Jake West Basketball Novels & Stories

“Aye. You ready for Friday?” Jackson took a drink. “Always.” “Westbrook is coming in with a new lineup. Their point guard is supposed to be something.” “I know.” Another drink. “I’ve watched the tapes.” I looked between them and then back at the screen. “You have a match on Friday?” Brandon looked at me. “Westbrook University. Big one. You coming?” “To watch you run around a court?” I reached into the cookie box. “Maybe.” He grinned. “Maybe?” He shifted toward me slightly. “You should be in the bleachers. Front row.”

Our boys, the Westlake Wolves looked sharp and out for blood in their home whites. Luca and Ethan weren’t looking at each other. I heard they’d been civil during practice this week—barely. Exchanging the bare minimum of communication required to function as teammates. “You good?” I asked Jake Morrison as he stretched near the bench. He was our libero, the defensive specialist who kept us alive during long rallies. “Nervous as hell,” he admitted. “But good nervous, you know? Like Christmas morning nervous.” I smiled despite myself. “You’ll be fine. Just do what you always do.”

I'm going to beat his arse when I see him. The cheerleaders are on the field, getting ready to do their routine. They start to perform their routine and I have to say, our cheerleaders nailed it. They did all of that with only a few hours of training. I cheer along with our crowd. Shortly after their performance, both teams jog out onto the field and the whole bleachers erupts into cheers. I notice Jake on the bench while the other lads take their positions on the field. "I still cannot believe Jake is playing. What is he thinking? Is he even thinking?" I ask Wes and he throws his hands in the air. I look back at the field while shaking my head. I cleaned his wounds and patched everything an

From then our friendship started. Anyone can ask me why I don't like him. But that's not true. I like him. I really do. I just don't like him in a romantic way. There is no doubt he is handsome. Many girls have crush on him. Even a girl who was six years younger than him, once sent him love letters for a whole year. Jake plays cello. He plays basketball as a shooting guard. He's respectful to his parents. He has his own library consists of five thousand books. He's hot. He can speak in six different languages. In my word, he's a freak. But others think, he's perfect.

Jake is the quiet, smart kid of this team, he for some reason looks up to me and while this might appeal to others, it makes my stomach clench. “The ‘day’ is almost here, we have to eliminate every possibility before we can dismiss it as a coincidence.” I tell him, leaning over Jake’s computer and looking through Jesse’s records myself, this time I avoid looking at his picture. He grew up in a small town far south, and after high school he hasn’t gone back, I wonder why. No college attended as well. “Free lance art curator, is that an actual thing?” I ask, still reading. Jake makes a small noise at the back of his throat, adding no comment.

The championship game had just ended with a stunning victory for the high school basketball team. The star player, 18-year-old Jake, had scored the winning shot. His mother, Rebecca, 39, had been cheering louder than anyone in the stands. Rebecca was a stunning single mom — curvy, with long auburn hair, full breasts, and a warm, confident smile that turned heads. She had raised Jake alone and was incredibly proud of him. After the game, the team coach, Coach Marcus Reed, 42, invited the players and parents to a victory celebration at his house.

"I thought I was your hottest biker in the world." "Until you ventured into the sports business and turned into a coach," Mom teased, reaching over to pat his hand. "Well, I needed to keep up with the trends while being your man," Jake replied, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. "I didn't think you viewed Jones as the 'hottest' now. I’ll have to make sure to dethrone that tonight."

The fact that he decided to to not tell uncle jack, didn’t mean he’d let it go. Tried to squeeze the hard ball to keep from running out and punching him in the face. The words sounded like a threat. “Jacob.” David’s voice made me jump. David was a senior and we had about five classes together and he plays basketball too. He stood in the middle of the court, with a look of concern on his face. “Okay there, Hale? You’ve been squeezing that ball way too hard.” “Yeah, sorry. I’m okay.” He didn’t look convinced, but he picked a ball anyway and started throwing. “You could take a break if you’re up for practice today.”

"Can we not do this right now? I just want five minutes. That's it. Five minutes to talk like two adults." I set my glass down and looked at the guy across from me, one of Preston's teammates, a nineteen-year-old named Jake who had a piece of bread halfway to his mouth and was watching the whole thing like it was better than anything on TV. "What did you think of the training schedule I mentioned earlier?" I asked him. Jake blinked. Then he caught on. "Oh. Yeah. I think it's a great plan. Really thorough." Pierce put his hand on the back of my chair. Not touching me, but close enough that it was obviously meant to be felt.

Perfection, that is all I could say about my life with Jake now. Everything was too perfect as if...it wasn't even real like it was all just a dream that could be snatched away if I dared to blink an eye. Jake was everything I have ever dreamed of, he was too handsome with a body built for a Greek God but he worked for it day and night. Working out was like something werewolves had to do without even thinking about it, they just did it because it's in their nature. Jake cared for me, I couldn't complain really but ever since he found out he was born of royalty he has been...distracted.