She motions Kenya forward and takes her hand. “This is Kenya,” Jade says. She’s a hard chick, but her eyes soften when she looks at my sister.

“Heard a lot about you, Kenya,” Grip says. “I’ll pray for you trying to put up with this one.”

“Much needed and much appreciated.” Kenya laughs and gestures toward Lotus and me. “This is my brother—”

“Glad!” Grip says. “I didn’t make the connection. What’s up, dude?” He walks over and daps me up. “I’m keeping my eyes on the Waves.” He points a warning finger at me. “Don’t come for my Lakers.”

“Oh, the purple and gold, huh?” I ask.

“For life, bruh,” Grip replies with an apologetic shrug. “I’m an LA kid. I got no choice.”

“You get a pass then,” I tell him, reaching for Lotus’s hand. “This is my girlfriend, Lotus.”

Grip shifts his look to Lotus and then looks back at me, brows raised approvingly. Everyone knows he’s notoriously in love with his wife, Bristol, so I know he means no disrespect. The opposite, actually.

“Hi, Lotus,” Grip says with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, uh . . . well, I’m . . .” She draws a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m such a fan. The show was fantastic.”

“See?” Grip stretches his arm toward Lotus, his palm open. “That’s what I’m talking about. None of you busters gonna even tell a brother he did good.”

He gives Lotus an exaggerated nod and bow. “Thank you, Lotus. Glad someone noticed.”

“Someone needs his ego stroked again?”

The question comes from a woman at the door with dark hair and silvery–grey eyes. She’s not in the public eye much, but I know it’s Grip’s wife, Bristol.

He walks over, drops a quick kiss on her lips, and pulls her in front of him, crossing his arms over her waist. “Don’t come in here talking about stroking if you’re not willing to deal with the consequences, Bris.” He peers down at her, focusing a wicked look and grin on his wife.

“Ewww.” Jade grimaces, walking over to give Bristol a quick hug. “’Sup, Bris. Grip, don’t start with that shit. You got a room around here somewhere. Use it. Where’s the kids? That’s who I really came to see.”

“With Mama James,” Bristol says, settling back against her husband’s chest. “Back at the hotel.”

“I thought they’d be here,” Jade says.

“Just because Grip dragged us on tour with him,” she says, giving him a gentle elbow to the stomach and a grin, “doesn’t mean my children have no structure whatsoever. They’re not rock stars, and are in bed the same time every night.”

“The hotel’s around the corner,” Grip says. “Come back with us. We’re rolling out soon. Another show. Another city tomorrow.” He runs a hand over his face. “I’m exhausted and wanna crash.”

He smiles at us. “You guys are welcome to come with us and have some dinner. My mom smuggles a hot plate into our hotels because she refuses to eat room service. It’s kinda ghetto, but you’d be amazed what she can pull off with such limited resources.”

“That’s Aunt Mittie.” Jade laughs. “Yeah, I need to see her before you roll out.”

She looks up at Kenya. “You down? You gotta meet her.”

Kenya looks to us, a question on her face. As cool as Grip seems, and as much as I’m sure Aunt Mittie can make miracles with only Crisco and a hot plate, I really just want to be alone with Lotus. She’s a Grip fan, though, and I won’t deny her the experience.

“Totally up to you,” I tell Lotus, keeping my expression neutral.

“It sounds like so much fun,” she says.

I swallow my disappointment and start convincing myself that we’ll have time together tomorrow or another day. The closer she gets to Fashion Week, the less time she has. And my time will be non-existent soon because I’ll have to show up for training camp. Then pre-season games, then regular season. Hopefully playoffs.

“But I better not,” Lotus continues. “I have an early morning.” She looks up at me. “I think I should get home and rest,” she says. “That okay with you, Kenan?”

Our eyes cling, and the same banked desire I’ve suppressed all night, fought every time our hands brushed or our legs accidentally connected under the table, burns in the look Lotus gives me.

“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice even. “Early morning here, too.”

“Early morning, my ass,” Kenya says, giving me a knowing look. “Well alright. You still coming to my game tomorrow?”

I reach for a hug and kiss her cheek. She makes a disgusted face in response, and everyone laughs.

“I wouldn’t miss it, baby sister.” I give Jade a quick hug, too. “Great finally meeting you. You’ll be at the game tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Jade replies. “I heard I might get to meet your daughter.”

“Probably not,” I tell her ruefully. “She thought she could make it, but her mom texted me that she has a dance commitment. Maybe next time.”

I turn my attention to Grip and his wife. “Really great meeting you,” I tell them, extending my hand for fist pounds.

He grins, tucking Bristol, who looks like she’s about to fall over from fatigue, in closer to him.

“I love that skirt, Lotus,” Bristol says. “Jean-Pierre Louis?”

“Yeah, it is.” Lotus lifts a frothy layer of her black skirt. “And thanks.”

“I love his stuff,” Bristol adds.

“Lotus works with JP.” I toot her horn, since she obviously doesn’t plan to.

“No way!” Bristol’s eyes widen and sharpen with new respect. “It’s the one show I want to attend during Fashion Week.”

“I can get you a ticket if you like,” Lotus says easily.

“Seriously?” Bristol walks over and pulls her cell from her pocket. “Let me get your number.”

“I was invited to play in the celebrity game at the All-Stars next year,” Grip tells me. “You know ballers want to rap, and rappers want to ball.”

“Not this baller,” Lotus offers. “Kenan’s more of a jazz guy.”

“For real?” Grip’s brows arch. “I love Miles, Monk, Coltrane, Ella. Who you into?”

“All of the above and then some,” I reply, pleased to find someone my age with a real appreciation for another era. “You’ll have to come see my vinyls.”

“Oh, you’ll have to see his, too,” Bristol says with a grin. “He’s obsessed. Vinyl and sneakers.”

“Yeah, I noticed the eighty-fives,” I tell him, nodding to his Jordans.

“Well you know,” he preens, “just a lil’ something for New York.”

We all laugh and start the final round of hugs and goodbyes.

“I’m back on the west coast in a few weeks,” I tell Grip. I don’t look at her, but Lotus stiffens beside me. Her hand clenches mine. “Let’s try to get up before All-Star weekend.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Once we’ve gone our separate ways, Lotus and I walk back to the Great Lawn and into the park. I broach something I’ve been thinking about all night.

“Lotus, we haven’t had much time together since we became . . .” I hesitate over what to call us. “. . . more than friends.”

“True,” she says, linking her elbow with mine. “And it’s only gonna get harder. I’d almost forgotten you have to go back to San Diego soon.”

“Yeah, I got about a month left. Training camp starts in September.” I guide us over to a bench to sit for a second. “I want to make the most of the time we have before I go.”

“And the show is only three weeks away,” she replies. “It’s about to get crazy. No sleep and barely time for anything besides JPL.”

“Yeah, I know.” I bring her fingers to my lips. “Come stay with me tonight. We don’t have to—”

“Yes.” Moonlight softens the angles, the bones of her face. “We don’t have to fuck, you were gonna say.”

I laugh and pull her into me, wishing I could drag her onto my lap right now. “Basically, but I want tonight with you. I want to wake up and have breakfast.”

“French toast, and bacon and eggs?” she asks tauntingly.

“Uh, egg whites and fruit for me,” I reply with a smile. “But go for yours.”

She shifts until our eyes meet.

“Oh, I’m definitely going for mine.”

26

Lotus

On the ride to Kenan’s apartment, we sit in the back of the Uber holding hands, that one point of contact reverberating through every cell of my body. We speak very little, but there’s no need. The air grows heavy with unspoken want and smothered desire. My head spins with fantasies of how he will please me tonight. How I might please him. I’m not planning for this to be the night, but I’m more open to him than I’ve ever been to anyone. It’s not just sex I want, which is all I’ve ever had. It’s that elusive intimacy—the sharing and exchange.

He doesn’t release my hand on our brisk walk through the lobby. As soon as we step onto the elevator, he turns my back to the wall and takes up the seduction his silence began on the long ride home. He nips at my lips, and kisses down my chin and over my breasts, suckling my nipple through my blouse.

“Kenan,” I breathe, my head flung back against the elevator paneling. “I want this.”

He kisses the curve of my neck and shoulder. The elevator dings and opens, and he tugs me by the hand to the door. His long strides make it hard to keep up, but my eagerness has me stumbling to try. Once inside, he turns my back to the wall and goes down on his knees in front of me, a supplicant king. He brushes his tongue repeatedly over the flower blooming around my belly button. I moan, digging my fingers into the dense, ungiving muscles of his shoulders. He drops lower, kissing my pussy through the sheer, fluffy layers of tulle and silk panties, a growl jerked from his throat when he inhales.