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Shakira
Kimberly Ann Dogwoodwas not a fan of mine.
And she didn’t even have to say it explicitly.
It was all in her energy,and her tone, and the way she looked at me in disgust whenever I spoke as if she thought everything that came out of my mouth was stupid. And even when I tried to be nice by offering to get her a drink or something to eat from the buffet in the stadium suite we were all sharing at Kendall’s Sunday afternoon game, she still acted stank towards me, brushing me off when she stood up and responded, “I’m pretty sure I can get my own stuff, but thanks.”
“Fine then,” I muttered, rolling my eyes as I turned my attention back to the game that was a lot harder to focus on after that brief exchange. And as if she could sense my frustration, Anastasia leaned my way to say, “Don’t let her get under your skin, Kiki. She’s like this with everybody when she first meets them.”
“Hell, I’ve known her for four years now, and I still don’t think she likes me,” Kendall’s agent,and the mystery woman from the first game I’d attended, Bryn, chimed in with a chuckle from the row below us. And while I wanted to believe they were right and that Kendall’s older sister really was just a mean-spirited person, something about the way she was treating me felt too…personal.
Like, she wasn’t just being rude to me because it was her thing but was actuallychoosingto beespeciallymean to me because she felt a way about my existence.
Why, though?
When Kimberly returned to her seat that was on the other side of her sister’s, I was tempted to ask her what her damn problem was. But knowing that would probably only make things worse, I decided to give my full attention to the game instead; though that was honestly just as bothersome since the Skyhawks couldn’t seem to get it together.
I mean, tackles were being missed.
Passes were being dropped.
Balls were being fumbled.
It was like the team had woken up this morning and forgotten how to play professional football for the third week in a row. And considering how frustrating it was to watch, I could only imagine how frustrated Kendall felt being a part of it, especially since it wasn’t like he’d been playing his best ball lately either.
Not that he’d been playing terribly.
But I could admit he hadn’t been as great,as sharp, as he’d been at the start of the season.
And since the games he hadn’t been at his best were also the games that had ended in Skyhawks losses, it only made Kendall’s average performance on the field feel like even more of a letdown, though I’d never be the one to actually say that to him.
I mean, he got that from everywhere else.
His coaches.
The fans.
The media.
His mean ass sister, probably.
He didn’t need an extra dose of disappointment from me too.
But what hedidneed was somebody to listen to him rant about what he should’ve done better ‘til the wee hours of the morning, and someone to bring him a hot meal while he was watching film because he’d forget to eat otherwise, and someone to ride his dick and remind him that,even in defeat, he was still that nigga because he 1000% was.
I could do that.
Iwasthat.
Ilikedbeing that for him.
And as I watched the final seconds of the game tick off the clock, officially adding another loss to the Skyhawks record this season, I knew tonight would be one of those nights where I really needed to play my role; especially after I heard Kimberly grumble, “What a waste of my time.”
Thankfully, I didn’t have to be the one to call her out on her rude ass comment, Anastasia turning her sister’s way to ask, “So now supporting your brother is a waste of time?”
Instead of giving a real answer, Kimberly only responded with a shrug, making Anastasia shake her head as we all began to make our way towards the suite’s exit. And once we got down to the friends and family area, things only got more awkward, the wait for Kendall to come out of the locker room feeling like punishment that had me using my phone as a distraction until I heard that all too familiar, “Whassup, Shaky?”
With an instant smile, I slipped my phone into my stadium-approved clear bag and cooed, “Hi, Snoopy.” Then I pulled him into a hug, and it was almost like I could feel the weight of the loss as he rested his head against my shoulder, prompting me to squeeze him a little tighter as I joked, “You look like you could use a hug, big daddy.”
