Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

The Waves chased the Monarchs center to midcourt.

One second.

The buzzer sounded. The series was over. The Monarchs had won.

Warrick raised both fists into the air, threw his head back, and roared his joy. Jamal leaped onto him and they crashed to the ground, laughing and shouting. The Monarchs bench cleared and charged onto the court.

They’d won the series. They were the Eastern Conference Champions. They were going to the NBA finals. The quest for the ring continued.

Marilyn had screamed herself almost raw watching Warrick and the Monarchs win the Eastern Conference Championship. The title was the culmination of his dream. It also brought him that much closer to the NBA Championship ring and—hopefully—retirement.

She was dizzy with excitement. She should have watched the game with at least one other member of the Monarchs Wives Club so she could share these feelings with someone else. What were they doing now?

Marilyn reached for her cellular phone to call Peggy Coleman, but the local sportscaster’s words stayed her hand.

“We have in the studio with us tonight Jordan Hyatt, the alleged pregnant mistress of Monarchs’ forward Warrick Evans.”

Marilyn’s eyes shot back to the television to see the tall, thin anchor sitting beside the short, plump imposter. “Oh, my God. Are you kidding me?”

Jordan Hyatt’s round face was heavily made up, even for the television appearance. And sometime between her first press conference and tonight’s interview, she’d had wavy extensions added to her reddish brown hair. She looked like a different person. Who was she trying to be?

Marilyn fisted both hands in her lap and forced herself to watch the program. What did this fraud have to say?

The young man turned to his guest. “Jordan, what’s your reaction to the Monarchs winning the Eastern Conference Championship tonight?”

Marilyn’s jaw dropped. The media had sunk to a new low. It was obscene that the anchor should ask a woman pretending to be her husband’s mistress for her reaction to Warrick’s conference title. Never mind that Marilyn would never have agreed to the interview. Jordan Hyatt’s appearance on the local news program was highly inappropriate.

Jordan cocked her head flirtatiously and granted the former frat boy a shy smile. “I’m very happy for Ricky. I know this championship has been his dream for a very long time.” She touched her stomach and giggled. “And I’m happy for me and our baby as well. Our son—or daughter—will be very proud of his father.”

Marilyn blinked, then blinked again. “This can’t be happening. Am I actually seeing this?”

The sportscaster’s eyes dropped to Jordan’s stomach. “An NBA champion for a father. Who wouldn’t want that, right?”

Another giggle. Jordan petted her stomach. “Right.”

The anchor continued. “Jordan, there are people who think you’re not telling the truth about being Rick Evans’s mistress. What do you say to those people?”

Marilyn shouted toward the television. “She’s lying!” But, of course, the sportscaster didn’t hear her.

Jordan lowered her eyes, still stroking her stomach as though it were a poodle. “I’d say those people were very jealous people who envied my happiness with Ricky. Some people are so mean and unhappy themselves that they don’t want to see other people happy.”

Marilyn’s eyes stretched wide. “Is she unstable?”

The program’s host frowned. “But Rick Evans hasn’t acknowledged your relationship.”

Jordan giggled. Was that noise a nervous tick? “What do you expect Ricky to say, silly? He’s married. Of course he’s not going to admit to being in love with me when he’s still married.”

Marilyn blinked. “She’s unstable.”

The anchor looked nonplussed. “Well, if you knew he didn’t want his wife to know, why did you call a press conference to announce not only your relationship but your pregnancy?”

Jordan lifted her chin defiantly. “I’m not ashamed of our love.”

A wave of nausea washed over Marilyn. She swallowed back the bile.

The anchor waited but Jordan didn’t add anything. “Did you tell him you were going to call a press conference ?”

Jordan shook her head. “No.”