Page 37 of Game Day

I lower the canvas I’m holding. I was looking forward to a couple of nights with Clay before all the excitement of the wedding and the season. I wish he had told me last night about a bachelor party.

"It's a rite of passage," Brooke says, reading my expression. "One last night of being free."

Maybe that will be the perfect time to reassure Brooke and Mari I love them both and that this will be fun for everyone.

"Sounds amazing," I decide. "Just let me try these pictures out for placement.”

"Right. Where did the wedding planner go? I need to talk to her about the dancing space. It's the wrong shape. It should be a square." She motions with her hands. "As it is, it's way too narrow and long.”

Michael Bublé suddenly fills the room.

We both look toward Miles, who sets his phone playing music on the table in front of him.

"There's plenty of room to dance here,” he says.

"According to Michael?" Brooke taunts.

"According to me."

Brooke starts toward the door, but a hand shoots out to pull her back.Miles pulls her toward him in a move as smooth as one he'd pull on the basketball court.She collides with his chest.

"I'll prove it." His voice is pure confidence as his arms wrap around her.

I bite my cheek and pretend to focus on my work, but out of the corner of my eye, I watch them turn on the dance floor.

Where’s the popcorn when you need it?

"I'm so sorry. I was pulled away." The wedding planner returns with her iPad in hand, an apologetic smile on her face.

"What were you saying about the configuration not having enough room to dance?" the planner goes on.

Brooke jumps away from Miles, pressing a hand to her neck as if she's warm there.

"I guess we can make it work."

12

NOVA

Two days until the wedding

"Do you know what they planned?" I ask after I spit toothpaste into the sink.

Clay towels off his hair behind me. "Not a clue. Tried to beat it out of Rookie on the court, but he’s gotten tougher over the last year."

It's the morning of the bachelor and bachelorette parties, and we're getting ready for the day.My fiancé looks handsome as ever with his dark tattoos curling around his arms and chest.He fills the doorway of our ensuite bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips.

My attention roams over every inch of his hard body.All I can think of is how good he feels against me. How in another couple of weeks, I'll be without him for days and sometimes weeks on end.

Clay steps closer, his gaze drifting down my face to my lips as though he's thinking the same thing. “You wanted to ask me something?”

Since Miles hinted that Clay is working on a secret project, I haven’t found the right moment to ask him.

There's a huge list of things to do today—starting with practice for him—but I can't seem to move my feet. Or any other part of me.

“Do you have any regrets we aren’t going to go to Paris?” I ask.

When we talked about eloping, we’d tossed around all kinds of places. Paris was top on our list because I love the art, and Clay would too, given all his tattoos. The street art and graffiti alone are incredible.

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