Fueling the Waist Fetish

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A/N MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!! or HAPPY HANUKKAH (did I spell that right?) or whatever you guys might be celebrating today! Hope your day is going well :)

I'm so so sorry I didn't update yesterday! First I woke up at like 10:30, then I laid in bed for another hour watching The Vampire Diaries illegally online (sue me). Then it was lunch time, and then I went to pick out new glasses (they're purple and I love them). Then we went to the store and then I had to shower and then it was dinner and then we went to Mass (#Catholic #JesusSquad), and when we got home we watched a movie and then I was falling asleep so I went to bed. That is my story of yesterday.

But to make up for it, this chapter is almost 2000 words! New record!

Anyway, here is my Christmas/Hanukkah/whatever present to you guys!


*Kaitlyn MacDonald*

We must have laid there in my bed for at least an hour, me listening to Drew talk about why he doesn't like people going over to his house. The whole time, I was painfully aware of Drew's muscular arm draped around my waist, and how I could feel his warm breath on my head as it was tucked on top of his chest.

For the record, I have no idea how we ended up like this.

(A/N Disclaimer: I have no idea how the NBA draft works, so please work with me here. If you know, and would like to help make my story more accurate, please let me know, so I can fix it.)

Drew begins his story. "It all started when my dad was in the NBA. He played basketball in college at Duke, while at the same time pursuing a business major. But his real dream was to play professional basketball, and so business was his fallback. After he graduated with a Master's degree, he ended up with an offer to be part of the NBA draft. Naturally, he accepted, and was drafted by the Celtics. Even as a rookie, people could tell that he was destined for greatness."

I snort. "That sounds like my elementary school teacher after I won the spelling bee on the word "phlegm". Hard word, I know, but she was impressed."

Drew's chest shakes with laughter. "How did you know how to spell that? I'm pretty sure elementary me didn't even know how to spell "pancake", let alone "phlegm"."

I blush. "I read a lot. After my best friend left, I didn't have much else to do with my time. I had spent most of it with him before."

"Fair enough. May I continue?"

"Please. I'm dying to hear about how your dad's basketball skills are preventing me from going to your house."

"There's no winning with you, is there?" Drew comments, squeezing his arm tight around me. I smile.


"Anyways, as I was saying, my dad was really good, really quickly. He led the Celtics to the Championships in 1986. He still occasionally tells me about it: the glory, the fans, his team. He really misses it."

"Did he quit? Or not make another draft?" I question. I may not know much about basketball, but I don't think you can get fired from a professional team. Can you?

"Hush, doll, and let me finish my story. I'm almost done."

"This is taking longer than one of Mr. Carl's history lessons."

"Are you finished?"


Drew sighs, his warm breath tickling my forehead as he shifts his arm around me. "To answer your question, no, he didn't quit. Nor did he not make another draft. He stopped playing because he physically could not play anymore. During the 1986 Championship, he was leading the Celtics to victory in the last game the two teams would play. By the time the first half was over, he must have had at least 48 points. My dad was relatively short for a pro player, only 6 foot, but he could handle the ball like nobody's business. Crossing people left and right at any opportunity. It must have been funny to watch guys at least half a foot taller than you sliding around on the floor in front of you. Anyway, the other team's coach was getting fed up at how many 3's my dad kept draining. The Houston Rockets were not a bad team in any sense, just the Celtics were better. After the half, my dad continued leading both teams with points. I've seen recordings of that game, and you could see how mad the Rockets were getting. At one point, their coach called a time out, where he can be seen aggressively talking with one of his players. At the time, nobody knew what was going on, but now, nobody could forget."

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