Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

He nods, his expression braced against the violence of his own emotion, his eyes raking possessively over my face.

“I was wrong.” I shake my head against his. “So wrong.”

I pull back to look into his eyes and give him the passage I’ve hoarded in my heart and never thought I would say to a man.

“My beloved is mine and I am his,” I quote the song over a salty trail of tears, brokenly, truthfully. “Kenan, I’m yours.”

He swells and hardens inside me at the passionate words I pour over him like oil anointing the head of a

king. His hands drift down my back and settle on my hips, gripping in confident possession.

“And I,” he says, his words kissing my lips even before he does, “I am yours.”

33

Kenan

“For a man who never wanted to go to New York,” August says, dribbling two balls, one with his left hand and one with his right, “you suuuuuuure seem to be missing it. Moping around practice like somebody stole your bike.”

I toss him a look of half-irritation, but focus on my own drill. I’ve only been at training camp for a week, and I miss Lotus even more than I thought I would. We’ve been apart for a week before, but adding sex to our relationship took it to another level. She stayed at my place until I had to return to San Diego and report to camp. There was a rhythm to us that I got used to.

“Or maybe it’s Lotus you miss,” August continues, “not the city.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I mutter. “Punk ass.”

“I would like to know, actually.” He stops dribbling and crosses the small space on court that separates us. “Tell me what’s up with you and Lo. Why are you holding out on me?”

Because I’m having too much fun torturing him.

“You know we’re dating,” I say, disguising my amusement with a blank expression. “Isn’t that enough? Next you’ll want to go to the bathroom with me and have sleepovers and shit. Why are you in our business so hard?”

“She’s like a little sister to Iris, Glad,” August says, no sign of levity in the gray eyes under his flop of dark curls. “To me, too, and I just need to be sure she’s okay and you won’t . . .”

He shrugs, glancing to the side, looking uncomfortable.

“I won’t hurt her,” I assure him, trapping the basketball between my hip and my arm. “I care too much about her.”

Surprise stretches his eyes before he recovers. “Aight. That’s all I wanted to know.”

“Lotus hasn’t told Iris anything either?” I ask, resuming the cross pattern of dribbling.

“A little.” He starts his double-dribble again, too. “She says you guys are together, but hasn’t given much detail. To be honest, Iris is so preoccupied with the baby coming, she hasn’t dug as much as she usually would.”

“So you’re digging for her?” I ask, cocking one brow.

“Something like that.” He flashes a grin. “I mean, some dirty old man is after my wife’s young cousin. It’s my duty to investigate.”

“I wondered when the old man jokes would start,” I say, laughing and shaking my head.

“Expect more of those,” he laughs.

“You guys got a secret, or would you like to share with the rest of the class?” our new coach yells from the other end of the court.

He’s not exactly new. He’s our former assistant coach, Ean Jagger. Coach Kemp, who has led the Waves since we started as an expansion team a few years ago, is battling prostate cancer. Of course, we wish him the best and want him to get better, but it’s also exciting to have such a young, brilliant mind at the helm this season. With his reputation as a master strategist and his off-the-charts basketball IQ, Ean could have any job in the league. We’re grateful, and slightly confused as to why he stayed with an expansion team with no hopes of making the playoffs its first four seasons.

But we’ll take it.

“No secret, Coach,” I reply. “I’m having the sex talk with Rook here. He wasn’t sure how his wife ended up pregnant. I was explaining where everything goes.”