“Do you work with the team, too?”
“They wish.I have my own empire.”
“She means her million Instagram followers,” Mari supplies.
“Almost two, and I busted my ass for every one of them.”Brooke winks.“But my brother, Jayden, plays point guard.”
A basketball team is only a handful of people in an entire city.How the hell is everyone connected to this one?
She takes a bite, but my mind drifts back to my visit to the stadium yesterday and the man I encountered in the gym.
A tall, tattooed god glistening with sweat, his eyes burning like coals.
On the plane, he was impressive but down to earth.
But the stadium was his natural environment.
When I got back in the car, I yanked out my phone and typed “Kodiaks basketball players” into the search bar.
Milliseconds later, I had my answer.
Clayton Wade.
Power forward.
Twenty-nine years old.
Two-time all-star.
Six feet, five grumpy inches of athlete wrapped in a "fuck you" tattoo.
My dream guy wasn’t some stranger I’d never see again that I could safely fantasize about.
He’s Harlan’s star player.
“You should play basketball.I bet you’d be good at it.”
He must have thought I was such an idiot.
Except the way he looked at me made me feel as if I was burning up.
I scroll through images of him dunking the ball, running up the court.
In interviews.
In media campaigns.
In one image, he’s looking straight at the camera.He’s impossibly gorgeous and grumpy, as if the idea of standing still for a single photo puts an irreversible kink in his day.
And I told him all my secrets.
"I owe you a tattoo."
"This is how you redeem it."
The best thing to do would be forget we ever met.
It’s why after returning from the stadium, I tried to scrub the number from my hand.
