Page 98 of Shot Taker

“Hey, I didn’t say no. I said I want to think about it. I finally feel like I’m getting my life in order, and you’ve been a big part of that.” Her lips brush my ear. Her soft scent fills my nostrils and calms my system. “Would there be space for me to work? There’s this show in New York, and… I don’t want to get paint in your sports memorabilia room.”

The knot of tension between my shoulders eases. “I’ll move it out.”

I’d build her a thousand studios if she wanted. Let her drag a wet brush across every jersey and game ball.

The moment before I fall asleep, her heart is still thudding against mine, her arms wrapped around me.

I hope to hell that’s enough for her.

24

CLAY

They say the all-star game is a perk, not a competition.

But life is a competition.

I’m playing with the best in the league. It’s a chance to test myself against every talented, hardworking, genetically blessed guy who ever picked up a basketball and dreamed he could make this his life.

That’s the real fun of the entire weekend.

Now, in the huddle around me, there are four other guys representing the best of the Western Conference. Including Kyle Banks, one of LA’s stars.

“Hey, Wade. This is gonna be fun to be on the same side for once.”

He’s not wrong.

We head onto the court and let loose.

The first play up the court, Kyle takes it and tosses an alley-oop to our point forward. On the way back, the East puts on their show with a pump fake chased by a fadeaway.

This is like the Oscars. A celebration of the sport and what we all can do.

The next trip up, I do my part, weaving and dodging before I put it down with a thunderous dunk drowned out by hollering and applause.

Normally, we sub out every few minutes, so when our coach for the night nods at me to sit in exchange for another player, it’s performative and not personal.

“Rumor says we might be playing together sooner than later.” The voice has me looking over to see Kyle grinning from down the bench. “Need someone ruthless in my camp.”

There’s respect between us, but he’s never been my favorite person. His game has an extra edge mine doesn’t. If he can’t win straight, he’ll win dirty.

Still, I meet his fist with my own before shifting back in my seat to wipe the sweat from my face and enjoy the view. But when I look over, it’s Nova in the stands that makes my chest tighten.

She’s wearing my jersey and watching the game intensely.

When our eyes meet, she smiles and mouths, "Hey."

"Hey." I beam back at her, feeling giddy like a schoolkid.

Last night, Nova said she loved me.

She let me drag her into my room.

And each touch of her skin, every breathy moan from her lips, the taste of her sweetness when she came in my mouth, and the feel of her squeezing my cock was damned near perfect.

I wish she’d said yes to me asking her to move in, but I get that it’s a big deal. I’m trying to be patient and not take it as rejection.

The game carries on, and every few minutes, I sneak glances at her. Each time, she’s still there, watching me just like before.

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