Page 90 of Shot Taker

“You want me to do it? Fine. I’ll do it. But you tell Jay about this, I’ll end you.”

I lower my voice and sing.

22

NOVA

“This is either the best idea ever or the worst,” I whisper as Brooke and I creep down the hallway of the hotel. The cardboard cutout is clutched between us, the head under her armpit while I grab the feet.

“It’s a tradition,” Brooke replies.

“How can it be a tradition? I thought this was Miles’ first time?”

I’ve learned there are a few ways to get an invitation to all-star weekend: as a player for the main game, as part of the skills night—like the dunk competition—or as part of the rookie game.

Earlier tonight were the skills competitions. The dunks were pretty spectacular, but we were there to cheer for the three-point competitors.

Especially Miles, who lit up the scoreboard to win with a near-perfect score.

We’re almost to 1475, the room number Brooke told me in the stairwell as we prepped for this.

“What are you ladies doing with Michael?”

I look up, full of guilt, to see Jayden standing sternly over us.

“What do you think?” Brooke replies.

Jay pulls out his phone. “We gotta hurry. He’s on his way back.” He looks up and down the hall. “Let’s go.”

They exchange a grin that looks eerily similar. Brooke produces a key card she swipes at the door.

“I’m not asking how you got that,” Jay muses.

“Better not.”

“I thought all-star weekend was about, I dunno, basketball,” I say.

They both laugh.

“It’s an excuse to hang out with my boys across the league.”

“What about for you?” I ask Brooke.

“I get to party and decide which of a few hundred attractive male specimens gets the prize of hooking up with me.”

“You’re not gonna hook up with someone,” her brother objects. “Not now, not ever.”

“I already have.”

Jay straightens. “Tell me his name and I’ll end him.”

“Which year?” Brooke breezes into the room, leaving her brother muttering behind her.

I came to the all-star game to support Clay. Even if he’s been before, it’s a big deal. He asked me to stay with him, but I said no, wanting a little bit of space and also for him to have time with his guys.

Brooke and I are sharing a room, one I insisted on paying for with my latest paycheck from the Kodiaks.

But I am wearing the jersey Clay had delivered to my door—a special all-star edition bearing his name and number. It arrived with a handwritten note.

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