Game Changer (Falling in Frisco #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

maddox

There are only a few seconds left in the game, and the New York Werewolves are leading by two. Determined to keep our winning streak alive, I steal the ball from their point guard, Christian Baker, and launch a shot from half-court.

Everything around me moves in slow motion. The roar of the crowd is so loud it fades away, blending with the too-fast beat of my heart. My eyes flick to the clock again before locking back in on the ball.

Please, please, please go in.

I chew the inside of my cheeks, my heart pounding like a drum.

I swear, if it’s an airball, I’m quitting. A loss would be less humiliating.

I can already imagine what they would say about me on the sports news.

“What was Kamado thinking? I can’t believe this guy is in the running for MVP.”

“They said he would be the next Kyrie Lyons. What a joke. These young players don’t know what they’re doing.”

The ball drops into the net, swishing on its descent right before the buzzer sounds.

Fuck yes! I jump up, pumping my fist in the air as I watch the score flip in our favor.

I did it. Thank God! I really wasn’t looking forward to starting a new career at twenty-two.

“Dragooooonssss wiiiinnnnnn!” the commentator bellows.

The entire arena erupts with cheers. Everyone is on their feet, embracing one another and jumping with excitement. My teammates rush to me, smacking my shoulders as they dole out high fives with wide smiles, celebrating our win.

“Let’s fucking go! That’s what I’m talking about!”

“MVP! MVP! MVP!” The crowd chants in unison as they wave signs with my face on them.

From the moment I was four years old, I knew I wanted to play basketball.

I would sit in front of the television, mesmerized, watching Kyrie Lyons dominate the court with his unmatched skills.

He was drafted into the NBA straight out of high school and signed with the San Francisco Dragons, playing his entire career with them.

He led the Dragons to multiple NBA championships, year after year.

The Dragons haven’t seen a playoff game since Kyrie retired a decade ago. I’m determined to change that. I want my name in the Hall of Fame. I want to be the next legend.

Family and friends have started to join our celebration on the court.

Okāsan pulls me into a warm hug, her eyes shining with pride.

I glance around, searching for Otōsan, but—like always—he’s nowhere to be found.

Still, I’m grateful to have at least one parent by my side. “Masashi, you were amazing out there!”

I smile at the sound of my Japanese name.

Masashi. Ambition. A pretty fitting name for me given the circumstances around my birth.

I was premature. The doctors told my parents I might not survive, but there was a nurse named Maddox who refused to give up—who believed that I would be a little fighter.

He was right—I pulled through, so my parents decided to name me after him.

“I would’ve never let you live it down if you’d missed,” my older sister Asami teases. “That would not have been a good look for someone in the running for MVP.”

Grabbing her, I dig my knuckles into her skull. “I think next time I’ll aim for your face.”

“Stop! You’re messing up my hair!” She pushes my arms, attempting to break free.

“Your hair is already messed up. I don’t know how you left the house like that.”

“That can be easily fixed—unlike your ugly face.”

Okāsan shakes her head, chuckling softly. That pretty much sums up my relationship with my sister—constant jokes, but solid as a rock. When push comes to shove, we always have each other’s backs.

“Otōsan got caught up with work and couldn’t make it,” Okāsan says, her voice tinged with disappointment.

Otōsan is the CEO and founder of Kamado Tech—the largest electronics company in the world.

My parents moved from Osaka, Japan, when Asami was one to help expand his business.

He was never too fond of my love for basketball.

He wanted me to follow in his footsteps—to take over the company one day. But that was his dream, not mine.

Okāsan, on the other hand, has always been my biggest supporter. She bought me my first basketball, and I’ve kept it all these years. It’s old, worn out, with most of the leather peeled away—but it holds so many memories.

Against Otōsan’s wishes, she signed me up for basketball lessons and took me to my very first NBA game. I still remember the rush of seeing Kyrie play live. Despite her demanding schedule as a Michelin-starred chef, she always made time to be there for most of my games.

I smile to mask the sting in my chest, and pat the tops of their heads. “It’s okay, Okāsan. You and Asami are here. That’s all that matters.”

“Bro, that shot was fucking wild!” Elijah Callahan—our point guard and my best friend—shouts as he smacks me on the back.

We’ve known each other since childhood. In high school, we were an unstoppable duo.

After graduation, Elijah stayed in San Francisco while I moved to Chicago. During our sophomore year of college, we were drafted to different NBA teams—me to the Houston Phoenixes, and him to the Seattle Sphinxes.

So when we reunited this year to play for our top-choice team, I was beyond thrilled.

“I still can’t believe I made it in.” I grab a bottle of water, gulping it down. “I would’ve died from embarrassment if it had been an airball.”

“The look on Baker’s face was priceless,” says Andrés Navarro, our power forward, grinning like he’d just won the lottery. “That smug bastard acts like his shit doesn’t stink.”

Andrés and I were roommates when we attended Millennium University in Chicago. Having my two closest friends on the same team feels like a blessing.

Our chemistry is off the charts—which is probably why we’re ranked the number-one team in the league right now.

“I wish we could skip the post-game interview,” Elijah mutters, tugging off his sweat-soaked jersey. “I’m ready to hit the club.”

“Same. I’m ready to celebrate,” I say, grabbing a fresh towel. “They reserved a VIP section for us at Blackout—you know, that new spot that just opened.”

“Oh, sweet! Are we allowed to bring a plus-one?”

“Yeah, everyone can bring a plus-one,” I tell him. “You thinking about bringing Lauren?”

“Oh nah.” Elijah shakes his head. “Had to cut things off with her. She was trying to be exclusive, and I’m not about that life. I’m only twenty-two—I’m not trying to be tied down to anyone.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say with a smirk. “Single life is the best life.”

“Amen to that!” Elijah throws up a fist, and I meet it with a grin and a solid bump.

“Being single is boring. Just wait until you find the one, and your life will change,” Andrés says, grinning as he glances at the photo of his wife hanging in his locker. “Being in a loving, committed relationship is the key to happiness.”

He’s been with the same girl since he was eighteen, and they got married last summer.

Elijah rolls his eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of sleeping with the same person over and over again?”

“Don’t you get tired of worrying about catching an STD?” Andrés snaps back.

Elijah hurls his sweaty jersey at him, smacking Andrés right in the face. The whole locker room booms with laughter.

“Fuck, man! You’re disgusting!” Andrés wrinkles his nose, wiping the sweat off his face.

“I never have to worry about that,” Elijah says with a shrug, a cocky grin spreading across his face. “I’m God’s favorite.”

“Oh, yeah, because He totally approves of you having sex out of wedlock,” I say, sarcasm thick in my voice.

“Please. You’re no saint yourself,” Elijah fires back.

“I never said I was.”

I have a bit of a reputation for sleeping around.

After celebrating a big win, my usual routine involved hitting up a club and then bringing a beautiful woman back to the hotel.

And it was usually never the same one. I’ve hooked up with countless celebrities, from Oscar-winning actresses to global pop stars.

I never led them on and always made it clear from the start that this is purely sex and nothing more. But the moment I start to notice they’re getting too attached is when I have to cut things off.

I don’t have time for relationships, nor do I have the desire to be in one. Not after what happened the last time.

I gave someone my heart once just to have it stomped on. Over the years, I built an impenetrable wall and made a vow to never let anyone else in.

Love isn’t something I need to feel fulfilled. What matters most to me is bringing a championship home for my team.

“So I was thinking about inviting Riley to come out with us,” Elijah says.

I stop in my tracks. “Wait—one of the cheerleaders?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” He lifts a brow.

“Bad idea, bro. Don’t shit where you eat.” I shake my head. “I learned that the hard way. Last year, when I was playing for Houston, I hooked up with two of the cheerleaders. They got into a huge fight during the halftime performance and slashed my tires after the game.”

He waves his hand, brushing me off. “Dude, I make millions. I’m not worried about that. If it happens, I’ll just buy new ones. She’s smoking hot, and I’d love to see what’s underneath that cheerleading uniform.”

I don’t even know why I bother giving this guy advice—he never listens.

“Always thinking with his dick,” Andrés mutters under his breath.

I step off the elevator and take a moment to admire the stunning design of Blackout.

The space is tastefully decorated with sleek, modern furniture, glossy black epoxy floors, and a massive disco ball spinning above the dance floor.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a breathtaking view of the Golden Gate Bridge glittering in the night.

I spot my teammates gathered in the back and weave through the crowd toward them.

“Well, if it isn’t the man of the hour!” Chandler shouts over the blaring music.

“What’s up, Chan Man!” I fist bump him then move around the table, dapping up the rest of my teammates.

Our server arrives with a bottle of their most expensive tequila and pours it into shot glasses.

“Let’s raise a glass to our MVP, Maddox Kamado!” Elijah cheers.

We clink our glasses together and down the shots in unison.

“I think we have a real shot at the playoffs this year,” Darius says, clapping me on the back.

Darius Booker is the veteran of the team. He played alongside Kyrie Lyons before the legend hung up his jersey. Since I joined the Dragons, he’s taken me under his wing, giving me advice I still rely on every time I step on the court.

The server brings my drink of choice—a Moscow mule—and I sink into the soft velvet couch.

Elijah spots Riley—the cheerleader he invited—and waves her over. She’s with another girl I don’t recognize—a curvy woman with deep bronze skin and long braids.

“Damn,” Elijah says, eyeing her up and down. “I thought you looked good in your cheer uniform, but this dress”—he whistles—“I’m speechless.”

Riley leans in and whispers something in his ear that makes him grin like an idiot.

“I hope you don’t mind that I brought a friend,” she says.

“Not at all. The more the merrier.” Elijah gives her a wink.

“This is my best friend, Alicia. She’s visiting from Louisiana.”

Alicia-from-Louisiana looks me up and down like she’s mentally undressing me. I flash my famous dimpled smile and she instantly gets flustered. Scooting over, I pat the open space beside me, and she wastes no time sliding in—getting as close as possible.

“I was at the game earlier,” she says. “Watching you play? You looked so hot.” Her hand slides up my thigh, and she brushes it against the tip of my cock.

She’s a bold one, that’s for sure.

“Oh, yeah?” I casually drape my arm over her shoulder. “What was your favorite part of the game?”

“When you made that winning shot,” she purrs.

She swings her legs over and slides onto my lap. “It’s no wonder you shoot so well. Your arms are so big and sexy.”

She bites her lower lip and grips my biceps like she never wants to let go. “I wonder what else is big…”

She’s about to find out real soon.

The DJ blasts “Get Low” by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz, and her eyes light up.

“Oh my God, I love this song!” she squeals. “Come on! Let’s see if you’re as skilled on the dance floor as you are on the court.”

Grabbing my hand, she pulls me towards the center of the club.

“Damn, that was amazing.” Alicia lies sprawled on the bed, out of breath after our session. “I swear, I’ll have such high expectations for men after tonight.”

“I’m quite flattered,” I say with a chuckle.

“I wish I could stay for more, but I have to be up early tomorrow.” She reluctantly climbs out of the bed to get dressed.

I pull out my phone and call my driver to arrange a ride for her back to Riley’s.

“Um, can I get my phone back?” She chews on her fingernails, avoiding my gaze.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I reach into the nightstand drawer and hand her the phone.

After catching someone trying to record me without my consent, I had to start taking extra precautions. Now I make sure the women I spend the night with always put their phones away before we get started. So far, none have had a problem with it.

If a sex tape ever leaked, it would be a massive scandal.

“Thank you for making my stay in San Francisco memorable,” she drawls, lingering by the door frame.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” I say, flashing her a wink.

After she leaves, I slip back into bed and drift off into a peaceful sleep, still riding the high of my victory.