Page 72 of Shot Taker

“Where is it?” she asks.

“LA.”

Her smile fades a degree. “It’s one thing to go to your games, but it’ll raise questions if I show up there in your jersey. The all-star game isn’t a Kodiaks thing—it’s a Clayton Wade thing.”

I set the bottle on the ladder and hook both thumbs in my pockets.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. Not because it’s anyone’s business, but because it feels so good knowing you’re mine, and I hate the thought of pretending that’s not true.”

Her lips part in surprise.

It’s been a long time since I was with someone I felt serious about, and the last time, I got burned.

She’s the best part of my day. I want everyone to know it.

I’ve been thinking about it every day I’ve been on planes and in other teams’ stadiums.

As for Harlan, I’m going to tell him the truth.

He has to understand my relationship with Nova has nothing to do with basketball.

I want the career of my dreams and this woman in my bed and at my side.

Nova’s phone buzzes before she can respond.

“It’s Brooke. She’s been stressed lately about these sorority girls. I better get it in case she needs something.” She reaches for it and clicks Accept while I resist the urge to hurl the thing down the hall so she’s forced to react to me first. “Hey, what’s up?”

Brooke’s garbled voice comes through the phone. Nova’s eyes widen.

She lowers the phone and hits the speaker button. “My wall is on social media.”

I look over her shoulder and watch the video of her work. Judging from how close it is to how the wall looks now, it was taken recently. “When’d you post that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, it has a hundred thousand views already.” Brooke’s voice comes through the speaker.

“Why would someone do that?” Nova asks.

“Free publicity,” I supply.

“But this is the only post on their account. It’s not following any others.” Nova clicks a spot on the screen. “I’ve got DMs from all kinds of places.”

“New fans. You don’t have to read ‘em all,” I tell her. “I used to try to, but I wouldn’t have time to practice, and then I’d have a hell of a lot less fans.”

“Not just fans,” Brooke counters. “You should read them, Nova.”

Nova holds up the phone so I can read it as she says, “It’s a gallery in New York inquiring about exhibiting some of my work. This is probably fake, right?” She lifts her face to mine, seeming genuinely perplexed.

I pull out my phone and do a quick search. “Name matches. Their account has a big following.”

“They want to know if I can meet them. In person.”

“Tell them yes,” Brooke instructs. “If they’ll cover your expenses, they’re probably legit.”

Nova types in the message window. Seconds later, someone is typing a response.

“They can send me a ticket to go this weekend,” she says excitedly.

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