Neighborhood.

[Soapy]

Beach Cruiser - Episode 11
“My bad, y’all,” Keshawn stammered as he fumbled with his keys, locking the door behind him as he tried to avoid eye contact with Tommy and Alexis, both sitting on the couch.

The television was on but the volume was low, evident that no one was watching. The kitchen lights were on but the living room wasn’t, providing the perfect intimate backdrop from where they were sitting. Tommy was leaned back into the couch while Alexis sat up right, not a hair out of place as she looked towards Keshawn with a lingering look.

“What’s good, bro?” Tommy muttered, grabbing his phone from his pocket, “Stef sleeping over at his girl if you’re looking for him.”

Keshawn took the hint, nodding his head as he hurried to his room, closing the door behind him. The summer was coming to a close and with it, Keshawn’s first semester at UCLA. It was simultaneously a drag and a blur, the early morning workouts blending together to form a monotonous, tedious ritual that was now second nature while the string of lectures, online quizzes and exams at the library seemed to be a never ending cycle.

He threw his bag on the bed and slid into the chair in front his desk, propping open his laptop before navigating through his usual cycle of websites: sports blog, video game forums and YouTube. He had pulled out his phone and clicked on the ‘Tinder’ app when he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening and closing.

Tommy had struck out, he thought to himself, still a bit puzzled about his situation with Alexis. It had been weeks since the yacht and while Alexis was ever present in their apartment, she made no notice of Keshawn, only muttering the occasional greeting if others were also around.

Just as Keshawn began swiping through his phone, he heard a knock on the door. He expected Tommy to be standing at the door frame, inviting him to play a game of FIFA as they usually when Stefan wasn’t around to steer them towards NBA 2K or Madden. Instead, it was Alexis.

“Hey,” she said, walking in and taking a seat on his bed. Keshawn remained frozen at the door, processing it all.

“Hey,” he said, more of a question than a greeting.

She looked around his room, taking it all in, no doubt taking notice of the subtle and not so subtle differences between his room and Tommy’s, which were plenty. Keshawn was suddenly aware of the stack of clothes on the edge of the bed or his basketball shoes that littered the floor. He stopped himself from picking them up, realizing it would only bring more attention to them.

“So…Tommy went to score,” she explained, her eyes still navigating around the room, “You’re a freshman, right?”

“Yeah,” Keshawn replied, leaning up against the door.

“Tracks,” she let out a wry laugh, adding to Keshawn’s confusion, “You want to come with?”

“Come where?"

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, “Probably the parking garage or a park somewhere. I don’t go here, remember?”

“Right,” Keshawn had to remind himself, given her constant presence at their apartment, sometimes multiple times a week, “I don’t really smoke.”

“You don’t really smoke or you don’t smoke?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not my thing,” Keshawn answered, unsure if he should sit next to her or remain frozen by the door. He chose the latter.

“We can take some shots then,” she suggested, “I know that’s your thing or is that only when you have some Latina on your arm?”

“What are you talking about?” Keshawn scoffed, “Gloria?”

"No need to iron your cape, Black man,” she laughed, “I’m sure she’s got that Spanish girl fire that y’all seem to love and lap up. Don’t let it be a Black woman though and it’s just some nagging ass hoe.”

“That was a lot of projecting,” Keshawn fired back, using a playful tone to mask it, “I don’t know if you’re in any position to speak on it though.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “We can take some shots, though.”

“That’s all I wanted to hear, champ.”

…

Angela leaned against a wall in the crowded basement of a brownstone just off Howard University's campus, nursing a plastic cup of something too sweet and definitely too strong. The bass from the speakers vibrated through her body as she surveyed the room filled with swaying bodies and flashing colored lights.

“This what you’ve been missing all summer!” Ronnie shouted over the music, his easy smile wide as he handed her another drink.

Angela rolled her eyes but accepted it, chugging her previous drink. "I'm here, aren't I? You can stop reminding me every five minutes."

After weeks of Ronnie's persistent invitations, she'd finally given in. The Caribbean Student Union's "Wine & Whine" party was in full swing, couples grinding to the pulsing soca beats, bodies pressed close in the humid basement.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Ronnie nodded approvingly as she took a long sip. "I know your ass ain’t come all the way to Chocolate City to stay in your dorm every night. You could have done that in Cali, Ang.”

Angela shifted uncomfortably as a couple next to her moved in perfect rhythm, the girl's hips rolling against her partner in a way that made Angela feel both envious and out of place. The whining—the distinctive hip-rolling dance style—was everywhere, reminding her how much of an outsider she felt.

"It’s crazy that I’ve never seen any of these people and they go to the same school," she muttered.

"That’s what happens when you just go from your class to your room," Ronnie teased, “Last one, I promise but for real, I know you’ve got plenty of ideas in that head of yours to get some Black Excellence shit popping on campus but you need to feel the soil, touch the people.”

Angela drained her cup, feeling the alcohol warm her from within. "Maybe we have different definitions of touching the people.”

Ronnie's smile faltered slightly. "Not everything has to be a protest or a meeting, Ang. Sometimes building community means just... being together. Having fun."

The music shifted to a familiar dancehall track that had everyone cheering. Angela felt the alcohol loosening her limbs, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"C'mon," Ronnie extended his hand. "One dance. Then you can go back to judging everybody."

Angela hesitated, then set her empty cup down on a nearby speaker. "Fine. One dance."

Angela let herself be pulled closer, the rhythm finally finding its way into her body. "I'm trying," she said, and for the first time that night, she meant it.

…

"I still can't believe were were right in the middle of it," Judy said, tucking her legs beneath her on Nadia's dorm room floor. "When I saw it on the news, I didn’t realize how fucking crazy it got.”

Nadia's dorm room was crowded with her three roommates, all of them sprawled across various surfaces with empty dining hall takeout trays and half-finished cans of White Claw scattered between them. The TV played quietly in the background, some reality show none of them were actually watching.

"It wasn't supposed to get that crazy," Nadia sighed, wrapping her cardigan tighter around herself. "One minute we were just standing there with signs, and the next..."

"The next minute you was wrapped up in that man’s arm," Tamara interrupted with a mischievous grin. She dramatically clutched her chest and batted her eyelashes. "Oh, Keshawn! My hero!"

Chloe snorted into her drink. "You’re terrible, Tam."

"No, please continue," Judy urged, leaning forward eagerly. "I want all the details about how he swept you out of danger."

Nadia felt her cheeks flush. "It wasn't like that. He just happened to be there."

"Just happened to be there," Tamara repeated skeptically. "And just happened to pull you away right before those pepper spray canisters went off. And just happened to shield you with his gigantic ass.”

Nadia playfully threw a pillow at her. "There’s nothing there.”

"Sure, sure," Judy nodded, clearly unconvinced. "I’m sure you wouldn’t mind climbing that tree.”

"Did he text you after?" Tamara asked, grabbing Nadia's phone from the nightstand. "Let me see."

"Give me that!" Nadia lunged for her phone, but Tamara held it out of reach.

"Girl, where is this nigga?” Tamara kept scrolling to no avail.

“He doesn’t have my number,” she grabbed her phone back, “Why would he? Like I said, nothing there.”

“I know you like chocolate,” Tamara sucked her teeth, “What’s the problem?”

"I’m not dating a basketball player,” she explained, “That’s like asking for problems.”

“Who said anything about dating, bitch?” Tamara teased, “Not to be a messy bitch but you can do a lot worse than that nigga and you have. Clayton, really?”

“Clayton’s nice,” Chloe chimed in, “What’s wrong with Clayton?”

“You make love to Clayton at thirty,” Judy explained, “You fuck Keshawn at twenty.”

[Caesar]

Just diabolical work in the last chapter

[Soapy]

Just diabolical work in the last chapter

definitely a musty update

[Soapy]

Beach Cruiser - Episode 12 (Season Finale)
“Fuck,” Keshawn muttered to himself as he started at the ceiling, closing his eyes in an attempt to stop the room from spinning but it only made it worse.

The night that was previously forecasted to include some Netflix, maybe some video games and a late pizza order had turned into something completely different as Keshawn, Tommy and Alexis galivanted around campus, looking for a quite place. The irony was that they had left the perfect venue for such a thing — their apartment dorm — and instead roamed campus for hours, taking turns on the cutesy flask that Alexis had brought, fill to the brim with gin of all drinks.

Keshawn didn’t partake in the smoking but he might as well have, getting cross-faded off the contact high which hit him as soon as they reached back to their apartment. Tommy and Alexis crashed on the couch while Keshawn retreated to his room, stumbling his way into his bed where he would crash — literally — for the first hour or so.

He was half-asleep and fully drugged when he heard the sound of his door opening. He could only muster up the energy to tilt his head, catching a quick glimpse of the light from the hallway before it was promptly closed. He opened his mouth to mutter a few words but nothing came out as he laid his head back down, the room starting to settle into its axis.

He could feel the tug of the sheets as warmth approached him, a familiar scent engulfing him as her body pressed against his.

“What are you doing?” he managed to mutter as she pulled on his pants.

“Don’t ruin this,” Alexis whispered, her head disappearing underneath the sheets as she gave him a warm welcome to fill him right below the navel.

…

Dro stepped through the side entrance of an abandoned warehouse, which were a dime a dozen just a few hours north of South Central. The smell of rust and motor oil hung in the air as his footsteps echoed across the concrete floor.

"I’m not too keen on waiting," came a voice from the darkness.

Dro's jaw tightened, having grown tired of the subtle and not so subtle digs. "I’m here, ain’t I?”

A figure emerged from behind a stack of empty pallets. Tall with arms covered in tattoos that made his ideologies and views on society very clear with the customary a bald head. A Wood, through and through.

"Punctuality is the highest form of respect," Hunter said, placing a duffel bag on a metal table.

Dro opted to ignore him, leaning on the very ignorance that allowed their partnership to co-exist despite the obvious contradictions.

"Let me see what you got," Dro replied, unzipping the bag.

Hunter leaned against the table. "If you had told me that you needed some flake, I could have gotten you a lot better deal than whatever Morrow is selling you, Black tax and all.”

Dro's hands froze over the assortment of steel. "What deal?”

"Sounds like you’re not exactly on top of your operation,” he amused himself, “One of your little ‘homies’ inside has been asking around for a new source, inside and outside. I figured it was you making a play and for a half a second there, I was offended that you didn’t come to me first but now I can see that you might not run things after all.”

A muscle in Dro's jaw twitched as his minds raced with possibilities, trying to put on a strong face. This partnership with Hunter was off the books and along with suspension of beliefs on who was the superior race, it also relied on their mutual understanding that despite it being a side deal, any sort of reneging — or renigging if you asked Hunter and his compatriots — would still come with serious repercussions. Without that belief on Hunter’s side, Dro was ripe for the scamming.

"Whoever been asking around don’t speak for the set," Dro said firmly, examining a 9mm with practiced hands, “If the motherfucker wants to end up owing y’all a shitload of money with product he can’t and won’t move, more power to him. Sounds like easy money for y’all.”

Hunter shrugged. "Just passing information. I would hate to see our understanding come to an abrupt end because you aren’t taking care of your house.”

"We good on price?" Dro asked, refocusing on the transaction at hand.

"Twenty-five for the lot. Clean pieces, no history. Sounds like you’re going to need plenty more.”

…

Keshawn's legs felt like concrete pillars as he struggled through another defensive slide drill. His head pounded with each step, a cruel reminder of last night's — and this morning’s — adventure. Coach Taylor's whistle pierced through his skull like a hot knife.

"Chase! Move your fucking feet, son!”

Keshawn winced, both from the volume and the accuracy of the assessment. His stomach lurched dangerously as he pushed through another repetition, eyes darting periodically to where Tommy was running drills on the other side of the court.

When he'd finally dragged himself out of bed that morning, Alexis was gone, but the scent of her perfume lingered on his sheets. He'd found Tommy in the kitchen, making coffee with bloodshot eyes and a wry smile.

"Rough night, huh?" Tommy had said, sliding a mug toward him.

Keshawn couldn't read his tone. Was it just about the drinking, or something else? The uncertainty gnawed at him now as sweat dripped down his back. It was not only out of guilt but also regret, partially for potentially violating whatever Tommy and Alexis had going on and perhaps most importantly, if he was being honest, that he didn’t remember much of it anyway.

"Chase!" Coach's voice boomed again. "What's wrong with you today? You hung over or something?"

A few teammates laughed. Keshawn straightened up, trying to focus. "No, Coach. I'm good."

"Then move like you're good! Again!"

As they switched to full-court drills, Tommy jogged past him. Their eyes met briefly, Tommy's expression unreadable.

On the other end of the court, Stefan's sneakers squeaked as he cut hard to his right, leaving Lyle a half-step behind. He caught the pass, elevated smoothly, and swished the three. Coach Cronin nodded approvingly as the assistant coaches scribbled notes.

"He can’t guard you, Parker!" Coach Taylor shouted, his attention momentarily diverted from torturing Keshawn. "See that, Chase? When you got a fucking mismatch, attack it!”

Stefan flashed a quick grin in Keshawn's direction before sprinting back on defense. Lyle, visibly frustrated, wiped sweat from his brow and muttered something under his breath. This had been the growing pattern throughout the back end of summer practices - Stefan making plays while Lyle struggled on defense, negating his status as the best shooter on the team.

Keshawn received the inbound pass, dribbling up court with leaden legs. His vision swam slightly at the edges as he surveyed the floor. Tommy cut across the key, but Keshawn hesitated, the memory of this morning's awkward exchange flashing through his mind.

Aday, their seven-foot Spanish import, established position on the block, hand raised high. Keshawn saw the double-team coming but forced the entry pass anyway, trying to thread the needle through a collapsing defense.

The ball hung in the air a beat too long.

Stefan materialized like a blur, cutting into the passing lane with perfect timing. His long fingers snatched the ball, and he was gone in an instant, sprinting toward the opposite basket.

Keshawn turned to give chase but his hangover-addled reflexes betrayed him. Lyle, however, was already in motion, streaking down court with surprising speed.

Stefan glanced back once as he approached the basket, rising up for what should have been an easy layup. But Lyle was there, launching himself with desperate intensity. His outstretched hand caught a piece of the ball just as Stefan began his ascent. Stefan, disrupted mid-air, twisted awkwardly.

When he came down, his left foot landed at a compromising angle. The crack, audible. Stefan's scream pierced the air as he crumpled to the floor, clutching his ankle. The ball bounced away, forgotten.

[Soapy]

Junior guard Dylan Andrews (left), senior guard Kobe Johnson (middle) and junior forward Tyler Bilodeau (right) are pictured.

By John Kupp
November 13, 2024 at 1:54 a.m.

The arrival of a new season brings many fresh faces – especially in the modern era of name, image and likeness and the transfer portal. Nine of the Bruins’ 17 players are in their first year under Mick Cronin as the sixth-year head coach aims for a return to the NCAA Tournament. Daily Bruin reporter Matthew Niiya breaks down UCLA men’s basketball’s roster as play opens up for the 2024-2025 campaign.

Guards

Just one starter has retained his job from last year’s middling campaign, which saw the Bruins finish under .500 for the first time in eight years.

Dylan Andrews will be tasked with implementing Cronin’s offense as the sole returner to the starting five. The junior guard played in and started all but one game last year and led UCLA in minutes, points and assists per game. Andrews, however, had difficulties finding his stroke at times – posting just a 39.5% mark from the field and a 32.4% clip from deep. Despite early inconsistencies, the Gardena, California, local stabilized his play to close out the season – hitting double-digits in 13 of his last 14 contests.

Operating alongside him in the backcourt will often be Skyy Clark. A fellow junior guard, Clark is onto his third school in as many years – coming from Louisville after initially starting out at Illinois. The Los Angeles local returned home after leading the Cardinals in points per game and posting a career-high 36 points in his final game against North Carolina State – a team that went on to reach the Final Four.

Backing the duo up will primarily be Sebastian Mack and Lyle Harris, replacing the injured Stefan Parker. Mack has plenty of experience despite being in just his second season. The sophomore guard started 30 of 33 games last year as a true freshman but struggled to connect from the field. He frequently drove to the basket and got to the free throw line – averaging 5.2 attempts per contest – but it came at the expense of 1.6 turnovers per game and frequent wild shot attempts near the rim.

Harris on the other hand is a 3-point specialist from Loyola Marymount. The redshirt junior guard knocked down an impressive 44.8% of his shots from beyond the arc – third best in the nation – on six attempts per game. However, until he makes strides on defense, Cronin is unlikely to give him big minutes in meaningful contests.

Wings

Although the wings may be few in number, they make up for it with experience.

Senior guard Kobe Johnson was given Pac-12 All-Defensive Team honors twice in his two seasons as a full-time starter at USC. He averaged more than two steals per game in those seasons but has big shoes to fill at UCLA.

The Bruins have churned out back-to-back Pac-12 Defensive Player of the Year award winners in Jaylen Clark and Adem Bona. Offensively, Johnson may not be a top scoring threat but is still dangerous with the ball in his hands. Cronin has described him as the team’s assists leader in practice and praised his ability to spread the ball across the floor.

Supporting Johnson is fellow senior guard Lazar Stefanovic. Despite being new to the team last season – transferring in after two years at Utah – the Belgrade, Serbia, local assumed a leadership role on an inexperienced UCLA squad that featured seven freshmen.

Stefanovic started all 33 games for the Bruins and finished fourth in scoring. He also led the squad in rebounds per game and was one of the few players who was efficient beyond the arc, connecting on 38.9% of his threes.

This season, however, will allow Stefanovic fewer minutes, as Johnson’s presence alongside other transfers has pushed him to the bench.

Even though he may be on the court for less time, Stefanovic’s vocal leadership and mentorship are still critical for the Bruins’ success on the court.

Bigs

Bona and Kenneth Nwuba consumed the lion’s share of minutes in the paint last year, while then-freshmen center Aday Mara, guard/forward Brandon Williams, forward Devin Williams and forward Berke Buyuktuncel also rotated down low.

But Cronin often found himself in a pickle – foul trouble and a lack of experience depleted his options.

So, for the new campaign, Cronin has loaded up his roster with options.

Through the preseason, Cronin’s most valuable pickup appears to be Tyler Bilodeau. The versatile, do-it-all junior forward projects to be the most potent scoring threat for the Bruins and a force to be reckoned with on the boards. Not only can Bilodeau effectively rebound the ball, but he can also spread the floor – adding another dimension that the UCLA offense lacked last year. Despite standing at 6-foot-9, Bilodeau shot a serviceable 34.5% from deep in his final year at Oregon State.

Joining Bilodeau in the starting lineup will likely be Eric Dailey Jr. – another transfer.

Despite being just a sophomore, the forward brings a healthy amount of experience at the top level of collegiate basketball. As a true freshman, Dailey played in all 32 games for Oklahoma State, earning starting nods in half of those contests. The IMG Academy graduate averaged 9.3 points per game on nearly 49.6% shooting with the Cowboys, and like Bilodeau, is valuable on the glass. Dailey posted just under five rebounds per game last season, but Cronin said he believes the entire team rebounds better with him on the floor.

The third and final addition to the group is Keshawn Chase, the four-star freshman from Crenshaw who the staff views as wing/big hybrid. While the plan might have been to initially redshirt the freshman due to a lack of playing time being available, the loss of Parker leaves the Bruins short on length and athleticism on the defensive side, which Chase brings plenty of. He could end up being the first big off the bench due to his versatility and ability to play three through five and isn't a mismatch against smaller guards when switching.

Mara will likely see fluctuating minutes dependent on matchups. The 7-foot-3 Zaragoza, Spain, local struggled to muscle up against opponents in the paint at times last year but has bulked up to compete on both ends of the court.

[chosenone58]

Almost done with the latest season. But I had to check out the roster breakdown.

Bruins might make a lil noise.....

[Caesar]

He was half-asleep and fully drugged when he heard the sound of his door opening. He could only muster up the energy to tilt his head, catching a quick glimpse of the light from the hallway before it was promptly closed. He opened his mouth to mutter a few words but nothing came out as he laid his head back down, the room starting to settle into its axis.

He could feel the tug of the sheets as warmth approached him, a familiar scent engulfing him as her body pressed against his.

“What are you doing?” he managed to mutter as she pulled on his pants.

“Don’t ruin this,” Alexis whispered, her head disappearing underneath the sheets as she gave him a warm welcome to fill him right below the navel.

[Soapy]

Almost done with the latest season. But I had to check out the roster breakdown.

Bruins might make a lil noise.....

So hype to play actual games

He was half-asleep and fully drugged when he heard the sound of his door opening. He could only muster up the energy to tilt his head, catching a quick glimpse of the light from the hallway before it was promptly closed. He opened his mouth to mutter a few words but nothing came out as he laid his head back down, the room starting to settle into its axis.

He could feel the tug of the sheets as warmth approached him, a familiar scent engulfing him as her body pressed against his.

“What are you doing?” he managed to mutter as she pulled on his pants.

“Don’t ruin this,” Alexis whispered, her head disappearing underneath the sheets as she gave him a warm welcome to fill him right below the navel.

He's a victim!

[Soapy]

Stay Dangerous - Episode 1
Coach Cronin squinted at the screen, hitting pause as Lyle Harris once again lost his defensive assignment. The blue practice jerseys blurred as the players moved across the court, but Lyle's mistakes stood out like a sore thumb.

"That's the third time in this sequence," Coach Cronin muttered, rubbing his forehead. "We need his shooting but shit, every point he gives us, he’s liable to surrender six more.”

Coach Palmer nodded, leaning forward in his chair. The coaches' office was cramped with the entire staff huddled around the monitor, the smell of coffee and dry-erase markers hanging in the air. Outside, the sounds of basketballs bouncing echoed through the hallway – some players getting extra shots up before today's final practice.

"We’re going to need to figure this shit out," Palmer said. "You see what it looks like when he’s not out there with the second unit, motherfuckers are just going to cram the paint.”

Cronin rewound the footage again, watching as Lyle failed to navigate a simple screen, leaving his man wide open for a corner three. The shot missed, but that wouldn't always be the case against real competition.

"What about the Chase kid?" Cronin asked, clicking to another segment of practice footage. Keshawn appeared on screen, his long arms disrupting passing lanes, feet constantly moving. "Outside of Kobe, he’s probably our best defender.”

Palmer nodded thoughtfully. "We could pair them. Whenever Lyle's on the floor, we make sure Keshawn, is out there too, let him take on their best wing and we hide Lyle wherever, even zone it up with Keshawn in the middle.”

"It could work," Cronin mumbled, already visualizing the rotations. "Ain’t no use in redshirting him anymore, he’s going to play at some point anyway.”

He scribbled something in his notebook, then looked up at Palmer. "Work with him today, need to get him ready for Rider then.”

…

The bass thumped through the walls of The Underground, a converted warehouse space that had become the go-to venue for mixtape release parties. Colored lights sliced through artificial fog as bodies packed the dance floor, drinks sloshing in plastic cups as DJ Cosmo's latest tracks vibrated through the sound system.

Gayle stood near the bar, her platform sneakers already making her feet ache. She took another sip of her tequila soda, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. She'd spent hours on her look—braids freshly done, crop top hugging her curves just right—but so far, it hadn't gotten her the attention she'd hoped for.

"You on the song with Tay, right?" a guy shouted over the music, the first person in an hour to recognize her.

"Thanks," Gayle smiled, but he was already distracted by someone else, moving away before she could even introduce herself properly.

She glanced toward the VIP section where Lamont — or DJ Cosmo for the night — was entertaining industry people, shaking hands and kissing the proverbial babies. He'd promised this would be her breakout moment—three features on his mixtape, including what he called "the standout track." But the crowd wasn't reacting to her songs the way they were to Tay Dizzle's.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the opening notes of "Flex On 'Em" dropped, and the crowd erupted. Tay Dizzle emerged from the VIP section, jumping onto a platform near the DJ booth.

"Y'all ready to flex on these niggas?" he shouted, and the crowd roared back at him.

Gayle fought the urge to roll her eyes. His verse wasn't even that good—all flash, no substance, mostly written by Lamont—but the crowd was eating it up. She watched as phones came out, recording his every move. This was supposed to be a release party for the whole mixtape, but it might as well have been Tay's solo show.

"You look like you could use another drink," a voice said beside her.

Gayle turned, ready to dismiss whoever was trying to hit on her, when her eyes locked with familiar ones.

"Keshawn?" Gayle nearly dropped her drink. "What are you doing here?"

His smile widened. "I saw your post, figured I’d come show some support. I didn’t know you had bars like that, to be honest.”

"You actually listened to it?" Gayle felt a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the tequila.

"Of course I did, I’ve listen to all of your drops." Keshawn leaned closer to be heard over the music. "Gigi though?”

Gayle laughed, suddenly aware of how much she'd missed his presence. With Keshawn, there was never any need to perform or impress.

"Gayle seemed boring,” she rolled her eyes, “And everything Lamont suggested seemed mad corny.”

“Lamont?”

“Oh,” Gayle looked towards the VIP section, “DJ Cosmo, he’s the one that like puts it altogether.”

“Oh, yeah,” Keshawn’s eyes lingered on the man that was holding court in the VIP section.

"How's the college life?” her question snapped him out of it.

Keshawn shrugged. "It's going, season starts next week.”

"That's what’s up!" Gayle exclaimed, genuinely happy for him. "You starting already?”

"Not starting, but playing. That's more than I thought I would, honestly." His eyes lit up. "Campus is nice. You should come check it out, you know, hang out.

"Maybe sometime," she said, noncommittally. "I'm pretty locked in with studio sessions right now. Lamont's trying to get me on this compilation with Trak which would be like fucking major.”

Keshawn nodded, but something in his expression suggested he understood what she wasn't saying. It’d been weeks since they seen each other and months since they’d hung out. Whatever intimate moments they shared in the past would remain there.

"I get it," he said. "You know where to find me if you’re free or anything.”

…

Vic slammed his beer bottle on the coffee table, the amber liquid sloshing against the glass. "And then Markson—who supposed to be our best fucking decision maker—decides to go iso with thirty seconds left! Thirty seconds! We're down by four, we need a quick bucket and he's out there dribbling between his legs like he's Kyrie Irving or some shit."

Jessica curled her legs underneath her on the couch, watching Vic pace across the dorm’s living room.

"So Coach Stewie’s screaming from the sideline, I'm practically having an aneurysm, and this kid just waves everyone off like he's got it all under control. Spoiler alert: he did not have it under fucking control. Turnover. Game over. Welcome to coaching, Victor Singleton."

He stopped suddenly, looking at Jessica who was still nursing her first glass of wine. Her eyes were attentive, but he realized he'd been ranting for nearly fifteen minutes straight.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he sighed, dropping onto the couch beside her. "You didn't ask me to come over to hear me bitch about a high school basketball game all night."

Jessica laughed, the sound light and musical in the tension-filled room. She reached over, placing her hand on his knee. "Are you kidding? I love watching you get all worked up about this shit. Your face gets all serious." She mimicked his intense expression, furrowing her brows dramatically.

"Yeah?" Vic couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah," she confirmed, leaning in closer. "Besides, it's your passion. I want to hear about the things that matter to you."

Vic felt some of the night's frustration melting away as Jessica's perfume enveloped him. His phone buzzed on the table, Angela’s name flashing across the screen but he ignored it, focusing instead on Jessica’s playful smile.

As Jessica's lips met his, the weight of the loss seemed to fade into the background. For now, at least, basketball could wait.

"Our favorite DC girl again?" Jessica murmured against his neck, noticing the phone lighting up a second time.

"She can wait," Vic replied, his hands finding the warm skin beneath her clothes.

[Soapy]

Season Opener: November 4th, 2024 - Pauley Pavilion, Los Angeles, California

---

RID | 25 | 23 | 48
UCLA | 30 | 33 | 63

Starting Lineups
(Sr) Dwight Murray - G - Dylan Andrews (So)
(Sr) Allen Betrand - G - Skyy Clark (Jr)
(Sr) Mervin James - F - Kobe Johnson (Sr)
(Sr) Ajiri Ogemuno-Johnson - F - Eric Dailey Jr. (So)
(Jr) Tariq Ingraham - C - Tyler Bilodeau (Jr)



G Allen Betrand, Senior: 13 pts, 2 reb, 2 stl, 5-11 FG, 1-4 3PT
F Mervin James, Senior: 11 pts, 2 ast, 5-9 FG, 1-1 3PT
F Tariq Ingraham, Junior: 8 pts, 4 reb, 4-6 FG

G Dylan Andrews, Sophomore: 9 pts, 2 ast, 3-5 FG, 1-3 3PT
G Sky Clark, Junior: 6 pts, 2 reb, 3 ast, 2-3 FG, 2-3 3PT
F Kobe Johnson, Senior: 14 pts, 5 ast, 4-6 FG, 4-4 FT
F Eric Dailey Jr, Sophomore: 7 pts, blk, 3-5 FG, 1-2 3PT
F Tyler Bilodeau, Junior: 10 pts, 7 reb, 4-7 FG, 2-4 FT
F Keshawn Chase, Freshman: 9 pts, 2 reb, ast, TO, 4-7 FG, 1-1 3PT

Season Stats 1 GP, 0 GS, 7 MPG, 9.0 PPG, 2.0 RPG, 1.0 APG, 0.0 SPG, 0.0 BPG, 1 TOPG, 57 FG%, 0 3PT%, 100 FT%

Upcoming Schedule College Hoops Classic vs. San Francisco