* * *
“Nova. You getting dressed?” Clay calls from the living room of his place.
“Almost ready,” I reply through the bathroom door, checking my phone and cursing.
Brooke insisted we have someone do our hair for the gala, but I fiddled with my makeup way too long before changing.
We’re almost late. The program starts in an hour. Plus, we said we’d meet Brooke and her date there early.
One last look in the mirror. My pink shoes give me an extra four inches of height. The pink gloss makes my lips shine, but the subtle smoky eye feels grown-up.
I’m me, but a grown-up, confident version.
I open the door and head down the hallway, careful not to trip in the shoes. At the other end, Clay is in a tux, and my breath catches.
It’s the first I’ve seen him like that since the wedding, and I forgot how handsome he looks. Not only sexy, but a dark knight, tattoos snaking out of his cuffs and collar.
He turns, and his expression tightens. “Jesus.”
“You like it?” I strike a pose, one hand on my hip as I try to be casual.
This moment is overwhelming.
It’s both of our nights.
The trade deadline is looming, and I haven’t wanted to ask because I don’t want to know the answer.
He crosses to me, and the intensity on his face is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Clay stops a few inches away, forcing my chin up so I can meet his half-lidded eyes.
“I like the dress,” he murmurs, his gaze running slowly over my curves. “I like the hair.” His lips twist. “I fucking love you.” He huffs out a breath. “From the moment I met you. And I want to show you something.”
He walks me to the closed door of the second bedroom, pushing it wide.
The sports memorabilia is gone.
Instead, there’s a stack of easels in one corner. Open shelving that houses canvases and papers. A table lined with every kind of paint and drawing tool imaginable.
“What is this?” I ask, awestruck.
“It’s yours. I’m staying with the Kodiaks. Harlan and I worked it out. Tonight, it’ll be official.”
I grab his bowtie and pull him down to me. His lips claim mine as he wraps his muscled arms around my waist, scooping me up.
I know how much going to LA meant to him, which is why I’m overwhelmed that he decided to do this.
“You’re unbelievable,” I whisper against his lips.
My phone and his explode at the same time.
Brooke: WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!
Shit.
Clay reluctantly sets me down, and I swipe at the corner of my lips to try to stop my lipstick from smudging more.
“We’ll pick this up.”
We sure as hell will.