Susanne Novan - Driven

Dylan walked silently into the empty arena, guided by the rhythmic thumping of a basketball. She leaned against the wall and watched for a couple of minutes before strolling further onto the court. Cat caught the ball and turned to face her coach

"Hi," she gasped, breathing hard and blowing out long, slow breaths to calm her racing pulse.

"Hi yourself," Dylan replied, gesturing toward the basket. "That was more than foul shooting. You were really working it."

"Yeah, well I need to get stronger driving into the paint. I don’t do it often, but I can’t be wary when I do."

"True." Dylan scratched above her brow. "Your game is good."

"Not good enough."

"Well, we can always get better." Smiling, she swatted the ball out of Cat’s hands and spun it on one finger. "Just don’t be too hard on yourself, ok?"

"Yeah," Cat chuckled. "Like you’re not."

"Hey! I’m the coach. It’s my job to be hard on myself."

"Hmmph." With a wicked grin, Cat reached out and grabbed the ball back. "Heh. How ‘bout a game? The Goddess against the mortal? First to eleven wins?

Huh?"

Dylan’s grin was even more wicked. "Sure ya wouldn’t rather play shirts vs. skins?"

Cat actually heard her jaw click as it dropped open and hung there. Normally, she wouldn’t have been so wide-eyed, but the unexpected flirtation, coupled with the vision of last night, conspired together to force the expression onto Cat’s face.

Chuckling, Dylan grabbed the ball from Cat’s stunned hands, turned, and arced the ball through the net. She spun on her player, eyes twinkling. "First rule of immortal combat. Create opportunities and take advantage of them."

Cat gave a little grunt as the ball impacted lightly with her flat abdomen. She caught it reflexively and blinked. "You gonna flash me now?"

"Would it work?"

Cat’s look said it all, and Dylan laughed. "I’ll keep that in mind for later, then." She tapped the ball in Cat’s hands. "C’mon. Let’s see what you got."

What Cat had was a move that went exactly two steps into the paint before she was again summarily stripped of the ball and forced to calculate the angle

of the curve made by Dylan’s body as she jammed the ball through the hoop.

"I hate you," she groaned, receiving the ball back.

"Hey. You challenged me, remember?"

"Okay, then. I hate myself."

Dylan laughed softly. "C’mon now. Two-zip. Your ball."

Cat tried. She really did. She tried as hard as she’d ever tried anything in her life. She pulled out every move in the book, invented some on the spot, and none of them worked. Her offense was useless, and her defense was even worse. Of course, they both acknowledged the inherent disparity between a

small point guard and a towering forward with the wingspan of a condor, but still, Cat was determined to prove something.

Whether it was to herself or Dylan, she wasn’t sure.

The more she failed, the more frustrated she became, and the more frustrated she got, the sloppier her game became.

Until she remembered her own words of two nights before. How frustration plays right into the hands of an opponent and is something to be avoided at all

costs.

Remembering this, she tried to relax, deliberately slowing her movements and running the plays through her head instead of relying on brute force and

instinct. She also realized a fundamental truth. No matter how poorly she was playing, even at her best, there was no woman in the world who could do

better against Dylan Lambert. And the only thing she could possibly do, faced with this fantastic opportunity, was play on, knowing she would only get

better.

So intent was she on this new revelation, she completely missed the knowing—and slightly proud—smile on Dylan’s face.

Still, Dylan couldn’t pass up an attempt to razz her player. "Timeclock’s ticking down, shorty. You gonna dribble that ball or are you taking it home for a souvenir?"

Shaken from her reverie, Cat looked up, and grinned at the mirthful eyes gazing at her. Then, taking a deep breath, she made a quick step to her left,

watching Dylan’s feet as she followed. Faking another step, she then executed a perfect spin move, and, spying the backboard in the "V" between Dylan’s head and her outstretched arm, launched an off-balance shot that, miracle of miracles, hit the rim and bounced on through.

"Yes!" Cat huffed, finally scoring her first point.

"Very impressive."

"Thanks!" Then she looked up at Dylan as the ball landed in her hands once again. "It’s your ball."

"Don’t wanna win yet," Dylan remarked, offhand.

Cat chuckled. "Cocky, aren’t ya."

Dylan shrugged. "Confident."

"Hm. Ok, I can go with that."

She tried the same move again, only from the opposite side. As expected, Dylan didn’t fall for the bait. Instead she backed up some, giving Cat a bit more room to maneuver, but also knowing her greater quickness and longer stride could close the gap when needed.

Cat took her time, eyes switching between the basket and Dylan as she calculated angles and her best chance of scoring. Knowing that Dylan’s weaker (if

it could truly be termed that) side was her right, because of her knee, Cat exploited it, making Dylan put constant pressure on the joint in order to move with her as she guarded. Then she crossed over, then crossed over again, and charged toward the basket, full steam ahead.

Dylan managed to slip into a perfect stance a second before Cat hit the mark. She also knew that Cat had no chance of stopping, and that, further, her knee was straining past the limits she felt comfortable with.

Taking in a breath, she allowed Cat to run into her, but instead of bracing herself and chancing the knee, she grabbed Cat around the waist and fell back, hitting the ground hard with her player landing full atop her, nearly driving the breath from her lungs. The basketball skittered by and rolled harmlessly over the endline.

The kiss started slowly, naturally, given the close proximity of their lips, and grew from there into something quickly more heated. The passion, and the challenge, of the game they’d just played transferred itself into another contest, of sorts, as their bodies melded together in the sweat of their labors, each advancing, and giving way, in turn.

Soft moans drifted through the empty arena as each woman lost herself and her will in the taste of the other, in her softness and her heat. What they

shared was raw, urgent, flaring to life between them and within them, leaving no space for softness or for gentleness.

And when it finally ended, they pulled away, breathing heavily, and lay blinking at one another, unable to believe what they had just shared.

"I…um…." Cat choked out, voice rough, cheeks flushed deep with passion.

"Yeah," Dylan returned, not having the breath for anything else.

*******

Cat stepped out of the shower in her apartment, still mumbling ‘oh shit, oh shit, oh shit’. Hamlet lifted his head from the foot of the bed where he was

currently camped out keeping a watchful eye over his mistress. She looked at him as she slipped in her robe and roughly tied the belt into a tight knot.

"How could I be so stupid?"

Hamlet yawned and laid his head back down.

She sat on the edge of her bed, fingers tapping and twitching nervously on her knees. "I need to talk to someone. Mom? No, no, no, bad idea." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let it out slowly. When she opened them she reached for the phone be the bed. Biting her lip she slowly dialed a number

she knew by heart and then put the receiver to her ear.

On the third ring a familiar and very friendly voice answered. "Hello?"

"Lee, it’s Cat."

The voice on the other end was warm and sweet as honey. "Hiya darling. It’s been a while."