“What does that mean?” I ask, hoping my voice sounds more civilized than I feel. “What have you been through, Iris?”

I feel it immediately, the wall erected between us. Her eyes go distant, looking inside herself. “I can’t . . . I mean . . .” Her eyes beg, and I’m willing to do whatever she wants. To give her whatever she needs. “Can we just not talk about that right now?”

Frustration strangles me for a second, but I force myself to calm down. She’ll tell me eventually who I need to maim.

What happened to her?

I nod, twisting our fingers tighter, letting her know I’m not going anywhere.

“Oh.” She shakes her head, confusion back on her face. “Wait. So what happened with the Houston deal? Last I heard, it was all but done.”

Do I tell her the truth? If I tell her what I did, all that I gave up on the off chance she’d be with me, that’s a lot of pressure. On her. On me. On this relationship, once it becomes an actual relationship with dates and daily conversations like normal couples have, and sex . . .

Shit. I’m probably gonna break my dick jerking off so hard before I leave this building.

“August?” she asks again. “What happened with the Houston deal?”

Sneaking around trying to help her, not being completely upfront got us off to a rocky start. I won’t risk that again being anything less than honest.

“When Jared told me you were moving here, I passed on the deal.” My words fall into this chasm of stunned silence. She rears back as if I’ve struck her. Her fingers start loosening from mine, but I don’t let her go.

“No.” I squeeze her hand gently, lifting my other hand to cup her face. “Listen to me.”

“August, that contract was forty . . .” She draws a deep breath before charging on. “Like, forty million dollars.”

“Forty-five, but what’s a few million here and there?” I joke.

“But what about the team?” She asks, ignoring my attempt at humor. “Houston made the finals this year.”

“Yeah.” I stamp down the fear that I’ll never win a championship, never have a ring, the holy grail I’ve pursued most of my life.

“That team is primed for a championship,” she reminds me unnecessarily. “Maybe even next season.”

“Iris, I’m well aware.”

“But it makes no sense. I don’t understand.”

Here’s my chance to get it right. My chance to make sure she knows that, though I’ve been chasing a ball up a court all my life, with this I’m not playing games.

Take the shot.

“Your dreams and ambitions got swallowed up when you had to follow Caleb,” I say, holding her eyes with mine. “I want you to know there’s someone who will follow you.”

She blinks several times, and I can only hope my words are sinking in.

“But you can’t . . . I’m not . . .” She falters and tries again. “August, Houston is your best shot at winning a ring.”

“You’re right.” I loosen my fingers from hers so I can hold her face between both hands. “Going to Houston is my best shot at winning a ring.”

“Then why would you—”

“But staying here,” I cut in, caressing the fullness of her bottom lip with my thumb. “Staying is my best shot at winning you.”

40

Iris

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

It’s not the first time Lo has asked me this question, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Don’t start, Lo,” I mumble, stretched out on my stomach on the living room floor, coloring with Sarai.

“Now tell me again what he said?” she asks, knowing good and damn well what August said. I’ve told her the last four times she’s asked.

“He said Houston is his best shot at winning a championship,” I repeat, stripping all the emotion from my voice but swooning all over again inside, “but staying here is his best shot at winning me.”

“Damn, he’s good.” Lo gathers a fistful of popcorn. “The last thing I would be telling that man is that I want to go slow.”

I don’t answer but keep my head down and focus on coloring in the lines.

“More like, let’s go right now.” She squints at the television mounted on the wall. “Now, which number is he?”

I glance up from the Frozen coloring book to the television broadcasting the Waves game. The players’ backs are turned into the huddle for a time-out.

“He’s number thirty-three. It was his dad’s number, too.”

“Now his dad was a brother or what?”

“Yeah, his dad was black. His mother’s white. His father actually played in the NBA, too. He died in a car accident his second season.”

“Oh, man. That’s rough.”

We both glance at the television when the crowd cheers. August just made a three-pointer. He high-fives his teammates.

I could be there. In the month we’ve been in San Diego, August has offered Sarai and me tickets, but we’ve never gone. They’re still in pre-season, though, and this is an exhibition game. The regular season doesn’t start until the end of this month, and I promise myself I’ll go to some of those games despite the public scrutiny that will inevitably follow if I’m associated with Caleb’s biggest rival.

“I’m glad he’s having a good game.” I smile, because I know he’ll text me after and ask if I watched, and what I thought, and how’d he do.

“Hmmmmmmmm. Look at all that curly hair.” Lo slides a sly glance from the television to me, watching for a response.

I glance up again, and my heart triple times. August stands at the free-throw line. Of course, he makes the shot. He’s a ninety percent free-throw shooter.

“He does have great hair,” I admit neutrally. It’s shorter than when I saw him in Baltimore, when it clung to my fingers like hungry silk, but he was rehabbing then.

“That man is fine,” Lo says. “He could get it.”

My head snaps up and my eyes shoot venom.

“There we go!” Lo points to my face and laughs. “About damn time. I’m just trying to gauge if you’re feeling him or not.”

Oh, I’m feeling him. I’m feeling . . . everything, and it scares me to death.

“So he’s okay with you taking things slow?” Lo probes further.

“Yeah.” An involuntary smile tugs at my lips, and I drop my crayon. “You know he has a Louisiana iris at my desk every morning when I get to work?”

“Well, he’s rich. He can afford to have it delivered.”

“Nope.” I shake my head and suspect I may look dreamy. “On the way to his early morning workouts, he delivers it himself. He even leaves handwritten notes.”

“What do the notes say?”

I shrug, biting my bottom lip and caressing the blue–gray crayon that matches his eyes almost exactly.

“Simple things like I hope you have a good day.” I giggle and feel my cheeks heat up. “Or you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Are we still going slow?

I’d play you at the five.

I can’t wait for our next kiss. Remember our first?

Our first kiss ended with his head between my legs and my best orgasm to date. In a closet, no less. What could August accomplish with a bed?

“We talk about everything,” I continue with a smile. “Work, life, ball. It’s so easy, so natural for us.”

Lotus sits up on the couch, leaning forward and pressing her elbows to her knees.

“He sounds like a great guy. He’s fine as hell.”

“He loves Sarai,” I add with a smile. “Every time he’s in the Elevation building he goes by to see her, even if it’s just for a few minutes. She can’t say his full name, so she calls him Gus. He hates it, but he won’t make her stop.”

“You’ve already fallen for him,” Lo says softly.

Groaning, I flip onto my back, the coloring book abandoned. Of course, I’ve fallen for him. I’m not an idiot. I started falling for him the day we met, and I haven’t stopped falling since.

“That doesn’t change how I need to handle this,” I tell Lo, my eyes fixed to the beamed ceiling in our small house. It’s in a great neighborhood, but our place is small—just the right size for Sarai and me. A tiny square of grass serves as our backyard, and we have a lemon tree that scents the air when we sit outside. There’s a second-hand . . . okay, third- or fourth-hand car in the driveway, purchased with a little bit of the money MiMi left for Lo and me to split. It’s not much, but it’s all mine.

“When I told you to change your course,” Lo says, bringing me back, her eyes and voice matched for seriousness, “I didn’t just mean find a job. There’s a life out there, girl. You are not just somebody’s mama.”

“And I’m not just somebody’s woman either,” I say curtly. “Believe me. I’ve been that.”

“Don’t let Caleb win, Bo.”

Since Lo helped me escape and already knows what happened, she’s really my only outlet to speak freely about it. That NDA keeps me locked down, but it’s also the agreement that gave me my freedom.

“I’m not letting him win.” I sit, finding her eyes and looking at her straight. “I just have reservations.”

“About August?”

I shrug, not sure where my reservations stem from, but sure that I have them.

“It’s hard to trust again,” I admit. “I missed all the signs with Caleb. The jealousy and possessiveness. Pressing for deeper commitment than I was ready for. Isolating me from the people I care about. When you’re that wrong about someone, it makes you cautious.”

“And that’s it?” Lotus presses.

“I also worry about what Caleb will think—what he’ll do.”