Page 79 of Game Changer

“What can I do?” I ask.

“You’ve done enough,” Mari says.

Chloe sighs. “Why don’t you go back and hang with the other girls? Tell them we’ll be out in a few minutes.”

I chew on my lip as my shoulders slump, and I head back outside to fill them in.

A few minutes later, Mari and Chloe appear.

“I’m going to have Harlan pick me up and take me home.”

“I can drive you,” I offer.

“No. It’s fine.” She looks at me.

Brooke grabs my shoulder. “You can crash at mine tonight if you want.”

Because going home with a soon-to-be-bride who’s sick because I fucked up is a bad idea, she means.

“Thanks.”

I check my phone, miserable, and find a text from Clay.

Grumpy Baller: I’m still waiting on those pics.

Nova: It was a bust. I screwed everything up.

Grumpy Baller: I’m heading home from the gym. Let me pick you up.

Nova: What’s your address? I’ll come to you.

He tells me, and I take an Uber there, feeling equal parts dejected and tipsy.

The building is a modern high-rise, full of glass with big, landscaped balconies.

The elevator ride seems to take forever.

When I get to his floor and knock, he opens the door looking handsome in a gray Henley that pulls across his muscles and is shoved up his arms.

His hair is still damp from a shower. One of his pant legs is shoved up to his thigh, and there’s an ice pack strapped to his knee.

For a moment, it’s possible the world isn’t ending, because he’s standing here.

I hold out a cupcake.

“Are you lactose intolerant?” I ask in a small voice.

“Fuck no.” He takes the cupcake in one hand and grabs my forearm with the other. “Now get your ass in here.”

I feel a bit better already.

Clay shows me around his place.

The apartment is spacious, with a lofted ceiling and huge windows with a view of the city. The kitchen is sleek and modern, cabinets painted white and black. The furniture is clean and polished, like he’s not living there but staging his own place. There are faint hints of lemon and lime mixed with a warm masculine scent that I breathe in deep.

“This is the guest bedroom.” Partway down the hall, he gestures to a bedroom larger than mine back in Boston. The walls are lined with shelves containing trophies and plaques and banners.

“Holy.” I cut him a look. “These are all for basketball?”

---