Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(64)

My smile slips and I look from one friend to the other, wondering how much to tell them. I haven’t exactly been purposely keeping things from them, but I haven’t talked about how the relationship has progressed. I haven’t told them I kissed Kenan . . . a few times. I haven’t told them we are now more than friends.

Okay. Maybe I have been purposely keeping things from them.

“If you don’t want Kenan Ross,” Yari says with a shrug, “I’ll assume he’s free game and go for it. He looks like he might like some Latina loving.”

“Bitch, do not even,” I say with a knife of a smile.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Yari laughs. “Come on. Tell us.”

I draw a deep breath, exhale, and glance around at the seamstresses with their heads down, seemingly absorbed in their tasks.

“Okay, so we’re seeing each other,” I say low enough for only us to hear.

“Yes!” Yari fist pumps. “Bill, you owe me five bucks.”

“We bet on how long it would take,” Billie admits, digging into her pocket and handing Yari a five. “She said before Fashion Week. I said after. Dammit. I thought you’d hold out for the summer.”

My mouth hangs open, and I swing a surprised look between them.

“You guys are obviously into each other,” Yari says, pocketing the bill. “It was only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, well, please don’t talk to anyone about this, guys,” I say, pressing my hands together under my chin. “We’re not exactly hiding it, but we’re being really discreet. His ex is tripping and could make things complicated, especially for his daughter. They’re planning to tell her he’s seeing someone in their next family counseling session on Monday.”

“Lips sealed,” Billie says, running an imaginary zipper over her mouth.

“Locked down,” Yari agrees. “But you’ll keep us posted? We just want to make sure you’re happy, Lo.”

“I am.” I fiddle with the slim gold chain around my neck. “He’s pretty great, and fine with me needing to take things slow.”

“You mean still being off the dick?” Billie asks.

“Pretty much.” I twist my lips. “I’m just working through some things.”

“We’re crazy,” Billie says, watching me intently. “But you know we’re here if you need us, right?”

“I know.”

Besides MiMi and Iris, I’ve only talked to Marsha about what happened to me all those years ago. Maybe telling my friends is the next step.

“I, um, I’ve been attending a support group for childhood sexual abuse survivors.” My voice, though soft, goes off with the report of a bullet in the quiet room.

“Shit,” Billie mutters and takes my hand. “Lo, I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay, or at least getting there,” I say wryly. “So far, I’ve just listened to the other women, but I’ve talked to the group leader. I think it’s helping.”

“So the whole sex break thing . . .” Yari frowns and takes my other hand.

“Yeah, it’s complicated.” I exhale a quick breath. “But I’m working through my shit.”

“Whenever you want to talk,” Billie says, “we’re here.”

“I know.” I nod, grateful for them. “Just be patient with me. I’ll get there, but for now, at least you know.”

I look between my two best friends, deep affection momentarily crowding out the ache in my heart. “I love you, guys.”

“And we love you, too,” Yari says, looping an arm around my shoulders. “Bring it in for the real thing.”

We huddle together in a quick three-way squeeze that has me holding back tears.

My phone rings in the clutch behind me on the table. I disentangle from my girls to grab it. When Kenan’s name flashes onscreen, I can’t suppress a grin.

“Hey.” I turn my back to my friends, facing the lobby and lowering my voice. “I was gonna call you to confirm things for tonight.”

“I’m outside,” he says abruptly, not acknowledging my words. “Can I come up?”

“Uh, sure. That should be . . .” I spot him walking off the elevator with the cell pressed to his ear. “. . . fine.”

As soon as he comes in, heads pop up, and he’s the center of attention. He glances around the room, his thick brows furrowed. He spots me, and the frown doesn’t lift as he comes over.

“Hey,” he says, dividing a terse greeting between the three of us before settling his gaze on me. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure. Later, bitches,” I tell them with a wink, hoping to dispel the duh duh duuuuuhh vibe Kenan ushered in. “We can talk back here.”

We walk past the curious seamstresses who inspect every foot and inch of Kenan as we pass. I open the door of the backroom, my usual haven. He walks past me, and I lock the door in case someone gets curious or wander-y.

“Welcome home, Lotus,” I say, clutching the knob in my hands behind me, my back pressed to the door. “Glad to see you, Lotus. How was Milan? Did you—”

“You have a nipple piercing.”

He says it almost like an accusation. I’m mystified, because we’ve had a few deep, shivery, drawn-out kisses, yes, but he hasn’t seen the girls yet, so far as I can recall.