Page 84 of Game Changer

I throw my arms around her neck, and she hugs me back.

“It’ll be a train wreck,” she mumbles into my neck.

I pull back and frown. “Why?”

“LA is the best. They’ve won the last two years. If you think the first two games were intense, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

22

CLAY

Exhibition games don’t count for anything on paper. They’re about pride. Momentum. Your first chance to check how your off-season work is coming together. Playing against the best team in the league is like reading the tea leaves on your chances to win this year.

There’s also the fact that the guys on the other side of the court could be my teammates. But today, that doesn’t matter. I’m in a Denver uniform, and that’s where my allegiance lies for the full forty-eight minutes of game clock.

“Bring it in, boys,” says Coach. “After the last game, there’ll be attention on Clay. Remember to rotate on defense. Keep the screen and roll open. Kodiaks on three.”

Everyone's hands go in, then up.

I turn toward the court and lock eyes with the opposing point guard.

The cheering of the LA fans fades into the background. The stands are full of fans in LA colors, interspersed with a few brave standouts of ours.

I catch sight of Nova, and adrenaline surges through me that has nothing to do with the game.

I make millions playing basketball.

I’d touch her every night for free.

She looks cute as hell in a black leather jacket, her pink hair flying as she bounces up and down, but it’s not the jersey I sent her as part of a gift basket I instructed to have waiting on her plane.

She’s not ready to announce her feelings.

What are her feelings?

Having her come to my place, fall asleep on my couch until I extricated myself and tucked her in—all of it felt more intimate than anything I’ve done in a long time.

None of it matters right now, I remind myself as the whistle blows.

It’s impossible to know how they’ve game-planned for us, but when the ball goes up, Atlas takes the tip for the team, and LA's plan becomes clear pretty quickly.

Jayden takes it down the court, then over to me. I blast through their defense and score to deafening applause.

They take it back the other way, slicing through our guys like I did theirs.

The next time, Jay looks for Rookie. He shakes loose his defender and grabs the pass, cutting to the basket for a layup… and gets stripped by their center.

The crowd erupts.

For the next five minutes, it’s a painful grind.

Coach doesn’t make a change. What the hell? Rookie’s playing badly. I would’ve subbed him out. But apparently Coach wants us to figure this out.

There’s only one way out of this. The next time back our way, I nod to Jayden.

They’re on me from the second my hands find the ball. Doubling me, making everything hard. I grind my teeth and plow through them to the basket for a layup, collecting a hard foul for my trouble.

When I go to the line, the first ball swishes through the net, and I shoot a look at the LA point guard.

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