“What happened on the court tonight?” I ask, for something to do that’s not watching Nova.
“I’ve been working my ass off, pulling double workouts in the gym, but it’s not coming together. Rookie comes in, and it’s nothing. The guy fucking farts and the ball goes in.” He waves with both hands and my mouth twitches.
“You know when you get to a spot on the court and you’re half a beat late. The perfect shot’s not perfect unless you’re there at the right moment.”
He eyes me. “You’re always there at the right time.”
It’s against my nature to be self-deprecating—you wanna be the best, you gotta start by believing you are before anyone else does—but Miles needs a cheering section and apparently Jay’s been sucked onto the dance floor via some Mariah Carey remix I’m gonna have to have surgically removed from my brain.
So, I say, “I had a rough patch in college. Nothing I did could fix it. My sister was sick, and I took a week out to visit her. At the time, I resented her for taking me out of it.”
“That’s cold.”
Don’t I know it.
But I figured the best way I could be there for her was to make it and provide for her.
Now, she’s in graduate school, dating a professor who’s older than I am, and flips me off anytime I insist on sending her money.
I motion for another shot of tequila.
“Kicker is, the time out helped,” I admit. “You can change your arc, your angle, your rotation, but you can’t force the perfect timing.” I remember the days in the hospital, the group chats about practices I was missing, the increasingly frustrated texts from my coach until I finally caved. “When I came back, my problems were solved.”
“All of 'em?”
I take the drink from the bartender and toss it back, feeling the alcohol burn through my system. “Not the acne.”
Miles howls with laughter. “You’re a decent guy when you’re like this. All existential and shit.”
The song changes again, the beat vibrating through my shoes as my attention tracks the dance floor.
Alcohol throbs in my bloodstream, the two drinks making me less guarded than usual.
“Are you into Nova?”
If Miles is surprised by the question, he doesn’t show it. He nods to the beat before lifting a shoulder. “She’s really cool. What do you want me to say?”
It’s my nature to not give a shit about anything.
But I care about this.
“Say no.”
Miles laughs. “Fine. But only because it’s you.”
I exhale, and my gaze tugs back to Nova dancing with Brooke. “You think if you missed your chance to do something, you get another shot?”
“Only if you’re smarter the second time around.”
9
NOVA
I can’t remember the last time I woke up with a hangover. But sure enough, a headache and dry mouth greeted me this morning like an old friend.
I wish I could say I remembered everything that happened last night, but some parts are blurry.
Putting on a fierce dress? Check.
Dancing with Brooke? Check.
Flirting with Clay and possibly crossing a line in the attempt to piss of his Kodashians?
Very possible.
Unfortunately.
By noon, the hangover was mostly gone.
The unease about how I acted lingers.
I’m getting ready to head out to meet Mari and Harlan for dinner when there’s a knock on the apartment door.
I look through the peephole, and all I see is a riot of pink.
Tugging the handle, I cock my head at the delivery guy who peers around his parcel.
“These are for Nova.”
No dozen roses, but a hundred ranunculus and gerberas in every shade of pink. They look soft and lush and smell divine.
What the hell?
The bouquet fills my arms, and I carry it over to the kitchen table before pulling out the card.
Forgive me.
CW
My stomach dances.
This wasn’t the first gift that arrived today.
Near the end of a day of painting, a nail technician showed up with a portable setup to redo my manicure but wouldn’t tell me who sent her.
Clayton Wade isn’t the kind of guy to ply a girl with gifts. Especially not fragrant pink ones.
He goes around living his life, giving a hot broody nod to one of the thousands of women ready to drop everything to be on his arm or in his bed for a night.
But the cut stems exploding across the table beg to differ.
How many walls do I need to paint?
The stubborn longing I hoped I’d kicked starts up again.
Last night, I swore he was only trying to soothe his guilty conscience.
But this feels like something else entirely.
I ignore the pleasant buzzing in my stomach and sneak a last look at the flowers before I head out the door for real.
“How’s the project going?” Mari asks me when we’re settled at the restaurant.
“The skyline is looking fantastic,” Harlan adds.
When Mari texted to suggest dinner tonight, I jumped at it because I want to rebuild my relationship with my sister. Since I got back to Colorado, I’ve seen her twice for coffee. The last time, she was more interested in who I was dating—no one, I’d emphasized—than our relationship.
She asked if Harlan could come too, and I was only a little disappointed. He’s a good guy, and now he’s family.
“Thank you. The skyline is actually done, and I’m starting on the next part. I figured you’d be on top of it given how interested James is in this anniversary gala.”
Harlan tilts his head. “James and I have different roles.”
“And styles.” I lean in, buttering my bread. “I’m guessing you don’t have a diamond watch that looks heavy enough to bludgeon your enemies with.”
Harlan’s mouth twitches as he reaches for his wine.
“Is he really as much of a ‘my way or the highway’ guy as he seems?” I ask.
“More,” Harlan says.
I laugh, but it’s unsettling to be working for a person with that reputation.
“May I take the extra place setting?” the waitress asks.
“Sure,” I say, but Mari holds up a hand.
“No, he’s running behind. There he is!”
A tingle of dread climbs up my spine. I turn to see a guy in a sport coat striding toward us, his wide, white smile blinding.
“This is Paul. He works with me,” Mari says.
“Hi, Paul.” I plaster on a smile.
“Neat hair,” he says as he takes the empty seat opposite me.
“Thank you.”
“It’s pink,” he goes on, folding the napkin tidily in his lap without taking his eyes off me.
I try to match his wide smile. “It is.”
Mari kicks me under the table, and I remind myself to play nice.
The four of us make conversation, and I resist the urge to throttle my sister for setting me up on a blind date. I make it until our appetizers are done, while the guys are talking about sports—apparently Paul’s more into golf than basketball—and Mari rises to use the bathroom.