred restaurant. If she dressed, she was intentional about how she put that shit together. Even the way she was playin’ house felt planned down to the smallest detail. She wasn’t wearin’ my old jersey because she loved a nigga; it had a purpose too.

“Yeah,” I said, draggin’ my eyes from her lips to her thighs. “You tryna fuck?”

She dropped the tongs, then stepped between my legs. “You could always ask me nicely. My pussy gets wetter, and I get nastier when you’re nice.”

“You lie good,” I said, pullin’ her closer. “That pussy gets wet no matter what I say. And how nasty you get ain’t got shit to do wit’ me bein’ nice. That’s just the type shit you be on.”

She sucked her teeth, then wrapped her arms around my neck. Usually, when she tried to kiss me, I made that shit quick, but today, I let her drag it out. I wanted it tonight. The last shorty I was fuckin’ wit’ wanted more, and I couldn’t give her that. Ni was ’bout to have me on her every day ’til I found another bitch to balance this shit out.

My hands went under the jersey, rubbin’ all over her, smackin’ her ass and grippin’ on it. I kissed her from the side of her mouth to her neck. Her head dropped back, and she moaned, fallin’ into me. From the outside, this shit looked good. And at that moment, it felt good. Anything was better than reality.

“The food… It’s gonna burn.” She breathed, tryna pull back.

I held on tighter, kissin’ all over her neck.

“It’s burning, JuMarion!” she screeched, squirming in my arms.

I let her go and took off runnin’, crackin’ the fuck up. Before I could reach the corner, she threw a dish towel at me.

“You play too much!” she yelled after me.

My phone rang in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was my agent, Luke Dean. I knew he wanted to go over offers, but that had to wait until I washed the day off and had dinner. As soon as it stopped ringin’, a text came through. It was his ass again.

Luke: Call me when you’re free. I want to go over these offers. Could be a move in your future.

I’d been wit’ the same team for ten years, and this nigga was talkin’ ’bout a move. This ain’t have shit to do wit’ the league. This was Ambrose shit. Ambrose had their hands in every part of my career. Contracts, endorsements, even the mufuckas I kept around me. Yusef was the nigga I answered to, but it was bigger than him. He wasn’t the one callin’ all the shots.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and kept movin’. It was always a hidden agenda when shit shifted like this. Endorsements came with sacrifices; bein’ seen with certain mufuckas meant I owed them somethin’. I ain’t want nothin’ to do wit’ a move, especially one I knew wasn’t really mine to make.

When I walked into the bedroom, Ni already had some shit laid out for me. Somethin’ else she did without question. I could be gone from this bitch for three days, and she’d still have my shit laid out. I peeled off my clothes and went into the bathroom to handle my hygiene.

“Shower on,” I said, steppin’ into the bathroom and lockin’ the door behind me.