It’s too late for me to get an answer because suite thirty is a few steps away.
The attendant pushes the door open and my fumbling gut comes back when I see Blake Harvey standing at a bar nestled on the left side of the suite in an expensive tracksuit.
“So, this is the business?” I choke out.
“Phat, you made it.” He lifts his arms, waving us toward him.
I gulp at the sight of the shiny bottles of alcohol and white men hanging around while the lights dim in the arena.
There’s a glow around Blake that makes my palms sweat and I remember why I hated his treacherous Carlton Banks ass.
I look up at Ace, but he’s already distracted with a fire in his eyes that I want to put out because this is the part of our everyday life shit I hate. It’s not spontaneous angry love-making—it’s spontaneous bullshit.
“Come over here.” Blake smiles, eyeing my Cree approved athleisure get-up. “Matching ones. How Instagram-worthy of you two.”
I try to digest all of it—the open-air suite, the glass of liquor waiting for Ace sitting next to Blake’s elbow, and his interest in meagain. None of it will go down and Marcus’ little anecdotes continue to reign supreme because Blake still isn’t standing on business. I see it in his eyes. They’re empty.
Ace dips his hand underneath my graphic shirt and we step forward together, but walking towards Blake is like stumbling into a lion’s den even if I have Ace as a shield.
Blake grabs the glass of liquor and hands it to Ace with a smile when we approach him. “Can I?”
The rest of his question is missing, but it doesn’t stop Ace from pushing his lips against my ear.
“Go chop it up with him for a minute. If you ever feel like you need to come home, I’ll be right over here,” he whispers, soothing my hot ear with a kiss. “I’m not going anywhere.”
This everyday life shit is so confusing. All I know is that I have no business talkingbusinessin a suite with a man like Blake.
Blake takes my limp hand. “Who you going for tonight?”
“The home team,” I mutter as he pulls me away from Ace and toward the seats at the edge of the suite.
“I guess the t-shirt should’ve clued me in, huh? No love for LA?”
“Nope.”
“Cold blooded.”
“Nah, just unbiased. They ain’t been the same since AW left.”
“I concur.” He motions toward an empty seat. “They’ve lost their luster, and they might never get their best man.”
We both sit down as I mull over his words. “You mean Ace?”
“Yeah...you know everybody was banking on him eventually playing for his Pops—even their rivals.”
“Guess so.”
He’s blabbering all the words that Ace is always running from.
I look at the court, seeing Ace’s face enmeshed with the other faces in purple and gold uniforms. Instead, he’ll be wearing a maroon one next week, playing on a court with boys that have half his talent, and no cloud of disappointment over their heads.
“You know, I think we both want the same thing for our boy,” Blake says, talking over the announcer’s deep voice.
I glance back at Ace taking another shot of liquor to the head.
“We do?”
“Absolutely, Lourdes. I can call you that, right?”
