Free Playing the Game by Stephanie Queen Page B

What is it you’re not telling me?” Barry was taken aback by the question. Things had gotten all out of perspective and it was time he set the record straight.
    “There is absolutely no need to worry, coach. It’s not that big a deal. I met a woman. That’s why I overslept and why I didn’t work out over the weekend.”
    “Didn’t work out?” Coach Benson’s voice thundered. Barry winced. He realized immediately after he had said it that he shouldn’t have.
    “Calm down, Coach, I’m back on my regimen. I took one weekend off.” Even Barry had to admit that didn’t sound like him. The coach paused for a few moments and seemed to scrutinize him, weighing the matter, as if to determine the severity of the problem like he was a giant puzzle with a missing piece.
    “Barry, you don’t seem to understand what’s happening here. I’m just beginning to see it myself and I don’t like it. Not one bit. But I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later—I was always hoping it would be later, when you were ready for retirement, not now while you’re in your prime.”
    “Now wait a minute, you’re getting excited over nothing. As far as basketball’s concerned, nothing’s changed. I’m still dedicated, hard working, and the toughest damned competitor anyone will ever come up against.” Barry got up from his chair and began pacing, determined that he was right in his convictions. When he stopped pacing as he faced the coach, the man was shaking his head with almost a sad look on his face.
    “But don’t you see, Barry? Basketball has been your woman all these years. You’ve carried on this love affair with basketball with such intense passion that you’ve become the best player ever to play the game. And I don’t want that to change, not yet. But you seem to have gotten distracted.” The coach waved at the paper.
    “I was restless. I’m not anymore. It won’t happen again.”
    “Do you want to see the team therapist?” The coach was serious.
    Barry stared, incredulous. Where Barry came from people didn’t see therapists. They gutted it out. They played through whatever was bothering them—and this was nothing anyway.
    He laughed at the coach’s suggestion. “I don’t think so. Maybe you should see the shrink—this all seems to be bothering you way too much.”
    “Maybe you’re right. What about the woman?” The coach spoke quietly.
    “What about her?” Barry knew he was not known for one night stands or flings with hordes of women—he couldn’t be bothered spending the time and energy mostly. But he didn’t like the coach’s line of questioning into his personal life.
    “Are you seeing her now?”
    “I’m not planning on looking for trouble if that’s what you mean.” Barry smirked at the coach. It was only a half-lie. He wasn’t planning on seeing her socially, only for the interview.
    The coach nodded his head. “A one night stand, eh? You know, I really thought you were above all that—I thought you were above the temptation of a tawdry affair.” The coach shook his head as if disappointed.
    “You make me sound like some priest.” Barry was annoyed, but he wasn’t sure if it was with the coach or himself.
    “You are in a way—a priest of basketball. Only you have a better deal than real priests do—you at least get to fool around.” He smiled, but not all the way.
    “Just don’t let yourself get too distracted. If you start feeling restless again see the team therapist.” The coach handed him a card.
    “Don’t worry, Coach. Have I ever let you down?” Barry’s mood lightened as he slipped the card in his pocket, thinking he’d sooner call Roxanne. The coach shook his head and stuffed the newspaper in the wastebasket.
    “I suppose a little sarcastic publicity isn’t going to hurt us. Hell, it might even help cure you of your over-inflated ego problem.”
    “Not a chance. No matter what they say, I know I’m indestructible,” Barry said.
    “Now all we