There are problems with this squad.
Rookie’s trying to get too many touches. Miles has been off his shooting. Jay can direct traffic on the court, but can’t get past the big guys. Atlas is too slow to keep up with the other centers.
Those things are fixable.
What’s tougher is Kyle.
He hogs the ball. The second it’s out of Jay’s hands, Kyle takes it to the basket, working in isolation.
When the game wraps, we’re up eight, but Kyle stares me down as he takes a final shot just to pad his stats line.
The problem is hard to resolve, but easier to diagnose.
“He’s a prick,” I grunt at Jay when no one can overhear.
Jay laughs. “He’s you.”
“What do you think?” Nova asks as she cranes her head to look around the one-room studio.
“Ceiling’s too low,” I gripe.
Nova cuts me a look. “It’s small for you.”
I glance up at the eight-foot ceiling, pressing my hand flush against the plaster.
“But it’s not for me,” I finish.
I told Nova I’d help her look at studio spaces to rent.
It wasn’t enough to drive her. I wanted to make this an experience.
So, this morning, I picked her up, bearing coffee and a list of potential places lined up to see.
“I have a good feeling about this one,” she says as she peers out the second-floor windows and down onto the street below.
“You want to grab lunch and think it over?” I offer.
“Good idea.”
She starts for the door, but I block her path. “Don’t move.”
I head to the car to retrieve the picnic basket in the back and return with it in hand.
“What is all that?” she marvels when I start to unpack the sandwiches and drinks and desserts.
“I figured we’d have a busy day. Fuel is important.”
We sit on a blanket I brought to cover the floor. We eat and talk, and it feels good to see her smile.
“Thank you,” she says as she reaches for one of the bakery cookies packed for dessert. “It was really thoughtful of you to take the whole morning off for me.”
“My pleasure. And I do have an appointment this afternoon before practice.” I hesitate. “It’s therapy.”
Her brows shoot up as she finishes her bite of cookie. “I don’t know what you’re going to talk about, and you don’t have to tell me, but I hope it helps.”
I try to put into words some of the dark thoughts that have circled my mind for months. “I’ve spent so long trying to be the best. I craved competition and was willing to throw everything away to win. But in doing that, I ignored the other parts of me, the parts that made me feel weak. I can’t ignore them anymore.”
She nods slowly. “I’ve been going over what happened in LA. I left you when you were at your lowest. I’m sorry.”
Surprise has me frowning. “You did the right thing. I never want to make you feel bad. Or feel bad about feeling good.”
She holds my gaze, and I’m encouraged by the trust on her face.
“Once you said you’d always bet on me. Well, I’ll always bet on you.” She finishes her cookie and shifts back on her palms.
“This is the one,” she decides, looking around from her seated position.
“In that case…”
I go for the second basket, containing a bottle of champagne and an ice bucket.
She laughs in delight as I pop the cork. “It’s like that show where they buy wedding dresses and drink champagne when they say yes.”
“I figured we’d be celebrating if you found the studio.” I pour into two glasses and hand her one.
“I love champagne,” Nova admits. “I don’t care if it’s fancy. How can you drink bubbles and not feel like celebrating?!”
I grin as I take her in. Damn, she’s beautiful like this.
The truth is I’m getting tired of this break.
I want her and me and a million small celebrations just like this.
It’s a future I want to believe in. One I’m willing to work for.
“Now we need to get you an agent,” I murmur over my glass as she sips happily.
“Do agents screen messages?” Her smile fades a bit as she wrinkles her nose.
“Not typically. Why?”
“Someone reached out to me on social media. I think it might be Brad.”
I’m instantly on guard. “Brad like your ex?”
“Yeah. I didn’t respond.”
Fuck, what is this, Asshole Week?
“I’ll look into it.”
“No.” She lays a hand on my arm. “Nothing’s going to happen, and Brad’s not going to show his face anywhere near me, who he jilted, or the business he stole money from.”
She’s smiling, but I’m not even close to satisfied.
Nova turns back to the space. “This is perfect. I need to follow up with the realtor quickly. She said she had other renters interested.”
I don’t tell her I already put a five-thousand-dollar deposit on every place we were seeing for the realtor to hold them until Nova decided.
You are cordially invited to Kyle Banks’ Halloween Party.
Costumes mandatory.
No photos.
19
NOVA
I creep down the stairs from my room. When I hit a spot on the wood floor that creaks, I wince.
Harlan’s in the living room watching a game. Mari is rocking Emily to sleep in the corner.
Grumpy Baller: Changed your mind?
Clay’s text lights up the phone in my pocket.
I’m not hiding from Mari and Harlan this time—just the baby.
I type back.
Nova: Be there soon.
I slip on my shoes and check my reflection in the mirror before sneaking out the front door. My hair is tied up in a blond-pink ponytail, and my blue minidress flares out around my hips from a bright rainbow belt.
Clay’s car is at the end of the driveway, and I’m panting as I reach for the handle.
“Tell me you didn’t go down the drainpipe,” he murmurs as I tumble inside.
“Almost. Emily’s going through a phase. I swear a butterfly flaps its wings on the other side of the world, and this baby wakes up.”
Since he helped me find the studio, we’ve been texting, but we’ve both been busy and we haven’t had time together in person. Tonight, he offered me a ride, saying he was driving a few other people.
“Where’s Rookie? And Jay?” I ask, realizing we’re alone.
“They, ah, decided to go ahead solo.”
I reach for my seatbelt. “So, no babysitting.”
“You mean them or us?”
Clay’s voice is light, but there’s an edge under it that makes my heartbeat accelerate.
It changes things, being alone with him.
We haven’t been physical since the club, and every time I see him, I want.
Damn, do I want.
He puts the car in gear and swings toward the road, pausing to check for traffic. At the same time, he does a slow sweep of my outfit, lingering on a few places.