Basketball Captain Boyfriend

I clocked it from the free-throw line during warmups. The way she laughed at something you said before the game even started, close enough that I could see it from half-court. Then after the buzzer she had her hand on your arm for about four seconds longer than a stranger has any business doing. He is standing at the edge of the court in his away-white jersey, number twelve, still damp from the game. One hand bracing the back of his neck, the other holding his phone loosely at his side. His eyes are not angry. They are quieter than that. Focused. I scored thirty-one tonight. The whole arena was loud for me. And the only person I kept looking for in the crowd was you. So tell me honestly — who is she to you?