Page 22 of Game Day

I don’t have a lot of family, and these people made Clay who he is. I want to win them over.

I square my shoulders. "Then they should stay for dinner."

Clay’s brows rise under the fall of his hair. “Dinner,” he echoes.

“Yes. I want to get to know them. I’ll order from that restaurant we like.” I flash a confident smile.

I'll convince them this is the best idea ever. If Clay loves them, I will too.

* * *

"Had ten promotional offers in the last month," Clay finishes. “My agent bought two new Maseratis this year thanks to me.”

Tom is on the edge of his seat.

Sandy clasps her hands as she leans in. "Clayton, that's wonderful. You deserve that and more."

His father nods. "You'll have more offers this year and for years to come."

After Clay arrived, I excused myself to go change and call our new favorite restaurant to see if they could deliver dinner. Unsure of what they wanted, I ordered a couple servings of everything.

Now, seated at the table with too much food, it’s a lovefest, and Clay’s at the center of it. He seems genuinely oblivious, as though he’s talking about what happened at the office today.

“Defending a championship’s tough, but we’re trying to enjoy the challenge. Especially given I’m not sure how long I'll be playing basketball."

His mother's manicured brows lift. "Whatever do you mean?"

Clay meets my eyes. "Can’t play pro forever.”

My heart kicks. I love him for saying that out loud. It's been a point of struggle for him, realizing he’ll have to do something else one day.

"Come on, Clayton,” his dad says. “They have ways of extending careers these days. Surgeries. Bench roles. This is what you were born for. You're a gladiator," his dad says. "You were forged for battle."

"Gladiators died young," I point out. "I'd rather Clay enjoy himself long after his career is over than deal with the fallout from too many injuries."

Every eye settles on me.

"What is it you do for work?" Clay's father asks in a way that makes me wonder if there’s a right answer.

"I'm an artist. I paint, mostly."

"Nova's been commissioned to do lots of important pieces,” Clay says.Pride rises up, and gratitude for him speaking up for me. "Her first big job was at the Kodiaks stadium."

"It was good of you to facilitate that," his mom says.

He didn’t.

I squeeze my glass and cut a look at Clay, trying not to seem desperate. Winning them over is proving harder than I thought.

Maybe once they see how committed we are to the wedding, to each other, they'll get on board.

“Let us tell you about the ceremony and the reception,” I try.

Clay nods subtly, an encouragement.

I launch into an explanation the venue and the plans, and his mother listens between sips of water as she nibbles her chicken.

"Only thirty people? Surely that's not your entire guest list." She looks between us. "Clayton, you have extended family. Thousands of people who know you and value your career."

---