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“Tommy, you’re looking good on D. Do you have a better understanding of how man-on-man differs from zone defense now?”
Tommy nods. “Yeah, Coach. I think so. This time, I had to guard Colin, and the last time, my spot was under the basket.”
I pat him on the shoulder and smile. “Good. You’re doing great. All you have to remember is, protect the paint when you’re playing zone defense and guard your man when it’s one-on-one. You keep those two things in mind, and you’ll never forget when I switch it up.”
Tommy smacks his lips together, a goofy grin on his cherub-like face. Sometimes, these kids are too adorable for words. It almost makes me regret not having enough time for a personal life because I wouldn’t mind having my own sports team one day.
The type of drill I used today is so important to building a strong defense because there’s always a penalty involved. If the offense scores or the defense commits a foul, they have to leave the court and allow another three-man team to take their place. I also like this exercise because it teaches the boys that there is a cost for failure.
I learned these lessons early on in my short-lived career. If you don’t face the risk of losing something, even if it’s only your place on the court, then you’ll never respect the hard work and dedication it takes to earn something, whether it’s your first dollar or your first championship. I’m not just teaching my players basketball. I like to think that I’m also teaching them life skills.
“Since you guys did so well today, I’m going to let you choose our final drill. Would you rather do suicides”—they grunt—“or do you want to learn how to set a proper screen?”
Rico pushes a strand of dark hair from his tan skin, the sweat matting it to his head with little spikes sticking up in different directions. “They’re both hard, Coach. C’mon, can’t we do something easy like layups?”
“If all I ever taught you was the easy way out, then you’d never win a game.”
Coaching kids is much more relaxing than working with professional athletes. Because, with children, their talent isn’t fully developed, they’re better listeners and take instructions well, and there are no egos and salaries involved. These kids make me remember the reason I love the game so much. When I’m on a basketball court, my entire body feels like it’s on fire from the rush of adrenaline.
My childhood was full of nothing but bad memories, but the thought of holding a ball in my hands for the first time still brings a smile to my face. I see those same looks on these boys’ faces while they’re playing.
I take a basketball from the rack next to me and start walking toward the basket. “I’ll tell you what, Rico. If you can take this ball from me, we can do nothing but layups for the next week.”
“No way!” Sam, our starting point guard, says to Rico. “Coach will smoke you.”
“I’ve got five on Rico,” Jamie chimes in with a smirk on his face, the dimple in his right cheek creasing his skin.
He pulls a five-dollar bill from the pocket of his mesh shorts and holds it in the air. The kids try to jump for it, which makes Jamie and me glance at each other, amused, and we both laugh.
On our way home, I stop at the supermarket with Jamie and Rico. We pick up chocolate and vanilla ice cream along with all the toppings. Rosario called me this afternoon to ask if I could watch Rico for an extra hour after practice, and since Jamie parked in the garage at my building and rode to practice with me, it only seemed fitting that we all hang out until Rosario stops by to pick up Rico after she’s done work.
We ride the elevator to the twenty-fifth floor, and when the doors creak open, Rico runs out, same as usual, and bounces the basketball on the tiled floor.
Jamie clutches the paper grocery bag against his chest and slides the strap of his small duffel over his shoulder. “No running!” he yells as Rico crosses the ball back and forth in front of him on his way to my apartment.
He’s so fast, he’s already down the hall and standing at my door by the time he turns around to acknowledge Jamie’s comment.
I slip the key ring from my pocket and insert the correct key into my front door, my stomach knotting at the thought of what I might find on the other side, before I push it open. To my surprise, I find Alex in the kitchen, and he’s…cooking. This is not what I was expecting.
“Oh, good, you’re home,” he says, focusing on whatever he’s making in one of the pots on the stove.
The scent of herbs and spices assaults my senses the closer I move toward the bar at the center of the kitchen.
“I’m making spaghetti and hot sausage. I figured you must like Italian food since we had lasagna the other day. I wasn’t sure if you had any allergies, and I don’t know how to do more than boil water and heat up sauce.”
I’m smiling so wide that my cheeks hurt. Alex made me dinner. I’ve never had a man make a meal for me—not unless I count Jamie, but he’s like my brother.
Before I can interrupt Alex to tell him we’re not alone, Rico drops the ball on the floor, and Alex peeks over his shoulder at me. Confusion registers first on his gorgeous face before shifting to what appears to be annoyance when he glances in Jamie’s direction.
“Hey, kiddo,” he says to Rico, which makes Rico glow with delight.
I couldn’t even imagine meeting a pro athlete at his age.
“Hey, Alex.” Rico hops up onto one of the benches in front of the island. “Guess what happened tonight?”
Alex places his hands flat on the marble top and says, “What was that?”
Rico sits up straight and says with pride, “I beat Coach at practice and won five dollars and layup drills for the rest of the week for the team.”
