“That fifteen minutes?”I pant as he shifts over me.
“No.”He runs a hand down my body, caressing my breast, gripping my hip.
I soak in the sight of him, his scent, the rough sound of his voice.
“You didn’t check the clock,” I point out.
He sinks inside me and fills me so completely I can’t speak.
“Everything else will wait.”
“For you?”I manage with a smile.
His eyes lock with mine.“For us.”
WESTERN CONFERENCE FINALS
LOS ANGELES
30
CLAY
We roll up to LA riding a high, having won our first two series, doing what the oddsmakers said we couldn’t.
Only now, we’re staring down the barrel of the defending champions—in their building.Kyle’s still out and my knee is questionable.
There’s no mistaking we’re underdogs as we take the court.
The first quarter is like watching a car wreck.
Atlas gets caught in the perimeter where he can’t shoot or guard.
Jay gets double-teamed by bigger guards.
Miles misses his first four attempts from deep.
Rookie tries unsuccessfully to take the ball into the paint, only to get turned over by more experienced guys.
If I questioned how much trouble we’d face in LA, now I have my answer.
The Kodiaks were going in like David versus Goliath, and Goliath steamrolled us.
Forty-eight minutes of scrappy game play leave us bruised and bloodied.
In the locker room, my guys are deflated.
“If we’d had Kyle…” Rookie starts.
“Kyle doesn’t give a shit,” Jay replies.
“They’re too good.”Atlas shakes his head.
“Don’t put this on them,” I interrupt as I change my shoes.“You want to look at what to fix, you look at us.Weletthem do this.”
I kick my locker and stalk out of the locker room to cool off.
Harlan’s pacing the hall.
