Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(77)

“You eat ass?” she asks suddenly, and I know she’s trying to throw me off.

“I’d eat yours,” I reply truthfully. Because there is no part of her that would not be good to me.

We both seem to find that really funny and crack up laughing. I flip her back over and pull her into me so I can feel the vibration of her happiness. I’m tickling her sides when a noise catches my attention.

“Did you hear that?” I ask, pausing, my fingers poised over her stomach.

“Yeah. Like a door?” She sits up. “Sounds like someone came into the apartment.”

“Nobody has a key, but . . .” I hop off the bed. “That has to be Simone. She’s the only one with a key.”

“Crap,” Lotus says under her breath, scrambling to get her top and skirt back on. Horror dawns on her face. “Kenan, my shoes and panties are still at the door.”

“And my pants,” I groan. “Dammit.”

I slip on sweatpants and a T-shirt, and make my way quickly to the front room. Dr. Packer had a family emergency and cancelled our last session, so we still haven’t talked to Simone about Lotus. I’d almost rather find a burglar than my daughter in the apartment right now, but it’s Bridget and Simone standing beside the pile of clothes we discarded in the foyer. Simone stares at Lotus’s panties, purse, and shoes. Bridget looks smug and furious.

“I don’t remember you being quite this sloppy, Kenan,” Bridget says, kicking our things out of their path. “Or having feet quite this small.”

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my own anger out of my voice in front of Simone. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I walk over and kiss Simone’s forehead.

“Morning, Moni,” I say, love-swiping her face. “I thought you had dance.”

She nods, her eyes still on Lotus’s things. “I skipped because I wanted to see Aunt Ken play.”

“I called,” Bridget says with a note of defensiveness, “but it rolled into voicemail.”

“When?” I frown at her. “I didn’t get any message. When did you call?”

“Earlier,” she says vaguely.

I’m sure she’s playing games again. I’m so sick of it.

“Whose things are those, Daddy?” Simone asks, her voice subdued, her eyes downcast.

I’m kicking myself. Yes, Bridget shouldn’t have barged into my place, but the weight of Simone’s sadness presses on me. I wish I’d pushed to have the conversation with Dr. Packer sooner, or waited to move forward with Lotus, though that’s hard to imagine given how badly I want her. My daughter is once again caught in her parents’ crosshairs—Bridget’s spitefulness and my carelessness, my lack of control. However we got to this juncture, we’re here now, and I can’t lie to her. She’s fourteen, not four. I need to respect her intelligence and the fact that she’s been exposed to a lot more than I had at her age.

“Do you remember the woman I introduced you to at the restaurant?” I ask, watching her face for signs of recognition.

“Lotus,” she says, meeting my eyes and nodding.

“Yeah. She and I are dating, Moni. She’s my girlfriend.”

Bridget gasps, and her frustration and anger grip me like a hand at my throat.

“She’s here.” I reach down to grab Lotus’s belongings. Scoop up my jeans. “I’ll be right back.”

When I walk into my bedroom, Lotus sits on the bed, the tulle skirt flared out around her, an anxious look on her pretty face.

“Is everything okay?” she asks. “Is the coast clear?”

“Yours, I believe,” I say, offering her the panties.

She grimaces, slipping them on and her feet into the red shoes.

“The coast is not clear.” I reach for her hand and walk toward the door. “There was a, let’s call it a mix-up, to give Bridget the benefit of the doubt, and Simone is going to the game today after all.”

Lotus stops, tugging on her hand. “What are you doing?”

“Babe, she was standing beside your purse, panties, and size-six shoes, which obviously weren’t mine. She’s not stupid, and I didn’t want to lie to her. I told her you’re here, and that we’re dating.”

“Is she okay?”

That’s the question I ask myself every day. I wonder what goes on in my daughter’s quick mind—how she’s processing the changes in her life. Huge sea changes that have come in waves and thrown her world into chaos.

“She’ll be okay,” I say with more confidence than I sometimes feel. “Lying to her won’t help. Come on.”

After a brief hesitation, Lotus nods and follows me.

When we reach the living room, my daughter sits on the couch typing on her phone. With the open floor plan, I can see Bridget in my kitchen, poking around in my refrigerator.

“Do you not have any mineral water?” she yells.

I ignore her.

“Moni, you remember Lotus, right?”

She scrutinizes every detail of Lotus’s appearance, starting at her red shoes and inspecting every inch to the wild platinum curls.

“How do you get your hair to do that?” Simone asks, her brows pinched, eyes curious.

“Um, to do what?” Lotus touches her hair uncertainly.