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I take it back, staring at the text conversation with Clay.
As if I’m conjuring him from thin air, a message comes through.
Grumpy Baller: Where are you tonight? Playing my avatar again?
Nova: You wish
I click to the picture Brooke and I took, the sexy one. On impulse, I attach it to a text message, and before I lose my nerve, I hit Send.
Here’s to putting yourself out there.
We keep dancing, and I’m starting to wonder if that was a dumb idea when the response comes back.
Grumpy Baller: Can’t blame me
Heat strokes through me.
I’m definitely flirting with Clay.
And he’s flirting with me.
Grumpy Baller: I miss it
Nova: Basketball or being with me?
Grumpy Baller: Yes
Well, damn.
“So, I have to show you something.” Brooke wraps an arm around my neck. “On a break or not, you can’t let this hotness go to waste.”
She leads me across the room toward the bar, where I look up and my smile melts away.
Miles.
Rookie.
Clay.
It’s a row of massive, attractive men with my favorite in the center.
I could back away, or I could take Brooke’s advice and ride this wave of anticipation.
I wedge myself between two of them. I step on the low railing around the base of the bar and boost myself up so my ass is perched on the edge.
“Hello, boys. Miles. Rookie.” My voice is drowned out by the music, but they get the idea.
“I’m not a rookie anymore.”
“What do they call you?”
“Rookie,” chorus Miles and Clay.
I grin and Rookie shrugs.
“You’ll earn a name,” Miles offers. “When we say so.”
I’m above Clay’s eye level, and it’s a total trip. He’s wearing a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and open at the collar, revealing so much tantalizing muscle and skin and ink.
