Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

“If you change your mind . . .” He cups my face and traces my cheek with his thumb.

“I won’t.” I step away from his touch. “Let’s go make sure JP doesn’t ruin your shoot.”

Chase watches me for a few extra seconds before yielding a fond smile, the smile of the laid-back boy I met when I first started at JPL, before sex made things complicated. He comes from wealth, from a family who indulged his every whim. That he actually applied himself long enough to become an excellent photographer is a miracle in itself. He’s not a bad guy. Just spoiled. And entitled.

And getting on my last damn nerve.

“You’ve got a point,” he finally says. “Letting JP loose on a shoot can be dangerous.”

JP’s on the phone, yelling and gesticulating, his thickly accented English booming through the industrial space with its rafters, floor-to-ceiling windows, and polished concrete floors.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper to him.

“The silk shipment,” he snaps, irritation jerking his thin eyebrows together. “It’s been misplaced.”

I purse my lips against an I told you so, but he knows me too well.

“Don’t you dare say it.” His plump fingers rifle through his hair. “I’ll handle this. You find him.”

I don’t have to ask who him is. I know my role here. I’m the carrot JP wants to dangle in front of a giant rabbit with the forearms to launch a thousand watches. I turn to go check on Kenan, JP’s French screeching still ringing in my ears. My heart trips over itself at the thought of seeing him again.

When I round the corner, his back is to me. He’s towering over Amanda, surrounded by three racks of men’s clothes. Amanda’s looking up at him like he’s an ice cream cone she wants to lick until he drips down her hand. I watch from a distance for a moment, curious to see how he interacts with her.

“We could try this one,” Amanda says, handing him a belt from a nearby rack. While he’s threading the belt through the loops of his slacks, her hand disappears in front of him.

“Hey.” One of his big hands is still on the belt, but the other reaches between them. “Don’t do that.”

The quiet that falls in the space is tense, filled with the censure of his deep voice. Though I can’t see his face, his wide shoulders have tightened and his posture is stiff.

“If I touched you like that,” he says, the words sharp and stern, “it would be a lawsuit, right?”

“I thought—”

“It’s obvious what you thought, and I get it. I’m just saying no.”

“Am I not . . . are you . . .” Amanda looks at a loss, her pretty face pinched and confused.

“I’m not interested. Touch my dick again, and I won’t be this nice about it.”

I slip around the corner out of sight, pressing my back to the wall and fighting a smile. Not many men in his position would turn down a chance with Amanda. He said she looked like his ex-wife. Maybe that’s why he passed. I don’t know, but I do know if I had walked up on him accepting Amanda’s offer, I wouldn’t be smiling.

I start whistling Bruno Mars’s “Finesse” to signal that I’m coming. Hopefully it’ll give Amanda some time to pick her face up off the floor.

When I round the corner again, her back is to me and she’s flicking through a rack of shirts. Kenan glances over his shoulder.

A smile breaks the scowl on his face. It steals my breath, not just the gorgeous contrast of white teeth against his skin, but the way he looks at me. It’s unreservedly pleased, like maybe he was looking forward to seeing me as much as I found myself looking forward to seeing him.

“Hey,” he says. “I was hoping you’d be here.”

Beyond Kenan’s shoulder, Amanda watches us with tight lips and resentful eyes. Her pride is hurt, but I don’t give a damn. What she did was highly inappropriate, despite the fact I know other men in Kenan’s position have been receptive in the past.

“JP dragged me away from the studio.” I slide my hands into the shallow pockets of my denim cut-offs, suddenly self-conscious of my dingy appearance under his scrutiny.

“I’m glad.” He steps closer, and I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact.

“Ahem,” Amanda interjects pointedly. “We’re finishing the first look, Lotus. What do you think?”

I examine the grey silk shirt and dark slacks that mold the muscled length of his legs. He’s so beautifully made and on such a large scale, he’d be impressive in just about anything, but this shirt isn’t my favorite.