Chapter Nine
Dominic
“So you mean to tell me that your neighbor caught you spying on her private mop concert and you stayed for … water?” Derrick’s face takes up my entire phone screen.
“I wasn’t spying.” I glare at him. “Her music was rattling my walls. I was being a good neighbor by warning her before someone else filed a noise complaint.”
“Uh-huh.” My brother’s not buying it. “And the water? Was it, like, special celebrity water? Imported from the Alps or something?”
“It was just water,” I mutter. “From a Brita pitcher.”
“And you stayedfor that.”
“Yeah.”
“For water.”
“Yes.”
“Which you have in your own apartment.”
I throw my hand up. “What do you want me to say, Derrick? It would’ve been rude to leave after she offered.”
My brother’s grin widens. “You like her.”
“I don’t even know her.” I stare at him.
“You’re a bad liar, bro. You clearly like—”
“Shouldn’t you be doing something more productive? Like, I don’t know, parenting your actual children?”
“They’re in bed.” He leans back in his chair, looking smug. “Besides, this is way more entertaining. My brother, the NBA star, getting all flustered over a girl.”
“I’m not flustered.”I am definitely flustered. “And I’m not a star. I’m barely hanging onto my spot in the rotation.”
Derrick’s expression softens. “How’s that been going? Really.”
I exhale slowly, grateful for the subject change. “It’s … challenging. I’m still the new guy. Still trying to figure out how I fit into the system. The guys aren’t exactly unfriendly, but…”
“But they’re not your boys from Alabama.”
“Exactly.” I rest my chin on my hand, picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion. “Sometimes I wonder if I made amistake coming here.”
Derrick’s quiet for a moment, which is unusual for him. When he speaks again, his voice is gentler. “You didn’t have much choice, Dom. The trade happened. It wasn’t your call.”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair. “I just … I miss having you guys close by. I miss being able to drive home for the weekend. I miss barbecue that doesn’t cost twenty dollars a plate.”
“We miss you too, man.” Derrick’s smile is warm. “But you’re doing what you’ve always dreamed of—playing at the highest level. Making the family proud.”
“Yeah.” I try to sound convinced.
“Look, I know LA isn’t like the South. It’s never going to be. But maybe you need to stop fighting it so hard. Try to find things you like about it. People you connect with.” He raises a brow. “Maybe starting with Mop Concert Girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Her name is Nicole.”
“Nicole,” he repeats, grinning. “First name basis. That’s progress.”
“Shut up.”
