Unknown - Driven_589066

Mac looked down to see a fresh-faced, attractive green-eyed blonde woman staring back up at him, the grin on her face an interesting mixture of

sweetness and deadly intensity. As he scanned her statistics, his heart first rose, than sank as her name rang a bell.

“Dylan…”

“She’s the best point guard in the game, Mac.”

“She’s also five foot five!”

“So? There are at least ten others in the league her height, and they’re doing just fine.”

“Yeah, but the difference is that those teams didn’t have any choice but to draft them! You’ve got the number one pick and a whole slew of point guards to

choose from, Dylan! Why not Keisha Brown? She’s got a sweet shot, and she’s four inches taller!”

“Lousy attitude.”

Mac sighed. “Well, what about one of the Jackson twins?”

“Lazy.”

“Both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Nissa Tomalin? You have to admit she’s an outstanding player.”

“Sure she is. It’s her personal life that’s gone to hell.”

“She beat that rap, Dylan.”

“No.”

“But…”

“I said no, Mac. Catherine Hodges is the one I want. She’s got class, she’s got game, and she’ll make the Badgers into winners.”

Mac opened his mouth, then closed it again. What he had to say next made him feel all kinds of a bigot, but it needed to be said nonetheless. “Dylan…

she’s gay.”

The blue eyes that turned to him had an expression that made his balls shrivel up. “Who she sleeps with is not my concern, Mac. What she does on the

court is.”

“It might not be your concern, Dylan, but did you forget about the man who owns this team? The man who is, on issues like this, so far to the right that Pat

Robertson looks like a Commie standing next to him? He’ll never go for this, not in a million years.”

“My orders are to turn this team into a winner. Without Hodges, that won’t happen. Period. Either he wants to win, or he wants to be an asshole. It’s his

choice.”

“Dylan…”

Dylan turned in her seat, facing him directly, clearly annoyed. “Listen, Mac. You’re the General Manager. So do your goddamn job and convince him that

I’m right on this.”

“How can I do that when I’m not even sure you’re right?!”

Dylan’s long arm flung out wide. “Look at her, damnit! Look at her play, then tell me with a straight face that there is anyone out there who even comes

close to her.”

Though technically her superior, Mac knew an order when he heard one, and so obediently turned to watch the game in progress. Not more than a minute

later, the diminutive Husky stole ball from her opposing point guard, dribbled the length of the court and fed a no-look pass to her trailing forward that

would have made some members of the NBA green with envy.

Mac’s shoulders slumped. Dylan was right. Again. And though he loved her like the daughter he never had, he hated it that she was always right.

Dylan had the good grace not to smirk as Mac conceded his defeat by standing, head lowered. “I’ll talk to him, D. God knows I can’t promise anything, but

I’ll talk to him.”

Her acceptance was gracious. “Thank you,” she said, simply and sincerely.

He nodded. “Now, will you please come up to the box with me??”

Grinning, she rose easily from her seat, twitching her coat into place and stepping into the aisle. As Mac began to climb the stairs toward the sky boxes,

Dylan turned to stare, one last time, down onto the court, eyes narrowing as they tracked Catherine Hodges the length of the court and back.

Her smile bloomed again.

Catherine Frances Hodges, known as Hodge to her teammates, felt herself being carried along in the flow of an overjoyed crowd, heading back to the

locker room. The cheers of the audience could still be heard in the background, but they were fading quickly, drowned out by the whoops and hollers of the

players and staff making their way down the long, brightly lit hall.

Hodge could only grin like the cat that ate the canary as she toweled her face dry, made wet from the combination of sweat and some liquid that had been

dumped on her when her teammates and most of the fans charged the court.

“Phe-fucking-nominal Hodge!” Kellie Wilkes, six feet of exuberant center, easily lifted the much shorter Hodges off the ground and carried her the rest of

the way to the locker room.

As they burst through the door, the rest of the team and staff renewed their catcalls and cheering.

“Our hero!” Kellie yelled, spinning her friend around several times before returning her to the floor.

“Oh please,” Hodge grinned, trying to scrub the blush from her face as she waited for the world to stop spinning around her.

“Oh please is right!” Tonya Burns, power forward, stepped into the fray with a hairbrush-cum-microphone in her hand. “So, Catherine Hodges, your last

second shot at the buzzer has taken you team into the history books with an NCAA Championship. What are you gonna do next?”

The small player laughed and looked at her friends standing around her. “I’m going to Disneyland!”

The room roared with laughter as congratulations continued to circulate. Each person took their turn clapping Hodge on the back, or snapping her rear end

with damp towels, to the general hilarity of all.

Though she enjoyed the adulation of her teammates, and the pure adrenaline rush that came with winning the long-coveted title, Hodge found herself

wishing for a shower. She was hot, she was sweaty, and she was sticky, and as soon as she found out who had upended a jug of Gatorade over her head,

there would be hell to pay.

Until that time, however, a little alone time in a nice hot shower would do the trick nicely. Managing to slip away, she headed for the showers and was

soon delighting in the feel of the hot water pounding her body and loosening muscles just beginning to stiffen. Bracing herself against the wall, she

dropped her head and just let the water beat her neck and shoulders.

“Oh Hodgie…”

She groaned at the singsong sound of her name. Slowly she raised her head, spitting out the water flowing over her face. Opening her eyes she saw Marlie

Edgars, one of the assistant coaches, grinning at her with an ‘I’ve got a secret’ expression.

“What’s up, Coach?”

“Did you by any chance notice who was in the crowd tonight?”

“I was kinda busy, Coach. You know, playing and all?”

“Smart ass. C’mon, try to guess.”

Grabbing the towel her coach held out to her, Hodge sighed and began drying her hair. “Hmmm about 35,000 of our biggest fans?”

“34, 999 of our biggest fans and,” she paused, grinning from ear to ear, “The Goddess.”

The towel was slowly lowered from her face, and a wide eyed kid looking every bit of twelve stared back at the coach. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. She was mid court, a few rows above floor level. Watching you like a hawk, short stuff.”

Hodge snorted. “Right, Dylan Lambert was here scoping out my talent tonight.” Green eyes rolled. “Come on Coach I won the game, why do you have to

torture me?”

“I’m serious Hodge. Lambert was here and she was taking notes.”

“You are serious,” Hodge replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

“As a heart attack, kid.”

“Ohhhh shit!”

The coach grinned. “Congratulations, Kitty Cat. You just might be the first to go come draft day.”

So struck was she with the news, Hodge actually let the coach get away with using her detested nickname, which was, in and of itself, a minor miracle.