Link didn't wake up until late the next morning. A strange, warm sensation roused him from his alcoholic haze.
The hangover delivered a splitting headache, but more immediate was the heavy weight cradled in the crook of his arm and the rich perfume lingering near his nose.
Link froze for a moment, then snapped his eyes open.
The first thing he saw was a scattering of black lace lingerie on the carpet.
His heart dropped. He very slowly turned his head.
Isabella was lying on the pillow beside him, her dark, long hair fanned out.
Her tanned skin had a beautiful glow in the morning light.
The sheet barely covered her waist, revealing the smooth, graceful curve of her back and the clear shape of her shoulder blades.
A bright, seductive plum blossom tattoo sat right on her hip, radiating a fatal allure.
Isabella was sleeping deeply, breathing evenly, her red lips maintaining a captivating, subtle pout even in her sleep.
Link's mind went blank. All the blood rushed to his head, then quickly drained away as the chaotic fragments of last night's memories flooded back: the deafening music, the burning alcohol, Isabella's soft, boneless waist...
He almost instinctively tried to pull his arm from beneath her neck.
The moment he moved, Isabella's thick eyelashes fluttered, and she let out a lazy, kitten-like groan.
She slowly opened her eyes. Her dark, Latin-style brown gaze was hazy at first.
But when she saw Link, it quickly became playful and fully alert.
"Good morning... Mr. Prophet." Her voice was husky from sleep, dangerously sexy.
Link swallowed hard, unable to utter a single word.
He instinctively pulled up the slipping sheet, trying to block out the dizzying visual impact.
Isabella took in his shy and flustered actions, and the smile on her face deepened.
Instead of covering up, she stretched languidly like a cat that had just woken up. Her beautiful upper-body curves were fully exposed in the morning light, making Link immediately look away.
"What's wrong?" She propped herself up and leaned closer to him. Her hair brushed his shoulder, sending a shiver down his spine. "Last night... you weren't quite so shy..."
Link's face flushed crimson. He opened his mouth, but only managed to squeeze out a dry, "I... did we...?"
Isabella reached out her index finger and gently pressed it against his lips, stopping his question.
"Shhh..." Her eyes were hazy, and her fingertip was warm, carrying her unique scent.
"This is New York... some things... don't need to be talked about."
Isabella leaned in even closer, whispering right next to Link's ear, her warm breath caressing his earlobe.
"The important thing is... we had a very good night, didn't we?"
Link stared at her radiant face, now inches away, feeling the stunning physical presence. His mind was in total chaos.
Isabella seemed to view him as an interesting piece of prey. She smiled mischievously and slowly traced her fingertip along his jawline.
"Now..." Her voice held a hint of seduction, "Do you want to... re-live some of last night's... highlights?"
Link's ears burned even hotter; they felt like they were on fire. He yanked the covers off and bolted for the bathroom as if fleeing for his life.
Isabella finally burst into a clear, ringing laugh. "Relax, boy. I'm not going to eat you."
She lay back down on the pillow, watching Link's tense back muscles with the appreciative gaze one might give a piece of art.
Link rushed into the shower, letting the cold water stream over his face, barely managing to cool the heat in his heart.
He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.
When Link walked out of the bathroom, wearing a robe and attempting to look composed, Isabella was already fully dressed. She was sitting gracefully on the window-side sofa, sipping a coffee the room service had just delivered.
She had changed into a tailored white dress, completely different from the passionate party girl of the night before—now she looked sharp and sophisticated.
"Feeling better, Mr. Prophet?" She took a sip of coffee, her eyes smiling at him.
Link nodded awkwardly and sat down in the chair opposite her.
"So..." Link began, choosing his words carefully, trying to normalize the situation. "I mean... I still don't know your full name..."
Isabella pulled a business card from her handbag and slid it across the table toward Link with her long, red-manicured fingers.
Link picked up the high-quality card. It read Isabella Rodriguez, with the address for VOGUE's New York headquarters.
"VOGUE Magazine," she said casually. "Fashion Model."
"Wow," Link offered. "That's pretty... impressive."
Isabella simply smiled in response.
Just then, Link's phone rang. It was the team's assistant coach, reminding him that the assembly time was fast approaching.
"I have to go," Link stood up, frantically gathering his scattered clothes. "The team has to catch a flight back to L.A."
Isabella leaned lazily on the sofa, watching his hurried movements, a flash of amusement in her eyes.
"Don't rush, Prophet." She stood up and walked over to him, adjusting his collar with a natural, intimate gesture.
Isabella leaned in and left a light kiss on his cheek—not the passionate kiss from last night, but a polite farewell.
"We'll see each other again," she whispered.
Link's face went bright red again. He was completely frozen, unsure what to do. Having been single for both of his lives, he had never faced a situation like this.
Seeing Link's distress, Isabella gave a mischievous smile. "Alright, get out of here!"
Link offered a stiff smile and quickly fled the room.
When Link arrived in the hotel lobby to meet the team, he immediately felt the knowing glances and snickers from his teammates.
"Look who it is!" Odom was the first to step forward, draping an arm around his shoulder and teasing loudly.
"Our little rookie is finally growing up! Had an unforgettable night in the Big Apple, huh?"
Vujacic also crowded in, winking and nudging him. "I heard you left with a certain Latin spice last night? Good for you, Link!"
Even the usually serious Kobe cracked a rare, playful smile as he walked past him.
Link was red-faced and tried to defend himself. "We were just... talking."
The entire team erupted in laughter.
"Of course, of course, just talking!" Devin George mimicked his tone, sending the group into another round of chuckles.
As the Lakers' charter plane soared into the clouds and the outline of New York faded outside the window, Link leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes.
The win at Madison Square Garden, the wild abandon of the New York club, the fiery look in the Latina model's eyes...
Everything from the East Coast lingered vividly in Link's mind.