Recruiting Jeeter

“Shit. I’ve been avoiding him,” Steve Taggert thought as he pulled a number from the machine at the barber’s shop. If he’d seen Craig Littleton before he’d taken the number, he might have just turned around and left at the door. As it was, he’d gotten in ahead of a small crowd of men going to the machine after he’d gotten his number. A small victory in life was knowing the guy who walked into the barber shop right after you was going to have to wait twenty minutes longer than you to get his hair cut.

Littleton saw him and waved. Steve smiled back and, luckily, there wasn’t a vacant waiting chair beside Littleton. Steve passed him by and went to the back of the shop. Unfortunately, there was a vacant chair next to the one he sat at.

“Shit again,” Steve intoned under his breath. Littleton had left his seat and was coming to the back of the shop to sit next to Steve while they waited for a barber’s chair to be vacant when their number came up. Steve hoped Littleton’s number was next, although it didn’t look like any of the barbers would be ready for a new head of hair in the next ten minutes.

Littleton had been friendly with Steve before recent events—before the local high school basketball phenom, Jeeter Malone, had been starting to look for a basketball college program. He had been all-state last year, in his junior year, and would undoubtedly make that team this year as well. North Carolina was a major university basketball state. All of the big teams were rushing him. Steve had gone to Hanson University in the Midwest, also a good basketball school, and Steve had been a star on that team eight years previously. It was natural that he’d want a high school phenom in his own Winston-Salem, North Carolina, town to go to his school rather than one of the Carolina colleges.

That’s where Craig Littleton came in. He was a major donner and recruiter for the Hanson alumni. He’d put Jeeter Malone, Steve Taggert, Hanson University, and basketball together and had started leaning on Steve to help recruit Jeeter. Until now, he’d given Steve the cold shoulder, though. It wasn’t because Steve had been a star basketball player at Hanson, because he had been; it wasn’t because Steve wasn’t rich, because he was. He was an Adidas promotional rep throughout the state. And it wasn’t because Steve didn’t contribute heavily to Hanson, because he did. It was because Steve was gay and was known to be.

But now Littleton really, really wanted to recruit Jeeter away from the Carolina schools, and he thought Steve could help with that.

“Have you thought about approaching Jeeter Malone about taking the Hanson offer, Steve?” Craig leaned into him and asked in a low tone.

“Hello, Craig. Good to see you too,” Steve answered, but he gave a sigh and continued, “I have but I don’t know what I could say that would influence him.”

“You were a basketball star at Hanson.”

“Eight years ago. We’re in North Carolina, which is crawling with current university-level basketball stars.”

“Yes, but you have a leg up on all those we know about.”

“How so?” Steve asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer. And it turned out that he didn’t.

“Jeeter is gay. That’s not well known, but we ferreted that out. And you’re gay. And you’re versatile, I’m told—by Cliff Neilson, if you are thinking of disputing me—so you can manage anything he wants.”

“Whoa, Craig. I don’t think that means—”

“I think it does mean something. We can put you close to him. He plays a lot ball on Saturday mornings at the Y. They have an opening for a volunteer basketball coach on Saturday mornings. You could get that job. Jeeter’s nineteen. He was held back a year in elementary school. He’s good to make his own decisions.”

“That doesn’t sound—”

“I’ve discussed you with Howard Stallings, the regional Adidas manager. He—”

“Hold on, Steve, I don’t like—”

But Craig Littleton wasn’t listening. “Stallings said that as long as they have to live with reaction to you being gay, they might as well get some mileage out of it. Speak of the devil. There’s Jeeter now.”

The young man was standing by the number machine, looking around at the filled chairs of men waiting for their haircuts. He had a panicked look on his face—enough so that the manager of the barbershop, who was cutting hair, spoke up. Of course he knew Jeeter by sight. This was a sports town.

“What’s the matter, Jeeter? You look like you lost your best friend.”

“I think I’m gonna lose something,” the tall, slender, good-looking black youth answered. “You got a long waiting line. I just got out of class and Coach put me in a vice. Don’t be late to practice, he said, and don’t bother to come to practice without a haircut. Either one and you’re benched three games, he said. If I’m bench for three games, I can’t—”

“Here, you can have my number,” Steve said, standing up from down the line of chairs. “I think I’m up after the next two. I’m not in a hurry. Give me your number.” They exchanged number slips.

“That’s nice of you, but it’s OK,” the barber shop manager said. “If none of the gentlemen waiting cares if we help this basketball star not miss games, we’ll take him next.” No one in the shop objected.

Jeeter went from almost crying to acting like he’d gone to heaven. He walked over to Steve with a big smile on his face and said, “Thanks, man, you saved my ass.”

“No problem,” Steve said. The two exchanged numbers back, Steve having already given his up. In doing to, they spent a bit more time than was necessary with their hands together before the exchange and a look going between them that registered more than basic gratefulness. Jeeter was unguarded in his interest in the man holding his hand.

The look wasn’t lost on Craig Littleton.

Jeeter found a seat further up the line and Littleton leaned into Steve and whispered, “That was the god of Hanson speaking. The boy wants you. You’ve got this.”

“Screw you,” Steve said. But his voice wasn’t too steady. This was the first time he’d seen the strapping black youth up close. He knew the import of the look that had gone between him and Jeeter as well—no, better—than Craig Littleton did. They’d exchanged looks before. A gay bar was another place a nineteen-year-old athlete shouldn’t be, but they’d both been in one one night and had given each other a raw and open look before passing on.

“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about,” Littleton murmured, and he laughed. “But I understand it would be you screwing him.”

The basketball star soon w as in a barber’s chair. As his hair was being cut, he was looking at Steve with something more than gratitude in his gaze. Steve looked back. Littleton kept poking Steve in his ribs with an elbow and popping his tongue in his cheek.

Steve wanted to scream, but he didn’t.

Then Jeeter was out the chair with his buzz cut and without his dreadlocks. He turned at the register and gave Steve another look before leaving the barber shop. After Craig had gotten his haircut, he came back to where Steve was sitting before he went to the register to pay.

“Think about it, Steve,” Littleton said. “Hanson could win the conference for this kid’s last two years if you help get him there.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve answered. His first thought was to say that just to get Craig Littleton off his back for today at least, but, when he thought about it longer, he knew he’d probably give in—and not for any reason Littleton would assume he had.

“I’ll get you the portfolio of what we can offer the kid.”

“Make it the best deal you have to offer. I’ll look it over. But tell the program to make its best offer. If I decide to talk to him, I don’t want to get into any negotiations. It will either be a yes or no.”

“You understand that I’m suggesting that you do more than just talk to the kid.”

“Yes, I understand.” Don’t push me, Steve thought, with irritation. “I haven’t decided yet whether I’ll do this.”

* * * *

Jeeter’s eyes went real big when he realized that Mr. Taggert was standing to where he could see them in the bushes near the Y outdoor basketball courts and that he was just standing there, watching Ron suck his cock without looking shocked or mad or anything. He didn’t realize that this gave Steve Taggert just the opening he needed to start working on getting the star basketball player recruited for the Hanson University team.

The surprise had started with Jeeter and his also nineteen friend and high school senior basketball teammate, Ron Halpern, showed up on Saturday morning at the Y as they often did to get in some pick-up basketballing with whoever showed up. Often older guys did who had played college ball and it helped the high schoolers train with someone who was heftier than they were and who had more experience. When the guys showed up this morning, they found that there was a new volunteer supervising the basketball courts on Saturday mornings and that it was someone Jeeter had seen recently—at the barber shop, where he’d been in a bind on getting a required haircut before practice and a really sexy-looking man had offered to give up his place in line for Jeeter.

At the time Jeeter thought he and the guy had made a connection in a man-and-man sort of way and he knew he’d seen the man in a gay bar recently. He wasn’t real sure they were attracted to each other in a hookup way, because he was only beginning to get into this signaling of another guy thing, although he and Ron had been doing it for a couple of months when they could manage to get alone. Ron really wanted it, and, although he’d fought it for a while, Jeeter wanted to give it now too.

As Jeeter and Ron walked in from the parking lot and he first saw Mr. Taggert standing there on the court, shirtless, looking like a million dollars, with a basketball under his arm and setting up a pickup game, Jeeter was even more sure the man was interested. He gave Jeeter a smile and almost a wink and he dropped his hand to where it hovered over his basket. When friends in the know told Jeeter about signaling wants, they included these things in gaydar hits. The man didn’t even look at Ron. All of his attention was going to Jeeter. Jeeter felt himself going hard. He hadn’t thought about doing it with a white guy before, and one several years older than he was. But this guy was a real hunk.

The guy—Steve, he’d introduced himself as—was also showing he knew how to put balanced teams together and that he knew the game. He’d quickly established that he’d played in college. He set up teams that were shirts versus skins, assigning both himself and Jeeter to the skins team. He put Ron on the shirts team. They’d played for nearly an hour before enough other guys had shown up that Steve said the first two teams should take a break to give the later arrivals a chance to play.

They’d played an aggressive game, though. The early arrivals were serious, talented players, and they played hard. There was a lot of body checking, although the Steve guy was good about keeping the physical stuff in check. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t all hands on himself, though, and Jeeter got the definite impression that the guy was touching him and putting his hands on him more than absolutely necessary to guide him into position. Once when Steve was behind him, close, and put his hand on Jeeter’s belly while palming the ball in front of Jeeter with the other, Jeeter realized that they were in a fuck position, the man covering him, and he almost lost it. That was OK with Jeeter, though—although it didn’t help him not to be hard. He wondered if the guys could see that he was. He was sure that Steve knew he was, as Steve’s hand brushed across his basket more than once.

Steve didn’t play in the second set. Ron went off to the Y building to take a piss and Jeeter sat on a bench to wait for him to return. After getting the other game going, Steve came and sat with him on the bench. Jeeter could feel the sexual heat coming off the older man. He was a Nordic blond, muscular but trim, the veins standing out on his chest and arms because there was no fat for them to hide in. He had a great face too—rugged and handsome. And open, sunny facial expression. Jeeter would have known the man had been a good athlete even if he hadn’t said he played college ball for a school Jeeter knew had a good basketball program and that he was considering going to.

Jeeter felt himself trembling and thinking thoughts about this guy. He thought of the two of them being alone and Steve being behind him close, like he’d been on the court, and with his hand on Jeeter’s belly. Jeeter had once thought of himself as an exclusive top, but there had been times when he became curious, and he had found that submitting was just as arousing. He wanted it both ways. He thought of the other man working his hand behind them, taking his cock out, which of course would be thick and long—and in erection—and then . . . But then Jeeter couldn’t think what happened next without blowing.

That probably was why when Ron came back, he wanted to go off in the bushes and get some relief. Ron was always ready for that. Before Ron returned, though, there were a few minutes where he and Steve could get better acquainted.

“You’re really good,” Steve said. “You thought of continuing with basketball when you get out of high school? You’re Jeeter Malone, aren’t you? I’ve seen your team play and I know your coach thinks you’re a real good college prospect. You were All-State this year, weren’t you?”

“And last year too,” Jeeter said, with pride. He was impressed that the man knew who he was and had seen him play. “You’re really good too. Did you play in college?”

“Yes, for Hanson University, in Indiana,” Steve answered. “Playing well got me through the university—and it got me my job too.”

“You work with sports? I thought these Y jobs were volunteer.”

“I did well enough that Adidas picked me up to do regional sales. Indiana is a great state for basketball. A lot of competition, and when you do well, sports companies pick you up. Companies like Adidas give out good athletic scholarships too. You can get a good education at a school like Hanson and turn that into a job too if you’re good at the sport. You are really good at basketball.”

“Thanks,” Jeeter said, clearly pleased.

“Uh, I can see your friend coming back from the Y, and I’ve got to sort some things out with these guys playing now. Good talking with you, though. If you’d like to talk with someone about colleges and basketball programs, just let me know.” Steve stood up from the bench as Ron approached. He smiled and nodded at Ron and went out onto the court, yelling at a couple of guys who were close to getting into a fight.

It wasn’t long until Jeeter had conveyed his need to get off and he and Ron found a stand of bushes where they assumed they wouldn’t be seen. It wasn’t long either before Ron was on his knees in front of Jeeter, whose athletic shorts were pulled to below his low-hanging balls and Ron had taken Jeeter’s cock in his mouth. Jeeter was hung. The two had been getting it on for some three months. Ron preferred sucking cock. Jeeter preferred giving anal penetration. They had moved into a phase where they both could be satisfied. Jeeter wanted more, though. He was aching to have a man on top of him.

They were well into Ron giving Jeeter a blow job when Jeeter looked up and saw Steve, leaning against a tree beyond the bushes but with an excellent view of what the young men were doing. He was just standing there, though, leaning into the tree, just in athletic shorts; looking really, really sexy; watching, with a smile on his face; and rubbing his crotch through the material of the shorts. He wasn’t showing shock or disgust or even disapproval.

Jeeter knew he should stop Ron and they’d should leave, but he was too worked up and Ron was doing too good of a job on him. He put his hands on Ron’s head, holding it to his crotch, and let Ron suck him off, as he moved his hips in a rocking motion and locked his eyes on Steve, who was just standing there, watching him get a blow job. Ron had the waistband of his shorts pushed down and he was stroking himself off while he sucked Jeeter to an ejaculation.

When Ron had taken Jeeter’s cream on his face, he stood, and seeing that Jeeter was looking off in the distance, turned his face in that direction.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “Was he watching us?”

“Yes. I think it’s OK,” Jeeter said. “I don’t think he’ll call us out.” He and Steve were still locking eyes. Jeeter guided Ron out of the way and stood, full frontal, handing his massive cock so that Steve got a good view of him. Smiling, Steve pushed the waistband of his athletic shorts below his balls and handed his cock as well, showing that he was in erection. They only held for a moment, but it was long enough for an understanding to be established. Not a complete understanding, though. Jeeter pinned that down by turning away from Steve, bending over, and pulling is ass cheeks apart while he turned his face toward the man. Steve set his spread legs in a partial crouch, grasped his cock, and stroked it in Jeeter’s direction.

Now they’d reached a complete understanding.

The two youths pulled their shorts up and came out of the bushes. Steve held his ground, his erection protruding from his crotch.

“If you two would like to use the staff men’s locker room to shower and dress, I can take you there. There aren’t any other male instructors on duty for another hour or so.”

He folded himself back into his shorts, having made his point, and turned and started walking toward the Y building. Jeeter motioned to Ron and the two followed Steve.

The shower room in the staff locker room had three shower head in it. The three men stripped and moved into the shower, each turning on his own stream of water, each ogling the other, all three of them in full erection. They soaped up and rinsed off, turning this way and that, posing for each other, two young, tall, trim, well-muscled black youths, one of whom was horse hung and an older, well-preserved, movie-star-handsome white guy, with a cock to be proud of as well.

Steve motioned to Ron, who went down on his knees in front of the older man, palmed his buttocks, and took his cock in his mouth. As Ron sucked Steve off, Steve leaned his shoulder blades back into the slick tile of the shower wall, jutted his hips forward, and cupped Ron’s head in his hands. He and Jeeter maintained eye contact while Steve moved his pelvis. He nodded with his head and Jeeter saddled up behind Ron, penetrated him, and, grasping his hips between his hands, fucked him. Ron took them both to ejaculation.

Afterward, as they were at the benches in front of the lockers and dressing, Steve said, “You know you boys don’t have to do it in the bushes. I live alone and in this neighborhood. You can come to my house anytime you want to fuck. I’ll give you my business card so you can call or e-mail me. It’s got my home address on it.”

“Uh, I don’t know if we should,” Ron said. Steve and Jeeter were in an eye lock, though. Both of them knew the basketballers would.

“I have a half basketball court and a pool table,” Steve said. He was speaking directly to Jeeter. “We could talk about college basketball programs. I know you both are getting scholarship offers. I could help you sort those out.”

“Yeah, I guess that would be good,” Ron said.

“And we could mess around,” Steve said.

“Sounds good,” Jeeter responded. “You should know, though, that I don’t usually take cock.”

“I do,” Steve said.

“But sometimes I do,” Jeeter added.

Steve laughed. “Then you are in luck. I do it all.”

* * * *

“Sorry, Ron couldn’t make it today.”

“That’s OK with me. I think we can manage without him.” Steve, greeting the young man in just a silk robe, put a hand on Jeeter’s butt and drew him into the entrance hall of his house and shut and locked the door. The living area was essentially one large space with the kitchen off in an L. The back of the house was floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out onto a stone terrace, with a swimming pool. The backyard was fenced in with privacy fencing.

Steve drew Jeeter to him and took the young man’s lips in a deep kiss.

Coming out of the kiss, he whispered, “Could Ron really not make it today?”

“I didn’t tell him I was coming today.”

Steve’s hand went to Jeeter’s fly. He unzipped it and pulled the youth’s cock out. Jeeter was already in half erection.

“The bedroom is back this way.”

Steve lay on his back on the bed, holding his legs spread and raised, his hands gripping behind his knees. He was groaning, and it wasn’t just from the arousal or the tongue lapping at his hole. He wasn’t as flexible as he once had been. It had been some time since he’d let a man do this to him.

Why had he stopped going to bars and bringing, first, older, and then after a couple of years, younger, men home? He’d forgotten how this got his engine revved up. He was panting. He groaned and let out a low moan as Jeeter’s mouth came down over his cock head and the young man’s tongue started to worry his piss slit. Flicking his piss slit. “Oh, god, yes. Yes!”

The slender, tight-muscled ebony body came up over him, Jeeter searching out his mouth, the two going into a lip lock. Steve moaned, jerked, and instinctively moved to disengage their lips, but Jeeter wouldn’t let him. One of Jeeter’s hands was gripping Steve’s throat, holding the older man’s head pressed to the pillow. The other hand was guiding his cock in place.

Steve did pull his face away from Jeeter’s then, though, arching his head up, his eyes focusing on ceiling. “Oh, shit. Fuck! You’re big. Too big! Fucccckk!”

But Jeeter wasn’t too big. It was difficult, but Steve slowly gave into him as the young man penetrated and pressed in. Steve’s passage stretched for him. “Fuck. Fuck! Yes, fuck me!”

Thick, long, inside, both of Jeeter’s hands went to gripping Steve’s throat. Steve’s hands moved down the sleek brown back from shoulder blades to the tight butt orbs. He dug his fingernails in, holding the young, virile stud to him, inside him, thick and long and throbbing, and the two moved together in the dance of the fuck.

A half hour later, Steve had rolled off the bed and gone into the bathroom. Jeeter rose from the bed as well and went over to the window overlooking the terrace and the pool. Steve came up behind him and embraced him, palming the youth’s flat belly with one hand and the bulge of one of his muscular pecs with the other. Jeeter raised his arms in surrender and palmed the glass window. He moaned and turned his face toward Steve’s and they kissed. The hand left the young man’s chest and went behind him, stroking a buttocks cheek.

“Jut your ass toward me,” Steve whispered into Jeeter’s ear. Giving a low groan, the basketball start did so. Steve put his cock head in position. Jeeter jerked and gave a little gasp as the shaft entered him. Then he spread and set his legs more, arched the back of his head into Steve’s chest, and panted, as the man fucked him.

* * * *

Steve was doing all the work, and, as it was the third time they’ve fucked that day, Jeeter let him do it. Jeeter, young, virile, ever ready, was letting the older man control the fucking—at least to the last minute, when, overcome with need and arousal, Jeeter would take over in frenzied, take-no-prisoners thrusting.

“Just keep it hard. You’re a stud. Just keep it long and thick and hard as steel. Be the man,” Steve had said. They were on a lounge bed by the pool at Steve’s house. Jeeter, naked, black, body beautiful, was stretched out on his back on the bed, his erection proudly reaching for the sky. His contribution otherwise was to hold still, hold Steve’s waist between his hands, smile, groan, and thrust from time to time as the mood struck him. Steve straddled the nineteen-year-old’s pelvis, his passage burying the cock, and rose and fell on it, occasionally changing position, from facing the young man’s feet, grasping his ankles, and moving his own ass up and down on the shaft with the strength of his knees, to facing Jeeter’s head, leaning back, grasping the young man’s knees, and raising and lowering himself with the strength of the balls of his feet.

They fucked like this for over twenty minutes, Steve controlling the edging, gauging his movement by which of them was tensing, ready to blow, and backing off, only to go again, taking the arousal to a new high each time—until, no longer being able to control it, in one powerful movement, Jeeter turned them both, putting Steve under him, holding him in close embrace, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, both exploding, releasing, crying out the satisfaction to the skies above.

Pushing off from the lounge bed, laughing, both strode toward the edge of the pool, and dove in. They cavorted in the pool, until Steve lifted Jeeter up, sat him down on the rim of the pool, pressed the palm of a hand into the young man’s flat, muscular belly, coaxing him to lie flat on the stone terrace, took Jeeter’s cock in his mouth, and did his best to give the youth a deep-throated blow job. When Jeeter came, Steve rose up over him at the edge of the pool, grasped the young man’s ankles, raised and spread Jeeter’s legs, thrust up inside his channel, and fucked him hard and deep.

Jeeter never had it so good, and he seemed to realize it. Every day in every way, he increasingly came under the spell and influence of Steve Taggert. It was time. They’d known each other for three weeks. Steve had attended Jeeter’s end-of-season high school basketball games. He’d played ball with Jeeter on Saturday mornings at the Y. He’d been balled by Jeeter and had balled Jeeter at his house, first on Saturday afternoons, but soon thereafter on Saturday, Monday, and Wednesday afternoons. They’d discussed what Jeeter wanted to do in life—how much of that was basketball and how much was something else. He’d taken Jeeter to a Harlem Globetrotters game when that high-performance, high-entertainment team came to the local arena. Jeeter’s single-parent mom had gone with them. When she wanted to talk about colleges and scholarship offers, Steve begged off, saying he just wanted to help Jeeter find the best offer. He’d also hinted that if he were judged to be recruiting Jeeter for a particular school, they’d be crossing a line, and he didn’t want to saddle Jeeter with that.

But they did discuss programs and scholarships and offers. Steve did help Jeeter consider the pros and cons of each offer, being a neutral or possible, letting Jeeter work the advantages and disadvantages out for himself. Jeeter was a smart kid. And the offer from Hanson University was included in the mix.

It was time.

As they climbed out of the pool, Steve said, “You’ll have to make a final decision on a college to accept next week. Let’s dry off, dress, and settle down to some serious discussion about that.”

* * * *

Steve took Jeeter to the barbers for a haircut on college signing day. They gave the trip plenty of time. They both understood what the gesture meant. Steve took Jeeter’s mom along and on to the signing ceremony. She had no idea what the symbolism of the barber shop meant, but she was glad Jeeter got a haircut. He ignored her asking him to do such things. Jeeter didn’t ignore Steve’s gentle guidance, not giving conclusions, just making Jeeter think of all the angles on what would be best for him.

Jeeter and his mom sat up front in the signing hall. Steve took a seat in the back, where Craig Littleton, the Hanson University alumni recruiter found him and sat beside him.

“So, today’s the day and you lost him,” Littleton said.

“UNC is a good school and it offered him the best package,” Steve answered.

“He liked it better than your package, apparently. Does that make you feel less manly?”

“Not in the least. And you didn’t check that angle out too well, just like you didn’t check out Jeeter’s college needs very well,” Steve responded. “It wasn’t my package that was in play here in a decision on his future.”

“What do you mean I didn’t check his college needs out?”

“Not just you. He visited Hanson twice and the coaches there pitched him. None of them found out that he wants to use the basketball as a way to get the education he wants, but he wants to be an environmental scientist. The University of North Carolina has a program in that. Hanson doesn’t. All he heard there was playing basketball and going on to playing basketball professionally. And that’s all the Hanson portfolio talked about too. You guys didn’t take into account that he might be headed to a different kind of life. And you didn’t find that out when putting a package together on him.”

“You saw that before he made his decision, didn’t you? We could have sweetened the pot or changed the pitch.”

“I told you from the top to give it your best pitch the first time around, Craig. If you could have sweetened the pot, you should have done it off the top. Nothing’s going to change that UNC has the academic program he wants and Hanson doesn’t. If he didn’t want to get a college degree out of this, he has the talent to go straight to pro. And that’s not all. You didn’t do too much thinking on his family situation.”

“His family situation?”

“His mother’s running a single-parent household. Jeeter has a younger brother coming up. He can get home in an hour’s drive from UNC. Hanson is in Indiana. Family is important to him. He could have told you that if you or the coaches who interviewed him had asked.”

“You let us down, Steve.”

“The important thing is that I didn’t let Jeeter down. I went over the Hanson offer with him. He knew I’d gone to Hanson. I think that made him keep Hanson in the mix longer than he would have otherwise. And if I’d pitched him any harder, Craig, we’d be getting into recruitment fixing. I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to be going there.” Steve said this knowing fully well that that was exactly where Craig had wanted him to go. “If I’d pushed harder on Hanson, Jeeter would be living with that being found out some day and coming back to bite him in the butt and screw up his prospects. I didn’t promise to cheat for Hanson—or to cheat Jeeter on his future. You got someone. Ron Halpern is signing with Hanson. He’s a good ball player.”

“He’s good, yes,” Craig said, “or Hanson wouldn’t be signing him. But he’s no Jeeter. I don’t think we’ll be asking you to help us with basketball players again, Steve.” Upon saying this, Littleton pulled himself out of his chair.

“Yes, that might be best, Craig,” Steve said as Littleton started to move away. “I don’t think Adidas would be happy with me getting caught up in a recruiting scandal anyway.”

As Jeeter’s name was called and he and his mom moved forward for the signing for him to go to the University of North Carolina, Steve cringed a bit. He hadn’t been all the selfless, and, if anything, he’d leaned Jeeter toward UNC. UNC was the closest school to here that had rushed Jeeter. Jeeter wouldn’t have the best opportunity to visit his family from UNC. He’d have the best ability from UNC to visit Steve too. There was college recruiting and then there was recruiting for what Jeeter and Steve liked to do.