Timberwolves Eye Kendall Marshall (via Hoops Rumors)
July 25th at 7:27am CST by Miles Wray
Minnesota would rather be curled up with Netflix and a pint of Dreyer’s right now but Lucas insisted that they come to the party. “Who knows,” Lucas had said with a wink, “maybe you’ll meet somebody.”
As Minnesota posted up against a wall with a PBR, they saw him, on the living room couch, entertaining a half-dozen people with an anecdote that boomed from somewhere within his immaculately lined beard. Minnesota’s eyes drifted down Kendall Marshall’s body, down to the knee brace, still protecting his delicate torn ligament. Minnesota bit its lower lip and let its mind wander. Maybe they could elevate that knee and unstrap that brace — maybe Kendall Marshall wouldn’t mind the healing touch of a sensual massage.
Philadelphia Wistfully Gazes at Norris Cole
July 25th at 3:30pm CST by Miles Wray
The Sixers had heard it all before — that they were damaged goods with low standards, no future, indistinguishable features. As Mr. Garcia droned on about ionic bonds, slowing third period to a halt, Philadelphia daydreamed from the back row, putting the finishing touches on a doodle on the inside of their chemistry notebook. It was a jersey: red, white, and blue, the word “Cole” perfectly centered over a big, round number 30.
Philadelphia looked up at Norris in his seat in the front row, beams of golden light flowing in from the window and dancing off the back of his flattop. When Mr. Garcia turned around to draw a diagram on the board, Norris furtively sent a text from underneath his desk. Who knows: someday those texts, punctuated by kissy-face emojis, would be sent to Philadelphia’s phone.
San Antonio Lustfully Stares at Rasual Butler
July 26th at 4:10pm CST by Miles Wray
The Spurs confidently sashayed up to the bar, ordering a vodka tonic with a tone of either directness or terseness in their voice. They had been around the block enough times to know exactly what they wanted — and they hardly had the time for any flirty games. Most would look at the weary man at the end of the bar and just see a guy tired from years of hard work staring into the foamy dregs of a Heineken. But the Spurs only saw the steady hand of experience, a heart full of worldly wisdom that had been learned the hard way.
Rasual looked up now from his lukewarm beer to see the Spurs’ eyes piercing right into his own. “So,” San Antonio said with the suggestive arc of an eyebrow. “What’s it gonna be?”