Strolling into the gym for my first day on the job, and I was assaulted in the face with balls. So. Many. Balls.

Bouncing, sailing, swishing, all moving through the air at high speeds, and I was caught suddenly rethinking my idea of said job that I desperately needed for income. Like, desperately.

Living off of ramen noodles and PB&J's was no cake walk, and I was dying for some cake-any kind. Seriously, red velvet, chocolate, I'd have settled for some damn carrot cake at that point.

And still, I was contemplating pulling a no-call, no-show to this job simply because the amount of balls in this gym, as well as the freakishly tall (and mouthwateringly gorgeous) men handling said balls, were all vastly and irrevocably intimidating. As hell.

It was, however, time to 'suck it up, buttercup', as my mother used to tell me. I was definitely stronger than the need to run screaming from the thought of a sport that held so many chances for me to risk death by basketball. Heaven knows I'd endured far, far worse.

Shoes squeaking on the freshly waxed shiny gym floor and the familiar scent of rubber and sweat filling my lungs, I marched right up to the information desk off to the side of the multiple courts and straightened my shoulders, lifted my chin high and attempted to exude an air of professionalism that I hoped didn't reek of the self doubt that was flowing through my veins like the sugar from the donut I'd inhaled ten minutes prior to walking in.

"How can I help you?"

The woman behind the desk was absolutely, irrevocably, drop dead, ten out of ten gorgeous in every capacity.

Captivating blue eyes, wide and innocent paired with waist length, coiled, shining golden locks, her face was a masterpiece painted with brush strokes of high cheekbones, an adorable button nose, and a creamy clear complexion to die for.

Needless to say, I had a total girl crush.

"I'm Virginia Bruins, today is my first day," I tried to announce in a strong enough voice, but it really came out like a squeaking mouse.

I cleared my throat after that.

She sorted through a stack of paperwork on her desk, blue eyes skipping between me and the players on the court running drills back and forth, back and forth across the gym floor. That looked tiring. One more trip with my eyeballs back and forth across the court and I already needed a nap.

"Okay great, I'm Maddie, and I'm the manager here. You can follow me and we'll get your picture taken for your employee ID, get your paperwork signed, and I'll need a blank voided check for your payroll automatic deposits."

I hadn't met Maddie for my interview. No, that honor was given to the owner of the gym and biggest booster supporter for the school, Chuck Manning, my father's college best friend and former team member for the basketball team of the very school I was currently attending.

The University of Central Miami had the best basketball program in the entire United States, and bred NBA Draft picks like prized Golden-doodles, (a mix between a Golden Retriever and a Poodle. Yes, it's a real thing...).

Why did I know these seemingly niche facts about a sport that I absolutely detested with every fibre of my being?

My wonderful father, the man who always loved and cared for me, protected me and raised me into (what I hoped was) a wonderful eighteen year old woman, decided that I should know the ins and outs of the basketball world. His world.

Being drafted into the NBA before I was born, he spent his entire life focused on one goal: being one of the greats. And he damn sure achieved it.

Until it was all thrown away. One bad night when I was only twelve years old, one car accident, the other driver having had one drink too many, and my mother was killed and my dad was left wheelchair ridden, unable to play his sport the way he used to. He still played on a league every now and then specifically for those in wheelchairs, but he never reached national acclaim ever again, save for those documentaries that happened every few years, recording his fall from fame to handicapped. I hated those interviewers with a passion, for more reasons than one...

"Wait, you're Virginia Bruins. Bruins, as in Mike Bruins? From the Lakers like ten years ago?"

I stared at Maddie blankly, desperate to escape this conversation.

"No, my last name is probably just really popular," I lied to her through my teeth.

It wasn't that I was ashamed of my father's basketball achievements, quite the opposite really, I just didn't want to be treated differently at this new job because of him.

My love-hate relationship with basketball was another story for another day, but needless to say I was desperate in taking this job. My dad was teaching me the value of the dollar, and had made sure that we grew up modestly, but finding a job last minute at the beginning of freshman year with little to no experience was...difficult to say the least, so he'd called in a favor with his resident gym owner and voila! Brand new job for V.

"Hmm, okay. Well, come on, we can take your ID picture here at the front, it's how we make our membership cards," she said while pointing to the small black camera stuck to the front of the desk that jutted out and was at perfect eye level with me.

"Look right here," she instructed, and I did as she asked, following all of her instructions to a T.

Once we were finished with paperwork and my ID, it was time for job duties.

"You'll start today just training, going through everything that you'll need to do for each shift, and then once you get the hang of it we'll let you loose and see how you do. We can start with the courts, looks like the team is done with their morning practice," she announced and I followed her line of sight to all the towering and imposing men gathering their things off of the fold up chairs decorated in UCM garb, the school's traditional blue and green colors proudly displayed throughout the entire court.

A quick survey of them and I was lightheaded. Locking eyes with one of them and I was damn near halfway into an early grave.

A cocky smirk thrown my way and then that was it, I was a puddle of myself that needed to be mopped up and squeezed out into the sink.

Beautiful. He was absolutely beautiful, and though he wasn't as tall as the rest of them, it was almost like he was their unofficial leader. Captain, maybe? He bled confidence in a way that made me envious of the air that he breathed in, because I wanted to be that air. I wanted to be that floor that he walked on, the water bottle that he-oh Jesus, he was squeezing the water bottle on his head, the rivulets of liquid dripping down his honey caramel hair and chiseled body in slow motion and then his shirt was off and I couldn't breathe and then it was just him and me in that room, his body on top of mine and his lips on my flushed and fevered skin until-

"Virginia? Hello? I said we need to start collecting all of their towels and wiping down the surfaces, then we need to get the mops and clean and wax the floors before the next team comes in, as well as a few other things."

"Huh? Oh right, right. Lead the way," I said, body and mind still in a daze even though the second Maddie spoke she broke me out of a reverie that I hadn't allowed myself to entertain, not since my breakup with Jared.

I had a strict policy: emotions and feelings could wait until after my career had lifted off the ground, or at least was pulled up from the grave that it currently resided in. I was only eighteen, but there were teenagers a lot younger than me already receiving critical acclaim for their music, and there I was attending college for a music major that probably wouldn't even help me in the long run, but those were my dad's stipulations.

I had to do it his way, and while it was hard, I respected it, and him.

But I couldn't allow myself to get attached to any man while at school, a rule I hadn't followed in high school, not while there were songs to be recorded, performances to be had, scholarships to be granted and showcases to be won.

But staring at that green eyed, tanned adonis from across the room I began to wonder just how shitty of a plan that really was. Maybe I could just have a taste...or a lick...or two.

A girl could only dream.

~~~