Cherry, That Girl

s i x

In a sense, she was lethal.

Watching Cherry walk up the court, mindlessly dribbling, was not something Ambrosia had always pictured. He'd seen a good basketball game maybe once or twice when his father had been feeling a little lonesome, but he'd never actually thought he'd be watching one of his own free will. She come up to him this morning, dark hair pulled into tight braids. Loose enough that he could see her little baby hairs rebelling away from the style. He noted the jersey she wore must have been a new one, because he'd never seen it before. The only thing he'd recognized were the numbers, which he'd come to learn belonged to her favorite professional basketball player.

He'd stopped whatever thoughts had tried coming to mind at the sight of her leggings, showing off her shapely legs that he'd heard others praising before asking for her workout routine. And the Jordan's had been expecting, considering he'd gone with her to buy a week ago and she'd been wearing them whenever she could. Her expression had been bright, blue lips—how'd she pull that off? She could pull anything off—turned up in a grin as she asked him to come with her to the courts.

Of course, he'd said yes. When had Ambrosia ever really been able to say "no" to Cherry? It was not for lack of weakness, but more so wanting to see that tantalizing smile and the laughter that made his head swim. But this her he was seeing now on the court was as predatory as when she'd gotten him to wear lipstick.

There was a precision in her steps and the way she surveyed the other players, but a grace in the way she danced around them. It was like watching a predator stalking their prey in slow motion, eyes always on the prize. The ball passed easily through the gap in her legs, arms reaching out to swat at it. Her competitors were just as animalistic, though they lacked the ease that Cherry had.

A mix-gendered set of teams, all the players running from one of the court to the next. Ambrosia could count on one hand how many of them could have been taller than he was—which was only based on his guesses from the middle of the stands. The game progressed quickly, with the usual amount of noise and activity that one would associate with a sport.

Ambrosia, however, remained fascinated. He watched the muscles in Cherry's arms quiver and tremble, the rhythm of her feet as she dodged from left to right. She was art wrapped up in a body of movement, and that was all that he really needed to know. He could care less about the rules involved if he could watch her all day. So entranced was he, that he had forgotten there were other people around.

The bench underneath him trembled with the new weight of another person. The man that sat beside him was short and stocky with a close cut. He sniffed, rubbing his finger under his nose for a good minute or two before sighing. It occurred to Ambrosia that he was slightly too close for comfort, but he said nothing, trying to immerse himself in the game again. But this attempt ended in vain as he could feel the eyes of the new spectator on him. When their eyes met, the man's were narrowed. Deep set and dark, they were two round jewels that threatened to bore into him.

"Can I help you with something," Ambrosia asked after a moment of staring.

The man shook his head. "No, the question is: can I help you?"

He wasn't making any sense. Ambrosia told him as much. "You're not making any sense."

"Well, you see, I've noticed that you've been settling in with The Man-Eater," the man went on, "I'm Jake, by the way.

Ambrosia's lips turned down into a frown. "Ambrosia. Who exactly is 'The Man-Eater'?"

"You've got a real girly name, you know that?"