IILICIT AFFAIRS ━━ Lamelo Ball

3.9

Winona Rosario.

Ever since banh mi and Cassandra Drey, Lamelo and I maintained our friendship. Outside of Ayesha, I probably hung out the most with him. We told each other gossip, confided in each other. Sometimes we'd go to the park for a walk. I'd ask him if this outfit I was wearing looked good since I'd be on television. It was simple. He was my closest friend. It was strictly platonic, up until New Years.

Lamelo was planning a big bash for the New Years. I remember asking him why he decided to throw a party when he would be playing mere hours before the party itself. He shrugged it off and said it was for a good time.

The party itself, if I could describe in one word, was deafening. He rented out an AirBnB and it was packed it the brim with 20-somethings. Everyone was there. I was honestly surprised. It was Charlotte, after all. I went alone. I knew Ayesha would be on my ass if she knew I had anything Lamelo-themed going on. I also came late, so by then, all the alcohol was ingested. It's awkward being sober in a room full of drunk people.

I didn't really see anyone familiar, and if I did, I had no reason to approach them. I remember standing awkwardly in a corner with my Pepsi-Vodka-Pink Whitney concoction. Sweaty bodies danced upon each other. Guys awkwardly flirted with girls while Pop Smoke played in the background. But even with all these people, Skyla's presence made itself known.

The times Skyla was with Lamelo, Lamelo was nonchalant. He was chill when Skyla was by his side. It's almost as if she calmed him; neutralized him. He wasn't the life of the party with her, instead he was just the attraction. Your eyes would move with him as he socialized.

But this time around, Lamelo was wild. He was talking shots on shots on shots. He was slurring so loud I could hear him from the opposite side of the room. Perhaps it was because his team just broke a three-game losing streak, but that night, Lamelo was wild. He was vivid. He was roaring.

He spotted me from across the room and instantly made his way toward me. He saw the discomfort in my face immediately. "Hey! Glad you made it," he said.

"Me too," I said awkwardly, bringing the cup closer to my lips. "Uh, where's Skyla?"

"Last minute interview in LA. Dunno why on New's Years but hey! Gotta do what you gotta do," he shrugged. I could smell the alcohol from his lips. "Enough about her, though. How's my pretty girl doing?"

Usually, I'd ignore his comment, but I had just enough alcohol to not mind it. "Awkward. Scary. How do you know so many people?"

"Not me. I know like 10 people here. I told my homies to invite whoever. It's New Year's, baby!" he shouted. "Honestly, tho. It is a lot of people. I had to tell people that I'm here partying, not doing a meet and greet."

Lamelo's friend comes from behind him with a plate of shots. "Yo, take one with me," he says. I take the shot with my free hand. The three of us countdown and take the shot together. "Another one!" he commands, and the three of us repeat the process. I quickly chase the second shot with my concoction. Pepsi's always, always been my chaser.

"You feelin' less nervous?" Lamelo asked.

"A little," I nodded.

"Let's dance!" He started to grab from my corner. "You know, you're lucky you're friends with the person on aux. I know just the song to get you dancing, Anne!"

I raised my eyebrow as he scrolled on his phone. Suddenly, Katy Perry's "California Gurlz" started booming from the speakers. The thing about Lamelo, he knew me. He knew me just as well as Ayesha. He knew my guilty pleasures. He knew how to make me smile. He knew how to keep me addicted. He knew when to be hot or cold. And moments like this make me question if I was the foolish one or if he had just been some kind of master of manipulation.

We dance. Everyone did. We sung out lungs out. Swayed by alcohol, I didn't care about what anyone thought. We took more shots that night. I befriended his teammates. We played drinking games. It felt platonic all until he told me to go upstairs with him. I thought it was innocent, but a small part of me hoped it would mean something more.

We sat on the balcony, just like we were 15 at my sister's debut.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," he said. He looked at me and I knew it by his glance he was drunk. Shit-faced drunk. Don't believe what he says kind of drunk.

"Nice to get out and have fun, you know? All about the balance. Made me forget for a split second that I have a deadline in three days," I smiled.

"Growing up, going into another year of living, you just get more and more beautiful. Sorry if that was sudden, but goddamn, Anne. You're beautiful. Every time I see you, I swear Aphrodite blesses you. It's pitch black but you're glistening," his speech is slurred as he cups my face with his fingers.

"Melo, how many shots have you had tonight?" I remove his hand from my face and I stare into the sky.

"Like... um... I had 5 at the beginning, took like 7 with my homies, had 5 with you, so like 17?"

"Exactly."

"What? I mean it's true. Drunken words are sober thoughts. And those are very sober thoughts. Tell me a sober thought you've been keeping me."

I turn to him. "I regret not trying. With the league and such. I am just so afraid of failure and my weak knees. I was projected number one. I could be in LA right now living out my dream. Instead, I'm writing about other men who have achieved their dreams of playing in the league. They thought I could be the next Moore. Instead my potential is just drifting. I can feel it slip from me."

"It's never too late, Bre. Never," he says. "I haven't gone a day without thinking about you. Truly. Honestly. Even when all that time passed. I never stopped thinking about you. In Lithuania I almost wrote you letters. But I didn't. Even with Skyla, all I can think about was you."

Normally, if I was a decent woman, I would have denied him. I would have let him down and banged his best friend or something. I couldn't. He just pulled me in like that. I gave into my temptations. I wanted to be a good person and let him down, to not hurt another woman. Sure, I was drunk, but I would have done this sober. I would have done this drunk, with a gun to my head, and with complete freedom. Even knowing the consequences.

"My sober thought? I want to kiss you."

He leaned in slowly, his eyes locked into mine. I leaned closer, finally closing the gaps between our lips. It was the first time we'd kiss in over half a decade, and it was if we were making up for lost time. It was passionate, and I had no idea if it was love or lust fuelling the passion. We were breathless by the end of the first kiss, and we just kept kissing. The kiss was the start to the end.

Oh, how I wish I stayed sober.