Chapter 4
NOVA
“Oh God, yes.”
My praise echoes off the walls of the bathroom.
The shower is every bit as decadent as it looked. The water pressure is like a massage, and the heat is amazing.
I bounded out of bed at six thanks to the time difference. The flight is behind me, and so is everything from my past life.
Back home, I might have a complicated work and relationship status, but in Denver, I’m about to help my sister have the most incredible wedding and maybe create a new version of myself at the same time.
When I stepped into the shower, I let the warm water cascade over my body, washing away the grime of a long day of travel.
Now my fingertips graze my skin, following my curves.
Without permission, my growly plane hottie appears in front of me.
His dark eyes and messy hair. The way he looked at me made my skin tingle. The way he spoke to me made me feel…
Real.
Alive.
Seen.
I haven’t had an orgasm in weeks, but something about yesterday has me on edge, and it wasn’t only the flight.
Suddenly, Clay looms over me, huge and hard and deliberate. His gaze lingers on me with a heat that burns through my skin.
He lifts me in his arms, pressing my back against the shower tile while he slides his massive length between my thighs.
He whispers how I’m a good sister, a good person, and when I tell him I’m actually bad, he says he likes me both ways.
I trail my fingertips over my slick skin until my body tightens and quivers.
Waves of pleasure radiate through me and leave me gasping in the aftershocks.
“It will be nice to see Brad at the wedding.”
Mari’s voice slices into my thoughts.
I stick my head under the spray and let it wash away the reminder of the secret filling the space between us.
After showering and drying my hair, I tug on jean shorts and a fresh white T-shirt that skims my body before heading downstairs.
I find Mari in the kitchen making coffee.
It’s barely six thirty, and she’s already polished in a pant suit and heels. My sister is five years older, but sometimes it feels like a lifetime.
“You ever think you’d have this after the trailer?” I tease, coming up behind her.
She turns and does a once-over of my outfit. “That’s why I busted my ass to get through school and work my way up at the agency. I wanted a place to call home. Somewhere with flowers planted in the ground that you could see year after year.”
“But we saw new flowers every year,” I point out.
She rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t only the flowers, Nova.”
We’ve seen a lot of the country thanks to our parents raising us on the road and homeschooling us.
They said there was no point staying in one place, preferring to drift from one community to another.
After they died, I always ran to Mari for help.
She had her shit together from the time we were kids. No weaknesses or cracks.
“I can’t believe there’s still so much to do in less than a month,” she frets.
“Put me to work. That’s why I came early. I want to be useful. I can run errands.”
Yesterday, Harlan showed me the cavernous garage, complete with five shiny luxury vehicles. He offered me my choice of two, and I picked a sleek silver Volvo.
“That would be great. But it might be smart for you to check in with your office, too, while you’re here,” she says pointedly.
“Not necessary. I mean,” I go on at her expression, “I’ll give it a few days first. So they have time to miss me.”
I mostly want to forget about it and focus on my sister.
“Oh! You haven’t shown me your dress,” I say to distract her from serious things.
Mari pulls out her phone and shows me the photos of herself at the designer’s boutique. “It’s getting taken in as we speak. Now I just have to put nothing in my mouth for the next thirty days.”
The dress is sleek and sexy, chic lines and clinging lace. “I thought you were getting an A-line with a huge train.”
“Mermaid style is more sophisticated.”
“But you wanted a princess gown.”
“When I was ten, Nova.” She laughs.
We used to dress up as brides as little girls. We’d pull wildflowers from near the camper we lived in to make bouquets and use mosquito netting for veils. Being on the road, we didn’t have a lot of possessions, but it never bothered me. We made our own joy from the things around us.
I shake it off.
“So, I can’t wait to get started. Tell me what you need.”
“The guests are confirmed, obviously. The venue is secured, and we’re doing the reception here at the house. Flowers are ordered, and there’s a cake testing scheduled in a couple of days, but…”
My heart leaps at the prospect of helping in some important way.
“We need to approve the linens for dinner, which means getting fabric swatches over to Chloe.”
“Who’s Chloe?”
“Chloe Kim is Harlan’s head of PR. And my maid of honor.”
The twisting in my gut is sharp as my vision of standing at my sister’s side comes crashing down.
I think of the MOH speech I’ve been working on. The imagined pictures of us together with matching bouquets.
Sure, my sister didn’t officially ask me to be her MOH, or hint that she would, but I figured everything was last minute.
“Oh.” I force a smile and pretend I’m not dying inside. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You’ll love her. You’ll get a chance to talk to her at the dress fitting in a few days.”
And agonize over what Chloe has that I don’t until then?
Hard pass.
“Hey, what if I run those samples over to Chloe now? Save you the stress.”
Mari’s brows lift. “Great. Let me text her.”
Don’t spill on this car.
I carefully navigate the Starbucks drive-through.
This is what they created ventis for: facing the woman who’s replaced you at your sister’s side.
Once it’s tucked into the cupholder, I follow my phone’s navigation to the Denver Kodiaks' stadium in the heart of town.
Security helps me find parking when I flash my ID.
No matter who Chloe is, I’m going to make this wedding the best it can be. Nothing will get in the way.
I take a sip of Starbucks to ease the knot in my chest.
Inside, the stadium is next level.
My feet seem to echo in the vast hallways, empty except for security at their posts. One of the guards points the way to a black-and-purple reception desk. On the wall is a huge logo of a growling bear with a basketball, and two women are behind the desk, conferring.
“Hi! I’m Lena, Chloe’s assistant.” One of the women springs forward, beaming when she spots me. “You must be Nova. Have you seen the court? We can stop by on the way to Chloe’s office.”
She leads me through the halls, including a detour down a dark hallway that opens into the vast arena.
I love learning new things and going new places, and this feels like a different world. I’ve been to one pro hockey game, plus lots of concerts, mostly with cheap tickets, except the time I won lower bowl in a contest.
It’s fascinating to see the stadium from down here.
The rows of seats seem to go for miles. There’s a faint smell of cleaning supplies and rubber.
On the court, players are working out.
The team is running drills, half the guys in purple and the others in gold.
“The bench and rookies have extra practice once this wraps up,” Lena explains. “The starters will go lift. Their focus is on getting stronger and tougher.”
My attention is drawn to one player in particular. In the sea of jerseys, his is purple, and he looks stronger, bigger, faster than the others. His arms are covered in tattoos. There’s something about the way he moves…
“Who’s your favorite?” she asks, motioning me to follow.
I snap out of it and comply.
“I don’t really follow basketball.” My host’s eyes widen. “How about you?”
Lena smiles dreamily as we pass a wall of jerseys.
Wade.
Issa.
Griffin.
Brooks.
Lopez.
“Wade, all the way. Me and every other girl in Denver, right?”
“Why him?” I ask to make conversation as we wind through more hallways with glass walls. The conference rooms and offices have names etched into them.
“He’s gorgeous and broody and talented. I met him once in the hall, and I couldn’t even speak. I think I got pregnant from the eye contact though.”
She winks and I laugh.
Eventually, we stop in front of an office, and a woman who’s probably late twenties like Mari waves from inside. She’s wearing a moss-green skirt suit, a nod to corporate and the scenery, her dark hair sleek over her shoulders. Her assistant gestures me inside the office and leaves.
“No. Tell him we’re doing this my way, or I’ll shred his press badge.” She stabs a button on her phone and shakes her head. Her eyes land on me and brighten. “You must be Nova.”
I shake her hand. “Because you’re expecting me or because I look like Mari?”
“The former. You look nothing like your sister.” Chloe’s laugh is warmer than I expect. I hand her the samples, and she thanks me, setting them on her desk. “How’s your coffee?”
“Half full.”
“We’ll go grab another. I need to stretch my legs.”
“You’re the head of PR for the team,” I say as we start down the hall in the other direction. “You look so young.”
Chloe winks. “Tell my parents that. I didn’t become a doctor, so they were bummed. We’re working it out slowly and over many dinners.”
Dammit. She’s not only smart and pretty—she’s nice.
We weave past rooms and corridors, her heels clicking the entire way. She waves to people as we pass.
“I bet you were the perfect child,” I say.
“I was a tomboy. Grew up playing basketball. My older brothers played, too. Eventually, we stopped playing together though.”
“They were too good?”
“I was too rough. One nasty elbow to the groin and my brother called it quits.”
When she smiles, I do, too. It’s like we have a secret together.
“Listen, I know you’re Mari’s MOH, and I respect that, but it’s obvious you’re busy. I want to help any way I can,” I offer.
Chloe’s face splits into an appreciative smile.
“That would be great, thank you. Most of the big pieces are done, but there is the bachelorette. I was thinking of having it at a spa, about a week out so it’s not a stressful rush right before.”
“I love that! Maybe we can bring treats and our own decorations,” I go on.
We keep chatting until we get to the kitchen, and Chloe makes me a cappuccino. “It’s not Miles's, but it’s something.”
“Who’s Miles?”
She cocks her head. “You a basketball fan?”
“Not really.”
“Perfect. This place can get pretty incestuous. Not to objectify the guys, but they’re larger than life. Literally. It’s easy to get seduced, whether they’re trying to draw you into their orbit or not.”
I blink. “You have nothing to worry about.”
I’m coming off a breakup, and the only guy who made my vagina flutter was a stranger on a plane I’ll never see again.
We head back toward her office but go a different way. At a bank of windows, I pull up. On the other side of the glass is a gym with sleek machines and free weights. Half a dozen guys are in there. They’re tall and muscled, intent on their work.
“Enjoy from a distance,” Chloe says. “They lift after practice. Preseason they’re here for three or four hours a day, ramping up for all of the madness of the regular season.
Then the other things start up—forty-plus games on the road, media availabilities.
I give them a hard time, but these guys work their asses off. ”
Chloe’s phone buzzes. “One second, Nova. Someone skipped a photoshoot.” Her shiny hair slips over her shoulders as she shakes her head.
She turns away and speaks into her phone.
I go back to watching the guys work out. One in particular catches my eye. He’s shirtless and lying on a bench, holding a barbell with impossibly huge plates on either end that he presses with the regularity of a drumbeat.
My throat dries at the physicality of it, the sheer strength and will required.
It’s raw, beautiful, forceful.
But I’m not watching his shoulders or straining pecs.
I’m watching the tattoos. There must be a dozen or more. Black and covering swaths of his arms, his chest, his sides.
They’re not only beautiful—they’re familiar.
My heart stops.
It’s him.
Clay.
The man I swore I’d never see again is working out in my BIL’s building with the Kodiaks.
Scratch that, I realize as he sits up and wipes himself off with a jersey.
He’s one of them.