The night they beat the Krakens, Ryan left earlier than usual.
He'd checked out midway through the third quarter—by then he'd put up a sixteen-and-ten double-double, the game was long out of reach, and Crawford had waved him to the bench. Darius, though, stayed in, played the whole third, and ran his line up to thirty-two points and ten assists, the team high. So tonight the postgame mics belonged to Darius, naturally enough.
Ryan was glad for the quiet. He showered, changed, and slipped out through the players' tunnel while the reporters were still swarming Darius.
The cherry-red K3 was already waiting outside.
"That was quick," Chloe said through the window, smiling. "They didn't want you for interviews?"
"Tonight's Darius's night." Ryan pulled the door open and dropped in. "Man dropped thirty-two. I'm not about to go steal his mic."
"Humble." Chloe pulled out into the street. "Come on, then. I'm starving."
