Chapter 6 Clay
CLAY
A guy with two world championships and more all-star appearances than anyone deserves to have should be unmovable. A rock. A fortress.
But when Nova says, “Strip,” I do it faster than I can get off a shot from the elbow.
“How’s the knee?” she asks.
“I’m thirty-five, not seventy,” I grunt.
My wife lifts a brow but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge my protest.
Our room is compact but surprisingly comfortable. There’s a woodstove on one wall, a rug on the floor, and most importantly, a bed big enough for both of us.
Sure, I take up three quarters of it.
I sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under me, and drag up one pant leg. “I was looking forward to a couple days without the training staff.”
Nova prods my knee with her fingers. She’s not a physio, but she’s learned as much about it and my injury as she can since we’ve been together.
My wife’s an artist, first, last, always. Since we met, I’ve been drawn to the way she sees the world, back when she was running away from her past and finding her future. Her art has always given her a way to look at other people and life.
I hope I’m every bit as supportive of her as she is of me.
“You’re cleared for duty,” she decides, straightening.
At her full height, with me seated, our faces are level.
Convenient.
“Good. I’m ready to give you exactly what you need.” I grab her waist and drag her into my lap.
There’s no time I’m not interested in getting my wife naked. It’s one thing to focus on the court when we have a game to play, but we’re officially off duty until tomorrow. No number of teammates or dinners or planned fun would beat time with Nova.
Preferably naked.
Her pink hair splayed over my tattoos…
“Not that kind of duty! Get your boots.”
My fantasy evaporates. “Thought we were wrapping presents?”
“We are.”
I follow her downstairs, and we dress in our outdoor stuff. I hold the door, and we step outside into the snow.
“It’s so beautiful here!” she calls, clutching the basket she found in the kitchen.
“What’re we looking for?”
“Anything pretty that’s fallen off the trees.” Nova paces toward the edge of the forest, bends, and triumphantly holds up a pinecone.
“You’re the expert in artistic things.”
“Nice try. You’re not getting out of it, Clay.”
“How’s this?” I ask, deadpan.
“That looks like animal poop.”
“So that’s a no.”
She shakes her head.
I find a sprig of berries. “Better?”
Her eyes light up. “That’s perfect!” She takes it and twirls it in her fuzzy purple mittens. “Nothing’s touched them. Inside are the next generation of bushes and trees. It’s amazing what nature can produce.”
She sighs as she drops the stick of berries into her basket. I sense her mood shift to thoughtful as if it’s happening inside me.
Before her, all I could think about was my life, my career, my legacy. Ask any sports journalist and I’m among the best who ever played.
But they don’t talk about you after you stop setting foot on that court.
Sure, you can buy a team, take on a GM role, find a way to steal a corner of the spotlight or stay in the league.
I’m nearing retirement and have decided that’s not what I want. I’m not about to trade a long-ass work week in a jersey for the same one in a suit.
I glance at the gray sky as snow falls.
Nova and I got married a year ago, and we’ve been working on our own project.
She wants kids. I wasn’t sure I did, not before her. Now, I feel as though I have something to contribute.
We’ve been trying for a few months, and it hasn’t happened yet. Still, as much as it would be a rush to know that she’s pregnant, she’s enough for me exactly the way she is.
“You good, Pink?” I step closer, nudging her small boots with my big ones.
“Yeah.” She peers into her basket, assessing. “What’s happening with Ryan and Sierra?”
“What do you mean?”
She nods toward the cabin. “He has a thing for her. Does he give off any signals?”
I shake my head. “I dunno, Pink. We run up and down a court. I don’t ask him about his star sign or who he has a crush on.”
“Maybe the team would be even closer if you did.”
“We’re plenty close. He’s my rookie and we won a championship together.” I laugh, plucking the basket from her hands. “Besides, you’re so tight with the bartender, how come you don’t know?”
Nova shoots me a look before continuing along the treeline, inspecting the ground for anything else that inspires her. “She hasn’t dated anyone that I know of. She’s always working. And probably tired of getting hit on.”
“Wait. So, you think my rookie isn’t good enough for her?” I’m not offended, but I am ready to defend my teammate.
Nova laughs, a tinkling music that lights me up. “Jury’s still out.”
There’s a knocking sound behind us. I swivel and inspect the treeline.
“What’s that?” Nova asks.
I pause. “Maybe whatever crapped in the woods.”
“Are there bears around here?”
“Mhmm. Kodiaks. Better look out.” I growl and drop the basket so I can scoop her up.
She squeals. “You promised you’d protect me,” she gasps between laughing, out of breath when I set her down.
“Today. Tomorrow. Every day I get.”
She bends to collect her basket. When she straightens, her lips curve. I tip her chin up toward me.
The knocking sound comes again, and we both jump.
“But just in case, let’s go inside,” she says.
* * *
Nova
“You were gone a long time,” Chloe calls when we head back inside with my basket of decorations. “Get any pine needles in your back from banging in the trees?”
She’s sitting at the kitchen table opposite Brooke.
“The only pine needles are for wrapping,” I offer.
“Did you see Miles while you were out there?” Brooke asks me. “I seem to have misplaced my fiancé.”
I frown, shaking my head.
“Maybe Trista kidnapped him,” Jay suggests, looking up from his phone.
“Maybe Ryan’s with him and Trista kidnapped both of them,” Chloe finishes.
Jay scoffs. “You could sound more concerned as the head of PR for the team.”
“Long as they’re back home in time to get ready for the game, I’m happy.”
“So, you wouldn’t care if she kidnapped me? What if I disappeared? Would you come rescue me?”
Chloe flicks her gaze up and down Jay. “Possibly. You’re our point guard, and we don’t have a good backup.” She turns to her phone. “The storm is getting closer.”
Jay whistles. “Maybe we’ll get stuck here tomorrow.”
“Don’t even joke about that. We have to be back in time for the Christmas game.”
Clay shifts next to me, and suddenly I’m more aware of him than anyone else in the room.
I feel my hair move and glance over to see him flicking my ponytail. “You had snow there.”
Once in a while, it still hits me that I’m married to one of the most famous players in the entire league. He’s a legend.
And he’s all mine.
“You cold?” he asks.
Clay’s looking down at me, and suddenly I’m warm everywhere.
“No. I mean, yes.”
His eyes spark too, and he takes the basket from me. “C’mon.”
“Where are you guys going?”
“Wrapping presents!” I call.
Which we do have to do, but also, he’s looking at me in that way that still sets me on fire long after the first time he did it.
Inside our room, he shuts the door.
I spread paper, scissors, and tape out on the bed next to the basket of items and kneel on the rug facing the bed. I fish some precut ribbons and bows from my bag next to me. “I think I’ll do different patterns for each gift.”
Clay takes a pink ribbon in one hand and gently captures my wrist with the other.
“I found something to wrap.” He ties the ribbon lightly around my wrist.
“You missed one.”
His eyes warm, but instead of doing the same to my other wrist, he holds them together and ties another ribbon around both of them. His eyes meet mine, and I’m torn between getting this wrapping done and tapping out.
What are you supposed to do when the hottest player in the game is looking at you like you’re all he wants to unwrap?
“I figured between all the trying we’ve been doing, you’d be tired,” I whisper.
He barks out a laugh. “I’m not dead.”
My lips curve too. He’s a serious guy, so any time I can make him smile is a win for me.
“Besides, think I need to get a good look at what I’m wrapping.”
He lifts and turns me so I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, my feet brushing the rug. The wrapping supplies are scattered around me. Next, he’s reaching for the hem of my shirt and tugging it up over my body. I’m only in my bra.
My shirt won’t come off my tied wrists. He leans over me and follows me down when my shoulders hit the bed. His lips skim along my collarbone, down over my breasts. His mouth sucks on one side until I’m writhing.
“You’ve abandoned the wrapping project,” I protest.
“I’m doing it my own way.”
He tugs my leggings down over my hips, dragging my thong with them. I’m bare, and he takes me in as though I’m everything he wants—for Christmas and all the days between.
Clay’s fingers brush between my thighs. I arch against him.
He reaches for a little branch of pine needles.
“What are you going to do with…?”
He drags it down my slit, and my eyes close. My wrists strain against the ribbon. He presses them to the bed. I’m already gasping when his mouth descends between my legs.
I want everything with this man. The world doesn’t know him like I do, doesn’t get him like I do.
And after all we’ve been through, we still have a lifetime ahead of us.
“You know my favorite Christmas?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Any one with you in it.”