“I just think the CBA should work for everyone,” I said carefully.
“It can,” she replied, her tone light but sure, like the answer was obvious if we just aimed higher.
We walked a little farther in silence, the difference in our vantage points hanging between us.
Her mouth eventually curved into a slow grin. “Although, personally? I’ve got another thing I can’t stop thinking about.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“No one’s said anything about last night.”
I huffed a laugh at the sudden pivot and offered automatic smiles to the coaches, support staff, and players we passed—the polite, neutral kind of smile that didn’t betray the fact that my brain was now replaying the feel of my hands on her hips in a nightclub bathroom.
“I’m a little surprised Jazz hasn’t said anything,” I admitted. “Dez, too.” I glanced sideways at her. “I mean, we just disappeared last night.”
“We did no such thing,” Eva smirked. “They knewexactlywhere we went andexactlywhat we were doing.”
Heat crept up my neck at the memory. “Yeah, well, maybe they just have the good sense to not say anything,” I vocalized. “I haven’t gotten so much as a sly look from any of them.”
We passed through the double doors that led into the locker room. A few players from the other teams were either getting ready to take the practice court or they’d just finished up.
My steps stalled completely. My locker—dead center—looked like the adult toy aisle of a chaotic bachelorette party. Dildos of all shapes, sizes, and colors were attached via suction cup to the front of my locker.
I tipped my head back and raised my voice. “Very funny, you guys!”
From around the corner, my teammates emerged like they’d been waiting for curtain call—grinning, clapping, hooting like I’d just hit a game-winner. A few of them reached over to pat my back or shoulder, their approval loud and physical.
It wasn’t hazing—it was camaraderie. I wasn’t a rookie to be teased—I was a friend who was down bad for her girlfriend, and they all wanted to let me know they approved.
Chapter
Eighteen
Eva had assured me that she would take no meetings with potential new sponsors while we were in Miami, but her publicist Veronica had been adamant that we—both Eva and myself—sit down with the marketing team for an up-and-coming sports drink.
The professional women’s basketball league was notoriously cutthroat. One minute you were the darling of the league, and the next you could be waived from your team with little more than a ‘thank you for your service.’ This was the harsh reality that Veronica had reiterated in her voicemail to Eva. Make hay while the sun shines.Carpe diem.Strike while the iron’s still hot. I’d never heard so many idioms strung together all at once.
We were supposed to have a light practice later that afternoon, but Eva had convinced Coach Demarios that our meeting with marketing execs wouldn’t run long and that we’d be back in time for afternoon shoot-around. Convincing me, however, was a little harder.
Half an hour, tops, she’d promised me. They were flying down to Miami just to meet with us. Wouldn’t it be fun to shoot a commercial together—be on a billboard together. I’d finallyrelented, but only after holding firm that there was no way in hell I was dressing up to hear their pitch.
It was a nice touch that they’d sent a car to pick us up, but I practiced my best unimpressed stare on the ride over. Eva was used to this kind of VIP treatment, but it was new for me. The local car dealership and the family-owned restaurant that had given me my first NIL checks hadn’t been dishing out similar perks, unless you counted a free trip to the all-you-can-eat buffet.
A middle-aged white man in an expensive-looking suit met us outside of a gleaming skyscraper in downtown Miami. He introduced himself as Eric and shook our hands with an aggressive hold. He clasped my hand in both of his and firmly jerked my wrist up and down while he yammered on about thisexciting opportunity.
We were quickly ushered out of the Miami heat and toward a bank of elevators inside. A short ride in the elevator brought us to a mid-level floor where bottled water was procured before we made our way down a long, sterile hallway. Eric led us to a glass-encased conference room that overlooked a marina. White luxury boats bobbed in the blue water below.
Imposter syndrome manifested as intrusive thoughts, but I did my best to maintain an aloof air throughout it all. I was a professional athlete, I reminded myself. I was dating one of the hottest women on the planet. I belonged in this room. I belonged at this table.
Eva’s hand rested on my knee under said conference table. She squeezed my thigh, just above my kneecap, and flashed me an encouraging smile.
She looked beautiful, of course, but also polished and professional. Her braids—micro, tight along the scalp—fanned out into loose waves halfway down her back, like someone had started with precision and given up halfway in favor of softness.
Her outfit was as strategic as anything Veronica could have planned. High-waisted tailored trousers in slate gray, wide-legged and clean-lined, paired with a sleeveless mock-neck top the color of blood oranges. The top’s rich hue made her skin glow, and the minimalist gold watch on her wrist was more jewelry than timepiece.
I’d opted for wide-legged jeans and a short-sleeved linen top that her stylist Dyaisha would have approved of. Casual, but not sloppy. Eva looked like she had a private jet idling outside.
I made a mental note to tell her as much when the meeting was over.
