Page 7 of Game Day

Brooke sets up to take a selfie, and I grin.

"I came for photos," she insists. "I'm not leaving without one."

The four of us lean in. “Now pretend you’re not famous,” Brooke instructs after we take a cute smiling pic. “This one’s for friends only. Or blackmail. Because is someone really a friend if you don’t have blackmail material on them?”

We laugh and make faces at the camera.

It’s refreshing to be around women whose company I enjoy, ones who have no expectations beyond friendship and mutual support and respect. I didn’t realize I’ve missed this lately.

As Brooke posts the more presentable photo to social, my mind drifts back to our wedding conversation.

When Clay and I talked about running away together, we focused on all the benefits. Ease. Speed. Privacy. We didn’t talk much about what we’d be giving up.

Maybe there are more downsides to eloping than we fully acknowledged.

I take another second to admire the scenery when my phone rings.

Call from Clay.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hi, Pink.”

My heart lifts when I hear his voice.

“How big a room do you need for painting?” he asks.

“I have my studio in town.”

“Yeah, but if our place was bigger.”

Suspicion rises up. “Where are you?”

“Ah. Nowhere. Where are you?"

I want to ask him again what he’s doing and why he’s being weird about it, but the girls are here, so I say, "Little Nell in Aspen. It feels like we're in the very heart of nature."

"Only with five-star dining," Annie calls.

"And shopping," Brooke weighs in.

“Imagine exchanging vows in this place.” I text him photos of the sweeping views. “Just you and the mountains and the person you want to spend the rest of your life with. It’s incredibly romantic.”

"Romantic, huh?" The smile in his tone makes me smile, too.

Distant voices come over the line, the words inaudible.

“I should go,” Clay says, but it’s grudging. “Meet you back at the condo before the mayor’s dinner.”

“Sure. And Clay.”

“Yeah, Pink?”

I bite my lip. “Can I drive?”

3

NOVA

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