Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

My phone rings in the clutch behind me on the table. I disentangle from my girls to grab it. When Kenan’s name flashes onscreen, I can’t suppress a grin.

“Hey.” I turn my back to my friends, facing the lobby and lowering my voice. “I was gonna call you to confirm things for tonight.”

“I’m outside,” he says abruptly, not acknowledging my words. “Can I come up?”

“Uh, sure. That should be . . .” I spot him walking off the elevator with the cell pressed to his ear. “. . . fine.”

As soon as he comes in, heads pop up, and he’s the center of attention. He glances around the room, his thick brows furrowed. He spots me, and the frown doesn’t lift as he comes over.

“Hey,” he says, dividing a terse greeting between the three of us before settling his gaze on me. “Can we talk?”

“Uh, sure. Later, bitches,” I tell them with a wink, hoping to dispel the duh duh duuuuuhh vibe Kenan ushered in. “We can talk back here.”

We walk past the curious seamstresses who inspect every foot and inch of Kenan as we pass. I open the door of the backroom, my usual haven. He walks past me, and I lock the door in case someone gets curious or wander-y.

“Welcome home, Lotus,” I say, clutching the knob in my hands behind me, my back pressed to the door. “Glad to see you, Lotus. How was Milan? Did you—”

“You have a nipple piercing.”

He says it almost like an accusation. I’m mystified, because we’ve had a few deep, shivery, drawn-out kisses, yes, but he hasn’t seen the girls yet, so far as I can recall.

“I do,” I agree quietly, frowning. “How do you know that?”

“Anyone in Soho could know that,” he says, walking in tight circles. “Step into the Gilded Bean and bam. It’s right there.”

Something prickles my memory. The Gilded Bean. Where have I heard . . .

“Chase,” I blurt. “He has some photos showing there.”

“Bingo.” He props his big body against an unsuspecting table I’m not sure can hold him. He’s not exactly sitting, but not quite standing. I worry for them both.

“Is there a photo of me in the collection or something?” I ask. “You think you saw something that—”

“I don’t think I saw shit, Lotus,” he snaps. “I would recognize my girlfriend in a photo that’s as tall as I am.”

His girlfriend.

It’s the first time he’s called me that and I can’t even appreciate it because of this interrogation.

“No, it can’t be.” I shake my head, unable to compute the data. “You saw my face?”

“I didn’t need to.”

“Then you could be mistaken.”

“The tattoo on your collar bone, the moons on your fingers, your gris-gris ring, the lotus flower around your belly button. Do I sound mistaken?”

“That doesn’t make sense. I didn’t sign a release for any nudity. I saw the photos he took. I’d remember that. I don’t have a problem with nudity in art, for the record, but I didn’t want to do it personally.”

“But you did pose for him?” Another accusation. One he isn’t entitled to, and it’s starting to irk me.

“Yes, I did,” I answer stiffly. “I was finishing up at FIT, and was basically an intern here making no real money. Chase paid me to sit for him. It’s not a secret, and it’s none of your business.”

He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “I know. You’re right. I just . . .” His head drops back, his eyes on the ceiling. “I hate people seeing you like that.”

“I don’t belong to you, Kenan,” I tell him. “You don’t get to criticize me posing for photos, even if there isn’t supposed to be any nudity. I’ll deal with Chase, believe that, but you don’t get to come up in here growling with some caveman shit over things that happened before we were . . . anything. It doesn’t work that way, and if you think you can tell me what to do, let me set you straight. I am not that chick.”

“I know you don’t belong to me, Lotus,” he growls. “Why do you think I’m acting like an asshole? It makes me crazy that you don’t. If I’m honest—”