protests and encouragement all around her. Her fingers ached, and the ball pinched against her chest at how tightly she held onto that ball. This was it. Her moment. Her shot.
Reese landed, feet first, ball secure, right on the Steamers’ end zone, scoring the touchdown they needed to win the game.
Hurricane. That’s what Reese thought she heard as she threw the ball against the field. It bounced, rolling right at the feet of one of the refs, but the noise around her, that wave of sound she couldn’t quite place, distracted her.
“What the…”
She didn’t need to answer.
Along with the deafening roar came her teammates and coaches. They ran at her like she was a goddess and they needed her blessing to simply exist. She spotted the smiles, smelled the sweat over their faces, the jerseys sticking to their chests as the remaining four seconds whittled down on the scoreboard overhead. Then, someone picked Reese up, hoisting her in the air, hands and arms jostling her around as they chanted her name over and over again.
“No-ble! No-ble! Nooooo-ble!”
In the middle of all those faces, moist with tears and sweat and smiles covering them, Reese spotted Ryder. He looked up at her, hands uplifted, his smile megawatt and criminally tempting and that beautiful man, so poised, so confident, so beloved by everyone, stood on the ground, letting Reese have her moment and he did it with her name, chanting in unison, lifting from his lips.
19.
REESE
DECADENCE LOOKED DIFFERENT SOMEHOW. There were still the roving, glittering lights and the elegant shimmer of lush fabrics and clientele outfitted in designer clothes; there were still the exotic cocktails and the runway-worthy wait staff serving up drinks to everyone who’d stopped by to celebrate the final Steamers win and Reese’s impeccable performance.
She’d received so many congratulatory back pats and impromptu kisses that Reese found herself a little dizzy. Extracting herself from a very drunk and affectionate Baker, she weaved through the crowd, nodding and smiling as she moved until she spotted Cat at the end of the bar, cozied next to a guy Reese had met with Cat just the month before at Lucy’s—one of the guys distracted by Cat’s walk as she moved around their table.
Her friend laughed when she caught Reese’s gaze, toasting her with the pink drink in her hand. “You are amazing,” she mouthed, and Reese gave her an exaggerated bow before laughing at the distraction of Cat’s date.
“Who the fuck is that?” Wilson asked, hovering over Reese’s shoulder.
“Jameson,” Reese said to the bartender, leaning over empty glasses and discarded napkins because Wilson stretched around her, his attention on Cat and the big man who held her face.
“Oh, hell no,” Wilson said, looking ready to hop on the bar to get to Cat before she got a kiss. He made it to the stool before Reese pulled him down.
“You serious?”
The man frowned, looking ready to throw something, but calmed when Reese moved him, settling him in a seat. “She’s not the kid running after you anymore.”
Wilson’s expression changed then, his eyebrows lowering, his mouth relaxing. “She told you.”
“She did.” Reese grabbed her drink when the bartender handed it over, and Wilson leaned against the bar, avoiding Reese’s arm. “She’s grown now and has very strong opinions about pro ball players.” Wilson opened his mouth but didn’t speak when Reese continued. “Opinions formed by seeing firsthand how you’ve treated your seasonal girls in the past.”
“Fuck, Noble, you telling me Cat thinks I’m a ho?”
“Wilson,” she said, softly patting his cheek. “You are a ho, my friend.”
That hadn’t been much of a difficult conclusion to come to. Every game night Wilson left the stadium with a different girl. He was obvious about it, and word traveled in the locker room.
“But Cat…”
Whatever argument Wilson was going to make got forgotten as Pérez shot across the club, coming to Wilson’s side. The closer he came, the quieter the crowd seemed to grow. There was something in Pérez’s stance, the weight that held him to the floor as he walked across the club. He didn’t seem happy about whatever news had put that frown on his face, and he moved quickly, footsteps hurried, anxious. The man’s normally friendly, warm smile was missing and there was a wrinkle forming at the corner of his eyes.
“It’s Pukui,” he told Wilson, glancing at Reese once.
“What’s up?” Kenya asked, standing from the stool.
“Just got a call from his sister in Hawaii. His ex got killed in a car wreck. Their baby was