The crowd roared like thunder. Thirty seconds left on the clock. My lungs burned, sweat stung my eyes—then my shoes slipped. Next thing I knew, I crashed straight into the courtside seats.

Pain shot up my arm, but what froze me wasn’t that. It was her.

The actress everyone’s been talking about. Real, confident, impossible to ignore—and now covered in Coke because of me. Her eyes met mine, startled, soft. Three seconds of silence before her manager dragged her away.

Cameras flashed. Headlines already writing themselves. Star Forward Soaks Rising Actress. Perfect.

After the game, I couldn’t let it go. I skipped the locker room, slipped past security, and found her near the VIP hallway. She was just leaving the restroom—dress still damp, hair undone, somehow even prettier.

She stopped when she saw me.

“Didn’t think I’d make my first impression by spilling Coke on you,” I said, trying to sound less awkward than I felt. “I’m really sorry about earlier. You okay?”