NOVA
I was reviewing player intake questionnaires in the staff break room when the door swung open and a man I had never met walked in like he already owned the building.
He was tall. Not as tall as Cole, but close enough that the difference only mattered if you were standing between them. Sandy brown hair, artfully tousled in the way that took thirty minutes and three products to achieve. Square jaw. Wide, easy smile that showed too many teeth. He wore a fitted Glaciers polo that strained across his shoulders and a pair of joggers that probably cost more than my first car.
He stopped in the doorway and looked at me the way a man looks at a menu.
“Dr. Calloway,” he said, and the way my name rolled off his tongue was smooth and practiced and entirely too familiar for someone I hadn’t be
