“Who wants to grab their thank-you card and give it to Mr. Mills?” That does it. They race to their cubbies, grab their cards, and hand them to Jordan in a big, jumbled stack.
He flips through each one, saying something kind to every student. “Thank you so much! I had so much fun spending time with you today, but I have to get to practice. So, I’m going to head out. But Ms. Banks has some fun shirts and gifts for you, and she’ll hand them out before you go home.” They all shout and clap, while Jordan gathers all his things and stands.
He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out an envelope, and hands it to me.
“What’s this?” I ask, already opening it.
“Just say yes, okay?” He looks nervous as I pull out a single VIP ticket and a pass for tomorrow’s game.
“Oh, Jordan—you didn’t need to get me this. Of course I’ll be there. Thank you.” I hug him—forgetting there’s a room full of kids watching.
“I told you! She’s his girlfriend!” We both laugh. Jordan waves goodbye, and I settle the class and spend the rest of the day trying not to think about him.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
JORDAN
With one last possession and three seconds on the clock, the ball lands in my hands. On instinct, I take one dribble, faking the defender, then step back and pull up for the three-point shot. I watch it release, arcing toward the hoop. I know as soon as it leaves my hands—it’s good, and we’re going to win. Sure enough, the ball swooshes through the net, the buzzer sounds, and the crowd erupts.
The Charlotte Sting just beat the Tampa Sharks, 101–100. It was back and forth, both teams shooting lights-out. We were lucky enough to have the final shot, and I found a way to get us the win.
My teammates congratulate me, then we shake hands with the Tampa guys—including one of my former teammates, Drew. He grins, shaking his head as we embrace. “Jordan Mills, you just can’t help yourself. Congrats on the win, man.” I chuckle at the guy who was once a friend, then a rival— and now, I don’t really know what he is. He was in love with Reagan and even had a solid chance—until Riggs came into the picture. He tried his best, but it wasn’t meant to be. Poor guy.
“Drew, it’s good to see you, bro. How’s life?”
“Not bad, man. How’s your sister?” Of course he’s asking about her. I guess he’s not over her yet. Can’t blame him. My sister is the best he could ever get.
“Reagan’s doing great. She’s in grad school and she and Riggs will probably be headed down the aisle sooner than later.” I say it without thinking. He flinches, his face falters before he composes himself.
“That’s great. As long as she’s happy.” He’s lying—but good on him for trying. I know what it’s like to pine after a girl who chose someone else. Thankfully in this case, Reagan chose the right guy for her. Drew will find his happy ending one day.
I need to end this conversation before it gets worse. “Yeah. Listen, good game, Drew. Next time you’re in Charlotte, let’s grab dinner or something.”
“Sounds good. Catch you later, Mills.”
I head to the press conference, answering as many questions as I can before Coach calls time. After a quick shower, I hope Mackenzie made it down to the locker room with the VIP pass I gave her. This is the first time in a long time she’s been at my game and didn’t have Trey with her, or calling her. We’re both single. My heart leaps at the thought.
Walking out a few minutes later, I stop dead in my tracks at the sight of her halfway down the hallway. Mackenzie came to my game, waited to greet me—and she’s wearing my jersey.
I repeat: she’s wearing my jersey. My number. My name across her back. Mine.
Finally.
I clear my throat, trying to calm myself as I approach her, but a huge grin takes over as I see her up close. She has always been beautiful, but to see those blue eyes as clear and happy as they are right now paired with my jersey on her body, she’s never looked better. “Mackenzie Banks,” I say, grinning, “you’re wearing my jersey.” Her cheeks flame at my words and if that doesn’t pump my ego.
“Had to represent you, Jordan.” I love my name on her mouth.
That crush I’ve always buried breaks free—full-blown butterflies, sweaty palms, stupid heart-eyes falling hard.
I pull her to me in a hug and whisper, “It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” A little gasp is all I get in response and that’s enough to know that I affect her just as much as she affects me.
“How do you feel about showing me a little of London?” I ask her with a twinkle in my eye, hoping she’ll agree.
“I’d love to. But I need to change, first.”
“No,” I say, smiling. “What you’re wearing sends the perfect message.”
