Block Shot: A HOOPS Novel

by Kennedy Ryan

  “Whoa,” Maybe Jimmy says, eyes stretched. “Are you saying she fucked Vidale to get the job?”

  My muscles tighten, straining with the effort not to slam Mitch’s head into the bar. Everyone knows how good Banner is. These assholes don’t commission a third of what she makes. Jealousy is an ugly emotion that makes you do and say petty things. A defense for her burns the tip of my tongue, but I say nothing. I swallow my Jameson, my frustration, and that same nameless emotion clawing at my insides.

  “At least now they aren’t trying to hide it anymore,” Mitch says. “I’m surprised Cal hasn’t put a stop to it. If their relationship goes south, Bagley could lose our best baller.”

  “What if he knows it won’t go south?” Maybe Jimmy asks. “If this has been going on for years, they might be getting married or something.”

  My boyfriend is a good man.

  “Even marriage is no guarantee,” I hear myself saying. “And if Banner is stupid enough to fuck her client now, she has to know people will think that’s how she landed him in the first place.”

  As soon as I say the harsh words, I want to take them back, but it’s too late. Mitch looks past my shoulder, and his eyes widen. His mouth drops open.

  “B-Banner,” he stutters. “Uh . . . We were just . . . Pull up a chair. Have a drink.”

  I close my eyes, praying to the whiskey gods that Banner didn’t hear my last comment. When I turn on my barstool, there is no doubt in my mind that she heard every word.

  “Let me get this straight,” she says through tight lips, ignoring Mitch’s pitiful cover-up attempt. “I got where I am by fucking Zo. Do I have it right?”

  “Banner,” I start.

  “Fuck you, Jared.” She doesn’t even look at me when she says it. She glares at Maybe Jimmy. “You haven’t signed a new client in two years, and the few you have left are jumping like you’re the Titanic because you’ve managed their careers into the toilet.”

  She points to Mitch. “Cal Bagley would have fired you years ago if your father wasn’t his best friend. I spend half my time cleaning up your shit and the other half taking up your slack.”

  Her eyes, when they shift to me, are obsidian. Hard. Dark. Cold. Even when she’s been furious with me in the past, irritated with me, she’s never looked at me this way.

  “And how dare you intimate that anyone would assume I’m successful because I fuck my clients?” She hurls the question at me.

  “I didn’t say—”

  “When you wouldn’t even own your agency,” she cuts over me, “if your brother hadn’t bought it for you. So is your success because of nepotism?”

  The hell?

  I stand up fast and step so close, I smell her shampoo. After all these years, it’s the same scent. Something fresh and clean and distinctly hers. I step so close her head falls back so she can maintain her glare, but she doesn’t fall back. I’m so close the sight of her in this black dress hugging her curves, with her hair piled high on her head like a crown, swallows up my peripheral vision and Banner is all I see.

  “You should get your facts straight before you speak,” I say so low only she can hear me, though I’m sure Mitch and Maybe Jimmy strain to catch it.

  “And you should be careful before you insult me,” she returns, her words a challenge, a pistol drawn. “Or my boyfriend.”

  I don’t allow myself many regrets. I don’t say I’m sorry often simply because I’m usually not. I say what I mean. I mean what I say, and I stand behind it. If it hurts someone, as long as it was true, I’m not sorry. But I regret saying that about Banner to these two idiots. I don’t think it’s a good idea for agents to date clients, and I expressed as much to Banner at the game, but saying it to Mitch and Maybe Jimmy felt wrong. Tearing Banner down feels wrong.

  I bend until we’re eye level, stare to unflinching stare.

  “I’m sorry, Ban,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have said it.”

  She blinks like my apology startled her and steps back, inserting space between us. She spares a quick glance at Mitch and Maybe Jimmy before looking back up at me.

  “You’re not sorry, Jared,” she says softly, glaring at me. “But you will be.”

  That’s her parting shot. She turns on her high heels and leaves the bar, dignity in the set of her shoulders and indignation in the rigid line of her back.

  It’s only when I’m still at the bar long after Mitch and Maybe Jimmy have left, nursing my fourth Jameson, that I process what’s happened. For once I allowed emotion to get the best of me, and I said something I should never have said in front of people who should never have heard me say it.

  Ironically, it’s only when I’m almost too drunk to stand that I gain perfect clarity. Only when the room starts spinning am I still enough to understand.

  My boyfriend is a good man.

  You should be careful before you insult me or my boyfriend.

  Banner praising Zo. Banner protecting Zo. Banner being with Zo.

  That emotion that has been choking me since I heard Banner speak today—hell, maybe since August told me about Banner dating Zo—that emotion is the one that makes you do and say petty things. That emotion has a name.

  It’s jealousy.

  12

  Jared

  “So you survived your first lice infestation, huh?” I ask August. He’s on speaker phone and I’m on my laptop, checking the market, half my attention on my brother, the other half on the numbers.

  “Barely and only because Iris came home early,” he replies from the other end. “She loved the conference, by the way.”

  “Yeah, she told me.” I squint at the upward pointing arrow on the last investment Bent told me about. Maybe time to buy more shares.

  “She especially enjoyed Banner Morales,” August says.

  My fingers pause over the keyboard at the mention of Banner. I’ve been back three days and the burn in my belly hasn’t gone away. It’s like a half-lit stick of dynamite, a sizzle waiting to blow. I don’t know if I’m waiting for her to make a move or to make mine. Either way, something will happen.

  “Yeah, she told me Banner’s session was great,” I say after a few moments.

  “She said you were in the session,” August continues, a question in his voice.

  “Sounds like Iris said a lot. Glad she enjoyed it.”

  “Are you seriously considering recruiting Banner to Elevation? Because I think it’s a great idea. I’d love to have Kenan represented through us instead of Bagley.”

  “Not that I’m saying I’d try for Banner,” I say neutrally, “but you think Kenan would leave Bagley and follow her?”

  “Pffft. In a second. Kenan will never leave Banner. He trusts her, and you know how hard it is for Kenan to trust anyone.”

  “Yeah, with good reason after the number his ex did on him.”

  “Not ex yet. She’s still giving him a hard time on the divorce.”

  “You gotta be shitting me. She cheats with one of his teammates and has the audacity to pitch a fit?”

  “She’s frustrated because Banner made sure his prenup was iron tight. She worked with his lawyer to build in special protections. Apparently, Banner didn’t trust her from the beginning.”

  “Yeah. Banner has good instincts.”

  “Which brings me back to my question,” August says, persistent son of a bitch. “Think she’d come to Elevation?”

  Not as long as I’m here.

  “Who knows?” I say aloud, completing the transaction to buy more shares. “We can revisit the Banner thing later, though I don’t hold out much hope that she would leave Bagley when he just gave her the LA office to manage.”

  “Just wondering. I like her. She’s smart and honest.”

  “True on both counts,” I agree. “But I will have some good news about Lamont Christopher the next time we talk.”

  “Going number one in the draft Lamont Christopher?” Surprise colors August’s voice. “Damn, bruh. That would be quite the coup. I thought i
t was all but a done deal with Mitch Sanderson.”

  “It’s never a done deal with Sanderson because Sanderson couldn’t ‘do’ a deal if his mother’s life depended on it. It’s still developing. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Do that.”

  “And enjoy the Bahamas,” I say, remembering the trip they have planned. “You and the fam deserve a little post-season vacay.”

  “I’d rather be in the playoffs,” August says solemnly.

  “The Waves are an expansion team,” I remind him unnecessarily. “One you chose to stay with when you had the chance to play for a championship squad.”

  Even though it turned out well, it still grates that one of the best deals I ever negotiated got left on the table when August walked away from it.

  “Is this really the best time for an I-told-you-so conversation?” August asks, irritation clear in his tone.

  “It is when I told you so.” I laugh at the heavy sigh he releases on speaker phone. “Soon, Brother. It takes time. And with you and Kenan on the same team, it’s only a matter of time.”

  “We do work well together,” he admits. “Which reminds me, we have a charity project we wanna collab on. I need to talk it through with you. Sponsors and details and stuff.”

  “Sure.” I glance up when Chyna walks in, an I-got-a-secret smirk plastered on her face. “Hey, let’s talk later, Gus. Some developments with that Christopher kid I need to handle.”

  “Nice. Alright, Brother. Later.”

  I disconnect and lean back in my chair, hands linked over my stomach while Chyna plops down into the seat on the other side of my desk.

  “Whatcha got?” I ask, returning her eager smile.

  “Lamont and his cousin Eric enjoyed their night on the town,” she purrs, flicking one dreadlock over her shoulder and sinking deeper into the leather seat.

  “Good.” I grimace remembering that night. “They went hard. I could barely keep up.”

  “Well we did provide a bottomless stack of singles in LA’s hottest strip club,” Chyna says wryly. “So going hard was the point.”

  “Any fruit from our labor?” My voice is casual, but inside I’m anything but laid back. I’ve never liked or respected Mitch Sanderson, but after the things he said about Banner, blocking his shot feels personal. My inner tiger wants off the leash.

  The daughter of a lion is still a lion.

  She thinks I’m in The Pride, which means she still thinks that night was about some stupid rite of passage. Over the years, as the gulf between us widened, it seemed less important that she believe me. She had her life, her career in New York, and I had mine in Chicago. Now that we’re in the same city, moving in the same circles, I have to admit I want something with Banner again. She’s dating Vidale, so I keep telling myself I’d settle for friendship. That’s the right thing to do, but the right thing doesn’t always come naturally to me.

  “Are you even hearing me?” Chyna demands, ripping me out of my own thoughts.

  “Sorry, yeah.” I refocus my attention on her face. “What’d you say again?”

  “Man, I hope your head is in the game for this meeting,” Chyna says sharply. “We’ve invested a lot into this deal. Eric says Lamont is ready to sign.”

  “Shit.” I did zone out. “Where? When?”

  “His hotel in under an hour.” Chyna taps her phone. “Just sent you the address. Get over there and close the deal.”

  “Contract already sent over?” I ask, adjusting the surgeon’s cuffs on my shirt and slipping into my suit jacket.

  “Yup.” Chyna nods and also stands, heading back to her desk in the outer office. “Emailed you the standard contract, already modified.”

  I’m on my way to the elevator but circle back to her desk. I drop a kiss on her cheek and walk backward to the elevator and point at her. “Now don’t you go falling in love with me.”

  Chyna laughs, sitting down at her desk and shaking her head, but looking pleased. “I’ve seen girls after you’re done with them. No, thank you. I like my heart in one piece.”

  So do I. The closest I’ve ever come to a broken heart was Banner, and she didn’t even know it. Still doesn’t realize how real it was, what I felt for her. I haven’t allowed myself to think of what could have happened, how things might have gone if Prescott hadn’t ruined that night. With Banner back in my orbit, my mind keeps drifting back to those possibilities. As I make the fifteen-minute drive to Lamont’s hotel, that’s what I think about instead of what it will take to seal the deal with this year’s number one draft pick.

  “Get your shit together, Foster,” I reprimand myself when I pull up in front of the hotel. I hand the keys to the valet, enter the hotel, and head up to the suite Chyna texted me. I’m rounding the corner when Banner emerges from a room just ahead. She’s dressed in all black. Wide-legged cuffed pants and a fitted black turtleneck, punctuated with a red belt tied at the waist. Red lips, shiny stilettos, hair a sleek, dark curtain hanging loose past her shoulders.

  “Banner, fancy meeting you here.” I glance at the room number above her head. Lamont’s room.

  “Very fancy,” she replies, stepping around me. She takes a few steps and then snaps her fingers, turning to find me still watching her. “Oh. I almost forgot. Knock, knock.”

  I’m piecing this together, and I’m not sure how one of her infamous knock-knock jokes fits in, but it’s a blast from the past I’ve been mentally revisiting all day.

  “Huh?” I ask.

  “Knock. Knock.” She quirks her mouth so that damn dimple dents one cheek. “Humor me.”

  “Okay. Who’s there?”

  All signs of humor fall off her face.

  “Lamont Christopher’s new agent.” A few quick steps bring her back immediately in front of me and she pokes her sharp little nail into my chest. “Block that, motherfucker.”

  She blocked my shot.

  I knew what it meant seeing her leave Lamont’s room, but it’s only when she voices it that I truly appreciate what a masterful move this is.

  “Karma’s a bitch, huh?” she asks, satisfaction stretching her mouth into a wide smile.

  “Apparently, she’s not the only one,” I reply admiringly.

  Her smile holds, but her eyes narrow and frost over.

  “Remember this bitch next time you and your pride of lions think about insulting me,” she spits, lightning in her eyes, thunder in her voice. “Or assuming I got where I am any way other than hard work. Remember this moment when I handed you your ass, Foster.”

  Her anger, her indignation hit me with a blast of heat that burns through all my reasons and rationale and excuses to cover up what I have known deep down since senior year.

  This woman is my match.

  She is bright and good. And I can be dark, bad when I have to be. Sometimes when I don’t have to be, but just want to be. She is day and I am night. When day and night are absolutely equal, it’s equinox. Banner is my equinox. My equal. The revelation rattles around inside me, but my face, my surface remains smooth.

  The game we’re playing just changed, and she doesn’t even know it. Banner is smarter than I am, but my gut is better. My instincts are sharper. I’m a weather vane. I feel shifts in the air, sense coming storms before she does. That sentience is my greatest advantage.

  “So how’d you do it?” I ask easily, not missing a beat and giving nothing away.

  “Effortlessly.” She angles a look up at me that is both withering and full of pity. “While you were entertaining Cousin It at strip clubs, I was talking to Lamont’s mother.”

  I lean back against the closed door to listen. I really don’t care how she did it. I just want her to stay a few minutes longer so I can take my time appreciating every magnificent inch of her.

  “Ahhh.” I nod and turn down the corners of my mouth. “His mother back in Atlanta.”

  “I flew there straight from Denver, actually. Even attended a Sunday service and helped pay for the church’s new roof.”

&
nbsp; “Wow.” I don’t care about the church’s roof. “You pulled out all the stops.”

  “They really did need that new roof.”

  She smirks and turns to leave, but I cuff her wrist with my hand to stop her. Her surprised glance collides with mine over her shoulder. I subtly tighten around the delicate bones of her wrist, push away from the door, and step into her comfort zone, close enough for our scents to mingle and our breaths to mix in the tiny bit of space I’m allowing. I’m crowding her, but I don’t care. Every minute that passes, I care less about Lamont Christopher, and his cousin and his mama, and their church and their roof.

  And Alonzo Vidale. I care least about him and his committed relationship with my equinox.

  “You really showed me,” I say, pitching my voice low and dipping my head until our foreheads almost touch, intimacy cocooning us in the open, in the hallway. Her pulse sputters through the warm skin under my fingers. Her breath catches and her eyelashes flutter in rapid blinks. She swallows, the muscles of her throat working under the velvety skin. I’d love to sink my teeth into that tendon; to mark the slim column of her neck. I want her to wear me and carry my scent everywhere she goes. She’s the only one who has ever stirred anything primal in me.

  Her eyes shift from my hand encompassing her wrist to my face, a mask I’ve smoothed free of all the urges and feelings and things roiling under the surface. She tugs at her wrist, but I don’t relent.

  “Let me go.” Her voice is husky, but calm.

  “Of course,” I say politely, releasing her.

  With one last searching glance, the one trying to figure out what’s changed, what’s going on, she turns and leaves.

  I’ll let you go, Banner.

  For now.

  13

  Banner

  “If you try to shut us down, we’ll show you just how we get down.”

  The opening lines of “Girl Gang” blast through the Echo by my bed, tearing me from a nightmare. A sensual nightmare starring none other than Jared Foster. The dream started with him gripping my wrist the way he did in the hall. An innocent enough beginning, but then he sucked my neck, untied the red belt at my waist, pushed his head under my turtleneck and bit my breast. Thank God Alexa put a stop to that horror show before it went any further.