Long Shot (Hoops 1)

“Center,” he says, linking our fingers and toying with the hair hanging on my shoulder. “If you were mine, Iris, there would be no doubt what position you’d hold in my life. You’d be center. I’d play you at the five.”

I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to sing hallelujah that a man like this exists and that I know him. A deep-seeded longing springs up inside of me, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to give in to it. I long to let him hold me. To let myself hold him, have him. I drop my forehead to his chest and take in his scent and the intoxicating nearness of him. He strokes my hair, and I feel his lips ghost the top of my head.

The door swinging open startles us apart. Sylvia stands at the gym entrance, looking between us before settling on me.

“Sorry to, um, interrupt,” she says. “But there’s a man looking for you, Iris. Quite insistently actually. He—”

She stops when Ramone appears at her side, as unyielding and intimidating as a brick wall. Panic rushes the air from my body and pounds the blood in my ears.

“I have to go.” I take two steps toward the door, but August’s hand gently restrains me.

“Who is that guy?” he demands.

I can practically feel Ramone’s narrow gaze lasered in on August’s hand touching me. Damning information for his report to Caleb, no doubt. This is only making things worse. What an idiot I’ve been, playing games in here with August and forgetting that I live in a war zone. That I’m fighting for my life, and Sarai’s.

“He’s my driver, August.” I jerk my arm away and walk swiftly across the gym floor, not looking back.

When I reach the door, Ramone stares at August for a few seconds before following me into the hall. I run to the daycare to get Sarai.

I’m pushing the stroller to the exit when August appears. His confusion, displeasure, and concern are all soldered together into one stare that burns holes in my back. I don’t acknowledge him, but walk past with my baby and my watchdog. I walk past with indifference, as if we didn’t just share the best afternoon I’ve had in as long as I can remember—as if he hadn’t gotten past the guard I’d erected around my heart for my own protection.

I don’t even say goodbye.

28

August

It doesn’t make sense. Yesterday was like the first night Iris and I met all over again—laughing, teasing, opening up. The attraction sometimes lurking just beneath the skin of our conversation, sometimes shivering across its surface. And then Muscle Head showed up, and she shut down and rushed from the building without a word.

And today? Still no words. She hasn’t looked at me. Hasn’t spoken or even acknowledged that I exist.

By all rights, I shouldn’t even be here for the community center beautification project. Sylvia told me I wasn’t needed. The students are painting the rec room, and Torrie, Shelia, and Iris are helping. Iris paints a wall across the room and wears dark denim overalls and Chuck Taylors. Her hair is in a messy bun, and the work lends a glow to the soft curve of her cheeks. She looks like a little girl.

She bends, stretching the denim across the fullness of her ass.

Maybe not a little girl.

I’m a guy. I can’t be expected to ignore how good her ass looks in those jeans. But it’s not the most important thing. We only have two days left, and after spending even the little time with her that I’ve had, I know things can’t go back to the way they were. Us having no contact. Her living with Caleb, sleeping with Caleb. Her staying with Caleb is not an option anymore, and I need to hear her say that, promise that. I need her to explain what the problem is, so I can fix it.

How hard can it be to leave him? How complicated can it be to choose me over him? To throw his damn ring in his face and walk away?

She said she wasn’t with him for the money. Or not the way I might think, whatever the hell that means.

And I believe that. I may not know everything about her, but she’s no gold digger.

I know she sees him clearly. She said herself it was a dirty play.

She says she’s not marrying him, but she’s wearing his ring.

What the fuck is going on?

I’m not leaving today without answers. I won’t get them with her avoiding me, so I walk over to the wall the three women are painting.

“Iris, can I talk to you for a minute?” I pitch my voice low so we don’t draw more attention than I already do here.

She jumps like a bullet whizzed past her ear instead of a whisper. A wide, quick glance is all she offers before training her eyes back on the wall.

“I’m really trying to get this wall done,” she says. “I … um, maybe later.”