Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(54)

Standing on the rail makes me tall enough to reach him. I touch his face, caress the strong rise of bone beneath the mahogany skin, and turn him toward me until our lips brush together. He pulls back the slightest bit with a stare that doesn’t waver.

“Remember what I said.” His voice is husky and heavy, maybe with the weight of this no-turning-back moment. “When we kiss again, you have to make it happen, and it means you want to be more than friends.”

I close the space he inserted between our lips, and lick into the seam. He gasps, and his eyes close immediately.

“I want to be more than friends,” I whisper over his lips. “Open your eyes and don’t look away.”

When he opens his eyes, they lock with mine, and I suck his lower lip and lick into the corners. He angles his head to capture my top lip between his, never dropping his glance. His hand, huge and encompassing, curves at the back of my head, his fingers curling at my nape. He deepens the kiss, tasting me with surging, hungry licks that make me whimper and moan. Now it’s my turn to gasp and close my eyes because the contact is so charged it sends a current down my spine and through my toes.

“Don’t look away,” he echoes back to me.

We set a frantic rhythm of bobbing heads as the kiss grows more urgent. I’m turning my head and he’s angling his, both trying to delve deeper without breaking the electric thread of our gaze. While our tongues mate and our lips beg and our bodies strain to learn the shape of each other, we never look away. And it’s more intense than fucking.

This kiss wipes away every man who came before him in a baptism of greedy lips and searching tongues, dipping me, dousing me, saving me.

Changing me.

I’m new. Different.

Even when it ends, our lips still cling, loathe to let go of this revival that purifies even the air we breathe. And here, trapped between our lips, each breath is holy. Here between our chests, our hearts bang like ancient drums. Here between our eyes, his and mine, a searing glance sees everything.

It’s the best kiss of my life. It’s my first glimpse of real intimacy.

And it’s almost more than I can bear.





18





Kenan





I had Simone all day yesterday, and she spent the night. Now it’s Monday, and I haven’t been able to see Lotus again. I want to badly after our “not date.” It may not have been a date, but it was definitely a kiss. I want a repeat as soon as possible. I’m getting off the elevator to Dr. Packer’s office when my phone flashes with an incoming notification from a local florist.

Your package has been delivered.

That August is good for something. My San Diego Waves teammate, married to Lotus’s cousin Iris, has been bugging me ever since I asked for Lotus’s number.

“So how’d the date go?” he’d called to ask yesterday.

“What date?” I’d asked, deliberately obtuse.

“Brooklyn.” There’d been barely checked eagerness and frustration in his voice. “If you play this right, we could practically be brothers.”

“As appealing as permanently chaining myself to a wet-behind-the-ears rookie is,” I had said, letting the barb I always use with him sink in, “I think I’ll handle this myself.”

“You don’t think Lotus told Iris every detail?”

That had given me pause.

“She did?” I’d kept my voice neutral. They’re close. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. It’s just so new, and I haven’t told anyone yet.

“No,” August had grudgingly admitted. “Iris couldn’t get anything out of her. We’re both on pins and needles here.”

“Why don’t you and your little wife worry more about having that baby and less about what grown folks are doing here in New York.”

“You’re grown, but Lotus isn’t,” he’d laughed. “Good ol’ Glad. Robbing the cradle.”

If we’d been together, I would have body slammed him. Or at least given him a good headlock.

“Even though you aren’t sharing shit with me,” he’d said, “I'mma give you some free advice. Something I did for Iris, and you see where it got me.”

“Like I need your advice,” I’d scoffed.

The phone went silent for a few dead-air seconds, and I’d huffed an exasperated sigh. “I mean, you may as well tell me now.”

He’d taunted me with his laughter before sharing his advice. She better like the flowers I sent.

“If you steered me wrong,” I mutter under my breath as I cross the lobby, “I’m shaving all those damn curls off next time you fall asleep on the plane.”

Simone and Bridget are already seated in the waiting area. I know I’m not late. I usually beat them here.

“Hey, Moni.” I swipe my hand over her face to greet her, and reach up to tug her ponytail.

“No, Daddy,” she says, blocking my touch with both hands. “Don’t touch it. I need it neat for the recital tomorrow.”

“There’s a recital tomorrow?” I frown, glancing between them. “It’s not on my calendar.”

“Well, guess Davis made a mistake,” Bridget says waspishly.

My assistant, Davis, back in San Diego, doesn’t make mistakes with my schedule or any aspect of my life. I’d be lost without him.