“You don’t need to keep bribing me with cookies,” I say, already stepping aside to let them in. “Though I’m not complaining.”
“Well, I needed to thank you properly,” Nicole says as she steps inside, Cocoa trotting behind her. “For helping me clean up after the disaster that was my networking attempt. And for not making me feel like the biggest loser on the planet.”
I close the door as Cocoa pulls at his leash, eager to explore. Nicole bends down to unclip him, glancing up at me. “Is it okay if he roams a bit? I promise he’s been walked and, uh, emptied.”
“Sure,” I say, watching as Cocoa immediately begins his investigation. “I don’t have much he can destroy anyway.”
Nicole settles onto my couch, tucking her legs underneath her. I grab two glasses of water from the kitchen, then take a cookie, biting into it. It’s good—chocolate chip, with something else I can’t identify.
“These are great,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“Thanks.” She smiles. “Baking is the one thing I can actually do right. Even when everything else is a disaster, at least I can make cookies.”
“Well here, have one.” I hold out a cookie to her.
She grabs it and takes a bite.
“So how was your day?” she asks, changing the subject. “Did you have practice?”
I think about Marcus, the rooftop bar, the trade rumors. “Yeah, and then did some … team stuff.”
“Sounds mysterious,” she says, eyebrows raised. “Is that code for ‘secret NBA business I can’t tell civilians about’?”
I laugh. “Nothing that exciting. Just had drinks with one of the guys from the team. Marcus.”
“The one with all the tattoos? I’ve seen him on billboards.”
I nod. “He’s been helping me adjust. Showing me around.”
Nicole studies me, her head tilted slightly. “You seem … I don’t know. A little elsewhere. If this is a bad time, I can—”
“No,” I say, too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just…” I exhale. “There might be some changes coming up. With the team.”
“What kind of changes?”
I set my half-eaten cookie down, suddenly not hungry. “There’s talk about trades. Players getting moved around.”
Her brows knit together. “Does that happen a lot?”
“All the time,” I say. “Especially this early in the season. It’s background static more than anything.”
She watches me for a beat. “But it still gets to you.”
I shrug. “Sometimes. Not because anything’s happening—just because it reminds you how temporary everything can feel.”
“So, it’s not … about you?”
“Not specifically. But nobody’s ever completely off the board. That’s just how it works.”
She hesitates. “Did anyone mention where?”
I pause, choosing my words. “Texas came up. Not as a thing. Just … a possibility people like to bring up.”
“Texas,” she repeats softly. “That’s home for you.”
I nod. “It would be closer to family. Familiar territory.”
“That sounds like it could be a good thing,” she says, though her tone doesn’t quite match the words. “If that’s what you want.”
