Page 23 of Game Day

"We don’t want a crowd," he says.

“What about a prenup?”

My water goes down the wrong way. I cough, sputtering.

“You okay?” Clays brows pull together.

“Perfect,” I manage.

I’m itching for another glass of wine. I’ll wring it out of my stained dress if I have to.

8

CLAY

I haven't watched the clock so hard since the final seconds of the championship game.

It's nearly eleven when they leave.After I shut the door behind them, my mom pressing a kiss in the general direction of my cheek, I lean back against the door to take in the damage. Nova's sitting on the couch, arms folded, staring off into space.

My girl is a lot of things, but naturally silent isn't one of them.

"So, that’s them," I say to break the stillness.

I’m worried them showing up was too much for her, if I fucked up by not realizing they’d come straight here. She’s good with people, but my parents can be a lot.

She blows out a breath. "You guys seem closer than I expected."

"Meaning what?" I cross to her and sink onto the couch, the cushion creaking under my weight.

"They're very…invested.”

The last thing I want to do is let my parents’ visit cause problems for us. But navigating interpersonal family stuff is not my go to move. Hell, it’s not in my top ten.

"Getting your kid to go pro isn’t easy. They dedicated time, money, all of it from when I was this tall." I lift my hand to my knee. "Drove me to tournaments. Got the best coaching, the best camps. Spare bedroom of our house was full of shoes and gear by the time I was ten. They're proud of what I've accomplished."

“And they should be, Clay.” Her eyes soften. “Their son is everything a parent could hope for. Dedicated. Kind. Caring.”

Of course, she doesn’t mention that I’m a legend on the court. One more thing I love about her.

"Come here. Turn around,” I say.

"Huh?"

"Do it."

Nova swivels, and I inch closer, my hands taking her small shoulders and massaging circles.

"Ohh. That's good." Her voice lowers, and my lips curve.

That’s what I want. Her relaxing.

"How was your day?" I ask.

"I found a dress."

My thumbs still.

"Did you take pictures?"

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