Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(30)

“Go on,” she says, full lips pinching at the corners. “Dumbass.”

Her spirit, her boldness, makes me smile. I don’t like seeing her hurt, especially by me. If we don’t have this conversation, these same doubts will resurface, and I’ll inevitably hurt her again. She won’t even know why. She deserves to know why.

“Tell me what you know about me, Lotus.”

Both of her thick brows stretch up, and she blinks a few times.

“I know you’re the center for the San Diego Waves,” she says, her voice slightly uncertain.

“Power forward,” I correct.

“Huh?” She tosses up a confused glance.

“You said I’m the center for the Waves, but I’m the power forward.”

“Oh.” She shrugs like it’s all the same to her . . . which it probably is. “And I know you have the musical taste of a sixty-year-old man.”

I laugh and fake a glare. “That’s actually not too far off,” I tell her, stroking the silky skin of her wrist. “My father loved jazz, and he passed that on to me.”

“Is he a basketball player, too?”

“No.” I shake my head and let out a harsh laugh. “He was a judge and wanted me to follow in his footsteps. He was disappointed when I was drafted.”

“No way. Most fathers would be proud.”

“Yeah, my dad wasn’t exactly most fathers.” I smile, reminiscing about the man who shaped me more than any other. “When I told him I was planning to enter the draft instead of going to law school, he said ‘a tall, black man playing basketball. Wow, didn’t see that coming.’”

She doesn’t laugh like I expected her to. Instead she searches my face, looking for something. “Did that hurt?” she asks.

“Hurt? Hell, no. My father and I were best friends. I may have taken a different path than he expected, but he recognized that not many get the chance to play at this level—to make this kind of money. He came around and supported me. I don’t have childhood trauma. No daddy issues, or mommy issues for that matter. My parents were married forty years. We were well-off, well-adjusted.”

“Must be nice,” she says, her expression, her voice wistful. “Especially the closeness you have with your dad.”

“It was nice.” Our eyes meet, hers filling with sympathy even before I clarify. “He passed away last year.”

“I’m sorry, Kenan.” She flips the wrists I’m holding so that her hands are holding mine, and squeezes. I nod and squeeze back.

“He, uh . . . advised me against marrying my ex-wife, Bridget,” I say, feeling out the best way to approach this subject. “Do you know much about my marriage? What have you heard?”

“Just that it’s over. You told me that. Remember? I don’t really follow basketball.” She frowns. “Is there something I should know?”

When Bridget cheated with my teammate Cliff, it felt like the whole world knew, and yet I’m dreading telling this one woman the ugly facts.

“A simple Google search could tell you all the dirty details,” I say, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “The shit I hate most would come up first.”

“I haven’t done a Google search on you,” she says. “It didn’t feel right.” She looks embarrassed, but has no idea how much she just pleased me.

“Don’t google me. Anything you want to know, ask. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Okay.” She pulls her hands free of mine and looks up at me boldly. “Then tell me why you acted that way when I bumped into you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was getting around to,” I say wryly.

She folds slim arms under her breasts and waits.

“My ex-wife cheated on me with one of my friends. With a teammate.”

Shock rounds her full lips into an O, and her arms fall limply to her sides. “With your teammate,” she repeats faintly.

“Yes, they were caught in a hotel. Turns out a reporter discovered it and had been following them, so he had photographic evidence. All of which he released to the highest bidder. It was on TMZ, ESPN, all the blogs. Everyone knew.”

“How could she?” Lotus asks, her brows drawn into an angry dip. “What’d she do when it came out?”

“Well there was no denying it. The photographs were all the evidence needed.” Displeasure twists my lips. “Not to mention the gracious friends and distant relatives who gave interviews and shared information.”

“Oh, Kenan. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s behind me now, but I . . .” I take her hands in mine again. “I told myself I’d never be made a fool of that way again. When I was in your office today, I felt foolish—like I was the butt of some joke. Like everyone knew how much I . . .”

My words fade, but we look at each other and know, even though we don’t say it. We both know how much I like her. How much I want her.

“Anyway,” I continue. “I started thinking has she been talking about us? Would she talk to the press, too?”

“What?” She releases an affronted gasp. “I would never do that.”

“I believe you. I do,” I reassure her. “It’s just I have to be so careful who I let into my life, because that affects my daughter. And she heard and knew too much too soon because our shit was everywhere. She’s my whole life, and I have to protect her.”