Page 17 of Game Changer

She leads me through the halls, including a detour down a dark hallway that opens into the vast arena.

I love learning new things and going new places, and this feels like a different world. I’ve been to one pro hockey game, plus lots of concerts, mostly with cheap tickets, except the time I won lower bowl in a contest.

It’s fascinating to see the stadium from down here.

The rows of seats seem to go for miles. There’s a faint smell of cleaning supplies and rubber.

On the court, players are working out.

The team is running drills, half the guys in purple and the others in gold.

“The bench and rookies have extra practice once this wraps up,” Lena explains. “The starters will go lift. Their focus is on getting stronger and tougher.”

My attention is drawn to one player in particular. In the sea of jerseys, his is purple, and he looks stronger, bigger, faster than the others. His arms are covered in tattoos. There’s something about the way he moves…

“Who’s your favorite?” she asks, motioning me to follow.

I snap out of it and comply.

“I don’t really follow basketball.” My host’s eyes widen. “How about you?”

Lena smiles dreamily as we pass a wall of jerseys.

Wade.

Issa.

Griffin.

Brooks.

Lopez.

“Wade, all the way. Me and every other girl in Denver, right?”

“Why him?” I ask to make conversation as we wind through more hallways with glass walls. The conference rooms and offices have names etched into them.

“He’s gorgeous and broody and talented. I met him once in the hall, and I couldn’t even speak. I think I got pregnant from the eye contact though.”

She winks and I laugh.

Eventually, we stop in front of an office, and a woman who’s probably late twenties like Mari waves from inside. She’s wearing a moss-green skirt suit, a nod to corporate and the scenery, her dark hair sleek over her shoulders. Her assistant gestures me inside the office and leaves.

“No. Tell him we’re doing this my way, or I’ll shred his press badge.” She stabs a button on her phone and shakes her head. Her eyes land on me and brighten. “You must be Nova.”

I shake her hand. “Because you’re expecting me or because I look like Mari?”

“The former. You look nothing like your sister.” Chloe’s laugh is warmer than I expect. I hand her the samples, and she thanks me, setting them on her desk. “How’s your coffee?”

“Half full.”

“We’ll go grab another. I need to stretch my legs.”

“You’re the head of PR for the team,” I say as we start down the hall in the other direction. “You look so young.”

Chloe winks. “Tell my parents that. I didn’t become a doctor, so they were bummed. We’re working it out slowly and over many dinners.”

Dammit. She’s not only smart and pretty—she’s nice.

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