Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(61)

Her head pops up and she bites into a grin. “Not at all.”

“Liar.”

I flip her onto her back on the couch and tickle her sides. Her squeals drown out the first strains of Sarah Vaughn. After several minutes of wrestling and tickling, and almost getting worked up again, she stands, breathing hard.

“I should go. I have a really early morning and late night tomorrow,” she says. “We have fittings and a lot of other stuff to do the closer we get to Fashion Week.”

I nod, a lot more disappointed that she’s leaving than that I’m not getting laid tonight. Am I horny? Oh, hell yes. I’ll probably be putting the ice tub to extra use for the foreseeable future, but I honestly would be happy just to have her here close against me, Miles on repeat, talking and tickling. I hate that she has to leave.

“I could take the train home, you know,” she says in the elevator down to the lobby. “I do it all the time.”

I don’t justify that with a response, but keep my eyes on the flashing numbers.

We don’t talk much on the drive, but it’s okay. She reaches for my hand, toys with my fingers, stretches to rest her head on my shoulder. When we pull up in front of her place, she insists I not park or come up.

“That means you have to kiss me here then,” I tell her.

The kiss heats fast, smoldering, sizzling in the front seat until she climbs over to straddle my lap. Her hips are rolling. I’m thrusting up. We’re sharing sharp, hot breaths, and clawing at each other’s clothes. If we don’t stop, I’ll be fucking her in the back seat in front of her brownstone.

I jerk my mouth away, and bury my head in the arch of her throat.

“Lotus, we gotta stop or I . . .” I palm her head and turn my face into the sleek line of her jaw, leaving safer kisses there.

“I know.” She nods and burrows into my neck.

She crawls awkwardly back to the passenger side, grabs her purse, and gets out, not waiting for me to open the door. She turns to leave and then comes back, leaning her head into the open window.

“What will you do about Bridget?” she asks.

Lotus said Bridget would be the last thing on my mind when we fuck, but she already is. I hadn’t thought about her all night, but I know I have to deal with her.

“I’ll take care of it,” I say, my voice quiet, my resolve steely. Bridget has ruined things for me so many times. She’s not ruining this.

I lean across the console and Lotus meets me halfway, popping her head into the car for one last sweet kiss.

I’ll take care of you.





21





Kenan





“So when do I get to meet her?”

“Meet who?” I ask my sister absently, pausing on the sidewalk to look at a retail space for rent. “This space is great, but Soho’s not right for Faded.”

“Nah.” Kenya presses her face to the window, peering in. “Brooklyn, Queens. Harlem, even. One of those. Now don’t avoid the question. I asked when I get to meet this girl you can’t stop talking about.”

“Who? Lotus?” I shoot her a puzzled look. “I’ve barely mentioned her.”

“Yeah?” Kenya resumes walking beside me. “Then how do I know she works at JPL Maison, was born in New Orleans, and that she sews? Oh, and she likes mumble rap. She has a lotus flower tattoo around her belly button and—”

“Okay. Maybe I shared a few details.” I toss a grin to my sister. “And she only pretends to like mumble rap to push my buttons.”

“Well I’m in town until tomorrow, so I need to meet this woman who’s turned you out.”

“She has not turned me out,” I scoff. “And you’ll meet her at dinner tonight.”

“And where do things stand with Bridget since she rolled up in there, guns blazing?” Kenya smirks. “That is some basic bitch stuff, showing up at homegirl’s job like that.”

“We aren’t exactly on the best terms.” I grimace. “It wasn’t pretty when I confronted her, and she tried to lie, say it was a coincidence. I’ve told her if she keeps meddling in my life there will be consequences.”

“Money?”

“It’s my only leverage with her right now.” I say. “I pay her twice what our agreement stipulates, plus alimony. Simone’s needs are more than taken care of. Everything else is gravy, but it’s gravy Bridget likes. We’ll see if it works.”

“I hope it does.” Kenya looks down at her phone. “Hey, we’re here.”

We cross the street and enter the gallery. The Gilded Bean boasts an airy space filled with paintings, photographs, and sculptures.

“Nice, huh?” Kenya asks. “My coach swears by this place. She got all her artwork here. And they’ll deliver out of state.”

“Let’s see if there’s anything you like.”

I’d love to buy a few things for her, but she’s as proud as I am. Maybe prouder. She makes decent money, but I make more for one game than she does the whole season. I really do need to bring up the women’s salary increase at the next Player’s Association meeting here in New York. I was elected to the executive committee three years ago, and it’s been one of my favorite things I’ve gotten to do in the league. Many of my heroes who came before me served in the same capacity. It was Oscar Robertson who negotiated free agency for players when the NBA and the ABA merged. We’re still benefitting from his work.