An unknown number pops up on my call display while I’m painting in the garage. Harlan and Mari offered to give me a room inside, but I like having a separate space from the rest of the house.
I turn my music off to answer. “Hello?”
“Nova.”
“Yes?” The voice is familiar, but I can’t place it.
“This is Raegan Madani. Little Queen,” she goes on, like I don’t know exactly who she is. “Annie gave me your number.”
“Great,” is all I can say through the surprise.
“I’m playing a club in Denver next week, and I thought you could help me out. I want a mural for behind the stage. A smaller version of what you did for the Kodiaks. But I’m on a timeline.”
Little Queen is a huge deal, and the fact that she remembered me and reached out personally blows my mind. It would be good to have more money coming in. Plus, it’s great exposure.
“Can I get back to you?”
“By the end of the day.”
After I click off, I survey the garage.
At the premiere, it sucked to have people disparaging my work in front of me.
Can I handle taking another chance?
The door to the house opens, and Mari steps into the garage.
“Hey. Have you seen my winter coat?” She frowns and crosses to a stack of Rubbermaid bins in one corner of the huge garage.
“You stuffed your coat in there?” I say, disbelieving.
“Last year, I was so happy for winter to be done I never wanted to see it again,” she admits. “What’s new with you?”
“Well… I just got a call from this big music producer to do a piece for her upcoming show.”
“Wow.” Mari blinks.
“I don’t know if I should do it. It’s last minute, but I want to make sure she’s happy with it.”
“If it’s last minute, it sounds like you’d be doing her a favor,” Mari points out.
“You’re right. It’s just hard to put myself out there again.”
My sister’s smile fades.
“You know, I came downstairs and saw Harlan watching this.” She holds out her phone.
On it is a video of some guys playing ball on a familiar background.
It takes me a minute to realize it’s one of the courts at Kodiak Camp.
And one of the guys playing is Clay.
My chest tightens as I watch him weave through the bodies for the basket, going in for a layup.
A minute later, there’s a finger roll.
As he jogs back, I catch a smile on his face while Miles fist-bumps him.
He’s playing for the first time in months.
“This is good, isn’t it?” Mari says softly, and I blink up at her as I pass the phone back.
“It’s good.”
He’s getting his mojo back. Maybe I need a little of that, too.
My sister rips the lid off the bin and rifles through it. “Ahah! Got you.” She lifts a parka in one triumphant hand.
She heads back to the house, pausing on the landing to glance around. “It’s going to get cold in here before long. You should come inside to work.”
But I’m already typing out a text to Raegan Madani.
The club is throbbing, the music pulsing through my shoes.
“You could’ve warned me you were going to do this!” Brooke hollers, wrapping both arms around me.
“Got to keep some surprises in life,” I call back as I toss my head back and forth.
Earlier today, I got in a hair appointment to have my faded blonde dyed neon pink.
It gave me renewed optimism and energy, even before Brooke and I wound up three drinks in at the club.
At the DJ booth, Little Queen spins.
My art forms the backdrop: three abstract panels with swirling gold florals. It felt liberating to create them, and I’m so proud of myself for doing it.
Now, she flips both middle fingers toward one of the VIP booths. Some businessmen in dark suits fill the booth, one standing head and shoulders above the rest.
Brooke laughs. “Is that Harrison King? I thought they were married.”
He lifts a glass in her direction, and she stares him down.
“They are,” I say biting my cheek.
“Yum. I always wondered how married couples keep it fresh.”
I remember hearing in the media that between his family and business and her past, they had some pretty heavy stuff going on.
It doesn’t look heavy from here.
Brooke sways along with me. She’s dressed in a short black jumper and sky-high heels. Her eyes sparkle. Her maroon lipstick and the braids swinging down her back give her a chic vamp vibe.
I lift the camera and tilt it down toward me, adjusting my silver halter top to push my boobs up and together for maximum cleavage and fluffing my newly-dyed hair.
Click.
“You’re hot. There are any number of guys who would love to hook up with you,” Brooke points out. “You’ve been on a break so long. Don’t you think you should stop waiting?”
I glance down at my phone.
Nova: Saw you playing ball at Kodiak Camp. How’d it feel?
Grumpy Baller: Like I’m rusty as hell :)
We’ve been texting the past week since I got back from LA.
It feels good to talk to him. Right, even, as if my world was never fully on its axis when we weren’t updating each other on our days and teasing back and forth.
Brooke lifts the phone from my fingers and I grab for it, but she holds it away. “What’s the problem?” she shouts over the music.
I huff out a breath. “The problem is I’m still in it with him,” I holler back.
Since the other day, all I can think about is Clay. He’s still the only person I want to share every high with, every low. The one whose smile I miss at the end of a long day.
I’ve watched the video of him playing at Kodiak Camp a dozen times. My reaction is more than the teasing I’ve shared with Clay.
Arousal wraps around me like a silken rope twisting me in its grasp.
He looks good, and I know exactly how good it feels to have every inch of that body on mine.
Brooke holds out my phone with a half smile. “Then why’re you here with me? A girl’s got to get hers somewhere.”
I take it back, staring at the text conversation with Clay.
As if I’m conjuring him from thin air, a message comes through.
Grumpy Baller: Where are you tonight? Playing my avatar again?
Nova: You wish
I click to the picture Brooke and I took, the sexy one. On impulse, I attach it to a text message, and before I lose my nerve, I hit Send.
Here’s to putting yourself out there.
We keep dancing, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a dumb idea when the response comes back.
Grumpy Baller: Can’t blame me
Heat strokes through me.
I’m definitely flirting with Clay.
And he’s flirting with me.
Grumpy Baller: I miss it
Nova: Basketball or being with me?
Grumpy Baller: Yes
Well, damn.