JENNIE

Anticipation charges the arena, every breath I draw making my heart race that much faster. I'm sitting in the best seats money didn't even have to buy at the NCAA Championship, yet the basketball game is the last thing on my mind.

"You're as nervous as a live lobster in a boiling pot." Yeji's words are a splash of cold water across my face. Am I that obvious? I feel obvious, like there's a huge neon sign flashing over my head. I keep telling myself that nothing happened with Lisa last night. I have nothing to feel guilty about, but guilt gnaws through my rationale.

"It's a big game for Taehyung." I shrug, hoping it looks more casual than I feel. "Of course I'm nervous for him."

"I get that," Yeji says. "But you're downright agitated. Keep bouncing your knee like that and you'll cause a quake in here."

Even after she says it, my knee can't stop hopping, my foot tapping out an erratic rhythm on the stadium floor.

"Bo, what the hell?" Yeji demands, shortening Gumbo as only she does. She presses her hand to my knee, forcing it still. "Seriously, I know this is a huge night for Taehyung, but chill."

I stare down at the court, searching for my boyfriend in the clusters of players shooting around and warming up for the biggest game of their lives. I didn't want to distract him before the game by telling him I met Lisa Manoban, but what will I tell him after? A conversation at a bar during a Lakers game is no big deal, but somehow, I know Taehyung won't agree.

"Are you even hearing me?" The concern in Yeji's dark eyes jars me out of my head.

"Yeah. Sorry." I finally give her my full attention. "I'll try to relax."

She searches my face, and I force myself not to look away. Braids spill over her shoulders and arms. High, slanting cheekbones and a narrow chin lend her face an almost feline quality. She's slim and emanates strength. I'm not sure if it's the jut of her jaw, her obstinate chin, or her wise eyes. Or maybe it's something beneath her skin, built into her bones.

We come from a long line of Louisiana's famous high priestesses. Our great-grandmother MiMi was the last of them. Her daughter, our grandmother, had no desire to stay in the relative seclusion of a small bayou parish but wanted the excitement of New Orleans. A divide grew between MiMi and the other women of our family, and it seems the mystical power will die with her when she leaves this earth. But sometimes I swear I see traces of it in Yeji.

My skin may be several shades lighter than the smooth cinnamon of hers, but we've never let a little melanin and our one-year age gap come between us. We've needed each other too much. Yeji has been my constant, and I've been hers.

Even the years when she went to live on the bayou with MiMi and I stayed in the city, the miles between us didn't weaken our bond. Though I never keep anything from her, I haven't breathed a word about last night's conversation with Lisa.

The roaring crowd, the scantily dressed cheerleaders, and the swarm of cameras and commentators along the periphery of the court all fade, and I remember last night. Lisa's baseball cap provided a flimsy disguise, and I recognized her as soon as she sat beside me. The lean, powerful body, the chiseled jaw and sculpted lips, the bronzed skin—all dead giveaways.

Taehyung has talked about Lisa before, of course, and I know a lot about her game because I stay on top of sports. The media fixated on her during March Madness while her team continued their unlikely road to the Final Four. Taehyung and Lisa have been competing against one another since middle school and aren't exactly friends.

None of that prepared me for who Lisa Manoban actually is. I discovered a depth in her that was surprising and refreshing. Her vulnerability was so unexpected and at odds with the strength of her public image. Maybe it's the vulnerability that enhances her strength.

A dozen times, I started to tell her I'm Taehyung's girlfriend. I have to admit, at least to myself, that I didn't tell her because I thought she might leave. I was enjoying the conversation so much, and that was the last thing I wanted to happen. It won't matter since I'll probably never see her again.

I run a hand through my hair, flat-ironed straight and tamed the way Taehyung likes it. I've made more of an effort tonight because this is such a huge milestone for him. I even wore the outfit he asked me to wear, the one he gave me for my birthday, though it shows a little more of my body than I typically would. Left to me, I would have worn his jersey, a pair of jeans, and Chucks.

No, Jordans.

I wiggle my toes in the boots I paired with this tight-ass skirt. The top is cropped just beneath my breasts, leaving my stomach almost completely bare. Yeji says I look good, but that isn't the point. I'm at a freaking basketball game, not a club.

"Hey, there's your boy," she says, nodding down toward the court. "And he looks as nervous as you do."

Yeji is right. There's a tightness in Taehyung's expression and across his shoulders that doesn't bode well for his jump shot. He glances all over the arena, searching for something. It's not until he catches my eyes and smiles that I realize he was looking for me. I set aside my guilt and nervousness long enough to give him the smile, the reassurance, I know he needs tonight.

"Aren't his parents posted up in one of those fancy luxury rooms?" Yeji directs her gaze to the row of VIP boxes elevated above the rest of the arena.

"Yeah, but I like to sit in the stands," I tell her. "And Taehyung likes to see me here."

I blow him a kiss, and his smile grows wider, lighting his handsome face. Taehyung is the same height as Lisa, six-six, and he's just as powerfully built. His blond hair, tanned skin, and nearly navy blue eyes make him quite literally the golden boy of college basketball. There's nothing to indicate that he won't be just as popular in the NBA.

He turns to practice a few dribbling drills. He'll need all the practice he can get if he's going to outshoot Lisa tonight, though I honestly don't know if he can. I hate doubting him, but we haven't seen a perimeter shooter like Lisa in a long time. Taehyung's team is the defending champion. He got his ring last year, but I know beating his longtime rival to win another would be especially sweet for him.

"That man loves you, girl," Yeji says. "And I didn't think any guy could get you out of the library."

"Neither did I."

I had a scholarship to keep and wasn't going to be distracted by any guy. I was working the register when Taehyung's came into the bookstore needing a book for his psychology class. He showed up every morning for weeks with a cup of coffee for me until I agreed to go out with him. He's practically a celebrity on our campus, so of course I was flattered. I didn't take his interest in me seriously, though. I assumed he was exactly the kind of guy I should avoid, but he wore me down and he proved me wrong. We laughed together. We talked basketball. He treated me well and made me feel special.

"Well you caught yourself a big fish, as our mamas would say." The same bitterness about the men who passed through my life rings in Yeji's voice. "Now just to keep him."

"If anything, he's trying to keep me." I grimace at how that sounds. "What I mean is you know I care about Taehyung."

"Of course," Yeji says, watching me closely.

"It's just lately, it seems like he's asking for so much more."

I hesitate, not wanting to paint Taehyung in a bad light, but Yeji lifts her brows and nods her encouragement for me to go on.

"He's been dropping hints about marriage and that he wants me to move with him to the city that drafts him."

"But what if your opportunities aren't in whatever random city drafts him?" Yeji's brows pinch together. "He knows you want to pursue your career in sports marketing, right?"

"Of course. Yeah, I've always been up front about that," I say. "But now with the draft approaching, he doesn't want a long-distance relationship, so it keeps coming up."

I've always plotted my path in the opposite direction of my mother's. Independence. Not relying on a man. Making my own way. If there's one thing I know about my course, it's that I have to stay on it.

"Well speaking of." Yeji elbows me. "Your future father-in-law is heading our way." She nods toward Taehyung's father and his cousin, approaching through the crowded stands, stopping every so often to smile and chat.

"Would you stop saying that?" Exasperation weights my sigh. "It's bad enough everyone else assumes Taehyung and I are already practically engaged."

"To hear Aunt Priscilla tell it, you'll be married and pregnant by Christmas."

"Pregnant?" I scowl. "Mama would love that. The higher Taehyung goes in the draft, the more she'll want a grandbaby to hook him for life. That's the last thing I'm thinking about. A baby right now would ruin all my plans."

"What's the rush anyway?" Yeji adjusts an errant lock of hair until it knows its place on my shoulder. "Why's Taehyung so eager to get married?"

"I know. What's wrong with a long-distance relationship? I'm not ready for marriage. It's too soon."

"Do you love him?" Yeji's eyes pick around the edges of my expression.

"Sure." I shrug, looking down at my knees. "I mean, we say it to each other, but does that mean he's the one? I don't know. We've been dating a year. We started as friends, and he's gorgeous and smart and considerate. I'd be crazy not to love him, right? He's perfect."

Yeji puts her hand over mine. "Hey, look at me."

I meet her eyes, braced for whatever she's about to say.

"It doesn't matter if he's perfect, Bo, if he's not perfect for you." She squeezes my fingers. "You need a guy who respects your ambitions and your dreams."

"I think Taehyung can be that guy."

But even as I say it, I question if it's true. If my ambitions took me to one place and Taehyung to another, would he expect me to follow him? Would I lose him if I didn't? I hope I don't have to choose. I know how important basketball is to him, but does he really understand how important my dreams are to me?

"Just be sure," Yeji says, pasting on a plastic smile and aiming it over my shoulder. "In the meantime, here comes papa."

"Good evening, ladies," Taehyung's father says, finally making his way to stand in front of us.

Donald Bradley's smile is always as carefully coordinated as his ties and tailor-made suits. The word that comes to mind is calculating, like he's added you up and subtracted you to determine how much of his time and attention you merit. His every movement is smooth, but there is a hardness to him that makes me wonder if there's really a heart beating beneath that silk shirt. He's so much like Taehyung physically—the same golden hair and dark blue eyes—but Taehyung doesn't have that hard smoothness.

Not yet.

It's a whisper I try to ignore. The thought of Taehyung evolving into his father drops a bag of stones in my belly.

"Hi, Mr. Bradley." I glance up at the man beside him, forcing a smile for Taehyung's cousin. "Hey, Jin."

"Hey," Jin replies politely. Neutral is the word I always associate with him. He's in medical school, so I know he has his own talents, but beside the vitality of his superstar cousin, there is something . . . bland, beige about him. Like he'll match whatever's around him, absorb whatever he needs to in any given situation. Maybe that's not the worst thing, but it makes him hard to read. When you grow up with a series of creepy "uncles" in your house like we did, you learn to read men's intentions. What makes me wary of Jin is I can never read his.

"You're both welcome to join Barbara and me up in the box," Mr. Bradley says. "We've got quite a spread up there to celebrate after my boy wins tonight."

"I'm fine here for now." I try to warm my lukewarm smile. "I like being close to the action."

"And I'm sure Taehyung wants to see you in the stands." He looks at me sternly. "But tonight at the party, work the room some. A beautiful wife is a huge asset for a man like Taehyung. We've got as much work to do off the court as we do on it."

My teeth grind together. I have so many things I want to do before I settle down. And right now, none of them involve being a baller's trophy wife.

"I'll support Taehyung in every way that I can," I say. "Just as I'm sure he'll support the things I want to pursue."

Mr. Bradley wears a pleased smile and pats my shoulder. "There are all kinds of charities and committees for the players' wives that I'm sure you'll enjoy."

"We'll see how much time I have," I tell him. "I've applied for several internships, including one with St. Louis."

I don't have to wait long for his reaction.

"St. Louis?" His thick brows lower and clump over his eyes. "My team?"

Mr. Bradley, already in the Hall of Fame as a player, is a front office executive for the St. Louis expansion team. He's built many teams from nothing into championship-caliber squads.

"St. Louis is one of the teams I'm interviewing with, yeah." I suppress a satisfied smirk.

"You should probably wait to see where Taehyung is drafted before you make any commitments," he says, his tone condescending. "You'll want to know where he lands."

"I'm actually in the final round of consideration for a few internships," I say, keeping my expression placid. "So we'll also have to see where I land."

He squints and tilts his head, considering me like I'm a worrisome puzzle. My pieces aren't fitting the way they should. Most girls would jump at the chance to secure a future with an NBA player. So why am I hesitating to marry his golden boy?

"Well, we'd better be getting back to our guests." He nods toward a nearby tunnel. "See you up in the box after the game. Let's go, Jin."

With one last look, Jin turns to follow.

"You're marrying into a fucked-up family." Yeji shudders, shaking herself.

"I'm not marrying . . ." There's teasing in her eyes. "Stop pushing my buttons."

"But with my heavy workload at school, it's one of the few joys I have left in life."

"Find new joys."

We share a grin, and she links her arm through mine, leaning her head on my shoulder while we watch the pre-game shenanigans. Mascots for both teams run the length of the court, using trampolines to slam-dunk balls. A kiss cam gets going, and Yeji and I can't stop laughing at an elderly couple kissing like teenagers fogging up a backseat window.

And then I see her. I haven't allowed myself to look for Lisa since the players came on court for the pre-game shoot around. I'm not that close, and you couldn't squeeze a gnat in this building because there are so many people here. Still, I worry that she'll spot me.

I could be worrying for nothing. I mean, she must have girls chasing her all the time. Some inconsequential chick she met in a bar is probably utterly forgettable.

Except it didn't feel inconsequential. Not the things we shared or the look on her face when I walked away. None of it felt inconsequential. And though I know I should forget, I can't stop remembering.

My mom used to say it took a crow bar to pry me open, but with Lisa, I surprised myself. I didn't hold back. When was the last time I talked so openly with anyone besides Yeji?

Down on the court, she faces a teammate, dribbling two balls, one with each hand, her posture relaxed. She laughs at something the other player says, her lips spread in a flash of humor and charisma. An indolent swagger hangs on her like her basketball shorts, easy and loose, but a barely veiled energy crackles around her. She's nimble athleticism and latent power on the verge of explosion.

In an instant, she goes from the ease of her teammate's camaraderie to the trademark precision shooting that's inspired awe in basketball pundits throughout this tournament. Eyes fastened on the hoop, she knocks down six three-pointers in quick succession. From wrist to bicep, one arm is sheathed in a shooter sleeve, a compression accessory some ballers use to keep their arm warm and increase circulation. A few colorful tattoos paint the other arm, but the most prominent one is on the ball of her shoulder, the number thirty-three. It's her jersey number, but I remember hearing it was her father's, too.

She's not wearing her jersey yet, and when she tosses the ball back and forth between her big hands, palming and raising it over her head in a stretch, her T-shirt lifts, exposing rungs of muscled abs.

My breath catches. My body flattened to her last night, the check above her head. The rock-hard chest and arms. The gentle hands and eyes. The strength and heat of her, the way she smelled—everything about her made me want to press closer. To be as close as I could get. I wanted to kiss her. The source of all this guilt isn't what I did with Lisa. It's what I wanted. What I felt.

She looks up into the stands in our direction, and my heart pauses for the space of a beat. I tense, as much from the memory of those eyes fixed on me as from the fear that she'll see me now.

Her coach yells, waving the team over to the bench. I should be relieved she didn't see me, but some perverse, masochistic part of me wishes she knew I was here.

My eyes seek Taehyung on court, and I wait to feel anything as visceral as what I felt last night with Lisa. I'm glad to see Taehyung. I'm proud of him. I'm happy for him, but it doesn't feel like my heart is pinned to a soaring kite. My feet are firmly planted on the ground. My body doesn't go haywire. When was the last time Taehyung left me breathless with little more than a look, a touch? For that matter, when was the last time I wanted to tell him so many things there wasn't time for it all?

I have a year invested with Taehyung, and we've been happy. After meeting Lisa Manoban once, I'm questioning it?

"So what are you gonna do?" Yeji asks softly, breaking into my thoughts. "About this Taehyung situation, I mean. If he wants more and you want . . .what you want?"

I turn my head to study my cousin's face.

"Why do I have to know right now?" I answer Yeji without actually answering. "I'm about to graduate from college. This should be a time when it's safe to explore, when there's space to figure out what life is on my own. Can't we just be dating? I'm not sure what I know for sure yet, and that should be okay."

The closer we get to the future, the more I feel the weight of Taehyung's expectations, spoken and unspoken. I just hope it's not so heavy that it crushes us, crushes what we have completely.

"Don't let him rush you, girl," Yeji says. "Better no man than the wrong man. We saw that firsthand."

What would our lives have been like if my mom had married one of the creeps who paid our rent? Except for Telly, I was usually glad to see them go. If she'd married one of those men, I know instead of the security she envisioned, it would have been a trap.

Once the game is underway and halftime approaches, I know Taehyung's team is in trouble. It's not in the score, because they're only down by five, still easily within striking distance. And Taehyung's performance shouldn't give me pause. He's nearly at a triple-double already. My reservations actually have nothing to do with Taehyung and his team, and everything to do with Lisa and hers'. There's an X factor in sports, probably in life, that doesn't show up in stats sheets or on scoreboards. Jordan had it. Kobe had it. It's that "I will not be stopped" killer instinct. When a player has that, he'll strap the whole team to his back if that's what it takes to win.

That killer instinct blares from every pore of Lisa Manoban.

I've never seen her play live, or I would have known this already. It's in her eyes every time she faces Taehyung one-on-one, the crooked grin that says Lisa relishes toying with her. Each time she stops on the dime and spins beyond Taehyung's reach to score, she insinuates herself deeper into Taehyung's head. And that's where the game will ultimately be lost if something doesn't change in the second half. If I were the coach, I'd assign someone else to guard Lisa because Taehyung can't. I suspect Taehyung asked to do it, feeling like he had something to prove.

He's not proving it.

If I could have five minutes alone with Taehyung, maybe I could help. He's told me before that he thinks about me when the game isn't going his way. Even if I could get to him, I'm not sure I could face him right now. I'd probably just blurt an apology for all the things I didn't do last night with Lisa but can't stop thinking about.

Not helpful.

As a fan, I marvel at Lisa's gifts on display tonight—at the show she's putting on for us. As a girlfriend, I wince every time Taehyung misses a shot. Taehyung can be a little entitled. With all the privileges he's had, how could he not be occasionally? But he's worked hard all season, and Lisa's hot hand is burning all Taehyung's work to the ground. Even as I admire Lisa's skill, guilt saws my insides. I should be completely rooting for Taehyung, but there's this tiny rebel corner of my heart that wants all of Lisa's hard work to pay off, too. Tonight, on her father's birthday.

The buzzer sounds, and both teams exit the court for halftime.

"They're in good shape, right?" Yeji asks.

"Sure." I keep my answer short because if I keep talking, I'll say what I see.

We spend most of halftime at the concession stand. After we squeeze through the bleachers and back into our seats, Yeji brings up the last thing, the last person, I want to discuss.

"Taehyung's gotta be worried about that Lisa Manoban." She sips her soda. "She's something else."

"Yeah, she's an All-American," I answer evenly, keeping my eyes steady on the halftime show while my heart goes berserk. "She'll be a first-round draft pick for sure."

"She's also fine as hell." Yeji cocks a skeptical brow. "Don't tell me you were so caught up in stats you didn't notice that dude's ass."

You should see her eyes. You should feel her chest.

You should hear her voice.

I futilely try to forget how being with Lisa made me feel perfectly at ease and wholly exhilarated all at once.

"Is it hot in here?" I fan my face with one hand, trying to cool the heated skin. "And remember, I have a boyfriend. I'm in a relationship."

"In a relationship, not dead." She girl-grunts her appreciation. "Hmmm. And you'd have to be dead not to notice that woman."

For a second, all the details from last night collect on the tip of my tongue. It was just a few hours, but it felt then—it still feels—significant. And I've never kept anything significant from Yeji. Since nothing happened, I should be able to tell her everything with a clear heart, but I hesitate. Something did happen. My stomach lurches with the truth. As much as I don't want to deal with it, something shifted in me last night. I don't completely understand it yet, but it feels seismic.

I don't say any of that to Yeji. It was one conversation. She'd think I was crazy to feel that fascinated by Lisa already. I think I'm crazy. So instead of saying any of that, I redirect the conversation.

"Game's starting back up."

The score stays close throughout the second half, but ultimately the other team has something we don't. And that something is Lisa. With only two minutes remaining, she does what all the great ones do. She takes over, willing high-risk shots to go in, making the impossible ones look effortless. Frustration radiates from Taehyung as he watches the game slipping away. The final blow comes as he's defending Lisa on a possession in the last few seconds. Lisa plants herself in her sweet spot, the far-right corner, just beyond the three-point line. Taehyung reaches in to block the shot, and before the whistle blows, I know it's a foul. His last one. He's fouled out of the game. To add insult to injury, Lisa's three-pointer goes in. This could be a four-point play that drills the nail into the coffin.

Shit.

Taehyung slams the ball onto the court, sending it rocketing high in the air. He yells at the ref before stomping to the bench. There's a wildness in his eyes, something I haven't seen before. I grew up with volatility, and on occasion, saw violence. Seeing Taehyung lose control stirs my instinct to run. But by the time he's on the bench chugging Gatorade, that wildness is gone and he's my golden boy again.

Maybe I imagined it.

Lisa picked her game apart, and Taehyung's understandably frustrated. Most guys have those moments when they lose control. If there had been more time left on the clock, and if Taehyung was anyone else, he probably would have been ejected from the game. But he's not ejected and has to sit on the bench watching to the very end.

Lisa assumes her place on the free-throw line, her body relaxed like this moment, as big as it is, isn't big enough to swallow her confidence. If she makes this shot, with less than a second left on the clock, there won't be time for us to recover. A four-point game will be out of reach.

With thousands of fans waving and screaming and booing in front of her, creating a human mass of distraction, Lisa seems to block it all out. It's just her and the hoop, and it would take an act of God to stop that ball from going in.

God does not intervene.

A nothing-but-net swoosh puts this game in the books. A second later the buzzer goes off, the building erupts, and Lisa's team scatters all over the court in a chest-pounding, body-slamming celebration. Lisa stands in the middle of the floor, absolutely still, the game ball cradled in the definition of her arms against her chest. Her head hangs forward, and emotion emanates from her so thickly it reaches me. It touches me.

I tip my head down to hide my face, to hide my smile. I hurt for Taehyung, of course, but I know what this means to Lisa—that as she stands in the center, a vein of sobriety running through the jubilation, she's thinking of her father. Wondering if her dad sees her. Wondering if today, on his birthday, he's proud. I have no way of knowing, but somehow, I'm sure he is.