Epilogue
One Year Later
“The waitress better be glad I didn’t order a steak,” I say to Mav as she walks away.
He gives me a questioning look. “And why is that, Little Moore?”
“Because if she looks at my man like that again, I’m going to stab her,” I tease. In reality, Mav has never made me feel anything but secure in my relationship, but it doesn’t mean I like the clear disrespect from women who want a shot with the famous NHL rookie.
He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “You know it turns me on when you get all territorial.”
“Everything turns you on, Beauty.” I roll my eyes but secretly love it.
“Especially that rookie three-point record my girl broke last night.” He picks up his glass, tilting it toward my champagne flute.
I cheers with him. “Thanks, baby. I’m glad you were there for it.”
With both of us playing professionally, it’s hard to make it to many of each other’s games. Which is why I’m so thankful Mav fought to keep us in the same city. Not only did he get an even better contract, but when we’re both in town, we get to come home to each other every night.
“Now you’re calling me baby. You really are trying to turn me on.” He smirks.
Before I can respond, two girls walk up to our table. They look around thirteen, and the white paper in hand tells me they’re coming over to grab an autograph from Mav.
We both smile at them, and that’s when I realize their eyes are fixated on me.
“Hi, Shay, can we have your autograph?” one of them asks shyly.
I look to Maverick like Is this real life? and the big smile on his face tells me it is.
“Sure,” I respond, reaching out for their pen and paper.
“Our parents just bought us tickets to your game next month against The Fever,” the second girl says excitedly.
“That’s awesome… Do you both play?” I ask, and they nod.
It feels like just yesterday I was this age, obsessing over Diana Taurasi.
I pass the two pieces of paper back to them and ask, “Do you want a picture?”
“Oh my gosh, please,” they basically say in unison.
Mav snaps the picture of us, and I hug them both and tell them to never give up on their dreams.
It’s so hard to believe I was that age not all that long ago, with dreams of being in the WNBA one day.
When I look back over to Mav, he’s grinning from ear to ear.
“What?” I ask, unable to stop my own smile.
“Nothing. I just remember a very wise young man telling you how amazing you are and how one day you’d have young girls wearing your name on the back of their jerseys.”
I bite my lip, my stomach fluttering at the thought of our first pep talk and how much it really meant to me all those years ago and every season since.
“But there’s one thing you failed to mention that night.” I smirk at him.
“Oh yeah, what?”
I glance down at the diamond on my left hand.
“That one day the back of that jersey would read Leblanc instead of Moore.”