Blinded

Chapter 17

Kayla POV

The Uber doors swing open, and all eyes are already on us.

I step out first, the flash of arena lights catching the metallic glint of my jewelry and the smooth shine of my hair — half-up, half-down, curls full and wild. My outfit is exactly what I wanted it to be: laid-back but killer. An oversized vintage graphic tee cropped just enough to show off my waist, black cargo pants sitting low on my hips, and fresh white Jordan 4s. My hoops bounce with every step. Alyssa's right behind me, in a sleek bodysuit and cargos, hair snatched into a slick ponytail. We both know we look good.

Security waves us through to the private entrance. It's game night in OKC, and the energy is loud. I've been to games before — but not like this. Not courtside.

We walk past rows of seats until we're escorted right to the front. Like, on the wood. My phone's already in my hand, recording the view: floor seats, cameras flashing, warm-ups finishing up. The players are right in front of us. The air smells like popcorn and sweat and money.

I can feel people staring, whispering. I keep my chin up.

And then I feel it.

Eyes on me.

I glance across the court, and there he is — Jalen Williams, locking in, stretching at the scorer's table. His gaze flicks to me quick, like a reflex. We make eye contact for half a second too long. He smirks a little, like he knows something. I arch an eyebrow and look away, pretending I didn't feel that jolt run through me.

He's definitely locked in tonight.

The game kicks off and it's fast. Intense. OKC starts strong, crowd roaring every time the ball hits the net. Jalen's everywhere — drives, dunks, corner threes. And every time there's a timeout, his eyes find me again. I'm not imagining it.

"Girl, he's eating you UP with those looks," Alyssa whispers, leaning over.

I just smile. I know.

Halfway through the second quarter, I get up and make my way toward the courtside bar in the back. It's like a VIP lounge tucked behind the tunnel — dim lights, champagne glasses clinking, celebrities milling around like it's nothing. I spot a few rappers I recognize, a couple of actresses, even a model I follow on IG.

I order a lemon drop, record a quick clip of the scene, and swipe my fingers through my curls, fluffing them out.

My phone buzzes again.

Another DM. Another repost. Another comment.

I walk back to our seats, sipping slow. Shay Gilgeous-Alexander's tearing it up now — smooth, unbothered. I spot his girl in the stands with their little boy in her lap. Cute. A few of the same players I saw at that wild party a few weeks ago are scattered courtside too, dapping each other up during breaks.

The second half flies.

And Jalen? He's on fire. Midrange fadeaways. Transition dunks. At one point he hits a three, looks right at me, and nods. Like that one was for you.

I bite my lip and lean back in my seat.

The buzzer sounds. OKC wins.

Energy is through the roof.

As we're still clapping, Jalen jogs by — sweaty, grinning. He slows up just a little when he spots me, lowering his voice to say, "You good?"

I smile back. "Yeah. I'm real good."

He starts to lean in like he's gonna say more, but then someone from the team taps his shoulder. "Media's ready."

He gives me one last look, towel slung over his shoulder, and nods. "I'll catch you in a bit."