Pride

Epilogue

"This is impossible! How do people do this?"

I grin at my whining boyfriend. "Practice."

Jordan scowls at the basketball innocently rolling away from him. "The ball doesn't even want to be near me. It's repelled by my complete and utter inability to be even remotely competent at this."

"You just need to play more," I assure him, grabbing the ball and dribbling it as I casually jog across the court, shooting at the basket and making a layup. When I recover the ball and look back at Jordan, his glower has deepened.

"That's unfair."

"If you devoted all of the time you spend playing football to playing basketball, you'd be great," I tell him. "Sure, there's some natural talent involved, but anyone can get good if they try hard enough."

He mutters something under his breath and I grin to myself before passing him the ball again. He catches it and dribbles halfheartedly (I have to restrain myself from calling him out on traveling several times) until he's closer to the basket. He squints up, throws the ball, and glares as he completely misses. I wrap my arms around him from behind. "Don't get so worked up over it. You can do everything else. All you need to practice is shooting."

"It feels so wrong," he whines. "The ball is way too big. Basketballs are basically just glorified beach balls."

"Beach balls aren't firm enough to dribble well. And they're too light. But that's not the point, the point is that you're perfectly competent at basketball. Just not shooting. Which makes sense, since it's so different from throwing a football, which is what you're used to."

He leans into me, turning his head so he can peck my cheek. "When are we going to play football? You'd probably be better at that than I am at this. It's basically just catching a ball and then running, it's very simple."

"And dodging, tackling, blocking, and in some cases, kicking. And the 'catching a ball' isn't necessarily as easy as it is in basketball."

He makes a face. "It's not hard, though. I can throw it right to you. It'll fall right into your arms. Nate'll tell you how easy it is."

"You and Nate communicate telepathically during your football games. And you've been practicing together for three years. Practice is key."

"You know, I tell my parents that sometimes, when they get mad about my practice schedule. And then they get mad at me for talking back."

I kiss his cheek. "Alright, so you don't like basketball. Got it."

He gives me a cheeky grin. "If I was good at it, then I'd like it."

"If you practiced, you'd be good at it."

"If I liked it, then I'd practice."

I sigh, though it's hard to keep a small smile off my face. "Fine. Football, then?"

His face lights up. "Yes."

"Don't expect me to be good at it," I warn him as we start towards the car.

He waves dismissively. "You can't be any worse than I am at basketball."

"Save your judgement until you've seen me play."

"If you insist."

I reach into my pocket to for the key fob, unlocking the car. Jordan opens the passenger door, grabbing a football and closing the door again, starting towards the open field without waiting for me to follow. I lock the doors again and jog up behind him, seeing the pure excitement written all over his face. I'm a little apprehensive because I know that he's probably going to be less thrilled when he sees how bad I am, but I decide to worry about that later.