The end of the first quarter comes in with a disarming buzz, and the players lope to the locker rooms for a pep talk.
The audience shifts restlessly, and someone knees my back so I make my way down the bleachers to have a walkabout.
The gym floor is empty, then a little girl who couldn't be more than two feet tall, toddles across the wood, plucking up a ball.
That's cute.
Her hair is dark and braided down her back, and she wears a little purple dress. She looks kind of familiar, but I can't put my finger on it.
She tries to make a shot but the ball barely rises before it falls again. Her boots clunk on the floor as she runs after it.
Someone awws and another laughs. I hear the rowdy sounds of the team walking out of the locker room.
She lines up her shot and squints her eyes. Then a tall someone runs across the room.
A someone with very dark, sweaty hair and lean arm muscles. That's why she looked so familiar.
He scoops her into his arms and lifts her nearly to the net. She drops the ball in, and everyone claps.
She giggles, delightedly, and turns in his arms so hers are around his neck and she kisses his cheek.
He grins the all-American grin, and the people clap again.
He strides off the court, coming my way.
He's coming my way. Miles Hastings is coming my way.
To what do I owe the honour?
A woman laughs beside me and extends her arms. Then he's right in front of me.
"Mommy! Did you see I shooted the ball!" The little girl says as Miles transfers her into his mother's arms.
"I did, great job!" She smiles so widely at the girl it looks like it hurts.
I try to step away casually, but he does it at the same time. We step right into each other.
"Woah, sorry." He says, grasping my arm to keep my upright. His hand is kind of sweaty.
Then he just walks away.
***
I don't know. Crappy. I thought he'd be the guy for her but then i changed my mind
