Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(38)

For a second I think I’ve lost her, but that ray of sunshine she’s wearing flaunts her presence again several yards away. She’s turned to face me now, one hand on her hip and amusement on her face. I grin, fully prepared to be railed for calling her out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask loudly enough for her and anyone between us to hear.

“I’m for sure not standing around all day waiting for you,” she yells back, her lips fighting the smile in her eyes.

“Well, you heard her guys.” I sign another hat and sigh. “I gotta shut it down. She’s leaving me.”

“I’d shut shit down, too, for that,” a guy standing halfway between Lotus and me says, eyes crawling over every inch of her exposed skin. I want to get her out of here.

“Excuse me,” I say, pushing through the crowd after I sign one last autograph. She could meet me halfway, but does she? No, just stands still in the crowd like a daffodil planted in the middle of a traffic jam, waiting for me to reach her. Once I do, I step as close as I possibly can without touching her so she has to tip her head all the way back to meet my eyes. Our gazes lock and don’t let go. The steam rising between us has nothing to do with the ninety-five-degree weather. I draw a shallow, Lotus-scented breath.

“You’re smelling me again?” she asks, a smile tilting the corners of her eyes like a sly cat.

I allow a twitch of my lips. “Where were you going? You were leaving without seeing me?”

“No.” Our eyes hold for a second while I wait for her next words. “It’s a lot of people. I was just gonna sit on the side.”

“Oh, thanks for waiting.”

I push her hair back from her face, and trace the gold studs following the curve of her ear with my index finger. She shivers.

“You cold?” I ask, suppressing a smile.

She drops her lashes and hides her eyes. “Freezing.”

One skinny strap of her jumper droops from the curve of her shoulder, baring her collarbone so I can read the script I couldn’t make out the night of the yacht party.

“You are altogether beautiful,” I read and pass my thumb along the script marking the fragile bone. “A little reminder in case we all forgot how pretty you are?”

Her smile flickers off and then back on. “My great-grandmother used to say it to me when I was a little girl. It’s from the Song of Solomon.”

I have twenty follow-up questions for everything I learn about this woman, and I can’t ask any of them in this crowd. I reach for her hand and interlock our fingers, checking her expression for any objection. There is none.

“Let’s get out of here,” I say.

She nods and tightens her small fingers around mine. “Let’s do it.”

“You hungry?” I ask, and we walk in the direction of the lot where I left my car.

“I am.”

“It’d be a shame if we came to Harlem and didn’t eat at Sylvia’s. Have you eaten there before?”

“You know, I haven’t.” She tosses me a grin. “But I’d like to.”

The organizers kept our cars under watch during the event, so I retrieve my keys and we walk over to the truck I bought last week.

“What is this?” Lotus asks, walking slowly around the shiny silver–gray chrome beast.

“It’s Lamborghini’s SUV, the Urus,” I say, opening the passenger door for her. “You like it?”

“I guess.” She shrugs like she rides in two-hundred-thousand-dollar trucks every day. “I’m not really a car person. I take the train everywhere.”

“A true New Yorker then.” I check for traffic and pull out into the street.

“No, definitely not.” She laughs. “But I’ve adapted.”

“You’re from New Orleans like Iris, right?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and I glance over at her. Where you’re from seems like an innocuous enough question, but a shadow passes over her face. “The first part of my childhood was in New Orleans. In the ninth ward, yeah,” she confirms. “But then I went to live with MiMi on the Bayou in this little parish where they spoke French more than English.”

“You learned it?”

“Yeah, MiMi spoke French a lot so I kinda had to pick it up. Came in handy with JP.”

“You like working for him?”

“I do, but I know I’ll do something else someday.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure.” She leans back into the luxurious leather seat. “I love my job, but I also have this podcast called gLO Up that’s starting to get sponsors and gain a following. Or I might branch out with some specialty like lingerie or accessories. Who knows? I don’t have to know everything about where I’m going tomorrow to enjoy today, so I just take it as it comes.”

“I’m a planner,” I tell her, negotiating the Harlem streets. “I always have things mapped out, and I usually follow that course meticulously.”

“Sounds like you don’t leave much room for the unexpected,” she says, turning slightly in her seat to study me while I’m driving.

“That might be true, but when I do, I know it’s the right thing. That it’s worth going off-road for. I told you I knew I was going to law school and one day, hoped to be a judge like my father. The NBA was the biggest re-route of my life, but I don’t regret it.”