Chapter 3
Connie's POV
At seven AM, I stood outside the master bathroom door, listening to running water, about to EXPLODE with rage.
That damn Chase had been in there for forty minutes!
I pounded on the door. "Hey! You planning to live in there forever?"
"Patience, princess." His voice came from inside, dripping with mockery. "Good things are worth waiting for."
"I'm going to be LATE!" I kept banging. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Shaving." He replied leisurely. "Need me to teach you about patience?"
ENOUGH.
I kicked the door open and stormed in.
In the steamy bathroom, Chase stood before the massive mirror, shaving cream still on his chin, razor in hand. He wore only low-rise jeans, muscle lines especially defined in the morning light.
He looked at me through the mirror, surprise flashing in his eyes, followed by that damn wicked smile.
"What's the rush?" He continued shaving, movements painfully slow. "Plenty of time."
"Easy for YOU to say!" I moved to the sink and started brushing my teeth. "You don't have to take the school bus!"
"School bus?" He stopped, turning to look at me. "You take the BUS?"
"Got a problem with that?" I glared at him, mouth full of toothpaste foam.
He stared for a few seconds, then shook his head and continued shaving. "No problem. Just..."
"Just what?"
"Nothing."
We stood side by side at the mirror, the proximity making me realize how tall he was, how solid. I could smell him—mint shaving cream mixed with expensive cologne.
DAMN it, why did he have to smell so good?
"Get up earlier next time." I rinsed my mouth, deliberately bumping into him.
Shaving cream splattered on my uniform.
"Sorry." His tone wasn't sorry at all. "Maybe you should learn to knock."
"Maybe you should learn to SHARE." I shot back.
We locked eyes through the mirror, the air crackling with electric tension.
Then I walked out without looking back.
But I could feel his gaze following me.
At school, I noticed Chase started doing something strange—watching me. Not obvious staring, but silent observation from afar.
When I helped a fallen freshman, when I answered the teacher's questions in fluent Spanish, I could always feel that distant gaze. He seemed to be reassessing something, that initial contempt and hostility showing subtle changes.
This made me more alert—maybe he was planning some bigger revenge.
After school, I didn't go straight home.
I needed to release the pressure that had built up over the past few days, and I knew the best way was basketball.
I took the bus downtown to a street basketball court. No fancy facilities like Westridge Prep, but perfect for me. A few local kids were playing, looking curious when they saw me.
"Hey, you want to join?" A fourteen-year-old Black boy asked.
"Sure." I took off my uniform jacket and tied back my hair.
For the next hour, I completely let loose.
Street ball was different from school basketball—more savage, direct, real. I used skills learned in Texas, dribbling past defenders, shooting and scoring. These kids initially underestimated me but were quickly conquered by my technique.
"DAMN, girl! Where'd you learn that?" the boy marveled.
"Texas." I wiped sweat from my forehead. "We don't play games there."
That's when I felt someone watching me.
I turned to see Chase leaning against the chain-link fence, an expression I'd never seen before—was that... admiration?
When did he get here? Had he FOLLOWED me?
"Seen enough?" I shouted at him, deliberately provocative.
He pushed through the gate into the court. Today he wore casual T-shirt and jeans, looking less like a refined rich boy.
"Nice skills." He said. "Learned in Texas?"
"Got a problem with that?" I spun the ball, letting it rotate on my fingertip.
"Nope." He picked up another ball from the ground. "But I'm wondering—besides bullying little kids, do you dare challenge a real opponent?"
The surrounding kids made "ooh" sounds.
I stopped spinning the ball, eyes narrowing at him. "You want to challenge ME?"
"Why not?" Chase started dribbling, movements textbook perfect. "One-on-one, first to ten wins."
"You sure you're ready, city boy?" I took the ball, doing a flashy behind-the-back dribble in front of him. "I won't go easy just because you're a rich boy."
"Neither will I." Battle flashed in his eyes.
We stood at the three-point line, ready to start.
"Ladies first." Chase made a gentlemanly gesture.
"Thanks." I sneered. "But I don't need your PITY."
Game on.
Chase attacked first. He had decent technical foundation but relied too heavily on standard moves. I easily defended his shot and grabbed the rebound.
"My turn." I dribbled to the three-point line. "Let me show you what I've got."
I faked him out, Chase bit. I quickly drove past, made a spinning layup in the air. Ball went in.
"1-0." I clapped my hands. "Need me to slow down?"
Chase's expression darkened, but he didn't give up. The next few possessions, we traded baskets, score alternating.
But soon, my street ball skills started dominating. I crossed him up with a hesitation dribble, fooled him with a pump fake drive, lost him with off-ball movement.
"6-3." I panted, sweat dripping from my forehead. "How about it? Want to continue?"
Chase wiped his sweat, eyes burning with determination. "Not OVER yet."
"Then bring it!" I made a taunting gesture. "Let me see how pure that Blackwood bloodline is!"
"Don't get cocky, trailer park girl!"
"How's it feel getting your ass kicked by a trailer park girl?" I laughed while doing a behind-the-back crossover.
"I haven't LOST yet!"
"That's because the game isn't over!"
We got more heated with our trash talk, movements getting bigger. Just as I was about to make the final shot—
"Excuse me."
A woman's voice interrupted our argument.
Chase and I both stopped, turning to see a forty-something Latina woman in athletic wear, holding a clipboard.
"Sorry to interrupt your... game." She smiled. "I'm Coach Martinez, Westridge Prep women's basketball coach."
I froze. "Hello, Coach."
"You're Connie Moreno?" She walked over. "I've been watching you—your skills are impressive."
I couldn't believe my ears. "Really?"
"Absolutely. I've never seen talent like this." She glanced at Chase, then back at me. "Street ball improvisation, solid fundamental technique, plus that never-give-up spirit—that's exactly what our team needs."
My heart started racing. This was the opportunity I'd always dreamed of—making varsity, proving myself, the first step toward a college scholarship.
"I... I'm definitely interested."
"Excellent. Tomorrow at three PM, come to the gym for tryouts." Coach Martinez smiled. "I have a feeling you'll be our secret weapon."
After she left, I was still buzzing with excitement.
"Congratulations." Chase said, his tone lacking mockery—only... sincerity?
I looked at him, suddenly feeling confused. "Thanks."
"You really are amazing." He handed me the ball. "I lost."
"You're admitting defeat?" I was surprised.
"Facts are facts." He shrugged. "In Texas, what do you call this? A warmup?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, a warmup."
Was this the same Chase Blackwood who wanted to destroy me yesterday?