Hoops Holiday

by Ryan, Kennedy

  “We’re here,” Iris says, her sweet, deep voice jolting me out of my thoughts.

  She squeezes my thigh and trails kisses under my jaw. “And remember we’re not staying long.”

  Our gazes hold, our eyes making promises for later tonight. I scoop up Sarai and she yawns so wide and long her eyes water.

  “We don’t have to go to the party,” I tell her, smoothing her hair back. “If you’re too tired.”

  “No, I want to go,” she says, forcefully perking up.

  “Okay, but we can’t stay long.” I fake a yawn to match hers. “Daddy needs to rest. I’m so tired.”

  “You are?” Surprise widens her sleepy eyes.

  “I am, and we gotta be up early tomorrow for our flight back to California.”

  “Good. It’s cold here,” she mumbles into the wool of my coat. “I want my swimming pool.”

  “I know, baby.” I shift her on my hip and take Iris’ hand when we enter the hotel.

  “That looks like our tree.” Sarai points to the center of the lobby.

  “It’s beautiful,” Iris says, looking around the lobby, outfitted for Christmas with lights and a brightly decorated tree. Ahead of us, a hotel attendant waits at a stand with a list. He checks our names off, walks us to the private elevator and punches in a code.

  “Oh!” Iris says, holding the elevator door. “Can you make sure Lotus DuPree and guest are on your list?”

  The attendance consults his list, confirming with a nod and a smile.

  “Aunt Lo’s coming?” Sarai asks, perking up. Those two have a special connection. Iris is just praying Lotus doesn’t teach our daughter any of her voodoo tricks when we’re not looking.

  “Yes.” Iris fixes her eyes on the illuminated ascending numbers. “For a little bit.”

  It seems half the San Diego Waves team is here, along with several guys from the front office. I spot Deck with his arm around Avery Hughes. He and the SportsCo anchor no longer hide their relationship, and I’d lay bets we’ll be hearing wedding bells for those two soon.

  Every corner of the penthouse suite is decorated and occupied. I count three Christmas trees, two bars, and I’ve stopped counting people.

  “Full house,” Iris says, taking Sarai’s hand when I set her on her feet. “Oh, good. There’s a few other wives and kids here.”

  “Will you have to play on Christmas next year, Daddy?” Sarai asks.

  “Let’s hope so.” I offer a wry grin. “It usually means people want to see your team play, and I hope people keep wanting to see the Waves.”

  “We’ll just cross our fingers that next year will be in San Diego,” Iris says, smiling and stroking Sarai’s hair. “You sleepy, Princess?”

  “Not anymore,” Sarai replies, her eyes roving the sparkling room stuffed with well-dressed adults laughing, talking, even a few gathered around a baby grand at the other end of the suite and singing Christmas songs. We listen to a few carols, make the rounds and talk to mostly people from the team, grazing food and sipping drinks.

  “Remember we’re only staying for a little bit,” I tell Sarai, but look meaningfully at Iris. I don’t want all this Christmas cheer to derail the hot fuck we’ve penciled in.

  Iris tosses me an amused glance, and twists her lips into a knowing wry curve.

  “Bo!”

  Iris’ head turns sharply at the nickname only Lotus uses. Her face lights up as soon as she spots her cousin, who’s more like a sister.

  “Lo!” she calls back. The cousins close the space separating them with a few quick strides, arms outstretched.

  “Heyyyyy, girl.” Lotus returns Iris’ squeeze, closing her eyes and burying her face in my wife’s hair for a second. Their embrace goes beyond the typical greeting. Even so physically different, there is something about them that is the same. Iris, with her lighter skin and long, silky hair, still seems somehow genetically connected to Lotus with her golden brown skin and trademark platinum braids gathered into a low side knot at her neck. Connected by more than genetics, but by something deeper. Both swipe at tears and sniff even as they smile into each other’s eyes. Lotus pulls back, inspecting Iris’ face with such intent you’d think she’s reading a diary entry.

  “Something’s different,” she says after a few seconds. “What’s going on with you?”

  I don’t understand Lotus’ intuition; her way of seeing beneath the surface of things, but it’s consistent. Like Lotus, I refuse to believe in her voodoo nonsense, but there’s no denying she has some inexplicable sixth sense. Tonight, though she hasn’t figured it out yet, it’s probably that Iris is pregnant.

  “Girl, what?” Iris says lightly, waving her hand dismissively, playing it off. “Maybe I cut my hair since you saw me last. That’s probably it.”

  “No, it’s something else.” Lotus narrows her eyes and runs a glance from Iris’ head to her toes. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Whatever, Lo.” Iris rolls her eyes and grins. “You haven’t even said hello to your biggest fan yet.”

  Lotus immediately turns her full attention to my daughter, and they both squeal like little girls. Well, Sarai is a little girl. Lotus is just genuinely thrilled to see her.

  “Have you been a good girl?” Lotus asks. It’s not the teasing adults usually use to ask children that question. There’s a weight to it, like Sarai’s answer matters. And Sarai answers in kind, her little face mirroring the seriousness of Lotus’ expression when she nods that she has been.

  “Good!” Lotus brightens like someone turned on the Christmas lights. “Because I have your gift.”

  “Yay!” Sarai claps and jumps up and down in her Christmas sweater and skirt. Her little hand pops out, ready for whatever goodies Lotus has for her.

  “Oh, darn it.,” Lotus says, a frown pinching her thick brows together. “Where’s my bag?”

  “Right here, Lo,” a man says from behind me. If Upper Eastside private school had a sound, it would be this man’s voice. I turn to find a guy, a little over average height, with his blond-streaked chestnut hair gathered into a man bun. A grin creases his pretty boy face and he hands Lo a coat and small clutch bag.

  “You took off running and literally left me holding the bag,” the guy continues.

  “Oh, sorry.” Lo takes the items with a quick smile. “Guys, this is Chase Montclair. He’s one of New York’s most promising photographers.”

  She shoots him a wry, teasing smile. “At least that’s what he keeps telling everybody.”

  “Very funny.” Chase extends his hand in greeting, and Iris and I both shake it. “Hey. Merry Christmas.”

  He has soft hands, like the hardest thing he’s ever done is lift that camera. I shouldn’t judge, but I’m probably biased because of the way he keeps looking at Lotus like she’s Christmas dinner. Kenan has no claim to Lo, and they’ve only met a handful of times, exchanged so few words, but I still wish Chase wasn’t here with Kenan on the way.

  “Grabbed you a drink, babe,” Chase says, proffering a glass to Lotus.

  Babe? Iris and I exchange a look, both of us lifting eyebrows high.

  “Ooooh. Aperol,” Lotus sighs and takes a long sip. “You know me so well.”

  Does he? Who is this guy?

  By the curious glances Iris darts between Lotus and Chase, she’s as clueless as I am. I catch a glimpse of Kenan entering, taller than just about everyone, which is saying something in a roomful of basketball players. His customary scowl clears when he sees me. Lo is as petite as Kenan is tall, so I don’t think he sees her through all the trees present until he’s right up on us.

  “Rook, long time, no see,” he jokes and daps me up. His eyes drift around our small circle until they land on Lotus. Seems every time they’re in a room together, which hasn’t been often, a staring match ensues. Tonight is no different. A wordless war is being waged between them. Kenan watches Lotus like she might take off running at any minute, which usually happens. She stares back like a wily fox who finds herself in a trap, b
ut isn’t out of options yet.

  “Dude, you’ve got great forearms,” Chase says, snapping the living thread stretching between their stares. Kenan shifts his glance from Lotus to the soft, pale hand caressing Lotus’ neck, and then to Chase’s face.

  “Excuse me?” One arrogant lift of Kenan’s brow sends some grown men scurrying, but Chase is too oblivious to know he should be cautious with his next words.

  “Your forearms,” Chase repeats, gesturing to where Kenan has pushed up the sleeves of his sweater, baring the whipcord muscle and veins of his lower arms. “Sorry. I’m a photographer. Noticing shit like that is my job.”

  His comment falls into silence about as friendly as a vat of acid. Kenan tilts his head, studying Chase like he’s some other species. Maybe Millennial Manbunian. I’m privately congratulating myself on that bit of clever dopeness, when Lotus makes her move. Her move being to peace out.

  “Speaking of your job,” she says, finishing her Aperol and placing the glass on a passing tray. “We should get going. My boss is throwing a Christmas party tonight and we’re supposed to be there. He’s really big on these parties.”

  “But we just got—”

  “Stay if you want,” Lotus interrupts Chase’s protest. “I’m out.”

  Lotus is one of the fiercest women I know, and I’ve never seen her run from anything. I have no idea why, but she’s running from Kenan. Iris offers him a subtle shrug, silently apologizing for something that isn’t her fault. Kenan doesn’t acknowledge her, but grabs a whiskey from a server walking past. He holds the liquor in one hand, crosses his arms over his chest and turns his glance back to Lotus and Chase.

  I survey the festive opulence of the penthouse suite, taking in the guys I battle with on the court night in and night out. We’ll have the briefest of reprieves for the holiday. In just two days, we’re back on the road for the last two thirds of a grueling eighty-two game season. I want to go back to our hotel, put Sarai to bed, fuck my wife like it’s nineteen-ninety-nine, even though we’re well past that, and tomorrow, go home. There’s a cluster of suited men supplicating around Decker. I see that dude all the time, and will see him next week back in Cali. There’s no reason to stay.

  “I’m with Lo,” I bend to whisper in Iris’s ear. “Let’s be out.”

  Iris

  “Let’s be out,” August whispers to me.

  I am so down for that. Sarai’s initial fascination with the holiday scene and all her daddy’s “giant” friends has faded into exhaustion. She’ll sleep through the night, and if we’re lucky, she’ll sleep in. And if I’m lucky . . .

  It feels like hot steam being carried through my blood, the way I want August tonight. These hormones . . . I can’t get enough of my husband.

  He has not complained.

  I’m pregnant. A bubble of joy expands around my heart. I look at August, the man literally of my dreams through the darkest season of my life, and my daughter, the only good that came from my relationship with Caleb. I have been content for a long time, but now, this new life growing inside of me, is my cup running over. Such great joy spilling over the sides and saturating my life with more blessings.

  I blink away tears. Lotus’ sharp eyes have already seen more than I was ready to reveal. And then it hits me, I want her to know. August and I agreed that we would carry our secret to New Year’s Eve, and then tell only those closest to us, but it’s so rare I see Lotus these days. My life is filled with a demanding career I’ve carved out for myself, raising my daughter, and sharing every drop of happiness with my husband on the West Coast. And Lotus lives at warp speed here in New York, traveling to Paris, Milan, Hong Kong. She’s become that designer’s right hand of sorts. Who knows when we’ll see each other again.

  I tip up on my toes and slip my fingers into the abundance of August’s dark, silky curls, longer than his mama prefers, and exactly how I like it.

  “Hey,” I whisper to him. “I know we said we’d wait til New Year’s to tell everyone, but what do you think about me telling Lotus tonight?”

  He turns his head, and only a breath charged with what I’ve had to deny myself all day separates us. He dips and kisses me. The kiss, light though it is, feels like gasoline poured on the fire in my belly. I pull back, panting, breasts heaving. His smile is knowing and his eyes ravenous. He’d give me the moon if I asked for it right now.

  “Whatever you want,” he replies, sliding his wide palm down my back to rest at the curve of my ass. “Just promise we’ll leave in the next two minutes. I need to be inside you.”

  I close my eyes against a wave of want and nod jerkily. He’s barely touching me, but electricity fans out from his fingers at my waist and draws my nipples tight. My pussy clenches and contracts with the desire he stirs in me effortlessly.

  “We’re leaving, too,” I tell Lotus. I clear my throat of the huskiness and continue. “It’s been a long day. I’m sorry we didn’t have more time together this trip.”

  “Yeah, but I’m in LA next month.” Lotus smiles down at Sarai, tucking a lock of thick hair behind her ear. “Now are you sure you were a good girl because I can’t give you the Christmas present if you weren’t.”

  “I was good.” Sarai strains on her toes, eyes stretched wide and earnest. “Mommy, tell her I’ve been good.”

  Everyone in our little circle laughs. The grim line of Kenan’s mouth even yields a small smile. I don’t know what it is between him and Lotus, but she is avoiding it like the plague.

  “Okay,” Lotus says. “Well if you’ve been good.”

  She goes down on her knees, careless of the obviously expensive leather dress molding her petite curves. I understand why Kenan keeps staring at her. I’ve seen her all my life, but she seems to be blossoming even more before my eyes. Her face is expertly made up, a cat eye emphasizing the natural slant of eyes fringed with fake lashes and lined with mystery. Her skin, honey and cinnamon, glows against the platinum braids gathered in an elegant knot at her neck.

  She reaches into her clutch and draws out a pale pink sachet bag with a cream silk drawstring tie.

  “What is it?” Sarai asks, her eyes bright as gold coins.

  “That’s why you open it, silly,” Lotus laughs and puts the bag in Sarai’s tiny palm.

  For some reason, I find myself holding my breath. The satchel stirs a memory I’d forgotten. Of Mimi giving us gris gris rings in bags that looked like this. My glance zips to Lotus, only to find her looking up at me, searching my face for approval. I caress the silver ring on my right hand and remember the painful days without it; when Caleb stole and hid it from me. And I remember the sense of rightness when it rested on my finger again. I give Lotus a small nod and blink back tears again.

  Damn hormones. Horny and emotional.

  “A ring!” Sarai’s mouth makes a delighted “o,” and her smile stretches across her little face. “For me?”

  “Just for you,” Lotus says, still on her knees. “I made this ring for you.”

  “You made it?” I ask, my pulse skidding. Mimi made ours, and I didn’t even know Lotus knew how.

  “Yes, I made it,” Lotus returns solemnly, her eyes fixed on Sarai’s face. “Look at me, little girl.”

  Sarai looks up, and the wonder of the gift dims when she meets the seriousness of Lotus’ expression.

  “You remember Mimi?” she asks, and I recognize the shadow that passes through Lotus’ eyes as sorrow. She still grieves our great-grandmother who raised her. Even though she was so young when we took shelter in the bayou with Mimi, Sarai remembers her. She made quite an impression on everyone who crossed her path.

  Sarai nods, her gaze locked with Lotus’.

  “She made my ring.” Lotus raises the ring finger of her left hand where she wears her gris gris. “And she made your mama’s, too.”

  Sarai looks up and over her shoulder at me, her eyes dropping to the ring even now I’m stroking.

  “It’s protection and you never take it off,” Lotus says, her tone fi
rm, serious. “Tu comprends, oui?”

  Hearing the French tongue Mimi taught her when she was so young seems to startle Sarai. I’m much less fluent than Lotus. I don’t use French at all really, but Sarai first learned to talk in the bayou with Mimi, and half her first words were English and the other half, French. Looking at her, between my German father and her blond, blue-eyed father, our Creole heritage has been so diluted, you’d never know Sarai’s Creole ancestors hail from the belly of the Bayou.

  “Oui,” she replies softly.

  “Is that some of your voodoo shit, Lo?” Chase asks, the cocksure grin on his handsome face at odds with the hesitation in his voice.

  I’d forgotten he was even there. The world had narrowed down to my daughter and my closest relation, and the significance of the gift she was bestowing. I’d forgotten about Kenan, too, whose attention remains fixed on Lotus.

  Lotus stands, smoothing the creases in the leather dress from squatting on the floor.

  “Shut up, Chase,” she says easily, the look she offers him indulgent. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

  “Voodoo?” Kenan asks, a deep vee between his eyebrows. “Like potions and spells voodoo?”

  Lotus looks way up at him, meeting his skepticism directly.

  “What do you know about it?” she asks, one sleek brow cocked in challenge. “Spells and potions and hexes and Hollywood?”

  “I know it’s not real,” Kenan scoffs.

  She steps closer until she stands right in front of him, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. Even in heels she barely reaches his shoulder.

  “Not real?” Lotus smiles like a cat toying with a ball of yarn. “How do you know I haven’t cast a spell on you?”

  Something flares, sparks in the dark depths of Kenan’s eyes and he bends until their faces almost align.

  “Because a woman like you,” he says softly, so softly that I think only Lotus and I can hear. “Doesn’t need spells to make a man want her.”

  In my head, I scratch a point for Kenan on my air scoreboard.

  Good one.

  The seconds draw out like an accordion as they stare at one another, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the lights flicker there is so much power in the silent exchange. Lotus rubs her gris gris ring with the pad of her thumb and finally snaps the thread between them.