Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(14)

Our eyes collide in the semi-darkness. The glittering Manhattan skyline casts a warm glow, adding to the air of intimacy building between us, even with Yari standing watch.

“Um, well this is awkward,” Yari says with a chuckle. “Imma . . . go. See you down there, Lo.”

Kenan steps aside for her to pass, but doesn’t look away from my face.

“How did you get that button?” I lead with the thing I want to know most. “JP had it. So how did you get it?”

He crosses the deck between us in a few measured steps.

“I told him I’d do the watch campaign if he’d give me the button.” There’s no apology in his voice, nor in the look he gives me.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to kiss you.”

His admission, frank, honest, snatches my breath, but I disguise it. Look away, down. I turn my back on him and face the night-darkened waters instead.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell him.

“It was a game, Lotus,” he says from far too close. From right beside me, but I lift my eyes to the still-silent sky above. “You didn’t have to play.”

He touches my arm lightly, but I jerk at the contact—electric and molten. He glances from my arm to my face.

“But you did,” he says. “You played because you wanted to kiss me, too.”

The truth floats between us on balmy summer air, and I can’t draw an easy breath. I bite my lip, debating what I should tell him—how much to reveal.

“That’s true.” I meet his eyes. “But it doesn’t make a difference about what happens next.”

“I’d like it to happen again, preferably without a roomful of people watching,” he says, wry humor curling the edges of his sensual mouth.

I flash him a rueful smile. “I don’t think so.”

Disappointment skitters across his face before he tucks it neatly away. He’s a man of control, discipline evident in the powerful, sinewy arms JP loves so much. In the flat stomach and the unyielding line of his mouth. His body is a well-conditioned machine—a fire-forged weapon in the battles he fights on court. How would it feel to demolish that control? I bet I could do it, but not without being crushed myself.

“Do I get an explanation?” he asks.

“Maybe I’m just not attracted to you.”

He quirks a brow, skepticism etched into the strong planes of his face. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, we both know that’s bullshit.”

“Okay then I’ll keep it real. I’m off dick right now,” I say abruptly, really hoping my crassness scares him away.

“Oh.” He nods as if I said I’m giving up dairy instead of dick. “Well what about the rest of me?”

“What?” I’m at a loss for half a second. I’m supposed to be the one throwing him off. “I don’t know about the rest of you.”

“My point exactly. You could get to know the rest of me over the summer and we can discuss my dick later.”

In spite of myself, my lips twitch. He twitches back, but the humor slowly drains from his expression. “Look, I won’t pretend I’m not attracted you. I think I’ve made that abundantly,” he says, allowing a self-deprecating smile, “and embarrassingly clear.”

I watch, waiting for him to go on.

“But my life’s kind of a wreck right now,” he says. “I don’t know how much you know about me.”

He pauses, caution in his unspoken query.

“Very little,” I admit. “I don’t follow basketball at all.”

Something like relief crosses his face before he shutters it. “I’m glad you don’t know a lot about me,” he says. “That means I can tell you myself. Not tonight, though. Suffice to say I’m coming off a very messy, very public divorce.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He chuckles, a wry twist to his lips. “I mean, I’m sorry it was messy, but not that I’m divorced. My point is I’m not looking for anything serious—”

“And I’m not looking for anything sexual,” I remind him.

“Then I guess that leaves us with a whole summer to be friends. It sounds like neither of us need complicated. We could keep it simple and see where it goes.”

The word “friends” dangles between us like a taunt, a dare. A bluff. That kiss we shared, the heat in his eyes, the spark when we touch make “friendship” an impossible lie. There’s something about this man. Simple is the last thing I think when I see him, but he’s right. Simple is what we both need.

When I don’t answer, he reaches to push the hair behind my ear, tracing my studs, and I shudder.

Simple, my ass.





4





Kenan





When Bridget and I met in college, I thought her capriciousness, her carefree approach to life would balance me out. Even then I wasn’t exactly the life of the party. Most guys on the team had two priorities: getting drafted and getting laid.

Okay. So getting laid was high on my list, too.

But even though I was a student athlete there on scholarship, I never thought I’d end up drafted into the league. My life was like Google Maps. Re-routing every so often, telling me there was a quicker or more efficient way, a better path until my future was completely unrecognizable. I was nowhere near the law student my father hoped I would be, and I wasn’t destined to be a judge like him. Things kept changing, and as flighty as Bridget could be, she was a constant. Maybe I needed that then.