“Breakfast is served,” Wes says as he pulls four more slices of blackened bread out of the toaster and drops them on the counter. Then he grabs a hand full of butter knives out of our silverware drawer and sets them beside it.

“Coming to practice today?” I ask, and daggers are shot in my direction from everyone but the man I’m talking to.

A grunt and head nod are my answer. After a season-ending injury, the senior point man just recently started coming back to practice. It’s damn good to have him back, if only on the sidelines. Not the same without him on the court with us, though.

I pull on my socks and shoes, then grab a cup and fill it with water. Dump a scoop of protein powder in it and mix with a knife because that’s what’s out on the counter for the toast.

I raise the cup to my mouth just as Nathan steps beside me, grabbing another piece of toast as he shoves what’s left of his last piece in his mouth.

“Dude, don’t you know every time you send a dick pic it shrinks by an eighth of an inch?” he says, mouth still full. Then he proceeds to slap my junk. I groan instinctively before the pain even registers. Spill my drink down my shirt and onto the floor. “That’s for the visual of your small prick I can’t get out of my head.”

“Not cool,” I grit out. “So not cool.”

I cup my balls through my shorts and give them a protective squeeze. “The opportunity was too good, man. And if my dick is small then yours is microscopic.”

“Time to go,” Z says as he stands and takes his dirty dishes to the sink.

I grab two pieces of dry toast for the walk over and guzzle what’s left of my protein drink. Wipe the back of my hand over my mouth and follow the boys out the door.

It’s quiet out. Early, dark, and cold. We move at a clip across the street to Ray Fieldhouse where we practice, workout, and play games. It’s my favorite place on all of campus. The fact that it doesn’t have my last name plastered all over it is a definite bonus.

Might be a new semester, but we’re deep in the season. Final Four is less than two months away and everyone is feeling the pressure and excitement. Coach Daniels doesn’t need to yell at us about being lazy or sloppy, although he does, because we’re as hard on ourselves as he is. We want this. Maybe more than ever now that we’ve seen Wes go out with an injury.

We practice for two hours before classes and then most evenings we’re back in the gym for workouts or drills. We’ve got a big game on Sunday, so today’s practice is particularly grueling. Shooting drills, one-on-one maneuvers, full-court press scrimmage, conditioning, and then more shooting drills. By the time we’re done I’m almost looking forward to class just so I can sit and relax.