Page 113 of Ice Me Out

“My boyfriend plays for the Warriors, and I can have security ban you.”

“Let’s go get our drinks refilled. She isn’t worth it,” I said, gathering my belongings.

The woman laughed. “I’m worth more than you, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that,” I muttered, still trying to wrangle Monica.

Monica twisted in her seat again, and she went DEFCON 1 on the woman before I could stop her.

“Baby mama but no ring, though.”

“Shut up, and let’s go,” I hissed, grabbing Monica’s arm. But it was too late. The woman retaliated by throwing her soda on us. I sat in disbelief as ice-cold soda dripped down my neck and back, and I couldn’t help but think she was lucky she was holding a baby.

Thankfully, an attendant witnessed the exchange and quickly rushed over with a towel. Security arrived, and the three women tried to play the victim until the team attendant and nearby guests corroborated our stories. They were escorted out. That should’ve brought me some relief. But knowing I already had beef with some of the Warrior WAGs before I was officially introduced brought on a wave of nauseating anxiety.

“I fucked up… didn’t I?” Monica asked, sounding regretful.

I sighed and dabbed at my shoulder with a towel. “A little bit, girl.”

“Be for real.”

“A lot bit,” I answered honestly, wondering when it would be an appropriate time to tell Hart.

“My bad. She was quick to call us ghetto, and I had to humble her a little bit.”

“Yeah, I think that ring comment had her twisted.”

She nodded. “It did what it needed to do. Let’s go back to our place, get cleaned up, and hit up that party.”

I followed Monica out of the arena, knowing Hart would act a fool when he found out.

Biochemistry Baddie

Hart

“So… are we not going to address the elephant in the room?” Christiansen asked.

I drank my beer and focused on the television playing replays of our embarrassing loss against the Carolina Strykers. We were off our game tonight. Sloppy and unfocused were the words being tossed around—sloppy line changes, sloppy passes, sloppy blocks. We hadn’t lost like that in two seasons, and it stung like a motherfucker.

“Spill the tea,” he exclaimed, pinning me with his eyes.

I replaced my beer on the lacquered tabletop and sighed as my teammates leaned in.

“I am dating someone… exclusively,” I confessed.

The table erupted, and everyone started talking at once.

“Who is she?”

“How did you meet?”

“What is she like?”

“Is she hot?”

“Gentlemen. Gentlemen. Settle down,” Marlon urged with a boyish grin that made him look like the cat that caught the canary. “Give him a chance to speak.”

“You know who she is,” Rossi said accusingly.