Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

That had given me pause.

“She did?” I’d kept my voice neutral. They’re close. It wouldn’t have been unheard of. It’s just so new, and I haven’t told anyone yet.

“No,” August had grudgingly admitted. “Iris couldn’t get anything out of her. We’re both on pins and needles here.”

“Why don’t you and your little wife worry more about having that baby and less about what grown folks are doing here in New York.”

“You’re grown, but Lotus isn’t,” he’d laughed. “Good ol’ Glad. Robbing the cradle.”

If we’d been together, I would have body slammed him. Or at least given him a good headlock.

“Even though you aren’t sharing shit with me,” he’d said, “I'mma give you some free advice. Something I did for Iris, and you see where it got me.”

“Like I need your advice,” I’d scoffed.

The phone went silent for a few dead-air seconds, and I’d huffed an exasperated sigh. “I mean, you may as well tell me now.”

He’d taunted me with his laughter before sharing his advice. She better like the flowers I sent.

“If you steered me wrong,” I mutter under my breath as I cross the lobby, “I’m shaving all those damn curls off next time you fall asleep on the plane.”

Simone and Bridget are already seated in the waiting area. I know I’m not late. I usually beat them here.

“Hey, Moni.” I swipe my hand over her face to greet her, and reach up to tug her ponytail.

“No, Daddy,” she says, blocking my touch with both hands. “Don’t touch it. I need it neat for the recital tomorrow.”

“There’s a recital tomorrow?” I frown, glancing between them. “It’s not on my calendar.”

“Well, guess Davis made a mistake,” Bridget says waspishly.

My assistant, Davis, back in San Diego, doesn’t make mistakes with my schedule or any aspect of my life. I’d be lost without him.

The door opens and Dr. Packer walks out with a warm smile for all three of us.

“Good to see you,” she says, gesturing for us to precede her into the office.

“Wait out here for a few minutes, Simone,” Bridget says, cutting her eyes at

me. “We need a few minutes alone with Dr. Packer first.”

“We do?” I ask, frowning. First I heard of it.

“We do,” she confirms, sailing past me and into the office.

What now?

“Is there a problem, Bridget?” Dr. Packer asks from behind her desk. “I know we chatted a few weeks ago without Simone, but I like to limit impromptu meetings like this and schedule our time without her. Seeing this could make her feel like we’re talking about her.”

“Well, we kind of are,” Bridget says, “thanks to Kenan’s reckless behavior.”

“Me?” I point a thumb at my chest. “Reckless? How so?”

“This is how so.” She pulls her phone out and shoves it at me.

When I see the photo on Instagram, I want to roar at Bridget for being in my business. At the same time, I want to kick myself for not being more careful. The server at Sally Roots posted the selfie with me. Just beyond the shot, almost like a photo bomb, Lotus is looking at her phone. Her head is down, but those platinum-colored braids are distinct. Bridget saw them that night at the restaurant. I asked the server not to tag me, and he didn’t, but he used #KenanRoss.

“You object to me taking a photo with a fan?” She’s going to have to say it—be petty enough to make a big deal out of something that isn’t.