In capturing the ball as it fell from the hoop, Amber glanced at the other games in the room: one had stopped entirely, the players watching hers. In the sessions that had continued despite the theatrics going on in her court, a couple of the guys kept peeking back her way. Smugness filled Amber. She knew they knew she was losing, which was a mark against her image, true. But more importantly, they were captivated by her. By her physique or by her tactics-- either way it was incredibly flattering. At least, their gazes were.
Eric was already stomping her way, intent radiating from his frown, so Amber took the second to wave to everyone watching. The battle may be lost but she could lose it in style. In other circumstances she'd have burned with anger that Eric could just squeeze the ball out of her-- it hurt, too, because she refused to let it escape without a fight, so the leather scraped along the inside of her arms-- but the audience sweetened the ordeal.
Amber had known, even as she declared a ten for herself, that the game was over. Eric had, earlier and effortlessly, scored multiple points in a row, even when she was able to fight her very best. Now, breathe ragged, ribs caving in from exhaustion, Amber made a few symbolic swats, but she knew better than to expect anything to come of it.
His laying it thick, gloating about winning, irked Amber like a knife stab, ruining what she had of a good mood. She wiped at her forehead and eyes, removing the hair strands plastered to her face. Took a deep breath and jogged one last time to take hold of the skittering ball; her arms were shaking but, determined as she was, they shot true, aiming perfectly. The thud as the ball hit the backboard just enough to roll into the basket echoed in Amber's heart. "I'm still prettier," she informed Eric.
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Eric was already stomping her way, intent radiating from his frown, so Amber took the second to wave to everyone watching. The battle may be lost but she could lose it in style. In other circumstances she'd have burned with anger that Eric could just squeeze the ball out of her-- it hurt, too, because she refused to let it escape without a fight, so the leather scraped along the inside of her arms-- but the audience sweetened the ordeal.
Amber had known, even as she declared a ten for herself, that the game was over. Eric had, earlier and effortlessly, scored multiple points in a row, even when she was able to fight her very best. Now, breathe ragged, ribs caving in from exhaustion, Amber made a few symbolic swats, but she knew better than to expect anything to come of it.
His laying it thick, gloating about winning, irked Amber like a knife stab, ruining what she had of a good mood. She wiped at her forehead and eyes, removing the hair strands plastered to her face. Took a deep breath and jogged one last time to take hold of the skittering ball; her arms were shaking but, determined as she was, they shot true, aiming perfectly. The thud as the ball hit the backboard just enough to roll into the basket echoed in Amber's heart. "I'm still prettier," she informed Eric.