As I leave, I congratulate myself for sticking to the deal I just made with my brother. Well, it’s not like I was going to date Corbin in the weight room.
But still, I’ll count that exchange as a victory.
14
A LITTLE BIT SECRET
CORBIN
I don’t believe in Lady Luck. But I figure, like Mother Nature, it’s good policy to respect the principle.
So tonight I do what any self-respecting athlete with more than a decade of experience would do: stack the house with people who support the home team.
The Foxes need every advantage, even where chance is concerned.
On my way to the locker room to change, I detour to the arena’s lobby gift shop. It gleams with polished glass windows and clear shelves stacked with stuffed foxes, and more foxes, and even more foxes. And, of course, every variety of sweatshirt, hoodie, and jersey that fans could want. I hate shopping for anything but food or gifts for my kid. But clothes shopping is a special brand of torture. I loathe it to the depths of my soul.
I stare at the endless sea of options, and my chest tightens.
When I had this idea after leaving the weight room, it seemed…right. Fun. Playful. Something Mabel would enjoy. But I’m lost in this place.
I don’t know what the hell to do in a store. I never went shopping with Eliza. She never asked me to. If I bought her gifts, it was usually wine or a watch she wanted. Nothing as complicated as…clothes.
I break for the open doors leading toward the place I belong—on the player’s side of the arena. On the way, I linger at a display, so it doesn’t feel like I’m making my escape. A woman with light brown skin and a bouncy, dark brown ponytail intercepts me. Her name tag says Jacinta. “Can I help you with anything, Mr. Knight?”
Right. Of course, I’m not incognito here. Not with my thirty-foot image on a banner overhead.
I draw a breath. “I need something for…a friend.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Got it. And what does this friend like?”
I think of Mabel and her penchant for cute athletic clothes. “Um, tennis dresses? Pickleball outfits?” The words feel terribly awkward.
She gives me aso sorryfrown. “We don’t have any. But those are good ideas.”
I picture what Mabel’s worn at other times when I’ve seen her, but the way that short dress hugged her curves and boosted her breasts is theonlyimage in my head right now. I blow out a breath and look around at the T-shirts, pullovers, sweatshirts, hoodies, and jerseys.
Everyone likes sweatshirts, right? “It’s for a friend who likes lilac. Can you tell me if any of these sweatshirts are lilac?”
“Of course!” She guides me to a shelf of feminine-looking sweatshirts and hoodies. “We just launched a new line of jerseys geared toward fans who like softer colors.”
Jerseys.
Holy shit.
Like mine?
I had no idea.
But when Jacinta hands me a jersey with my number—15—on it and my name, it feels a lot like luck.
“So this is lilac?” I confirm.
“It is,” she says.
I hold it up, unsure if this will work for Mabel. If she’ll like it. I hate asking for help. I prefer giving it, but I can’t finagle my way out of this with swagger or a slapshot. “Can you give me your honest opinion? Would it look good on a woman with…” I don’t know how to describe Mabel’s hair either. Shopping is hell.
“Do you want to know if it’s an attractive cut and style?” Jacinta asks helpfully.
