Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
“Ready to eat these guys alive, Texas?” Marcus gives me the nod as we get ready for tip-off.
I nod back. I do a quick scan of the sea of faces in the stands, looking for something familiar.
And then I see her.
Nicole is perched five rows off the floor, next to her dad, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. They’re in Comets gear. For some reason, I expected her to be on her phone or something, but she’s not. She’s looking at me. She gives a tiny wave.
I shoot her a wink, and Marcus bumps his shoulder into mine.
“Texas, stay in the moment,” he says, but I hear the jesting in his tone.
“Just scoping the competition,” I shoot back, eyes already on the opening tip.
The next forty-eight minutes are nothing but muscle memory and the white noise of the crowd. My hands are dripping with sweat. My feet ache. Every time I go for a rebound, it feels like the inside of my body wants out.
We’re up by two at the half, but only because Marcus is making circus shots and the opposing center fouled out in the second quarter. In the locker room, everyone is riding high, but Coach isn’t buying it.
“Don’t get cocky,” he cautions. “You’ll get soft and they’ll eat you alive.”
I nod, but I don’t need the warning. My whole life has been about not letting up.
Back on the court, the crowd is even louder. I spot Nicole again, and this time, she’s gotten the entire row to do some kind of half-baked wave. It’s a little cringe, but I love it.
Third quarter, I lock in. The noise drops away. I can feel the defenders’ jerseys brushing my arms, hear the squeak of every pivot and the slap of every high five. I even start calling for the ball. I want it. I want to show everyone—okay, maybe just Nicole—that I’ve got this.
There’s a moment, late in the fourth, where the game could go either way. We’re up one, but they have the ball.
I catch my man’s eyes. He’s quick, but also predictable. When he cuts, I cut harder, and my body hits his. The ball goes loose. I dive, scraping my elbow. I grab the ball, even though my head cracks against the floor and, for a split second, I see stars.
But I have it. I hear the whistle. Our possession.
Marcus slaps my back as I right myself. “Yes! I knew you had it in you!”
I blink sweat out of my eyes and look to the stands. Nicole is standing now, hands in the air, a massive grin on her face.
I’m grinning like an idiot as I line up for the inbound. There’s ten seconds left. Coach gives me the nod, and I give it right back.
We run the play. Marcus fakes left, and I see the lane open up. The pass hits me in the chest. I drive. There’s a defender in my face, arms everywhere. I don’t think. I jump, twist, shoot the ball up and over, and pray.
Come on.
It goes in.
The place explodes. I can’t even hear myself yell, but I do.
We win by three.
After the handshakes and a shower, I pull on my Comets polo and wander back toward the tunnel.
I’m still not sure what to do with myself, so I head back out, half-expecting the place to be empty. But there’s a sea of families, fans, and sponsors lingering for selfies and autographs.
I scan the faces, searching for anyone familiar. Toward the back, I spot them. Nicole and her dad.
Just go talk to them.
Swallowing the nerves, I walk up, hands in pockets, and try not to look as nervous as I feel.
Nicole sees me first, and the way her blue eyes light up—wide and unguarded—warms something in my chest. ”That was insane!” she says, launching into a hug before I can brace myself. She’s warm, small against my chest, and smells like citrus shampoo and stadium popcorn.
I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I just hold on for a beat longer than is probably allowed.
“You were incredible,” she says, stepping back.
Her father offers a businesslike hand. “Dominic, that was quite a performance. You single-handedly shifted the momentum there at the end. I was impressed. I knew you were a good addition to the team.”
I try to laugh it off, but his handshake is strong enough to break small bones. “Team effort, sir. But thank you.”
“We saw you go down pretty hard. Are you alright? Did they check you for a concussion?” Nicole asks.
“Oh, yeah. Totally fine. It’s not a real game if it doesn’t get a little messy.”
There’s a brief moment of silence between us all, but I jump in before I can talk myself out of it. “Actually, um, Nicole … there’s an afterparty thing. At the lounge here. Players and families. You wanna come?” I quickly look at her dad, feeling guilty. “You’re both invited, if you want.”
I can feel the blood racing to my ears. I’ve never invited anyone to one of these before, but right now, it feels right. And the thought of Nicole not being there at the end of the night makes my chest tighten.
“I have dinner plans with our investors tonight,” Mr. Farrarah says. “But I’m sure Nicole could attend.”
Nicole flutters her eyelashes at me, suddenly shy. “Yeah, okay. I can do that.”
“Awesome.” I nod, once again trying for a nonchalant vibe. “It’s through that hallway, just past the trophy room. I can walk you there.”
We bid her father goodbye and then start walking toward the lounge.
Nicole falls into step beside me. “I’ve never been to an afterparty for a game. Hopefully Cocoa won’t make a mess of my apartment while I’m gone.”
“I’ll help you clean it up if he does.” I chuckle, catching my breath as my hand brushes hers. It lingers there, and she slides her fingertips along my palm. I gaze down at her, and she meets my eyes.
“You’re different tonight.”
“Yeah?” I wrap my fingers around her hand, shoulders looser than they’ve been in weeks.
Nicole nudges my arm with her shoulder, though I don’t miss her blushing. “You played like you were actually having fun.”
“I think I was.” I smile at her and then grab the door to the lounge, holding it open for her.
She doesn’t drop my hand.
As we step inside, Marcus spots us, waves his arm, and yells, “Texas!”
Nicole looks at me. “You’re famous. It’s very intimidating.”
I roll my eyes, but I feel my face flush. “You’re too flattering.”
I lead Nicole across the room, weaving through a lot of people I don’t recognize, but they slap my back like I matter. Like I belong. And for the first time since I got here, I don’t feel like I’m borrowing the feeling.
Nicole’s standing beside me like she knows I’m meant to be here.
Marcus intercepts us. “So, you’re the hot girl with the crazy dog?”
Nicole’s eyes grow wide, and she turns to me, clearly shocked. “Um…”
“She is,” I deadpan, swallowing the urge to punch Marcus in the face for embarrassing me.
“I am,” Nicole breathes out, a slow smile tugging at her lips. In the moment, I notice she’s not only wearing a Comets shirt—but NEELSON, 11, stretched across her back.
And pride bubbles in my chest.
Not just because she’s wearing my number, but because she chose it.
“Well.” Marcus reaches out and sets a big hand on her shoulder without missing a beat. “You made our boy play like an All-Star. Whatever you did, you keep doing it.”
Nicole laughs, glancing at me. “I’ll do my best.”
Marcus claps me on the back, then leans closer to her, conspiratorial. “You know, I must thank you for allowing me the chance to give him a can of Pet PEE-rific as a welcome gift. It was truly magical the way he reacted.”
“I can hear you,” I mutter.
Marcus introduces his sister, Macy, who doesn’t remotely look related to him. Nicole locks in with her immediately, and within five minutes, they’re deep in conversation about LA traffic, dog-friendly parks, and the horror of high-rise laundry rooms.
I try to keep up, but mostly I’m just standing here, grinning as I watch her effortlessly connect.
She’s amazing.
My eyes drop to her fingers, threaded through mine like that’s exactly where they belong. I have no idea what kind of statement we’re making, but I’m pretty sure I want the entire world to see how lucky I am to have her here with me.