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“I can’t believe I’m going to a movie premiere,” I say as we stop at a scenic clearing and I wipe a hand across my face.
“Because it’s in LA or because you’ve never done anything like that for yourself?”
“Both,” I admit.
“Are you going to see Mr. Needs-No-Contract while you’re in town?” Brooke takes a long swig from her leopard print water bottle.
“I haven’t told him about the gig.”
My friend spits out a mouthful of water. “Didn’t you get it when you were still in LA?”
“It was right before I left. It didn’t seem important compared to everything else going on.”
“Whatever you do, don’t make yourself small. For him or anyone.” She nods pointedly. “Let’s keep going. I’m earning nachos.”
I tilt my head to look up the mountain. “Maybe you can earn nachos for both of us.”
We’re both dressed to work out, her in a tank top and leather-looking bike shorts, me in shorts and a Kodiaks T-shirt, a ball cap pulled down over my face and a pink ponytail sticking out the back.
My things arrived by courier from LA. I unpacked the first box but couldn’t bring myself to open the second.
Kat posted a couple pics of them at the arena when Clay got his ring. It hurt not to be there, but I’m glad she went. It reminded me of right before they won.
“Which ones?” I held up two sets of dress shoes.
Clay looked up from his phone and tugged out his AirPods. “Huh?”
“Which of these amazing shoes are you wearing to what might be your finals-winning game?” I prompted.
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t jinx it.”
That night was the finals of the championship. LA was up three games to two, and they had a chance to clinch it.
“You guys and your superstitions,” I teased. “Everyone knows you can do it.”
“Not up to me.”
Clay hadn’t played since getting hurt in the Denver game. It sucked. He was in the worst mood he’d been in since I met him. I felt for him, but at the same time, I was thrilled he was on the verge of making history.
There’s a reason a roster is fifteen guys and not five. Players need to rest. Others get injured. It sucks, but it’s part of the game.
“You helped this team get where they are. Everyone wearing a team jersey did,” I reminded him. “Plus, your stats line this year is beyond impressive.”
“My stats line?” He crossed to me and brushed a kiss across my forehead. “What is my stats line?”
“Um… fifty?”
Clay smirked. “Fifty what?”
I considered. “Points per game? And fifty assists too?” I added for good measure.
“And fifty blocks and steals?”
“No, only forty of those.”
He grinned as he took both pairs of shoes from my hands and walked past me. I followed him into our room and the giant walk-in closet. My dress was on a hanger. One of the walls had been fitted with a custom shoe rack filled with sneakers, and I got there in time to see Clay grab a pair of Nikes off the shelf.
“You don’t have to wear basketball shoes,” I said.
