“I don’t know what that means, but I feel like I should slap you for asking me.”
“No offense. I’m just saying. You work at Splash.”
“And you were drooling over me at Splash, what’s the point?”
Khalif crossed his arms over his chest and recalibrated his words. “I assumed there was a reason. A story.”
“I could assume the same about you,” Aurora snipped before sighing. “I’m putting myself through law school. Dancing pays for school and the bills. That’s the story.”
“Damn, my bad,” Khalif grunted. “Forgive me, I’m-”
“Hurt,” Aurora spoke, looking up at him. “You’re hurt. From what I gathered, possibly heartbroken.”
“Not by her,” Khalif retorted.
“Oh, I caught that last night. You were never in love with her, so I can’t understand why you were about to go through a whole wedding. But that’s not the point or any of my business. It’s your brother.”
Khalif looked away and swallowed, swayed, and cleared his throat. “He’s done a lot of shit, but this takes the cake.”
“How do you move on from it?” Aurora asked.
Khalif shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know, and I can’t give it much thought honestly. It’s embarrassing and I’m still in season. I’m going to be on the field with men who will use this to get under my skin.”
“Things can only get under your skin if you let them. Don’t let them. You’re too great of a player to crash out.”
Khalif looked down at her.
“Sports law. I’m supposed to know. That’s it, that’s all.”
Khalif nodded. “How’d you get into that?”
“Order up!” the cashier shouted as if there were people in the building other than them. Khalif stepped forward to grab the food and moved to a table in the corner.
He watched her for a moment while she whispered a quick prayer over her food and then picked her burger up to take a bite.
“Staring at me isn’t going to soak up that liquor in your stomach,” she pointed out, mid-chew.
Regardless of if he had an appetite, he grabbed his burger and took a bite. “Not going to tell me how you got into sports law?”
“I’d rather not. But maybe my sad life can distract you from yours.”
“Maybe.”
“My dad was Johnny Wilson.”
Khalif’s brows pinned. “Johnny Walker Wilsonwas your pops?”
“Yeah. Wondering how his daughter ended up dancing to pay for college?”
“Yeah. He’s a hall-of-famer, got endorsements still running.”
“None of that came to me. He had a shiesty manager who funneled all his money post-mortem to himself. Watching my father throw his body into men and ultimately die on the field, left me without my father and his legacy. Essentially forgotten. I decided to work my ass off so scholarships could pay for undergrad. I’d been dancing since a little girl and those lessons are getting me through this final leg.”
“When do you graduate?”
“I got a year and a bar exam. And then, hopefully, I save players from getting screwed by their teams and management.”
“Who knew.”
