Block Shot (Hoops 2)

“I’m going,” I grumble.

Before I leave, I perform my everyday ritual of looking at myself naked in the mirror. There was a time I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand naked in front of a mirror and just stare at myself, take in my imperfections without flinching. Without hearing the criticisms from culture, of men on the street, of my exes.

From myself, the harshest critic of all.

And looking at myself naked each morning, I may see a little extra flesh around the middle. Or one day, not yet thank God, some boob droop. Or God forbid, a square-er ass, but I make the choice every day to accept the girl who stares back at me. To offer her the same unconditional love she offers the people she cares about, her family and friends. I would never judge those closest to me, never say the things to them that I used to say to myself. If there are things I see that I want to change, I develop a plan to work on them. If there are things I cannot change, I work to accept them.

I will never be petite. I’m just not made that way. Some of it’s just genetic. My hips, my ass, my very bones are too big for that. I’m not interested in being tiny. I want to be strong and healthy and feel good in my clothes, and now I do.

When people first started realizing that Zo and I were dating, Hollywood Hannah referred to me as “the biggest Kardashian.” I thought that was so cruel. Not only to me but to Khloe. I understood the reference. Khloe has worked hard to have a strong, healthy body, but when you see her standing beside her sisters, she is and will probably always be the biggest Kardashian. Like me, she’ll never be tiny.

My relationship with food is more complicated than any relationship I’ve had with a man. My feelings drive me into binges or starvation. In counseling, I sorted out what food should be to me. It’s for nutrition. Not to make me feel better. It’s not comfort. It’s not a companion to make me feel less lonely. It is not a friend I celebrate special occasions with. It is fuel. It oils my engine so I can live my best

life. So I can pursue my dreams. So I can make this world a better place.

Once I’ve braved my daily look in the mirror, I tame my hair into two long braids, brush my teeth, and splash water on my face. I’ll shower at the gym, but I’m wearing no makeup. I look about sixteen. Not exactly my tough chick face. I grab pieces from Quinn’s Titanium workout gear collection out of my laundry basket. Even a year ago, I never would have worn something this revealing, though it’s modest by most standards. The cutoff T-shirt reads “The Future Is Latina” and shows my midriff, consequently leaving my hips, ass, and thighs exposed in the capri work out pants.

I can’t resist. I turn my back to the mirror and stare at my ass. Accepting myself as I am doesn’t mean I won’t work to improve and be the best version of myself inside and out.

“Sponge Banner Square Pants, huh?” I say aloud. “Extra squats for you today.”

I tiptoe through the bedroom, making sure the drapes are drawn tight to keep out light until Zo is ready to wake up. I peer down at him, picking out his striking features in the shadows. He’s a beautiful man, inside and out. He’s won citizen awards for his humanitarian work, and is generally held as the kindest guy in the NBA. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone who doesn’t love Zo. I drop a light kiss on his unruly mop of dark curls. I’m a very lucky girl.

I climb into my Ivory Range Rover with butterscotch hand-stitched leather seats, a special treat to myself, and keep counting blessings on my way to the gym. I try to start every day with gratitude. Zo is at the top of that list, along with my family and friends like Quinn.

Every time I walk through Titanium’s doors, I feel a spark of pride. Quinn, that broken girl with bandages covering fresh slits on her wrists, the one who did nothing but glare all day at the space where her leg used to be . . . she made this. She wept on my shoulder after each rehab session, not because learning to walk with only one leg hurt so much, but because she wanted her other leg back so badly. That girl did this. I believed in her so much that I even invested seed money into this gym. Best investment I ever made.

I fob in at the front desk and head up to the studio where Quinn trains me three times a week. I would have referred to the girl she’s chatting with in front of the barre as a “Cindy” at one point. She’s the grown-up version with tasteful highlights in her blond hair and gorgeous implants and a perfectly toned body. And Tanya’s also one of the sweetest people I know.

I’ve never been able to shake the image of the types of girls Jared dated when we were in college. It only heightened my embarrassment, realizing how gullible I was to think he actually wanted me that night. I hope it was worth it, being a part of The Pride. He told me he didn’t join, but I’ve seen photos of him with Bent on yachts, at galas, ski trips. They remain close, and Bent stood with that group of jackals who taunted me. I know August West is involved with Elevation, probably funding much of it, but you don’t end up owning an agency like Elevation at Jared’s age without a lot of favors. And nobody does favors like The Pride.

“Morning, ladies,” I greet Quinn and Tanya, who teaches Titanium’s pole dancing classes.

“Hey, love,” Tanya pulls me into a Chanel-scented hug. Even at six in the morning, she smells of her signature scent. “You look amazing, Banner. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Thank you,” I reply, returning Tanya’s squeeze. “You look beautiful as usual. Best calves in the business.”

“Stripper heels and stripper poles, honey!” She tosses a swathe of blonde hair and looks me up and down. “I’d love to get you in one of my classes. Hell, I’d love to get you in one of my clubs, Banner. Men love tits and ass, and you’ve got both, m’dear.”

My face heats. I’m used to being complimented on my intelligence and things that have little to do with the outside. I always said it didn’t matter, but that was another lie I fed myself. The gulf between the truth and the lies we tell ourselves is filled with misery. It’s not bad to enjoy praise about the physical. That doesn’t make me shallow. I can be as proud of losing more than fifty pounds as I am of negotiating an eight-figure deal for one of my clients. I’m not the smart girl. Or the pretty one. Or the whatever label people want to assign to me. I can be all those things at once.

“The class, maybe,” I say. “The club, never.”

“My last date appreciated my time on the pole,” Quinn interjects with a roguish grin. “if you know what I mean.”

“My virgin ears.” I cover my ears and laugh.

“I doubt there is anything ‘virgin’ left on you,” Quinn says. “Not after last night with Zo. It’s been weeks since you saw each other, right? I’ll take it easy on you today, since I’m sure he didn’t last night.”

I chuckle right along with my friends, neither confirming or denying, and quickly change the subject.

“Speaking of the pole,” I say to Tanya. “You still do those parties here in the city?”

“As long as there are horny men looking to get shit-faced,” Tanya says wryly. “I’m doing parties. But those are separate from the clubs. All private high-end affairs.”

“Yeah, I know.” I look at her frankly. “I have an awkward favor.”

“Anything for you, Banner. You know that.”