She nods. “Dad wants to see you play. I think he’s hoping I can get an autograph, but he won’t admit it.”
My stomach flips. “That’s … awesome.”
No pressure at all.
She grins. “You’ll have to put on a good show.”
Yep, no pressure.
“I’ll try not to embarrass myself.” I chuckle, and without thinking, I squeeze her knee gently.
She glances up at me, her eyes lingering, searching mine. “Thanks, Dom. For … everything.”
“Anytime,” I say, my eyes dropping to her lips and then back up to her eyes. A flush of color floods her cheeks, and I consider leaning in…
But her phone rings, sharp and sudden, startling us both. She checks the screen, then her lips twitch into a frown. “It’s my dad. I should take this.”
“Go for it.” I clear my throat, standing and stretching my legs.
She answers, walking a few steps away, and I hear her voice go bright and chipper, like she’s shifting gears into daughter mode. Cocoa follows, leash dragging behind, tail wagging.
I watch her go, the way she gestures with her free hand, the way she laughs at something her dad says. She’s easy to read, even from a distance.
She’s beautiful. How did I ever find her annoying?
When she hangs up, she turns back to me, phone in one hand, leash in the other. “I’m so sorry to dip out, but my dad just arrived at the airport and wants to meet up for dinner.”
“No problem.” I nod, watching her leave.
“See you Saturday, Dom!” she calls from somewhere up ahead.
I laugh and hoist my bag and head for the elevator, already looking forward to the weekend.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
“Ready to eat these guys alive, Texas?” Marcus gives me the nod as we get ready for tip-off.
I nod back. I do a quick scan of the sea of faces in the stands, looking for something familiar.
And then I seeher.
Nicole is perched five rows off the floor, next to her dad, blonde hair tucked behind her ears. They’re in Comets gear. For some reason, I expected her to be on her phone or something, but she’s not. She’s looking at me. She gives a tiny wave.
I shoot her a wink, and Marcus bumps his shoulder into mine.
“Texas, stay in the moment,” he says, but I hear the jesting in his tone.
“Just scoping the competition,” I shoot back, eyes already on the opening tip.
The next forty-eight minutes are nothing but muscle memory and the white noise of the crowd. My hands are dripping with sweat. My feet ache. Every time I go for a rebound, it feels like the inside of my body wants out.
We’re up by two at the half, but only because Marcus is making circus shots and the opposing center fouled out in the second quarter. In the locker room, everyone is riding high, but Coach isn’t buying it.
“Don’t get cocky,” he cautions. “You’ll get soft and they’ll eat you alive.”
I nod, but I don’t need the warning. My whole life has been about not letting up.
