Chapter 5
CLAY
“There’s no way you’ll break the points record,” Jay says.
“The only stat line you’ll be breaking is the minutes record because you won’t let Coach drag your ass off the court,” Miles retorts.
“You assholes spotting me?” I grit out at the top of a rep. Sweat rolls off my forehead.
They glance down. “We are,” they chorus in unison.
Three.
Every part of my chest contracts.
Two.
My arms shake.
One.
I exhale hard as the barbell clanks back into its cups. As the sweat rolls down my neck, it doesn’t escape me that we’re the only ones left in the gym.
“Where’s Rookie? And the rest of the team?”
“Cleared out a few minutes ago,” Jay answers. “They put in a solid practice today.”
“Rookie’s better than solid. The one thing you getting hurt last year did was get us a prime pick in the draft.” Miles slaps my chest, grinning.
My lip curls.
Wasn’t my plan to get hurt, for the team to tank. Before that, I thought we’d have a shot here.
It’s a good group of guys. Jay likes to run his mouth, but he’s talented and reliable. We played against each other in the same division in college. He’s had my back through tough spots.
Miles is from Iowa and a couple years younger. We only crossed paths once in the Final Four of March Madness, but he’s solid and loyal to a fault.
“You catch Harlan’s media this morning?” Miles asks.
I sit up and shake my head, and Jay nods.
“He’s playing it close to the vest about his plans for the team,” Jay says.
“Seems pretty obvious to me,” Miles weighs in. “He wants to build around you and Rookie.”
I cut a look at my friend. “He talk to you?”
Jay lifts a shoulder. “Not really.”
Harlan being brought in by ownership to manage the team at the end of last season wasn’t part of the deal.
If I’d known sooner, I would’ve been gone before training camp.
On the surface, like any GM with something to prove, he wants to win.
But there’s something underneath.
I wipe the sweat off before I reach for a new towel. The hairs lift on my neck, and I look through the glass.
There’s Chloe on the phone, plus a girl.
One with pink hair and a curvy figure and…
Everything slows down.
Fuck me.
It’s her.
The girl from the plane.
I’ve only been thinking about her for the past twenty-four hours, and here she is.
Before I can take a breath, she topples to the floor in a mass of limbs.
“Whoa, is she okay?” Miles asks.
I reach the door in three strides.
Outside, she’s picking herself up. Her denim shorts show off long, curvy legs. Her white T-shirt is soaking up dark roast as she grabs for a fallen mug.
When she straightens, shoving a hand through her messy hair, her bright blue eyes lock on mine.
Her face fills with a thousand emotions. Shock. Awareness. Something I can’t read but want to.
“Hi,” she murmurs.
“Hi,” I say.
She looks even younger than she did on the plane. A college student, or a recent graduate.
“Can you hold?” Chloe says into her phone before punching a button and turning to us. “You okay?”
Nova clutches the cup as if holding it will save it from falling the first time. “Great.”
“Nova, this is Clay. Our star player. Clay, this is Nova, Harlan’s future sister-in-law.”
Cue record scratch.
No fucking way.
Did she know who I was when we met? I’ve seen people do some wild things to get my attention.
Except she’s as stunned as me.
Chloe turns to Nova. “I have to finish this call. If you give me one second, I’ll take you back to the kitchen to clean up.”
“I’ll take her.”
I start down the hall without waiting for Nova or Chloe to agree.
The kitchen is mercifully quiet, holding just a couple of back-office staff who nod as we enter.
There are a million things I could say to her. Ask what she’s doing here. If she’s thought about me since the plane. Whether I’m imprinted on her brain like she’s pressed her way into mine.
I settle on, “So, your sister’s marrying Harlan.”
She huffs out a little breath. “And you work for him.”
“Wouldn’t put it like that.”
I wet a paper towel, intending to use it on the coffee stain on her shirt until my attention lands on her breasts.
“How would you put it?”
My gaze snaps back up, and I hand her the towel instead.
“Stars make the team,” I say as she goes to work on it with vigor. “Harlan gets the brightest he can afford.”
“Meaning you.”
I cock my head. “I’m the brightest in the league.”
Her groan is surprisingly guttural for such a small person. “And I said you should try basketball.”
Oh, yeah, this day is taking a turn for the better.
“You were right.”
“Ugh.” She tugs on her hair, agonized. It’s strangely endearing.
Before I can decide whether to laugh or just watch her some more, she looks straight at me with those bright blue eyes.
“Don’t say anything,” she pleads, cutting a look at the door. “About the stuff I said about my sister or about us meeting.”
I’m still trying to understand what’s going on in her head when something furry brushes my legs.
“There you are.” Miles calls from the doorway, not waiting for an invitation. His gaze lands on Nova. “Hey there. I’m Miles, and this is Waffles.” He gestures to the French bulldog sniffing my shoe.
“Nova.” She shakes his hand.
“What were you drinking?”
“Cappuccino,” she says.
“Leave it to me.”
Nova smiles for the first time.
Except she’s smiling at him, not me.
“Clay thinks he’s smooth with that ‘I do my talking on the court’ bullshit, but he’s only an all-star troublemaker,” Miles says as he turns to the espresso machine.
This time, she laughs.
It’s musical, and my chest tightens.
When she bends down to pet the dog, I swallow the groan.
Jesus, I just got jock-blocked by a Frenchie.
I’m not standing around playing reserve to my shooting guard and his pint-sized dog.
I turn on my heel and head down the hall, willing the sound to stop echoing in my ears.
“Who’s the girl?” Jay asks when I get to the changeroom.
“GM’s sister-in-law.” I burrow in my locker for a change of clothes.
He whistles. “You chase that, I don’t care how many points you score—you’ll get sent to detention.”
“As much as I’d like to see Harlan try, I’m not planning on it.”
“I figured,” he says.
“Why’s that?”
My friend shrugs.
“You don’t do complications.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
I grab a new shirt off a shelf and stalk down the hall to the kitchen.
They’re standing close. Miles is tugging a jersey over her head.
“Screw paper towel. That’ll cover a venti’s worth of stains,” he jokes.
“There’s smoke coming from the coffee machine,” I say coolly.
“Shit!” Miles spins like I told him his dog was on fire instead of circling the kitchen happily, chasing its stuffed frog toy.
Chloe paces in the doorway, still on the phone but eyeing the three of us with suspicion.
“He’s serious about his coffee,” Nova murmurs.
“Barista is his fallback career. His shooting doesn’t improve soon, he’s gonna need it,” I say.
Her lips twitch, her eyes dancing.
My teammates and I regularly joke around and throw one another under the bus, but even if we didn’t, I’d roast every damn one of them to make her smile.
“Here you go, Nova!” Miles is back, stretching a hand between us to hold out a coffee cup with frothed milk on top. He proudly displays his craftsmanship.
“Is that a basketball?” Nova asks, delighted.
Guy thinks he’s Michel-fucking-angelo.
On the court, I pull rank every day of the week.
It’s not like I’m trying to get with her.
But I saw her first.
I met her first.
I held her in an airplane bathroom while she hyperventilated.
She takes a sip and coos her approval.
“Stop sniffing around Nova. She’s family,” Chloe calls.
“Yeah, Waffles, stop sniffing around Nova.” Miles winks before returning to the espresso machine to make another concoction.
I want to hit him.
Jay’s right. I don’t date. I’m basketball first, second, always.
The occasional hookup to blow off steam is one thing, but love fucks with your head. I couldn’t afford it when I was healthy, not to mention now that I’m staging a comeback.
But I can’t stop looking at her like she’s a rainbow in the middle of a storm.
Chloe leans into the kitchen.
“Sorry, Nova. Let’s go.”
“Nice to meet you, Nova,” Miles calls. “You need a tour guide, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks.” Nova looks back at me for a moment. “Nice to meet you, Clay.”
“Wait.” I grab Nova’s hand and a marker off the counter and open her palm.
“What are you doing?” she murmurs.
Her skin is soft, and I try not to think too hard about the way her fingers curl around mine.
“I promised you a tattoo,” I mutter under my breath, reminding her of my vow on the plane.
Her mouth falls open as I write across her hand. “That’s my tattoo?”
“No. It’s how you redeem it.”
She bites her lip and closes her hand.
I don’t have to watch her hips sway, her pink hair bobbing as she leaves.
I do it anyway.
“My number looks good on her,” Miles says, slinging an arm around my neck.
The women head down the hall together, Nova squeezing her fist.
Mine looks better.