“I know who you are.” She giggles and playfully squeezes my arm. “That workout video you did with Adidas wasamazing.”
“Thanks.”
She pulls an olive off a toothpick with her teeth, lashes fluttering. “What sort of pre-workout do you use?”
I frown at her, confused. Is she really trying to pick me up by asking about my pre-workout routine? It takes more energy than it should not to scoff. “A mix of stuff.”
“If you’re looking for another one, I just launched my own whey protein powder line,” she announces. “It’s calledRipped by Roni.”
For the next ten minutes and thirty-four seconds, Roni tells meallabout her life journey from Vegas stripper to fitness influencer who now has her own brand of workout supplements. All the while, I envision ways to fake my own death. I don’t have to even look at the ingredient list to know I wouldn’t touch her stuff with a ten-foot pole. Not after she tells me her most popular flavor is banana bread.
When one of my teammates interrupts our conversation to ask for a photo with her, I use the distraction to my advantage and make my escape. There’s an open seat next to Cameron, so I slide into it quickly, not bothering to worry about why the faux leather is so sticky.
“She’s hot as fuck,” he says, nodding to Roni. “You’re not interested?”
“Definitely not.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Damn. Maya’s got you whipped already.”
“Yup,” I admit without an ounce of shame. Maya’s a beautiful enigma I’d be happy to spend all my time unraveling. She’s open yet guarded. Playful yet serious. Tough yet sensitive. Independent yet deeply connected to those she cares about. Outgoing yet a homebody. She’s brought out the laid-back side of me that I thought I’d lost. And based on our chemistry, I have no doubt the sex will be mind-blowing.
“You’ve got to lock that down before you get a serious case of blue balls, Berrett.”
With a grunt, I shrug off his amusement at the deeply intimate relationship I’ve developed with my hand. I want more than just the pretty parts with Maya. I want the bad days, the ugly crying, and the bitchy moods, too. And if that means taking it at her pace and jerking off instead of fucking her senseless, then that’s what I’ll do.
“Anyway,” Cam says, bringing his drink to his lips, “I heard a rumor.”
“About?”
“The Devils.”
My ears perk up like Goose’s do when I sayoutsideorplay ball. “What about them?”
“Rumor is Rogers is retiring after the playoffs.” He turns my way, one brow arched. “His wife just gave birth to twins, and his rotator cuff may need another surgery.”
“Madoff can’t fill his shoes.” I shake of my head. “They’d need to trade…” I trail off as his words connect in my head.
My contract with the Bobcats includes a full no-movement clause. No trades without my agreement. That kind of protection isn’t handed out lightly. I earned it. In the four years I’ve been with the Bobcats, a few opportunities have come up. I listened to each pitch, sure, but moving to a new team mid-season when I’ve put so much blood, sweat, and tears in with the Bobcats never felt quite right. Besides, moving someone like me isn’t easy. The salary cap alone can be a challenge. And I know my worth. It’d take more than one player and a draft pick to balance that scale.
The only team I’d happily be traded to is my hometown team.
And if their star player retires and they’re in the market for a new center, especially one with my skill? Then I’d be stupid not to consider it.
Cameron nods at my shell-shocked expression. “As I said, it’s just a rumor, but it’s something to keep your eye on. Tell Mark.”
If my agent wasn’t in the Bahamas ringing in the New Year with his new fiancée, I’d already be on my way back to my hotel room to call him. “Thanks for looking out, man. Appreciate it.”
“Any time, Cap.”
I take a long sip of my drink, sorting through the multitude of thoughts suddenly bombarding me. It may be a very happy New Year, indeed.
The hotel breakfast area is filled with familiar faces, most of whom look severely hungover. A ten-a.m. flight on New Year’s Day is brutal, and likely Coach Henderson’s attempt to keep the guys from letting the night get too wild. Based on the condition most of my teammates are in, his plan failed. Epically.
The breakfast selection features all the staples—oatmeal, mini boxes of cereal, questionable-looking eggs, and a bread and pastry basket. I toast a sesame bagel, smother it in whipped creamed cheese, and pour myself a coffee before sliding into the open seat between Jake and Logan.
“Happy New Year,” I greet them.
With a nod, Jake picks up his glass of extra-pulpy orange juice. “You, too. Where’s Davies?”
