Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(6)

“Kenan, you still there?” Banner asks.

“Yeah. The driver just picked me up and we’re on our way to the party. Satisfied?”

“I’ll be really satisfied if you loosen up and enjoy your summer in New York.”

“I shouldn’t be here. Simone shouldn’t be here. I don’t give a fuck where Bridget wants to live, but she didn’t have to drag my daughter with her across the country so she can do some reality show about being a baller’s wife when, thank God, she’s not even my wife anymore.”

Banner is abruptly silent in the face of my mini-tirade.

“Okayyyyy,” she says with a little laugh. She’s one of the few people who has seen me truly lose my temper. She knows how to give me space to recover it.

“I’m sorry.” I release a weary breath and run a hand over my face. “I’m so tired of Bridget’s games, and this is the most immature, selfish one yet. Not just inconveniencing me, but uprooting Simone, and I’m pissed about it. So enjoying New York is not really a priority.”

“I get that,” Banner replies. “Bridget has made life hell for you.”

For years, I add silently.

“But at least you got your divorce and didn’t lose half your money.”

“Thanks to you.” Banner can’t see my grateful smile, but I want her to know how much I appreciate all she’s done for my career while protecting me financially.

“Hey. I’m just glad you hadn’t married her before you signed with me,” Banner says. “There’s a lot of ballers’ college sweethearts walking around with half the paper.”

We’d just graduated from college when I was drafted to the NBA. Bridget was pregnant and moving with me to Houston, my first team. When I signed with Banner as my agent, she insisted on a pre-nup and personally oversaw many of the details to ensure there were no loopholes.

“Most men would not have been as generous as you were, Kenan,” Banner says. “You gave her more than you had to in the divorce.”

“She’s the mother of my child. Even if we aren’t married, even though she cheated on me, even though she held up our divorce forever demanding more money, that still means something.”

“It wasn’t just about the money, though was it?”

“No, she claims to want me back, but that’s some shit. She’s the one who threw the marriage away.”

“Maybe she regrets it,” Banner says softly, a hesitant note in her voice. “I don’t excuse cheating, by any means, but people do make mistakes.”

“Yeah, well she made a big one. I never cheated on Bridge, not even before we were married. I can’t ever trust her again, so she can forget this reconciliation she’s fantasizing about.”

“Maybe focus less on Bridget’s drama and more on yourself. Have a summer fling.”

“I don’t fling.”

“Then have a summer fuck.”

Banner’s tough as nails and crude as hell when she needs to be. Representing some of the alpha-est males in the NBA, she often has to be to hold her own.

“Now that I might consider.” I won’t tell her how long it’s been. We do have some boundaries.

“Who knows?” Banner continues. “You might meet someone you really like.”

An image, one I’ve suppressed for months, breaks the surface. Petite, slim, curvy. Platinum blonde hair. Cinnamon skin. Dark, defiant, sultry eyes that can look right through a man and show him nothing at all. Lotus DuPree. I know she lives here in New York, but each time we’ve seen each other in the past, she’s made it clear she wasn’t interested. Her, I would summer fuck. Her, I might even summer fling, but she was with another guy when I saw her at the team Christmas party. Maybe she’s taken. As interested as I am in her, I’m not sure she reciprocates, and I doubt I’ll get the chance to find out.

“Uh, yeah. Maybe, but I’m not gonna hold my breath.” I take in the glimmering lights against the city backdrop.

“Well, be open. And remember no growling or scowling at this party tonight.”

“But those are two of my favorite things.”

“And don’t agree to anything,” Banner adds sharply. “If Jean Pierre presses you, tell him your agent will be in touch with an answer.”

“Which will probably be a hell no.”

“Glad, come on,” she says, abbreviating my on-court moniker “Gladiator.”

The irony is I’m so tired of fighting. Not on court, but after all the drama with Bridget, definitely tired of fighting off the court.

“Okay. No growling. No scowling. No committing to anything. Got it.” I drop my head back against the leather headrest. “Can I go now?”

“Yes. Let’s debrief tomorrow.”

“Bless you. Bye, B.”

“Bye, Kenan.”

As soon as she hangs up, I close my eyes and try to absorb the quiet into my very pores. Extended conversations, even with people I love, sometimes leave me feeling drained. I’m an introvert. The things that refuel me don’t involve people at all. I love being alone.

“Children and bored adults need to be entertained. Grown men living with purpose require time and quiet and energy.”

That’s what my dad used to say.