But because this is still new and his schedule is beyond demanding, it feels as if there’s still so much we haven’t done.
“UGHHHH!”
The shriek has my head snapping up from where I’m watching TV in the living room.
I’m off the couch the next second, padding down the hall and pushing wide the cracked door.
“Are you dead?” I ask as I scan my roommate’s prone figure. She’s sprawled like a ragdoll, her braids spilling across the duvet and her arms overhead.
“Emotionally,” Brooke pants.
Since rooming together for the past couple of months, we’ve gotten closer. We have our roomie routines, and I love our time together.
Now, Brooke tosses her phone on the bed. “I got this brand partnership and posted it. One of the girls from my sorority DMs me saying, ‘So cute, I wish my brother could get me these kinds of gigs.’”
Her eyes squeeze shut.
I fold my arms. “You know that’s bullshit. You deserve all your success.”
“Obviously.” She chews her lip. “But why do some girls have to tear others down? Like friends aren’t really friends and it’s just a label you slap on people in your social feed through college and at parties.”
From a woman who always seems confident, the admission surprises me.
I cross to her bed and perch on the corner.
“Brooke. You’re kind and funny and thoughtful and smart and the best friend a girl could ask for. I’m lucky to have you, and so’s your brother.”
One eye cracks open. “You mean it?”
I make a decision.
“Come on. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
“But aren’t you meeting Clay after the game?” She sighs, batting her lashes up at me.
“This is more important.”
Her expression brightens. “You want to hang out with me more than your baller boyfriend?”
“Yes, I do.”
I wrap my arms around her shoulders, and a second later, she hugs me back. “Thanks,” she murmurs into my shoulder.
I leave her in her walk-in closet with strict instructions not to come out until she’s wearing something wild and head to my own room to find something.
When I’m flipping through outfits, I hit Clay’s contact and cradle my phone against my shoulder.
“Couldn’t wait?” his low, rumbling voice answers.
“Change of plans tonight. Brooke needs a friend.”
“What happened?” Clay’s concerned, and that makes me fall for him a little harder.
“It’ll be fine, just girl stuff. We’re going to hit a bar and dance and drink and complain about school friends.”
“Tell me the name of the bar. I’ll stop by.”
My hand stills on the hanger of a dress. It would be fun to have him there, especially if he brought some of the guys. But that might not be the best given Brooke's current state of mind.
“I think she wants a simple night out. No Kodiaks.”
When silence comes down the line, I’m worried he took it personally.
“There’ll be a bottle of champagne waiting with her name on it. Plus a car to take you there and back,” he says gruffly.
My lips tug up. “Just a simple night out, huh?” I tease.
“That’s my compromise, Pink. You go out without me, I’m making sure you’re looked after.”
“Thank you.” His gesture makes my chest ache. I tug the dress off the hanger, hold it up in front of me in the mirror. “You’re not mad?”
“No. Text me when you get home.”
My lips curve. “I will.”
I tug my shirt over my head and kick off my leggings, glancing back at the mirror to see the cute lingerie I was planning on wearing for him.
“And in the meantime, I’ll send you a picture to help you make it through.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
CLAY
“Finisher?” I uncork the bottle and take a sniff, grimacing. “How much are we getting paid to promote this?”
“It’s part of the campaign to get you to the all-star game,” my agent says.
I set the product on the conference table. “It’s terrible.”
“Bad enough you’d risk not getting to the all-star game?” Chloe demands.
I sling an arm over the back of the next chair. “I don’t want to hawk shoe polish.”
My agent says, “It’s whisky, not shoe polish. You want anything sexier, it’ll have to come in a paper bag.”
I leave my meeting bottle in hand and swing by the wall where Nova’s working. Since Christmas, we’ve been on the road and I’ve barely seen her.
Today she’s not on the ladder but on her feet, working at the bottom of the wall.
I stop beside her and inspect her work. The mural is more than halfway done. The skyline is crisp and clear, and she’s putting final touches on the starters.
My girl has a talent, that’s for sure.
“Needs more muscle,” I decide.
Nova looks up and beams. “You’re back.”
“I’m back.”
Nova presses up on her toes and throws her arms around my neck—at least as far as they’ll go given our height difference.
I inhale her scent. I missed the hell out of her. I miss her smile, her laugh, her brightness. I feel more whole just being in her presence.
Another couple employees are at the end of the hall, and I wait until they’re barely gone to lift her and swing her around. When I set her back down, my fingers thread into her hair as I drag her mouth up to mine and kiss her thoroughly.
“What’s that?” she asks breathlessly when I pull back and she notices the bottle.
“My ticket to the all-star game.”
“Cute.” She grins, clearly pleased. “Finisher? Most guys don’t have a problem finishing.”
“Uh-huh. I can last longer than you, Pink. Tonight, I’ll prove it to you. Multiple times.”
She bites her lip, reminding me it’s been way too long since I had her alone. I’m a second away from dragging her to the nearest closet.
“What does it mean if you make the all-star team?” she asks.
It’s an earnest question. Sometimes I feel so at ease around her that I forget how new she is to the sport.
“I go to all-star weekend. Play in the big game. See guys from all across the league. Talk shit. Party.”
“So, it’s like a high school sleepover for athletes.”
A laugh rumbles through me. “Sure.” I rub a hand over her head, and she ducks away.
Fuck, this girl is good for my soul. She keeps my ego in check, at least a little bit, and I love seeing the world through her eyes.
I want her to soften my edges while I rough up hers.
“Come with me,” I ask on impulse. “It would mean a lot if you were there.”
Her eyes widen. “But you haven’t gotten in yet.”
“Details. I’ve been an all-star the last three years I was healthy, Pink.”
“Where is it?” she asks.
“LA.”
Her smile fades a degree. “It’s one thing to go to your games, but it’ll raise questions if I show up there in your jersey. The all-star game isn’t a Kodiaks thing—it’s a Clayton Wade thing.”