Chapter 8: Courtside Heat

“What does a power forward do?”

After sending, I left Messenger to Google it. Logan didn’t reply for a while.

After a while, Logan sent another picture—a team position diagram, obviously hand-drawn on a textbook blank page.

Judging by the background, probably in the library.

Then a long voice message, the sound echoing, but surprisingly pleasant.

“My main job is to grab rebounds. The power forward is the team’s top rebounder, boxes out in the paint, works with the center, but on offense, often helps teammates screen. Basically, rebounds and defense. On help-side, I rotate to cover. Sometimes I pick-and-pop or hit a midrange. Does that make sense?”

He sounded like he was teaching a class, earnest and detailed.

I had just finished checking Google, replied succinctly, “Got it.”

“Can you say a few more words?”

“Understood.”

“...”

“Are you in the bathroom?”

“Yeah, can’t send voice in the library, so I went to the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Woman of few words.”

I didn’t reply again.

I sleep early and soundly, but I dreamed.

Dreamed of that crazy night four years ago.

Logan carried me to the bathroom, sat me on the sink, our eyes met.

In the mirror, Logan kissed my earlobe, leaned close, breathing heavy, asked, “Don’t you like making noise?”

I woke up still remembering my dream words, “Make noise, my ass,” then checked my empty apartment just to make sure I hadn’t said it out loud.

Sunday morning, nine-thirty, Silver Hollow University Gym No. 2, packed with people—the pep band’s brass blared, sneakers squeaked, and the student section chanted on repeat.

The smell of rubber soles and fresh popcorn filled the air. I didn’t arrive early, barely got a seat.

I don’t know why I came.

Drove and somehow ended up at Silver Hollow University.

No ticket, student council kids wouldn’t let me in.

I called, “Xin, I’m at your school to watch a basketball game, can’t get in without a ticket. Are you here?”

Xin Morales is a Spanish professor at Silver Hollow University, also my high school classmate, one of the few friends I still keep in touch with.

Xin arrived quickly, carrying a work badge.

I squinted, “Nice.”

Xin took me to the event area, curious, “Why did a busy person like you come to watch basketball?” She clipped a guest wristband on my wrist like a pro.

“Had free time, so came.”

“Know anyone on the team?”

“Mm, Logan Carter.”

Xin exclaimed, “He’s our department’s star.”

“Spanish department?”

“Yeah, hard to tell, right? Tall guy, studies languages. Good grades, I taught him in undergrad, then he got into grad school here, graduating this year. He TA’d conversation lab for a while. How do you know him?”

I glared at her, “You talk too much.”

Xin snorted, “Never saw you interested in any guy before.”

I was in a good mood, talked more. “What do you want to hear?”

“You know what I want to hear, skip the formalities.”

I leaned closer, “Nothing much, just slept together.”

Xin was stunned, silent for a long time, speechless, finally gave me a thumbs up, mouthed: “Awesome.”

I didn’t reply, the cheers in the stadium reached a new peak.

Basketball players came out.

Logan walked last, carrying a sports bag, looking down at his shoes, followed his teammates toward me and Xin.

“Sign in here.” Xin waved to the players.

I moved to the back, found an empty seat, watched Logan put down his bag, sign his name, quietly waited for him to look up.

From this angle, I bet he’d see me.

Sure enough, I saw surprise and joy in Logan’s eyes.

Almost immediately, he put down his pen and walked into the event area. The place wasn’t big, and with such a big guy inside, it felt crowded.

“Why did you come?” He leaned down, hands on his knees. At this height, I had to look up slightly.

“I said I’d come if I had time, so here I am.”

“You came to cheer for me?”

I realized, whenever Logan spoke, I felt like talking to a kid asking for candy, not something you judge by IQ.

“Who else do I know on the court?”

Logan grinned, “No one.”

Xin reminded, “Time to play.”

I pursed my lips, “Go, good luck.”

Logan stood, “Will you wait for my game to finish?”

I nodded, “I’ll wait.”

Logan left the event area.

The game started quickly. Xin sat next to me, “Logan Carter seems so soft.”

“Soft?” The word sounded weird, I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Like a puppy. Gosh, seeing such a big guy act like a puppy around you gives me goosebumps.”

“Oh. I think he’s alright.”

After that, I focused on the game.

On court, Logan was a different person—decisive and fierce. He grabbed rebounds well, defense was solid, slid into help defense, didn’t hog the ball on offense, set picks and did a clean pick-and-pop, passed to the small forward, moved around outside the paint, sometimes shot from distance, high accuracy. This not only strengthened the team’s defense but made the opposing Tech University wary of his scoring.

Watching Logan on court, even though he was often blocked, whenever he jumped and roared, my heart started boiling again.

The visual impact he gave me was too strong!

Doomed.

Like a vortex, sucking back all my old feelings bit by bit.

End of first half.

Silver Hollow led by a wide margin.

The cheerleaders behind me kept shouting players’ names, especially Logan Carter.

But I didn’t finish watching, got a call from the department, urgent work.

When Logan came over, I had just packed up. I could feel his sudden nervousness, he asked softly, “Where are you going?”

I told him honestly, “Urgent meeting, have to go. I’ll text you.”

Logan watched Autumn quickly leave the crowd, feeling empty inside.

Xin patted his arm, sweaty. “Focus on the game, nothing you can do, she made time to come watch.”

Logan sent a Messenger message, then was called by the coach to discuss tactics.

To keep the upper hand from the first half, the coach told Logan to switch from defense to offense, use his explosiveness and footwork, go for solo scores, don’t hold back.

Second half was intense. Logan missed two consecutive three-pointers, score got closer.

Getting anxious, Logan fouled, free throw.

Teammate encouraged, “Logan, stay calm, we can win.”

A beautiful shot, basket made.

Logan calmed down, remembered the coach’s tactics, rallied.

In the end, Silver Hollow University won the college basketball championship by a narrow margin with a decisive three-pointer from Logan Carter.

When I saw the message, it was almost six in the evening, after two meetings, my wrist was sore.

Logan sent a photo of the score—Silver Hollow won.

Next message, “Game’s over, can I come see you?”

I rested a while, fingers recovered, typed: “Sure, come over, I’m ready.”

Logan replied instantly, “I’m sitting in the hospital lobby.”

Seeing that, my heart trembled. “Wait a bit.”

When I walked out, I saw Logan with his backpack standing in front of the hospital staff board, looking for something. I didn’t rush to call him, walked over slowly.

Logan didn’t notice me, carefully searching, like looking for something.

“Ah, found it,” he said in surprise.

Then pulled out his phone, aimed at a photo, adjusted focus to avoid other pictures. He blurted, “Wanted to brag about my doctor to the guys—may I take this?”

I looked in that direction.

It was my photo.

“Ahem.” I caughed to remind him.

Logan panicked like a deer, withdrew the camera, turned around awkwardly, raised his hand. “Hi!” I gave him a tiny nod—permission granted this once.

“Let’s go. I’m not hungry,” I said.

Logan thought for a bit. “Then you say, what do you want to do?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Want to play basketball. Still have energy?”

Logan patted his chest. “Could play another match.”

Logan was happy, but had a private motive, didn’t want to go somewhere crowded.

He took me to a lit basketball court in a residential area—at dinner time, so no one was there.

The breeze smelled like grilling steaks from nearby patios. The court lights cast long shadows.

“How do you want to play?”

I weighed the ball, looked at Logan and the hoop. “How do you shoot a three-pointer? Need a lot of strength?”

Logan took the ball, stood at the three-point line, demonstrated, feet steady, ready to jump. “Three-pointers need strength, don’t force it, aim for the far point of the rim, get the angle right, practice more. In games, it’s mostly muscle memory.”

“Whoosh—” The ball hit the rim, spun, dropped in perfectly.

“Try it, stand where I did.”

Logan stepped back, let me stand in front. As I raised my hand, he held my hand in place, his palm wide and warm, my hand felt tiny next to his.

He’s really good at this.

Doesn’t even know it?

Who knows.

“Just this angle, throw, can jump for power.”

I knew my posture wasn’t great, but too late.

The ball flew, but I didn’t get the rhythm, fell short of the rim.

“It’s fine, already good.” Logan ran to pick up the ball.

On the way back, Logan’s eyes lit up. “Want to try dunking?”

I widened my eyes. “Dunk?”

“Want to try?”

I looked at him, squinted. “You mean holding me to dunk?”

Logan shook his head, still smiling. “No. Ride on my shoulders.”

I was surprised. “Ah? Ah—”

Suddenly my feet left the ground, a feeling of weightlessness. I instinctively hugged Logan’s head.

I panicked. “Slow down, I’ll fall.”

Logan slowed, held my legs with one hand, came under the hoop, handed me the ball with the other.

“Go ahead, dunk as many times as you want.”

I snorted. “Done this with many girls?”

Logan looked aggrieved. “Swear to God, you’re the first.”

Logan thought, With Autumn, no other girl compares.

I said, “Can you squat with me on your shoulders?”

“Of course, you’re light.”

He did it right away, up and down, made me dizzy. I quickly stopped, “Enough, enough. Put me down.”

Logan stood up, but didn’t move right away, hesitated, obviously had something to say.

“Autumn, um, um, um...”

“What um?”

“Now that I’ve found you—actually, you were my first, and it mattered. There hasn’t been anyone else like that. So you get what I mean?”

I nodded. “Got it.”

Logan was anxious. “And then?”

He was all in—if Autumn didn’t give him an answer tonight, he wouldn’t let her down.

I dunked the ball again, empty-handed.

Eyes drifting, looking at the top of his head, silent for a while, then that strong vortex feeling came again. I really wanted to go back to four years ago.

Thirty years old, time to go wild once. Besides, I have no reason not to be moved. In the morning game, every time Logan stopped, he glanced at the event area, even if just half a second, I noticed.

When the cheerleaders shouted his name, when all the girls cheered for him, the only one he cared about was me.

Totally satisfied.

Totally moved.

I thought, since we ended with something, let’s start again from there.

So I leaned down, hugged his head, whispered in his ear, “Stopped the carriage to love the maple woods at dusk, frost leaves redder than spring flowers. This time, I’m not leaving.”