Marcus
I wasn’t expecting her to show up in that dress.
Burgundy. Tight in all the right places. The kind of dress that walked into a room ten seconds before she did and left everyone questioning their priorities.
It should’ve been illegal—how confident she looked in it. Like the last few weeks hadn’t happened. Like she hadn’t been turned into a headline, a meme, a humiliation reel for the whole damn uni.
But here she was. Walking down the hallway like she owned the marble under her boots.
And me? I couldn’t think.
She stopped right in front of me and didn’t say hi. Just, “You’re suspended. You’re benched. But that doesn’t mean you’re done.”
Her voice was so steady, so sharp, I almost missed it.
I was too busy watching the way her lips moved. The way her dress hugged her waist. The soft glint of highlighter on her collarbones. My brain short-circuited.
“…and if we rework the cardiovascular project,” she continued, “tie it into muscle recovery post-training, build a pitch like we’re actually trying to win something—Coach might finally see you’re more than fists.”
I blinked. “Wait. Say that again?”
Betty narrowed her eyes. “Are you serious right now?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, heat rising in my neck. “It’s just—you look—”
“Focus, Mitchell.”
She shoved a folder into my chest. I caught it out of reflex, trying not to drop it or look completely brain-dead.
“Color-coded,” she said. “Mapped out. I started rebuilding it last night. Coach might hate you right now, but he’s still a teacher. Show him you’re not a lost cause. Show him you give a damn.”
I flipped through the pages. It wasn’t just good. It was genius. Diagrams. Notes. Real-world application. She’d done more in 48 hours than most seniors did in a semester.
“You did all this?” I asked.
Betty shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Well, you nearly got expelled defending my honor. Felt like the least I could do.”
Her voice was calm, but I caught the twitch in her jaw. She wasn’t over it. Not the video, not the message, not the silence. And who could blame her?
I looked down at the folder, then back at her. “I talked to Coach yesterday. And Harris. One-week suspension from uni. Indefinite from the team. My dad’s threatening to pull funding from the athletic department just to make a point.”
Her mouth tightened. “Of course he is.”
“He says I ruined everything.”
Betty leaned against the railing, arms folded. “Did you?”
I let the question hang. I didn’t have a good answer. For the first time in my life, basketball didn’t feel like mine. It felt like something I’d inherited—like a suit I had to keep wearing because everyone else picked it out for me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know if I want to lead that team anymore.”
Betty tilted her head. “Then don’t lead it for them. Lead it for you. Or walk away. But either way, decide.”
That landed harder than I expected.
I wasn’t used to people being that direct with me. My dad barked. Coaches commanded. Girls flattered. But Betty? She didn’t flinch when I said I was broken. She offered me a blueprint to get up.
“You’re spiraling,” she said softly.
“I’m thinking.”
“You’re panicking.”
“Same thing.”
She stepped forward, lifted the folder from my hands, and set it on the bench behind me. Then her hands slid up my jaw.
I didn’t move.
Not even when she tilted my face toward hers and said, “You’re still here, Marcus. That means something.”
And then—God help me—I kissed her.
Not the careful kind. Not gentle. Not sorry.
It was messy. Desperate. Months of tension and silence and fire, pressed into one long, breathless collision. Her lips opened against mine. Her hands fisted in my hoodie. I pressed her back into the wall, one hand gripping her waist, the other cupping her face like I didn’t want to let go.
She gasped into my mouth when I deepened it. My body was already reacting—my brain gone, my chest burning.
She lifted a leg, wrapping it around my thigh, pulling me closer until I could barely breathe.
My hand slid down, fingers brushing the hem of her dress.
And then—she pulled back.
“Not now,” she said, breathless, lips red and kiss-swollen. Her hands stayed on my chest, grounding me like a wire to the floor. “This time… we take it slow.”
I stayed close. My forehead rested against hers. My pulse hammered in my ears.
“Why?” I whispered.
“Because I want this,” she said. “And I want to do it right.”
I let out a breath. “You’re kind of driving me insane.”
“Good,” she smirked. “Now imagine how much fun we’ll have when I actually let you touch me.”
I groaned, leaning back just enough to look at her. “You’re evil.”
“Deliciously,” she said. Then tapped my chest with two fingers. “Now focus. We’ve got a presentation to finish, a coach to convince, and a social media narrative to hijack.”
I raised a brow. “You’re planning to go public?”
“Not everything,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Just enough to show that I’m not hiding—and you’re not done.”
Then she started walking away, hips swaying like she didn’t just destroy me in under five minutes.
“You coming?” she called over her shoulder.
I grabbed the folder and followed.
Yeah. I was definitely coming.
And for once, it wasn’t for the game.