Always Been You

Just one?

A week into the new semester, and it already feels like it's been months. I definitely have a lighter schedule in terms of classes, but I'm also working on campus to gain experience. I'm working with the video technical crew of my college. There's a group of people who cover different events on campus. I participated in some of them during the last semester, but I have an official position this year. Thanks to my friend, Tyler. So I'll be working in between classes, and some nights/days too. I'm excited to pick up new skills. Tyler also holds an important position, so I could definitely ask him to involve me during game nights. I could kill two birds with one stone. But not literally, of course.

After class, my plan was to meet my friends at the student center and also grab a quick snack. My go-to snack has lately been a pre-made container of fruit. I could easily make it for myself, but I'm also very lazy. As soon as the cashier swipes my card, I walk to the sitting area. Nicole, Alia, and Ben were sitting on the table right in the front. I set my bag down on the table while taking a seat.

"I don't think he cares what kind of food to be honest, as long as it's good," Alia says to Nicole, who is writing stuff down on a notepad. "What are you guys talking about?" I ask. "I'm trying to make plans for Mark's birthday. He hates planning so it's up to me now," Nicole informs me. On the list, she had a few restaurants listed. "Ooh Lantern is a good option," I comment. "What day is this happening?" I ask her. "I'm thinking about the weekend following his birthday. So either Friday or Saturday night." I nod my head in agreement. I start eating my fruit in silence as I scroll through my feed. I needed to wait at least 20 minutes after I finished my fruit so I can go to the gym. I was already wearing gym leggings, and my shirt was in my bag. I'm trying to set a routine early in the semester, and want to stick with it. And since the assignments won't kick in for the next 2 weeks, I should get on it now.

The gym was a little packed than usual for 4:45, but I should at least get some cardio in. 20 minutes on the treadmill and 5 on the Stairmaster had me beat. I went to the ground floor to see if the weight machines were empty, but a bunch of guys hogged most of them. I didn't want to deal with the testosterone today. By the time it was 6:30, I had gotten a text from Alia asking me for dinner. I wasn't sure if I was going to make something at home or if Drew wanted to grab something after practice. I shoot Drew a text before I leave the gym in case he was finishing up practice in the team's personal court, which was a 5-minute walk from here. I told myself if he doesn't text back by the time I gather my stuff and wash my face, I'll just go back home.

As I grab my gym bag and head out the locker room door, Drew replies and tells me to head towards the court. Once I got close enough, I realized the doors were propped open. I could hear the screeches from the sneakers from 20 feet away. I peek my head through the doors and see five boys, including Drew practicing their plays. I slowly enter and take a seat in one of the foldable chairs. The sight I was seeing was a little too much for me. I've always been a fan of sports with hot sweaty guys, but this one was personal. As Drew held the ball in his hands, his arm muscles were the only thing I could focus on. The assistant coach suddenly blows the whistle and the boys make their way off the court. Drew his hand towel and walks towards me. Sweat was dripping down from his face, to his chest. He was super red. He wipes the back of his neck and chest. Maybe it was the testosterone or something because it was driving me crazy. He leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on my cheek. "Hey," he says in my hair. "Hi," I reply back.  "What are you doing?" I ask as he walks me over to the court. "Let's play," he says.

He picks up the ball from the floor and dribbles it three times. He then checks it to me. "I know I've always been on your case to teach me, but I wish I was mentally prepared to beat your ass," I say as I slowly dribble the ball. He smiles and shakes his head. "You can never be fully prepared for anything. Less talking, more playing," he advises. At first, I play around with the ball by myself, avoiding any contact with him. Then, I run past him and shoot from the right side of the rim. The ball circles around the basket and falls outside. I let out a loud groan. "I'm over it. This is what always happens. The ball never wants to go in," I whine. I throw the ball back to Drew. "You're thinking too hard. Let loose. Come, stand at the free-throw line," he demands. And so I stand 15 feet vertically from the net. "Slightly bend your knees. And hold the ball with both your hands when you position it above your head," he says. I follow his instructions. "Now, just try to hit the center of the board." The ball leaves my hands and lands straight into the basket. "AYE," I raise my hand to give Drew a high-five. He and I shot a few baskets alternatively.