Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Susan crossed the hardwood flooring to examine the caramel-colored drapes. “Almost back to your old self.”

Faye helped their pregnant friend get comfortable before sprawling onto Marilyn’s sofa. “The tilapia was good. But next time we get pizza. I get enough of that healthy shit with Jarrett.”

“So what are you going to do about Jordan Hyatt?” Susan wandered the room, touching the framed artwork mounted to the walls and fingering the sculptures placed around the room.

“I don’t know yet.” Marilyn settled into the other armchair. “I’ve got to find a way to let people know she’s a liar.”

Faye sat straighter in the sofa. “Why don’t you call your own press conference?”

“That’s one idea.” Susan circled back to the black lacquered entertainment system in the room’s corner. “But it would be even better if you could get her to admit—publicly—that she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Peggy combed her fingers through her ash blond hair. “How is she going to do that?”

Faye scowled. “I mean, the pictures were so small, how could she tell what the tattoo was?”

Marilyn had a mental picture of a light coming on. She blinked in its brightness. “She couldn’t.”

Peggy’s grin spread slowly. “That’s right. Now we’ve just got to get her to admit it in public.”

Susan flipped her light brown hair behind her shoulder to get a closer look at the sound system. “I’ve got that covered. A friend of mine has a popular radio talk show. He’s always asking me to convince Darius to go on his show.” She looked at the other women from over her shoulder. “Either he’s lost his mind or he thinks I’ve lost mine. I don’t give up my man like that.”

Faye inclined her head. “I know that’s right.”

“But he’d lose his mind over the opportunity to have Jordan Hyatt as a guest on his show and Mary as a caller.” Susan took another look at the Grease CD.

Marilyn gaped. Ice cubes danced in her stomach. “Me? I’ve never called in to a talk show before.”

“Don’t worry, Sandra Dee.” Susan faced Marilyn, waving the CD case. “Once we’re done with you, Barbara Walters will be calling for tips.”

Pandemonium greeted Warrick when he arrived home Sunday afternoon. After his four hours of working out and practicing with the team, he’d showered and changed before coming home.

Warrick locked the back door and followed the raised voices to his family room. His entrance brought an abrupt end to the shouting, allowing him to identify the participants if not the reason for the argument.

“Mom. Dad. I would ha

ve come home sooner if I’d known you were visiting.” His sneakers were silent as he walked farther into the room, taking in the sparks shooting from Kerri Evans’s eyes and the tight line of John Evans’s lips.

“Are you sure?”

He ignored his father’s question and offered his in-laws a socially acceptable lie. “Hello, Terrell, Celeste. It’s nice to see you. I didn’t realize you were coming, either.”

Celeste gave him a dispassionate once-over, taking in his tan khakis and black jersey. “Were you at work?”

He ignored Celeste’s biting sarcasm. Warrick knew she didn’t consider his profession legitimate work. Hours of training, film and playbook study, and team meetings all amounted to a hobby as far as Terrell and Celeste Devry were concerned. But for him, they’d all added up to an Eastern Conference Championship and a one-and-one game record against the Denver Nuggets in the NBA finals.

Warrick drew closer to Marilyn. He resisted the allure of her jasmine scent. “Why were you arguing?”

She gestured to both sets of parents. “My parents are paying us a surprise visit.”

Warrick’s brows jumped up his forehead. “All the way from San Francisco? That’s quite a surprise.” He glanced at Terrell and Celeste. In their formal clothes, they looked ready for a board of trustees’ meeting for one of the organizations that benefited from their support. What was behind this impulse trip?

“That’s right.” Marilyn’s smile was tight around the edges. “And, by happy coincidence, your parents came by to see you.”

With an effort, Warrick kept an even tone. “Yes, that’s great.” How many socially acceptable lies was a person allowed in one day?

Celeste managed a delicate snort of disbelief. “Don’t worry. Terrell and I aren’t staying long. We’re just here to bring our daughter home.”

Shock cut through him. “My wife is home.”