Page 33 of Game Changer

“They want me for what I represent,” I hear myself say. “They have some idea of what it would be like to be with me or to be seen with me. They don’t give a shit aboutme.”

“You must have had a real relationship?” she asks.

“I’m on the road half the year. It doesn’t fit with my lifestyle.”

“I bet the right girl would bend over backward to fit with your lifestyle. She’d know your stat sheet and whether you like smooth or crunchy peanut butter.”

My lips twitch in the dark. “That’s not in my official bio.”

This time her laughter is lower, stroking along my spine.

“I like crunchy peanut butter. Now you know something they don’t.”

Her smile widens, and I want to frame it.

“You like being famous, but you like being anonymous more. That’s why you didn’t tell me who you were on the plane.”

I’m not sure how I feel about her analyzing me. For now, I let it slide.

“When people know who you are, they expect things of you. It was nice to meet someone who didn’t expect anything.”

She turns that over. “What doyouwant?”

“To be the best. Like Jordan or Kobe.” I’ve said as much in public.

My family gave up lots to help me be that. My parents came to all my games, even though it took us away from my sister.

“Are you?”

“I was on track. All-star. All-league. My stats were only matched by three guys in history, all of whom were Finals MVPs. But I haven’t won a championship. Until I get that ring, there’s still a mountain to climb.” I flex my knee. “Took a trade here, thinking we’d have a shot to go all the way. Then I tore my ACL. All of it came crashing down. Surgery last year. Months of rehab.”

Now, all that’s left are questions. Ones I confidently answer in public but can’t stop asking myself in private.

“But you’re better now. You can help Denver win,” she presses.

That’s what I’m telling everyone.

I won’t tell her my plans to leave. She’d tell Harlan, and tipping him off now would cause problems. It’s fine if he thinks I’m disgruntled, but I don’t want him knowing we’re actively looking for an out before my agent and I have the right buyer lined up. He could try to move me somewhere I don’t want, or worse—try to keep me here just to prove a point.

A rustling sound has us both jumping.

“What is that?” she demands.

“Cougars. Or bears. You know, those angry animals you wanted tattooed on you.”

It’s a joke, but it seems less funny now.

She shivers.

I reach an arm around her, shielding her body with mine.

We’re lined up everywhere. There’s no skin-to-skin contact, but I can feel her heat through our clothes.

“I’m sure they’re just protecting their own,” she whispers.

So am I.

My grip on her tightens.

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