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The entire team groans.
As team captain, Cool gets the final say in most anything related to our game. Him stopping our practice like this means something big is coming down the pipe.
“We need your head in the game.” Coolstares me down. “For real. I get this whole PR marriage, whatever you want to call it.”
“Yeah, Liam.” John scrubs a towel over his face and drops onto the bleachers.
We’re practicing in our home court, the place where we play the majority of our games. I’ll never forget the first time I stepped inside. A massive dome covers the court and bleachers. Old jerseys line the rafters. And the smell. I breathe it in and hold it close. There’s nothing like the mixture of excitement, popcorn, and entertainment. And sweat. We could do without the sweat stench.
“What? I’m focused.” I reach out to smack the ball from Cool’s grip.
He pivots on his heel, grabs the ball in one massive hand, and holds it out to me. “Do I get to be in the wedding?”
I can’t help my grin as a wild idea hits me full in the face. “Oh, yeah. You’re all in the wedding. Can’t get married on national TV without you.” I pucker my lips at Cool. “You want to stand at the altar with me too?”
He snorts and passes the ball over my head. Not an easy feat. I jump, and my fingertips graze the ball enough to send it off course.
Tandy shouts and snatches the ball, and the race is on.
“Hey, Liam. Phone for you.” Coach Bristol pokes his head from his office, holding out the corded landline. The only phone that’s allowed in the gym during practice. All our cell phones are shut away in our lockers until Cool and Coach release us.
I grab a water bottle and towel as I leave the court.
Hoots and hollers follow me to Coach’s door. I grab the receiver and listen while guzzling water and toweling my face.
A disembodied voice travels through the line. “Liam Ashley, you have an appointment in an hour with Trina Smith at Cakes To More. The address has been sent to your email.”
“I’m at practice.” I eye Coach, who shakes his head and goes back to scouring the pages of our playbook.
“The producers at ‘Bride at First Sight’ require you to join Trina today for wedding preparations.” There’s a beep, then, “Do not be late.”
The line goes dead.
I hold out the phone and stare at it like it might turn into a snake and bite me. Wedding preparations? I told Trina to do whatever she wanted. That I didn’t care. I don’t. Getting married isn’t high on my priority list. Letting her call the shots was supposed to help smooth the waters. I recall her snarky remark that she’d make our time together miserable. Did she have something to do with this?
“Guess you better get a move on.” Coach motions for me to return the phone to its cradle. I bet half the people who watch us play have never seen a phone like this. It’s practically an antique. I cringe to imagine how many ears have touched that phone over the years. How many mouths have breathed and spit all over it? Gross.
“And take a shower before you go. You smell like last week’s laundry. Look like it too. Better have a decent set of clothes around here. Can’t show up in wrinkled gym shorts and a t-shirt.” Coach smacks his chewing gum.
“Maybe they should’ve thought of that before they called me in the middle of practice.” I chug more water and towel my face again.
“This TV stuff is important. Not as important as what goes on out there.” He points at the guys. They’ve started another game in the few minutes I’ve been gone. “But still important.”
I nod and back out of the office.
“Best foot forward, Ashley!” Coach calls as I leave.
The team sniggers behind me. They love when Coach uses my last name, which eggs him on.
I head to the showers. Half an hour later, I’m dressed in the only clothes I brought—a clean t-shirt and basketball shorts—and on my way to Trina’s misery-fest.
My teammates make catcalls, their voices falling over each other in their haste to get in a smart aleck remark.
“Cute shirt, Ashley.” John bats his eyes and cups his hands under his chin. “Sure wish you’d picked me to be your TV bride.”
Cool chases me across the gym and out into the parking lot while making kissing noises. Once the door closes behind us, he cuts me off and holds out a hand to stop me. “Look, man, it’s all fun and games.” His grin softens, and he slaps me on the back. “If you need us for anything, we’ll be there. We stick together, even in all this.”
“All this” being a wedding to a complete stranger that will be recorded and televised to the entire nation. We’ll be followed around for three months as we navigate the waters of marriage and whatever “challenges” the producers throw at us.
