Flashback:
The sweet smell of lemon from my grandparent's oven wafted through the house, and I closed my eyes in anticipation of my cake coming out in just a few minutes.
The front door slammed shut, and I winced at the sound. When I looked up at the doorway, Klay was standing there with a huge grin on his face.
"You're baking."
"Yes, I am," I said with a smile as I continued to work on one of the sketches in my book, "what are you doing here?"
He moves around the kitchen counter and nudges my shoulder with his before whispering in my ear. "You're cooking."
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Yes, but you didn't know that until you walked in."
He looks at me sheepishly.
"Actually, I could smell it from down the street. So, here I am."
The timer went off, and I quickly got up and walked over to the oven to pull it out. What I saw when I opened the oven door caused me to scream, which alerted Klay.
"Logan! Are you okay?" He asked worriedly, but I didn't respond.
I turned around and frowned at him as I held my flattened cake in my hands.
Klay stared down at it as if it was an alien. "Where's the rest of it?"
"You killed my cake when you slammed the front door."
He stood there silently as I set my one inch thick cake onto a plate to cool off. It looked awful. It was so small.
"You are a cake murderer," I murmmered as I glared at him, and suddenly the room was filled with his laughter. I hit his shoulder playfully and tried glare at him, but I laughed too, and we sunk down onto the floor laughing together.
"Maybe it tastes better than it looks?"
I rolled my eyes at him but grabbed two forks anyways.
"I guess we'll find out."
End flashback
He is so easy to spot amongst the other guests in the large french restaurant, it is almost comical. Everyone is whispering amongst themselves about the infamous shooting guard sitting at the circular table in front of the large glass window overlooking the city. The funny thing is, I don't think he even realizes how much attention he is getting right now. Whatever he is holding in the palm of his right hand is capturing his focus.
So much so that he doesn't even know that I am standing across from him at the other side of the table.
"Hi," I say quietly, and he closes his palm shut and quickly snaps his dark brown eyes to look up at me.
"You came," he whispers, almost in disbelief, and I nod my head as I go to pull out my black cushioned chair.
Before I can even pull it out halfway, Klay is up from his seat and pulling my chair out for me.
"Thank you," I say as I sit down and set my purse on my lap. To get through this breakfast, I'm definitely going to need something to fidget with. The things this man makes me feel.
Once he is sitting back down across from me, an awkward silence ensues.
What am I supposed to say? I'm not the one who ended our friendship. I don't know anything about the guy sitting across from me right now. Whoever Klay Thompson is now, he definitely isn't the boy I once knew.
"Why didn't you think I would come?"
He gives me a skeptical look. "Because you looked like you wanted to be anywhere but on the court when you saw me come out last night."
That much was true.
Avoiding his intense gaze, I look down at the menu and frown when I realize that it is completely in French. Great, I'm screwed. My three years of Spanish in high school don't mean anything right now.
"So, how are you?" Klay asks, and I can tell that he is genuinely curious. I feel stupid right now because the way he is looking at me makes me feel like I'm the only thing he cares about right now.
"Fine," I say with a shrug, and he frowns.
"How is your family?"
My eyes water and my hand subconsciously falls to my covered left forearm as memories of them flood through my mind.
"Logan?" Klay asks worriedly, and I manage to give him a small watery smile.
"They're good, hopefully."
He is full on staring at me now, and it is so intense that I have to look away. Sitting here with him is a lot harder than I imagined it would be.
"Will you please try and talk to me? We haven't seen each other in eight years," he says frustratedly.
Anger fills my body. "Whose fault is that?"
Klay's dark brown eyes fill with guilt and his hands clench into fists.
"You have no idea what you're talking about."
I stare at him and shake my head sadly. "I guess I don't. All I know is that I'm not the one who ended our friendship."
If I sit here any longer, I am going to break down in front of Klay and an entire room of strangers who are extremely nosy. The second I start crying, they will probably pull out their phones and take pictures.
"I can't do this," I say as I get up from the table and hurriedly walk past Klay.
"Logan, wait-" he calls out, but I ignore him as I push open the large glass doors to the entrance and step outside into the cool crisp morning air. It feels so nice compared to the warm rich atmosphere inside.
Just as I begin to make my way to my car, a hand on my arm stops me, causing me to freeze.
"Wait, don't go," Klay pleads, and I try so hard not to let the tears fall as I close my eyes and face away from him.
"This was only supposed to last an hour anyways. I'm sure you have things to do."
I take a step back when I see his gray Nike's standing just a foot away from my black UGGS.
"No, I don't have anything to do. The only thing I want to do is talk to you."
My heart beats wildly at his confession, and when I look up at him, his dark brown eyes are staring down at me.
"Please, Logan? We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. But please, spend a little more time with me."
For a few moments, we stand there in front of Le'Bon Apetite just staring at one another. To anyone who knows who Klay Thompson is, this is probably a juicy sight, and I know that we need to get out of here.
Sighing, I run my hand through my messy hair. "Okay."
His eyes light up. "Really?"
With a very small smile, I nod my head. Klay breathes out a sigh of relief and before I know it, he grabs my hand and drags me down the sidewalk until we reach a brand new black Range Rover.
When he opens the door for me, I only hesitate for a moment before hopping in. Within seconds, he is in the driver's seat and we are crusing down the streets of San Francisco.
"Are you sure you don't have anything else to do?" I ask, and when Klay looks at me, my heart melts.
"Nothing is more important than right now."
. . .
"What the hell is so important that you missed shoot around?"
My eyes widen as Steph Curry's agitated voice sounds over the car's stereo system.
Klay stares right into my eyes as he remains silent.
"Wait, hold up. Did you miss shoot around for the same reason you missed those three pointers last night?"
My mouth drops open and I smile widely at Klay as a light blush appears on his cheeks.
'I knew it!' I mouthed, and Klay just sighs.
"Thanks a lot, Steph. She can hear you, you know."
"Well hi there, Logan. I'm Stephen. Klay has told me a lot about you," Steph says happily, and I look over at Klay to see that he is avoiding looking at me.
"Nice to meet you too," I say kindly, and my mind starts to process what Steph said.
"So did you tell her about Desiree?"
Klay tenses up and his jaw clenches tightly. "No."
"Oh, shit. Well did you tell her about your da-"
Click!
The line goes dead, and I stare at Klay as he holds on tightly to the steering wheel with both of his hands, his eyes blazing as he focuses on the road.
As curious as I am to know who Desiree is, I don't want to ask. If I don't have to tell him everything right now, he doesn't have to tell me either.
"How is it being a Warrior?"
His eyes widen and he gives me a confused look as he pulls into the McDonald's drive thru. "What?"
"How do you like being a Golden State Warrior?"
He stays silent for a moment as we wait in the long line.
"It's cool," he finally says, surprising me, "I never thought that they would be the team to draft me. I had been hoping for the Lakers because-"
"Because your dad played for them," I finished for him, and I think I surprised us both. I still remember everything about him.
"What do you do now?" He asks me as he moves forward one space in the line.
A smile crosses my lips. "I work with a fashion designer here in San Francisco. I draw the designs she wants and she makes them."
Klay smiles at me, a real genuine smile, and my heart beats faster than a drum. Oh Logan, you have it bad.
"That's awesome. You always were an amazing artist."
We fall into silence once we reach the ordering box.
"Hi, welcome to McDonalds. What can I get for you?"
"Hi, can I have a sausage egg and cheese mcgriddle meal with a hot mocha," Klay says to the speaker, before glancing back at me for a moment and then turning back, "and one sausage mcmuffin, a hashbrown, and a medium coke no ice."
Oh. My. God.
He remembers exactly what I always get for breakfast!
My eyes water as he pulls forward to the window to pay. I remain completely silent as I try to keep my tears at bay, and I watch as Klay interacts with the workers.
As soon as we are given our food and Klay pulls out of the parking lot, he glances over at me with a worried look on his face.
"Logan, what's wrong?"
A sob escapes my throat and I shake my head. Before I know it, we are pulling up on the back side of the restaurant that we were at earlier. As quickly as I can, I rub my eyes.
"It's nothing."
"Logan," he says in a stern voice, and I can't help but be honest with him when he looks at me like that.
"You remember..."
His dark brown eyes soften as he turns in his seat to look at me. "Of course I do. I remember everything about you. How could I forget?"
My eyes shut tightly to prevent anymore tears from pouring out, and I almost jerk back in surprise when I feel Klay's hand cup my cheek. It's so warm and so soft but feels so strong at the same time. Oh how I missed his touch.
When my eyes open again, I am staring straight into Klay's troubled ones.
"You forgot about me," I choke out, and I watch as pain clouds in his dark brown orbs, "why, Klay, why did you forget about me?"