Unknown - Driven_589066

Wrinkling her nose at the unappetizing sentiment, Hodge hurriedly signed the card and pushed it across to the grinning man. “There ya go.”

“Right on!” He looked hurriedly around the apartment, then back to Hodge. “Say, you don’t happen to have anything with that coach of yours’ autograph on

it, do ya? Man, talk about stacked!”

The growling sound coming from his throat caused Hodge’s nose to wrinkle again. “Uh..no. Sorry.”

“Damn,” the man sighed. “Oh well, if ya ever do, let me know, will ya? Name’s on the invoice.”

Hodge plastered a bright, if totally false, smile on her face. “I’ll do that,” she said, taking his arm and leading him to the door.

An hour later, the cable guy, who actually turned out to be a very nice looking woman, showed up. Hodge grinned happily as she lead the woman into the

living room.

“You know, you’re the only on who’s been on time,” she commented, eyeing the attractive young woman.

“Only one?”

“Sorry, utilities. Everyone else has been a day late.”

“Figures.” She stripped a wire and then crimped and end into place. “We have a policy that if we’re not here when we say, your first month’s service is free.

Boss hates giving away free things.”

Cat chuckled and leaned on the kitchen side of the bar, looking at the nice view the installer presented her as she bent over to make the connection. “I’ll

bet.”

The installer smiled to herself, well aware she was being watched. She fiddled with the connection a little longer than she needed to, then slowly

straightened and turned, bestowing her very attractive customer with a rakish grin. Walking over, she gave Hodge the new remote and a business card.

“You should be all set. If you ever need…anything…call the number on this card and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

“I’m sure you will,” Hodge replied, treating the woman to a flirtatious grin and deliberately brushing her fingers against those which held the business card.

The cable installer flushed a brilliant red and Hodge pulled back, a bit chagrinned to have flustered the other woman. Clearing her throat, she gave a more

genuine, friendly smile. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “I really appreciate your assistance.”

“N-no problem,” the installer all but squeaked. She edged toward the door. “I’ve…uh…gotta run. Another appointment, don’t wanna be late.”

“Boss hates giving away free stuff. I remember.”

“Yeah. Well..um…see you around.”

“See you,” Hodge replied, grinning as the slightly older woman slipped quickly out of the apartment.

The door closed, and Hodge put her hands on her hips, laughing. “I feel like I just woke up in the Twilight Zone.”

Dressed in her practice jersey and a pair of long black shorts, her duffle bag over her shoulder, Hodge walked into the Horace T. Johnson Arena. The venue

was only three years old, and sparkled with newness. Showing Johnson’s ambition, it had seats for forty thousand, even though the average home

attendance was usually five to ten thousand fewer per game. Mirrored plexiglass fronted several exclusive—and expensive—skyboxes put there for the

enjoyment of the rich and famous.

The court itself was varnished to a high, glossy shine. The butter colored wood was pleasing to the eye, though it contrasted less than wonderfully with the

giant purple and black badger logo in the direct center.

The key, end and sidelines were a deep black stripe, while the three point arc was a deep purple. The nets were stiff and brilliant in their virgin whiteness,

hung around deep red rims attached to clear plexiglass backboards.

The soles of Hodge’s basketball shoes squeaked loudly in the almost oppressive silence, and she spared a moment to wipe off the excess moisture with

her hands before moving toward the brightly lit locker room.

“Oh, I can see I’m gonna be hating this color scheme in about a week,” she remarked softly as she entered the huge purple and black locker room. “God,

this looks like a bad LSD trip!”

The floor was black tile, the ceiling purple cork. The lockers stood at silent attention, like soldiers dressed, alternately, in black and purple uniforms, ready

for war. Near the far corner, Hodge spied her locker, painted a gleaming black. Her name was at eye level, printed carefully on a blinding white strip of

con-tac paper with her jersey number beneath it. Setting her duffle on the bench, she opened the good-sized locker and saw the rest of her uniforms

waiting complacently.

“Not bad,” she murmured, running her fingers across the soft fabric and imagining the day—not so far away now—when she’d have the pleasure of

donning one for real. For just a moment, the noise of an excited crowd floated into her mind, interspersed with the sounds of basketballs being bounced on

varnished courts and slipping through stiffened nets. A beautiful smile curved her lips—the smile of a child on Christmas morning.

Her daydream was interrupted by a soft clearing of the throat, and when she turned, she saw a tall woman, perhaps two or three years older than her,

looking at her with a shy smile. “Hello,” the woman said in heavily accented, though easily understood, English.

“Hello,” Cat replied, smiling.

The woman took a step forward, long fingers fumbling with the straps to her duffel. “You are… Ecaterina Hodges, yes?”

Cat’s smile broadened. “Yes, I am.”

The woman looked relieved. “I thought so. I…saw you on television. You are very good.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment of silence before the woman’s head ducked, and she blushed. “I am sorry. My manners….” One hand came away from the duffel and

extended as the woman approached. “I am Anya Seletskaya. From Belarus. I am here to try out for a place on the Badgers.”

Hodge immediately gripped the young woman’s hand, giving it a firm shake. “It’s very good to meet you, Anya.”

“And is good to meet you as well.” Anya looked around, as if for the first time. Her lips pinched inward as her eyes widened. “This is….”

“Dead ugly,” Cat finished for her, grinning.

Anya looked at her, surprised, then laughed. “I’ve seen uglier,” she commented, “but never on purpose!”

Noises from behind them stirred the two women into action, and they packed their gear in their lockers, then turned and eased their way through the small

crowd of chattering young woman entering the locker room, arms spilling with gear.

A moment later, they were both on the court and, with the ease of long habit, Hodge moved to one sideline and began her stretching routine, smiling as

Anya joined her. Her body submitted to the gentle stretching without complaint, despite the enforced break in her usual routine. She’d taken Dylan’s words

to heart, however, and no matter the details of her day, managed to put in at least three miles worth of running each morning. She knew the extra effort

would be worth the annoyance endured. She’d never been that fond of distance running.

As she stretched, her eyes idly captured her teammates as they streamed onto the court, laughing and jesting with one another without a seeming care in

the world. Part of her envied them their lightheartedness. Her breakfast of dry toast and juice was sitting leaden in her belly as skitters of nervous

anticipation danced over her slowly warming muscles.

The laughter and talk that echoed through the massive arena slowly faded away as two women, both in their early thirties and dressed identically in black

nylon sweats and golf shirts, entered the venue, whistles around their necks and basketballs under their arms. Hodge recognized the first woman easily,