GREY

I sighed, hiked back to the free throw line to grab one of the fallen basketballs before ambling to center court. "If you guys are guarding, then that means Jacquarious starts with the ball," I ordered, handing it to him as I spied the slightest crack in Cody's intrepid façade.

Jacquarious steeled his eyes, locking on Dash and Cody.

"Two minutes." I fished out my phone to set a timer. "Go!"

Cody leapt into action right as the words left my mouth, diving to steal the ball as Jacquarious darted backwards. Dribbling beyond Cody's reach, he beelined for Dash, whose hulking wingspan only added to his menace as he bounced back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Dash sprang forward as Cody pincered in from behind, only for Jacquarious to lunge vertically into the air, his torso clearing both their heads as he flung the basketball across the center line.

No way.

The swish of the net rebounded like the whip of a knotted cotton towel, burnt orange basketball falling through to bounce against the wooden floor.

Dash's jaw fell agape, and Cody's locked in rage.

"That's one," Jacquarious mused as I tossed him a new ball, hustling back to the center line as Dash and Cody sprinted after him.

It was honestly pure wonder to watch; where his first shot had come off the heels of a timed jump that leveraged his aerials, the second was a planted three-pointer that saw him outmaneuver Dash and Cody's blocks as he swept around them with flawless speed. The third and fourth, clocking in at just under a minute thirty, were a pair of backboard angle shots that he tossed extra high as fake-out airballs, leaving Cody fuming at being tricked twice.

I tossed him a final ball as my timer ticked on, Dash and Cody swooping from both sides to lock him in.

Jacquarious swung back on an arched stance, left foot landing at the center line before he bounced to duck Dash's arms and sidestep Cody's. Dash practically flung himself forward but landed just out of reach, his palms smacking to the ground as Jacquarious dribbled the ball to the edge of the court then zoomed back to the middle.

Cody flew past the free-throw line as Dash jettisoned to his feet for another forward lunge. But Jacquarious, lifting his arm and angling his head, never quite turning to meet Cody's eyes—not to mention the basketball hoop—let fly his last shot with seconds to spare.

A final flick of the wrist and a sideways turn accented the moment, Jacquarious's slender frame dodging Cody's reach once more and sending his scowling figure hurtling toward Dash, the two of them toppling to the floor.

"Ow! Dude, get off!" Dash yelled, pushing Cody to the side.

A low chuckle rumbled from over my shoulder as Brayden walked up behind me. "So...I'm guessing this mean Jacquarious isn't a wimp who—what was it, Cody?—'caves when the floor gets a little too crowded?'"

Cody growled. "Shut up."

Brayden held up both hands, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. "Just saying, man. Guy basically just kicked your—"

"SHUT UP!" Cody vaulted from the floor with both fists balled.

"Dude!" Dash caught his right arm, yanking him backward. "Drop it."

Cody growled again, ripping free of Dash's grasp.

"Brayden's right." Dash eyed Jacquarious with a knowing grin. "You're a legend in the making."

****

The rest of practice was a bit awkward, to say the least. Coach Rangford split everyone up once the other guys arrived, and he made sure to keep Jacquarious and Cody in different groups.

Not like it made much of an impact on Cody's attitude.

Every stolen ball, every pass, every dribble, every impossible three-pointer—it was all fodder for Cody's insatiable rage.

But as far as I could tell, Jacquarious didn't seem to mind. It must've been annoying having Cody glare at him so much; but half the time, I struggled to tell if he even noticed.

Maybe he's just used to this kind of thing. Browning Heights is intense.

Or maybe his mind was elsewhere altogether; and if Cody wasn't going to accept him, maybe he just felt like it wasn't worth caring.

"Grey!"

I blinked once, flitted out of my thoughts in the locker room as Brayden called my name. "Sup, dude?"

"I uh...I had an idea. About Cody."

What? "Cody?"

"Yeah...he seemed pretty ticked off."

I chuckled. "Getting your butt kicked in a two-on-one'll do that to a guy."

"It's not just that." Brayden hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "He seemed...I don't know, angry. Like, really angry." He stuffed both hands in his pockets. "Dash's talking to him now, but I was thinking..."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Thinking what, man?"

He glanced away. "You're gonna say it's stupid."

"What? Dude, I won't. Come on—tell me what it is."

He tilted his head. "It's been a while since I made Chicken Cordon Bleu. You guys could all come over...it's Cody's favorite."

I managed to suppress another chuckle, but an involuntary snort escaped my nostrils before I could stop myself. "Food's seriously your answer to everything, isn't it?"

Cody's eyes fell. "Whatever, man."

"Hey, wait. I wasn't saying it's a bad idea, just...did you ask Cody already?"

Brayden shrugged. "Well, no, but I know he'll be down. And even if not, we can just save him leftovers or something. I found this new way to keep cooked chicken fresh for longer—"

"Dude," I laughed, shaking my head. "Yeah, okay. I'm on board."

"Awesome." Brayden bumped my shoulder. "So uh...you know your way around Browning Heights, right?"

Huh? "I mean, I guess. I've only been there like tw...once." I gulped, wondering if he'd caught my almost slip-up.

"Well, that's more than me," he offered with a sheepish smirk. "Think you could...maybe pick up a few ingredients? I'd go myself, but I'm on puppy duty in like an hour."

Wait...this is perfect. I gave a low sigh, my best effort at maintaining a shroud of indifference. "I guess I could go. Not like you could make your fancy dinner without some bougie extra-virgin olive oil from Paris, right?"

Brayden simpered a playful pout. "Hey. It's from Venice, not Paris."

"What, and you couldn't find it at Boardport Market?"

"Nah, dude, they're all sold out until February. Only store that still has it is this mom-and-pop shop in Browning Heights."

"Guess we're doing our part to support small business owners, then," I snickered, fist bumping him and twisting around to head for the exit. "Text me the info, and I'll pick it up. See you tonight, man."

"Thanks, Grey." He pulled out his phone. "I owe you one."