The Nymphs and Trojans will be returning with a new season later this Winter!
It is SO good to be back in the N&T Universe, and I truly cannot wait for you all to get in the head of this season’s leading lady, Mikayla Newsome.
If not, you might wanna revisit the series!
And if it is, keep reading for a sneak peek at Full Court Press 🙂
(note: sample is unedited and subject to change because stuff happens lol)
“Seriously though, Mik. Just… remember this game is only supposed to be for fun, okay? No need to be out there taking charges or arguing with the refs. And for the love of God, please save those 360 windmill layups for another time.”
“You know I’ve been practicing.”
“Yeah, and damn near rolled your ankle the other day when you landed at the wrong degree,” Micaiah groaned.
The reminder from our most recent one-on-one session made me cringe a little as I conceded, “Fine. No 360s.” And since I wasn’t trying to hurt my ankles, or any body part for that matter, I left my bag with them so that I could finally get out onto the court and into the warmup routine that I knew was important to keep as close to normal as possible.
Of course, in this particular scenario, I didn’t have team trainers around to put me through the usual series of stretches and drills. And there wasn’t any real organization going on around me as my teammates for the day put up shots of their own. But as someone who’d literally been bred to play the game, I still knew what I was supposed to be doing, starting with the dribbling work that took me back and forth between the two sidelines a few times over before I stopped to introduce myself to my other teammates and then transitioned into some shooting drills.
“Start close to the rim and work your way to the outside,” was how I’d done it since I was a kid thanks to my parents who were my first coaches and had both been hoopers in their own right.
Mom at USC.
Dad at UCLA.
Mom overseas in Italy.
Dad in the NBA and then later in Italy too which was where they got their second chance at love…
Yeah, they were cute or whatever.
Are still cute or whatever.
But today wasn’t about their love story.
Today was about the superior athletic genes they’d blessed me with and the skills they’d ingrained in me, both of which I was about to use to… oh my God, that man is fine as hell.
I couldn’t even put up another shot because I was so distracted watching, admiring, as the rapper I only knew as “XL” jumped off two feet for an easy dunk. And once the ball went through the net, he picked it up and palmed it with one hand, the way his muscles flexed as he held the ball out in front of him making me bite my lip as I imagined him gripping on something else the same way.
He just… had the hands for it, you know?
Long, thick digits.
Clean from a distance fingernails.
Strong veins that extended all the way up his chocolatey forearms and biceps…
The sound of the buzzer was the only reason I was able to snap out of the trance ol’ boy had me in without even knowing it. And I was glad to discover I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten caught up once I overheard my blue squad teammate, track star Sayler Malone, mutter, “That man know he fine.”
Before I could cosign aloud, our coach started clapping us in, reminding me that there was a game to be played once he addressed our team with a general, “Hey, y’all. Let’s focus up. I know we’re all here to have fun, but I can’t let my little brother beat me at anything, so…”
“Let’s go get this dub then,” I finished for him, Bryson nodding to agree before he went into his game plan that wasn’t much of a plan at all since it wasn’t like we’d had any practices. But I still half-listened anyway, mainly to get confirmation that I was starting before a second buzzer went off signaling that it was officially gametime.
“Alright, y’all. Win on me, win on three. One, two, three…”
“Win!” we shouted like T-Pain on that DJ Khaled track at the command of our coach. Then five of us headed out onto the court, taking a quick moment to shake hands with the red’s squads starters before the ball was tossed in the air by the referee and then tipped my way thanks to G. Griffey.
Now it was really go-time.
As the point guard, both professionally and in this moment, it was my job to survey where everyone was on the floor and then make the right decision as to where the ball should go next. But when I noticed how far off my defender, Khalid, was playing me like I wouldn’t bust his ass, I felt like I had no choice but to teach him a lesson when I pulled up for a three-pointer that went in all-net.
“Hell yeah, Mik!” my teammate, Maverick, shouted, slapping his hand against mine as we jogged back on defense. And after the red team’s possession ended with a dunk from Princeton Lattimore who we all knew better than to get in the way of, my squad was back on offense, Khalid once again leaving me way too much space as I put up another three that made the crowd roar once it swished through the net exactly like the first one.
“You might wanna start guarding me,” I taunted, Khalid responding with a strained smirk as he started jogging down the court. And given that reaction, it was no surprise when he tried to get his lick back a few plays later, his three-point shot catching the tip of my finger for what I knew was a clean block even though the referee still felt the need to blow his whistle.
“Come on, ref. I didn’t even touch him,” I whined, the referee completely ignoring me and my complaint as he logged the foul with the scorer’s table. And I would’ve been lying if I didn’t admit how irritated that shit had me as I moved to stand outside of the three-point line while Khalid took his free throws, the first one going in, the second one bouncing out, and the third one not happening right away because of the red’s team substitution.
The way the air seemed to shift gave me a good idea of who had entered the game. But I still looked back to confirm anyway, only for my heart to skip a beat when my eyes were met with the deep brown gaze of a man who licked his lips then flashed me a grin that had my pussy mimicking the Netflix beat.
Thankfully, the moment couldn’t last any longer than it had, Khalid’s missed third free throw immediately snapping me back to reality once G. Griffey grabbed the rebound and threw an outlet pass my way. But when I turned to dribble the ball up the court, I was surprised to discover that XL was already applying pressure, his defensive stance both surprising and distracting since the slight squat he was in had him showing off a whole lot of thigh.
And had the crotch of his shorts noticeably straining against the dick he couldn’t hide if he wanted to.
That’s where my eyes were when he knocked the ball from my hands, his dick helping him execute a steal that turned into an easy deuce for Snoop Dogwood after XL passed him the ball. And now that I knew this nigga was coming off the bench trying to win MVP, I was forced to compartmentalize his attractiveness for the sake of not losing my team the game, something that was a lot easier said than done since his fine ass was, well, everywhere.
He was playing lockdown defense on everyone he guarded.
He was getting rebounds on both sides of the ball.
He’d even dunked on my poor teammate who hadn’t seen him coming on a backdoor lob.
But it was when he chose to stand next to me at half court during a free throw moment instead of getting in rebounding position that really had me fighting my intrusive thoughts, especially once he used that panty-wetting baritone of his to say, “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Miss. Newsome.”
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