My phone sat where I’d left it, face down on the bench. My hands shook as I picked it up.
I didn’t think too hard about the words. I just typed.
It’s official. Yours truly is a nominee for Rookie of the Year.
*
Trivia Night took over O’Riley’s the way a playoff win takes over a city. Blue and silver banners hung crooked along the brick walls, a neon Surge logo flickering behind the bar like it had a pulse of its own. Jerseys everywhere. Old ones, new ones, stitched names from different eras, beer sloshing dangerously close to sleeves that would fetch a good dollar amount on eBay.
Holly stood on a chair near the dartboard with a clipboard and a mic, PR queen turned quiz tyrant, grinning like she’d been waiting all season for this. Rookie of the Year Nominee Night, she’d called it. Part anniversary, part excuse to drink on a weeknight.
Nicole sat at my side, thigh pressed to mine beneath the table, her knee nudging me every time someone shouted something stupid. Mason was across from us, already three beers in and arguing with Grayson about whether guessing was a strategy or a cry for help.
“We are not guessing,” Nicole said, pointing a fry at Mason. “Right answers only.”
“I like guessing,” Mason said. “It’s bold.”
“I came here to win,” she shot back, smiling anyway.
Mason winked at me. “Thanks for letting me be on your team. Those losers are gonna get creamed tonight.”
Cash Money and Tucker were at the next table over, already heckling like it was their job. Coach refused to play, and hovered near the bar with a ginger ale, arms crossed, pretending he wasn’t listening while absolutely listening.
Holly tapped the mic. “All right, Surge family. First question: When was the San Antonio Surge established as a team?”
Nicole’s hand shot up halfway, then stopped. She glanced at me, eyes bright, competitive, like this mattered in the best way.
“Two thousand six,” she said, calm as anything.
Tucker cupped his hands. “Two thousand two!”
A chorus of boos answered him and he looked around, confused.
“That math is shocking, but it explains so much,” Grayson called.
Mason laughed so hard he nearly knocked his chair back. “Buddy, that’s not even close.”
Holly pointed straight at Nicole. “Correct answer is 2006.”
Nicole bumped my knee under the table, victory contained but present. I slid my thumb along her wrist where it rested near my leg, hidden, ours.
We hadn’t talked much about what happened last night, but it kind of felt like talk wasn’t necessary. There was a knowing when we fell into each other. It didn’t need an explanation.
The second question rolled in, then a third, fourth. The bar got louder. Glasses clinked. Someone started chanting Surge halfway through a round and never really stopped.
Holly smiled like she was setting a trap. “Who was the first ever coach of the San Antonio Surge?”
Nicole didn’t even hesitate. “Jimmy Martinez.”
A few impressed whistles scattered around the room.
“Hey, are you gonna give any of us a chance?” Tucker called out.
Grayson downed his beer and said, “Maybe if you get a right answer.”
Holly ignored them and raised a brow. “Bonus points if you can share a factoid.”
Nicole straightened, enjoying this now. “Born July twelfth, nineteen fifty-two. Atlanta, Georgia is his hometown. Favorite comfort meal is slow-smoked beef brisket with his grandmother’s chili rub.”
