Playing for a Shot (Love in the Limelight #2)

Chapter 1

Nia

“Again,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.

He let out a heavy breath, wiping his brow. “You trying to kill me before the season even starts?”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“I highly doubt that.”

I smirked as he reset his stance. Most people only saw the highlights—the multi-million dollar contracts, the fame, and the roaring arenas.

But I saw the grimacing aftermath. I saw the swelling, the frustration, and the raw fear elite athletes tried so hard to hide when their bodies stopped responding the way they always had.

That was exactly why I was good at my job.

I paid attention, sometimes more than I probably should have.

J5 exploded into his next movement, and this time, his feet landed cleaner. Better control, backed by a surge of real confidence.

“Closer,” I finally admitted.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all week.”

“Don’t get excited.”

He laughed under his breath, grabbing a towel as I glanced down at my phone. It was buzzing in my palm.

Mars. Of course.

I answered as I headed toward the elevator, my long strides echoing softly against the polished floors. “What are you doing?” she asked immediately, skipping the greeting.

“Just finishing up with J5.” I gestured a brief goodbye to him, signaling we were done for the day.

“How’s he looking before his big debut back on the court?”

I pressed the elevator button and leaned my shoulder against the wall. “He still needs a little more work,” I admitted, “but he’s improving.”

"With you on his side, he's sure to bounce back before the game."

The praise softened my posture a little. “Why, thank you, kiddo,” I said with a smile. The elevator doors slid open and I stepped inside alone, finally letting myself relax for the first time all day.

“So, are you going out tonight?” Mars pressed.

“Maybe. Some guy I met while getting coffee earlier this week asked me to grab a drink.”

“When are you going to settle down, Nia?”

I let out a laugh. “Um, excuse me? Not everybody can snag an all-star quarterback. The Jalen Carter.”

Mars groaned immediately through the receiver. “Please stop saying it like that.”

“And how dare you, Mars? You used to be one of us. Now what’s with all this settle-down talk?”

She laughed softly. “You know I’m a free bird.”

“Yeah, okay,” she replied. “But I want to see my best friend experience love.”

I smiled faintly. I knew she meant well, and anyone with eyes could see Jalen loved her deeply. It wasn’t that I was against love entirely; I just didn’t want to be tied down right now. Not when my career was finally taking off the way I’d prayed for it to.

Training Jalil “J5” Vaughn back to health after his devastating injury last season was easily the biggest opportunity of my life.

I wasn't about to let distractions get in the way.

People didn't realize the crushing pressure that came with being trusted with an elite athlete's body. One wrong move, one setback, or one bad decision could have the entire industry questioning your talent overnight. But if that athlete came back stronger, faster, and more dominant than before? Nobody remembered the risk. My name would carry weight in the rooms I’d been trying to enter for years. That mattered to me. A lot.

Besides, I looked way too good to be anchored to just one man anyway.

"Love will experience me when it’s ready,” I said, stepping out into the parking garage. The warm Houston air settled instantly against my bare legs.

Mars laughed on the other end. “Mhm. Okay, Nia.”

“Will I see you tomorrow at the cake tasting?” she asked as I unlocked my truck.

“I wouldn’t miss that for anything.” And I meant it.

I still couldn’t fully wrap my head around the fact that Amara Sinclair was getting married.

To Jalen Carter. The man women practically threw themselves at every Sunday was completely wrapped around my best friend’s finger.

Honestly, I couldn't be happier for them.

After everything Mars had been through emotionally over the years, seeing someone love her so intentionally made me happier than I could explain.

“I’m really proud of you,” I admitted quietly. “Like… genuinely proud.”

There was a softer, emotional pause on the line. “Thank you, Ni.”

I climbed into my truck and twisted the key, the engine roaring to life. “You know Jalen cried after we picked the venue?” she laughed.

I gasped dramatically. “Oh, absolutely not. The big, bad quarterback cried?”

“He did.”

“I’m never letting him live that down.”

Mars laughed harder. “See you tomorrow, free bird.”

“Bye, lover girl.”

We hung up, and I pulled out of the garage.

The heavy bass from the speakers filled the cab while late afternoon Houston traffic crawled around me.

The city always felt alive at this hour—people rushing home, patios filling up, and sunlight bouncing off the glass downtown skyscrapers.

I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel at a red light, watching the warm air blow through the open window and lift the curls around my face.

By the time I got home, my thoughts had already shifted toward the night ahead.

I showered slowly, letting the hot water loosen the stubborn tension sitting in my shoulders from work before stepping out and catching my reflection in the fogged mirror.

My eyes drifted automatically to the faded scar above my right knee.

Although time had softened its appearance, it remained a permanent reminder of the life I thought I was going to have.

For a fleeting second, I let myself think about it—the packed arenas, the draft conversations, the agents calling, and the version of myself that truly believed basketball would carry her forever, right before a single play changed everything.

Then, I pushed the ghost away. There was no sense grieving a version of a life I had already survived losing. Besides, my reality turned out pretty damn good anyway.

I slipped into wide-leg jeans, a fitted halter top, and stilettos. After fluffing my curls, I added just enough makeup to sharpen my features without looking overdone. The look was simple, pretty, and effortless—exactly how I liked it.

An hour later, I stepped into the lounge and immediately felt the shift in energy. Low lighting cast a amber glow across the room, music hummed softly beneath the low chatter, and the city skyline stretched endlessly beyond the massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

My eyes scanned the space for only a second before landing on him.

He was sitting comfortably at the bar, looking as though he'd been expecting me the entire time.

He was tall, decent-looking, and polished in a way that fit the upscale room perfectly.

When he spotted me approaching, he rose from his seat, a slow smile spreading across his face as his eyes traveled briefly over my outfit.

“You actually came.”

“I considered canceling,” I replied honestly, matching his smile.

He laughed and motioned for the bartender to bring another round.

From there, the conversation settled into an easy rhythm.

We talked about work, travel, and traded small jokes back and forth.

As the drinks continued coming, some of his stiff polish started wearing off, revealing a relaxed, genuinely funny, and far more charming side than I'd expected.

I found myself relaxing more than I ever intended to.

Then, I saw him.

Cal.

He was across the room with some woman half-hanging off his shoulder, leaning down to whisper something directly into her ear.

I rolled my eyes instantly. Typical.

Caleb Sinclair was Mars's older brother, Houston's favorite sports media personality, and one of the most irritating men on the planet.

But somewhere beneath the maddening cockiness and his habit of getting under my skin lived a man who was entirely too attractive for his own good.

He was easily one of the sexiest men I'd ever had the misfortune of touching.

We’d been hooking up on and off since I was twenty-two, and somehow, after all these years, neither of us had fully stopped.

The thing about me and Cal was that we managed to be both incredibly complicated and painfully simple.

We never made promises, never defined a single thing, and yet we always found our way back to each other the second enough time passed for us to pretend we were finished.

I tried focusing back on my date and the conversation sitting right in front of me. I really did. But then I felt it—that familiar, electric awareness that always seemed to exist between me and Cal, whether I wanted it to or not.

When I finally looked up, the smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth told me he'd already noticed.

I excused myself from my date—who seemed to have wandering eyes every time I turned around anyway—and made my way toward the restroom, hoping for a few minutes to clear my head.

The music grew louder as I crossed through the lounge, the heavy bass vibrating beneath my heels while people packed the floor shoulder to shoulder.

I was almost to the back hallway when a large, warm hand wrapped firmly around my arm. I didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

“Cal.”

“Come on, Nia Kingsley,” he murmured near my ear, his voice low enough to cut through the thumping bass. “You can do better than him.”

I rolled my eyes, but he stepped directly in front of me before I could continue toward the restroom. The man was entirely too tall and too sexy for his own good.

“I'm serious,” he said, looking down at me. “What are the odds of seeing you here tonight?”

“Pretty high, considering it's a Friday night and this place is always packed."

He laughed, a low rumble. “Fair.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “Move, boy. I'm on a date.”

“No.” His eyes dropped briefly to my lips before returning to my face, and that familiar, smug look appeared. “And with a guy like that? You know he isn't your type.”

I stared right back at him. “Cal, get over yourself,” I said, attempting to brush past his broad shoulder.

He stepped in front of me again, blocking my path.

“You might as well stop fighting it.”

“Fighting what exactly?”

“The fact that I'm right.”

I laughed. “God, you are exhausting.”

“Yet here we are.”

Before I could respond, he nodded toward the bar behind me. “Plus, your date seems pretty busy anyway.”

When I glanced back toward the lounge, I found my date leaning down, eagerly typing his number into another woman's phone. I let out a quiet laugh under my breath.

“I don’t even know that clown’s name,” I admitted, turning back to Cal, “but I’m still not leaving with you.”

“Why?”

“Cal, we agreed months ago we couldn’t keep doing this. Did we not?”

He held my gaze for a second longer than usual, his playful smirk fading into something heavier. “I was foolish.”

I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head. “Whatever. Goodnight, Cal.”

I brushed past him and headed into the ladies' room.

When I stepped back out a few minutes later after touching up my lip gloss and fluffing my curls, I wasn't the least bit surprised to find him still standing there.

His hands were tucked casually into his pockets, looking entirely too calm and patient, like he already knew exactly how this night was going to end.

“Ready?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes, but my feet were already moving toward him anyway.

“Come on.”