Page 22 of Shot Taker

NOVA

Iscrub the flakes of paint off my skin. Hot water streams over my body, a cozy reward for a job well done.

The team got a win, but I didn’t stick around to celebrate. Instead, I went straight back to Brooke’s to shower.

When I step out, there’s a figure standing in the doorway of the bathroom.

I shriek. “Dammit Brooke! You scared the shit out of me.”

“We’re going out.” She passes me a towel, and I wrap it around myself. Any boundaries about nudity were broken down within the first three days when I realized Brooke is entirely unselfconscious and assumes everyone else is too.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Tuesday gets a bad rap. And I got a new advertiser.”

“Amazing!” I grab a second towel and wrap it around my damp hair.

“Did James like the pics you sent?”

“He said it’s a start.” I put the finishing touches on the skyline today, the polishing and shading that made it extra realistic. “Now I need to figure out what’s next.”

I wipe a spot on the mirror clean of steam and moisturize my face.

The next phase, we agreed, is painting the players in action. I’ve sketched a few options, but nothing’s coming together yet.

Brooke’s face appears behind me. “You need inspiration. This club is the hottest thing. I’ll let you raid my closet,” she promises.

“That’s more for you than for me,” I say.

“Come on, you’re my quirky pink Barbie.” Her dark eyes are big and pleading.

The change of scenery could be good. I could use the chance to get out and unwind. Who knows, maybe it will inspire me to figure out the next part of my mural too?

“Deal.”

She hooks an arm around my neck and drags me into her room. Inside her closet, she flips through garments, rejecting one after another in a rainbow collection of labels any designer-loving woman would envy.

I grab my phone while she’s searching to find a text came in from Miles.

Miles: Novaaaaa, we got a win! Broke their streak and their spirit.

Nova: Congrats! :D

Miles: You have to come out and celebrate.

Nova: That’s Brooke’s plan.

He sends through a selfie of him grinning in the locker room.

In the background, Clay is changing.

Jesus.

He’s dressed only in shorts, reaching over his head to stretch. His body is hard and muscled, tattoos decorating every inch of him.

My throat dries.

It should be illegal for any guy to be that sexy, with or without clothes.

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