I bite my cheek. “What else do you like?”
Stop flirting, Nova.
But telling myself not to flirt with Clay is like telling myself not to breathe.
His gaze doesn’t move from mine. “Like your dress.”
Awareness has the hairs on my neck lifting. In this place surrounded by darkness and music and sexy people in sexy outfits, it feels like we’re in another world. One where the usual rules don’t apply. As if I can say or do anything and it will be forgotten tomorrow.
“Keep going,” I say, and his nostrils flare.
“Like your wall. Passed it twice today.”
The quickest path to practice and games is going in the back door, which doesn’t take him past there. Which means he made an effort to go by my work.
“I’m working on the players next. I wish I had that drawing from the Kodiaks' charity auction as a reference. It should be easy, but sketching you is harder than I remember.”
“Wonder why that is.”
The song changes to something downtempo. I toss back the drink in my hand in one gulp and set the glass on the bar.
“I thought I saw you. I was wrong.”
When I straighten, Clay’s watching intently. “Nova. About the wedding—”
“You were right,” I interrupt, because I can’t stand to hear him break his stony silence just to tell me all the reasons we’d never happen. “It wouldn’t have worked with us. Thank you for seeing it before I did.”
Clays brows draw together in a frustrated line.
I hold up a finger for the bartender and order a tequila shot.
“When I said we were nothing, I didn’t mean you were nothing,” he says as the bartender fills the shot glass.
That’s not better, because I valued what we had. It was like a tiny blossoming flower, and he crushed it under his Kobes.
I reach for my wallet.
“She with you?” the bartender asks Clay.
Clay nods, and the other man waves my wallet away.
“I’m not…”
They ignore me.
“To dodging bullets,” I tell him.
“That what we did?”
My gaze lowers to the ink snaking out from under his shirt.
Cheers erupt as Little Queen takes the stage.
I look out toward the dance floor and see Brooke waving at me.
I reach for my shot glass and the salt.
“Do you want one?” I hold out the drink.
Clay shakes his head. Because he doesn’t drink during the season.
Basketball first.
Everything else second, if ever.
No room for weakness or caring about another person.
The Kodashians are still watching, a flock of vultures waiting to see if I’m going to eat my prey or leave some for them.
Except when one of them whispers in the other’s ear and they both laugh as they look back at me, it’s clear they don’t think of me as a threat.
I have the sudden impulse to mark my territory, even if it’s not mine anymore.
I reach for Clay’s hand, the warmth of his skin making my stomach flip instantly. I spread his thumb and forefinger, shaking salt between them.
Holding his gaze, I suck it off his skin, feeling the jolt of heat between my thighs as I do. When I toss the drink back, the fiery alcohol burns down my throat.
As I slam the shot glass back on the bar, his nostrils flare.
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like I’ve dodged a bullet.
It feels like I’ve missed out on something momentous.
I start to turn away, but a hand closes around my wrist, tugging me back. I’m crushed against a hard expanse of muscle and tattoo.
“How many walls?” His mouth is at my ear, more urgent this time.
“What?” My eyes snap up to his.
I should have known better than to think I could call him out, put my mouth on him and not elicit a response.
The feel of him so close is overwhelming me, making my emotions go haywire.
“How many walls do I need to paint for you to forgive me?” His voice is raw, his gaze a thousand miles deep.
I look up at him, not bothering to hide the emotions swirling inside me along with the tequila.
Every part of me aches for him. Even now, his expression says it’s only us in this entire club.
Without permission, my hand skims up his chest to his shoulder, my fingers tracing the line of the tattoo beneath his shirt. The one I chose.
But he doesn’t want me. He wants forgiveness. Absolution.
Because he’s ready to move on with his life, and if I’m smart, I’ll find a way to move on with mine.
“Too many,” I whisper before pulling away.
8
CLAY
Fuck, that didn’t go the way I planned.
Nova’s out on the floor dancing, her hands over her head and her pink hair catching the lights.
My "Kodashians," as she called them, are waving from the booth, swaying together and sending me blatant looks.
The only woman I’m running hot for is the one dancing with Brooke.
I told myself I was coming tonight to prove to her we could coexist.
It backfired.
She wants nothing to do with me, and I’m realizing I can’t take a breath without thinking about her.
When I laid eyes on her tonight, it was like taking a charge at full speed. Her bright eyes danced with fire. Her glossy lips had my dick sitting up and taking notice.
She looks like every weakness I’ve ever denied, her hair falling in cotton candy waves around her shoulders and her dress hugging every curve I never had a chance to memorize with my hands.
Or my tongue.
More than that, she’s earnest and fun and so vital it hurts. I’d follow her around on my knees if she asked me to.
We’re nothing.
It wasn’t true when I wrote it, and it’s even less true now.
Pretending I didn’t care a month ago was hell. Playing the asshole who hurt her now is worse.
She hates me.
I ache for her.
I wanted the innocent, questioning girl who arrived here, and I want the woman who paints walls and tosses retorts at me now even more.
Sending her away was supposed to save us both, but I’m still in Denver, and it turns out, she didn’t need my help.
“Shots?” Jay calls in surprise as I reach for my untouched tequila. “That’s new for you. Thought you were driving.”
“Limo’s on me.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“Alright.” He claps a hand on my shoulder and heads for the dance floor.
I hate the way the alcohol feels burning down my throat, but I’m not about to admit it.
“Don’t get into a fight,” I tell Miles, referring to the guy he almost hit when I was approaching.
“Because you’re the poster boy for following the rules.” He smirks.
Of the guys in the Kodiaks, when I need to talk to someone, it’s Jay I go to. But since I’ve been keeping this secret about LA, we don’t talk as much as we used to.
He knows there was something going on with me and Nova, just like he knows I haven’t wanted to talk about it since she left.
On the other hand, Miles and I have been on the same team for two years, and we’ve joked around but never talked about anything serious. I respect his talent and work ethic. He looks as frustrated as I feel, nursing a beer and glaring across the crowd.