Li Fei stood up and followed her into the bedroom.
The cheers outside continued, and fireworks kept blooming. Manhattan's nightscape was dazzling as a painting.
Li Fei lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he thought about the next game. Staples Center, the Lakers' home court, and Kobe and O'Neal's revenge game. He knew it wouldn't be an easy one.
But he wasn't afraid.
Because he had Angelina, Angelina, Sprewell, Sabonis, Houston, and Marshall. He wasn't alone.
He closed his eyes, his breathing growing steady. Outside, Manhattan was still bustling, but his heart was calm. He knew he was only two wins away from his third championship.
New York, Fifth Avenue. The morning after Game Two of the NBA Finals, sunlight spilled across Manhattan's skyscrapers, turning the whole street gold.
A line stretched from the entrance of the Li Fei Brand flagship store all the way to the corner, rounded it, and kept going. There weren't dozens or hundreds of people. There were thousands.
They wore Knicks jerseys and Li Fei sneakers, held signs, and chanted slogans. They'd been waiting in line since three in the morning.
Some had painted Li Fei's number—23—on their faces. Li Fei wore 34, but the fans thought 23 was Jordan's number, and Li Fei had surpassed Jordan, so he ought to wear 23. The logic was a little muddled, but nobody cared.
In the store window, the championship colorway of the Li Fei VI was displayed in the most prominent spot.
The pure white upper was trimmed with gold, and Li Fei's personal logo on the tongue had been rendered in gold foil, gleaming under the lights.
Beside it was a giant poster showing Li Fei standing with his hands on his hips after hitting the game-winner in Game Two. His