Page 4 of Game Day

I stifle my yawn, trying to let the brisk air and mountain views invigorate me. I promised to ride shotgun with Brooke on a day trip to Aspen without knowing I’d be doing it on three hours of sleep.

“I get it,” Brooke teases as she tucks the phone away. “I’m not as riveting as a certain basketball player who came back into town in the early hours of this morning.”

By the time I got Waffles back to Miles and Clay and I arrived home, it was eight. Clay was beat. A feeling I can completely understand now.

“You’re every bit as riveting,” I promise. “Besides, who needs sleep when you have friends?”

Brooke loops her arm in mine, and we head toward Galena Street.

I get why tourists flock here by the thousands. It's not their peak season of snow flurries and après-ski drinks, but the trees and changing colors and the mountains provide a breathtaking background for cozy cafés, fabulous stores and chalet-style hotels.

“How is engaged life?” Brooke asks, the gravel crunching under our boots.

“Well. The media interest in Clay seems to have dialed up more, which I didn’t think was possible.”

“The only thing better than a championship is a championship followed by the MVP getting married,” she says with a nod. “Speaking of, Jay told me the team is invited to the mayor’s house for dinner tonight.”

“Apparently, she’s a big fan of basketball, or has been since they won in June.”

“Everyone wants a piece of them."

“I hope there’s a piece of him left for me,” I joke, but there’s some truth to it.

“There are a lot of road trips ahead. I wouldn’t toss your vibrator in the trash yet.” My friend points at a boutique, and we head for it.

As we cross the street, I’m thinking about the schedule bearing down on us. Now that the Kodiaks have won the championship, it’s not only the regular games and workouts but a whole additional slate of appearances, contracts, and promotions.

All of which is an honor most people would kill for, I remind myself.

I resolve to be happy about it as I hold the door for her, and little bells tinkle over the doorway as we step inside.

"Oh, these are gorgeous." I'm drawn immediately to a rack displaying cozy sweaters, and Brooke heads past me for another with leggings. I turn over a price tag and swallow.

Brooke peeks over my shoulder. "You should buy one in each color."

Part of me will probably never get accustomed to the reality that I can afford the things I need—plus the ones I want and pretty much anything I decide I like.

I reach for a sexy black dress, and Brooke hums her approval.

“Yes, you need to try that on. You could wear it to the mayor’s house. In case Clay needs a reminder to be more interested in scoring off the court.”

I laugh as she grabs two pairs of leggings and a skirt off the rack and nudges me toward the changing rooms.

“So,” she starts from inside the next changing room. "With the craziness of the season approaching, have you started wedding planning?"

Her sly voice has me smiling. I can’t get anything past my friend.

A tingle of excitement runs through me as I work off my jeans and tug my sweater over my head.

We have talked about it.

The weekend after Clay proposed, when I was trying to find my things in the second bedroom of his condo.

“Have you seen my winter clothes? I swear I have some I haven’t used since before LA.”

“We need a bigger house,” he grunted as he found me rifling through boxes in the closet.

“It’s fine,” I insisted.

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