we’re sitting freaking courtside.” She looks around again, her stare lingering on the court and the empty seats ahead of us before returning her blue stare to me. “I don’t know? Maybe it was all good luck, or maybe you got good luck as a condition for the bad luck? All I know is this might be my first and last NBA game because I don’t know that I can come back and do this again sitting up in the nose bleeds.” She snaps a few pictures on her phone before turning it on me. “Say cheese!”
She sits back in her seat, laughing as she sends a text.
“Are you sending that to Rose?”
“Rose and Sophia.”
“Who’s Sophia?”
“My best friend in Texas.”
“Yeah?”
Olivia nods, her attention still on her screen as she captions the photos. “We grew up together. A group of us. Small town life and all that, I guess.” She sits back as the announcer starts talking again, welcoming the teams back to the floor as everyone gets back to their feet.
The Blazers come out of the same tunnel we walked down, the mouth now lined with children who get high fives from many of the players as they jog out. “Put your hand out. I’ll get it on film.”
I tug her forward, forcing her to squeeze into the small space in front of me and lift her hand as the first player runs by, his palm connects with hers, and I feel the vibration in my fingers. Olivia remains in place, her chest nearly flush against mine. She smells like sunshine and summer in the northwest, and when she smiles at me, the hesitation and awkwardness that tried to engage us is gone. I relish that fact, smiling at her as I remove my hand from hers as the next player comes by and gives us each a high five. The next player stops to sign an autograph and offers me one, signing the back of my shoulder. It’s unreal and insane and has me realizing that she may be right. Perhaps I just haven’t been putting myself in the right position to allow enough good things to happen lately.
14
Arlo
I sit in the waiting room, glancing at my watch for the hundredth time since I arrived for my appointment. My doctor’s late. Again.
I fidget, sleep deprivation and this appointment making me restless in a way that has me wishing I could run some plays or practice some sets to release all this pent-up energy.
“Kostas, Arlo,” a physician’s assistant calls out.
I stand, reaching for my crutches. The physician’s assistant has straight blonde hair that’s pulled back into a ponytail, several wisps loose around her face and neck—I’m a sucker for a girl with messy hair. It paints erotic images in my mind, and this girl’s hair is doing that and more as she smiles appreciatively at me.
“How are you today?” I ask.
“You’re making my day. I heard you play football for Brighton, and I am such a fan. I watched all of your games this year.”
If I were Lincoln, I’d be quizzing her and making her prove she knows the sport, but I’m not known for being an asshole. Instead, I’m known as the flirt, which has me flashing a smile at her. “I always love meeting fans,” I tell her.
She giggles, leading me back to an empty room.
“How are you feeling? How’s the pain?”
“In which region?” I ask.
She bites her lip and looks up through long eyelashes, and for a second, Olivia’s face flashes through my thoughts, recalling the way she occasionally bites her lip when she’s nervous or fighting a laugh. I shake off the unexpected comparison and focus on the woman in front of me.
“Sorry. My knee’s good. Mostly. Ready to walk again.”
She nods, clearing her throat. “I see. Well, let me go get Dr. Todd, and I’ll be right back.” She stalls before reaching for the door. “It would be inappropriate for me to talk to you outside of the office, but maybe I could ask for your autograph?”
“It’s never killed anyone to not know something,” I tell her.
Her eyes turn bright with mischief as they drop to my shorts.
“Truer words have never been spoken.” She hands me a pen and grabs a notepad from the drawer with the practice’s letterhead. I scribble my signature across it, and she rips it off before disappearing out the door.
Another forty minutes pass before Dr. Todd steps into the room. He looks like he walked through a windstorm to reach