Beauty and the Baller(77)

“I’ll see you at the field house. Dinner at my place? You and Sabine?”

She stands, her hand running over my shoulders. “Sounds good.”

“I can grill. What should I make?”

She pauses, a light growing in her eyes. “Chicken. I want chicken.”

I laugh as she sashays out the door.



After lunch, I’m walking out to the field house when my phone rings.

“Yo, Reggie, how’s it going?” I ask my agent.

“Hey! How are you doing?”

“Great, great. About to head to practice.”

“Sounds good. Hite called me this morning. It’s not official, but Dunbar is going to resign. The drug addiction is all over the media, and they can’t keep a lid on it. There’ll be a press conference in a few days. Hite’s itching to nail you down for the short list.”

“Reggie—”

“Stanford is at the top right now. You could be part of that team and work your way up. Hite will retire in a few years.”

I reach the field and step out on the grass, frowning as I wait for the wave of calm that usually comes on the field, but it doesn’t. Instead, anxiousness tugs at me.

“Ronan? He’ll want to meet with you.”

My hand taps my leg in frustration. “Look, I’m about to play the biggest game of the year next week. I can’t fly to California and interview for a job I don’t really want.”

“Uh-huh. They’ve had a great season, and they’ll get a bowl game. You could be there for it.”

“Reggie . . .”

“Look, I hear the reservation in your voice,” he says. “I get it. I do. You’ve been there for almost two seasons, and you want to finish, but life happens, and shit changes. You can pay out your contract with Blue Belle and go to California.”

Toby sends me a wave as he runs into the field house.

“Ronan?”

“What?” I mutter.

“There’s no harm in getting on the list. You can always say no, right?”

There’s truth in that.

“Okay, fine, add me to the list, but keep it private. I need to go, Reggie.”

“Wait! Ah, well, there’s something else I heard through the grapevine that’s simmering. I don’t have all the deets, but—”

“What? Where?” My gut clenches, and I can’t decide if it’s hope or fear of an opportunity I can’t say no to.

“I’ll get back to you with facts once I get more info.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Ah . . . well, it’s close to home.”

“Chicago?”

“No. Look, I’ve said too much already. I don’t want to get your hopes up. I’ll call you soon.”

He clicks off, leaving me annoyed. I stalk out to the center of the field and stare at the Bobcat.

Moving up to the next level is what I want . . .

But . . .

My chest tightens, and I stop and bend over to catch my breath.

It’s going to rip me apart to leave this team—and Nova.





Chapter 21


RONAN

A woodpecker bangs on a nearby tree as I gaze down at Nova. The weather is warm, and she’s wearing cutoff shorts and an old BBHS shirt. Her hair is everywhere as we lie in a hammock next to the pool.

We won our game last night on the road in Brighton, about two hours from Blue Belle. She and Sabine stayed home, and when I pulled up around one in the morning, I unlocked her door and headed upstairs to her room. I crawled in, tucked her in my arms, and slept the best I have in a while. We got up for Sabine and then made pancakes with Dolly playing. It’s a Morgan Girl family tradition.

She stirs and opens her eyes, a slow smile curling her lips as she stretches. “Hello, handsome. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“I don’t mind.”

She’s here. With me.

“Where’s Sabine and Toby?” she asks.

“Lois’s house. Milo is there, and they’re playing video games. I hope that’s okay?”

She bites her lip. “Does this mean we’re alone?”

“They’ve been gone for maybe an hour, so . . .”

She grabs her phone and fires off a text. “I’m telling Lois to keep them there for a while. Maybe order them a pizza. It’s close to dinnertime, and Sabine loves Domino’s gluten-free . . .”

I grin. “What will we do without them here?”

“Fun and games . . . give me a head start, ’kay? About twenty seconds,” she says as she stirs around in my arms to get out of the hammock.

“What do you mean?”

She stands. “We’re going to play a game. Keep up, Fancy Pants.” She darts around the pool toward the house. Dog raises his head from the lounge chair he’s asleep in, then snuffles out a disgusted sound and lies back down.

I heave myself out. “Don’t you think we’re too old for hide-and-seek?”

“We’re never too old for games!” she calls out from the french doors. “I won’t be hard to find! FYI, I’m off my period!” The door slams behind her, and I count to twenty, then take off after her.

I go to the pantry first, then circle back to the kitchen, then head for my office. I swing the door open, and she’s leaning against the pool table, a stick in hand. She’s already racked the balls.