Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(118)

“Not a poet exactly,” I say when our laughter trails off. “A little something I had on my mind.”

“I liked it,” she says, her voice husky.

There’s so much I want to say to her. So much she’s missed, even though we’ve talked occasionally. But mostly I just want to know . . . “Um, so this reporter approached me after practice.”

“Okay.”

“He mentioned something about the girl I was seeing this summer dating that photographer again.” I leave the unspoken question suspended over the thousands of miles separating us.

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a moment. “I have no idea where he got that.”

I need to focus and make sure I’m clear on what she’s saying. I pull over to the parking lot of a gas station and lean back in my seat, waiting for her to elaborate. She doesn’t.

“Yeah, I don’t know either,” I finally say. “Because you know we said . . .”

I don’t say what we said, but she knows we aren’t dating other people. I trust her. It hadn’t even occurred to me until that reporter planted his poison.

“Yeah, we said . . .” She huffs a quick laugh. “You didn’t think . . . I wouldn’t. Kenan, I haven’t.”

I release a relieved exhale and nod, even though she can’t see me. Why can’t she see me? I should have FaceTimed. God, I want to see her.

“You haven’t . . .” She starts, stops. “Well, we said . . .”

“Yeah, we said—no,” I rush to assure her. “I’m living like a monk.”

She laughs, and I hear relief in her voice, too. “My monk.”

“Your monk. Completely.”

Her breath catches, and she sighs. I want to taste that sigh. If I could kiss her, I’d know what she was thinking. I’d know what was in her heart just from the press of our lips.

“I miss you, Kenan,” she says, her voice breaking. “So bad.”

I clench the steering wheel and clamp my teeth together until my jaw aches. “I don’t want to do this anymore, Lotus. I think we can . . . Simone’s so much better. We have her diagnosis. She’s on the right meds. My mom is holding it down for me during the season.” A rough chuckle rumbles from my chest. “Mama’s even got Simone’s hair looking good.”

“That’s awesome,” Lotus says, a smile in her voice.

“I told my mom about you.”

A short pause. “You did? What’d you tell her?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

Her breath hitches again, so I must be doing something right.

“I told her I want to marry you one day.”

She didn’t let me say it the last time I saw her—that I wanted her to be my wife—but I say it now before she sees it coming, before she can stop me.

“You told her that?” Her voice wavers and squeaks sweetly at the end.

“Yeah, and you know what she asked me?”

“What?”

“When she could expect more grandkids. With only one, she claims to need a back-up.”

Lotus’s laugh cracks open and a sob spills out. “I love you, Kenan Ross, and I will gladly marry you and have all the grandkids your mama can babysit when the time is right.”

When the time is right.

Right.

“What I’m saying is that the time is soon, Lotus.”

“Talk to Dr. Packer, and we’ll go from there. We don’t want to undo all the things we sacrificed already.”

“She thinks you’re amazing, by the way,” I tell her, an unstoppable grin on my face.

“Why?”

“Because she thinks you did the right thing,” I say, sobering. “In our case, she thinks it was best for Simone. All of it. Not everyone is that committed to putting their kids’ needs before their own.”

“But you were.”

“No, you were. I wouldn’t have done it if you hadn’t forced the issue.”

“Well, like I said, I know what it’s like to feel that everyone else is more important.”

Voices in the background break the spell this conversation has woven over me.

“My meeting’s starting,” she says. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, me, too. I have to drive Simone to this dance camp thing.”

“Okay.” She pauses for a second before whispering, “I love you.”

“You have no idea,” I reply immediately. “But I’m going to show you real soon.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“So do I. Love you, Button.”

I’m on the proverbial cloud, feeling like some lovesick fool, but not really giving a damn.

My high crashes when my dashboard displays an incoming call from Bridget. We’ve been civil the few times we’ve spoken. With her in New York, there have been thankfully few visits to coordinate, and those happened while I was on the road. Dr. Packer believes the harmony between Bridget and me is just as much a stabilizing force as me waiting to be with Lotus or my mom moving in with us.

I answer the phone and brace myself for any drama she may have in store. “Bridge, hey,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. “What’s up?”