He freezes, the ball poised over his head to shoot, and gives me a disbelieving look. “A what? Did you say voodoo?”
I laugh at his dumbfounded expression.
“It’s not like in the movies or anything. They were the most respected people in the community back in the day. Politicians and powerful people from all over the state came to them for advice and guidance.” I shoot him a wry grin. “By the time I was born, she just made healing potions and did cleansing ceremonies, made gris-gris.”
“What’s a gris-gris? Or do I want to know?”
“It’s like a talisman for protection.” I twist Caleb’s ring on my finger. “She gave Lotus and me rings years ago that were supposed to protect us.”
He studies the engagement ring. “And where’s yours?” he asks softly.
“Lost.” I swallow the emotion burning my throat, the tears threatening to fall at the sudden sense of loss overtaking me. I’ve lost Lotus. I haven’t spoken to my mother in months. My self-respect, my dignity, my independence—all stolen from me before I’d even realized Caleb was a thief. If I keep standing here thinking about all I’ve lost, I’ll cry, so I change the subject and hope August lets me get away with it.
“I get my name from the bayou,” I say with a slight smile. “Well, Mama told me that once. Who knows if it’s true. She said MiMi’s house is off the bayou, not far from the water, and all along the water’s edge these flowers called Louisiana irises grow.”
“She told you?” he asks. “You’ve never seen for yourself?”
I frown, feeling loss again, but for something I’ve never really had. “I haven’t been. Not that I remember, at least.” I grimace. “Mama took me when I was a baby so MiMi could see me, but that was it. MiMi visited us a few times in the city. Lotus knows her a lot better, since she lived with her.”
“Iris, Lotus,” he says with a smile. “I see a flower theme. Are you two a lot alike?”
My laugh is self-deprecating, scoffing at my own weakness compared to Lotus’s fearlessness. “I wish.” I take the ball and step behind the three-point line. “I’m nowhere near as strong as Lotus.”
“You’re probably stronger than you think.” He raises a dark brow at the ball in my hands. “But not strong enough to make that three.”
“Oh yeah? You think you’re the only one who can make a long shot?”
I turn to the goal and train every bit of strength and focus I have into the ball in my hands and its trajectory to the goal. When I release it, I close my eyes and don’t open them until I hear the “swoosh” of the net.
“I made it?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.
“You didn’t even look? Yeah, you made it. How can you not look?”
“Woohooo!” I lift my arms Rocky-style and face him. “Am I ready for the pros?”
The look he gives me alternates between affection and indulgence. “You can be on my team.”
“Oh.” I lob a smile up at him, much too close to flirting. “And what position will I play on your team?”
His smile melts a little around the edges, and his eyes lose some of their humor. “At the five-spot,” he says softly.
The five-spot? His position is the point guard, or the one-spot. Shooting guard is the two. The three is small forward, and the four is power forward. The five is . . .
“Center,” he says, linking our fingers and toying with the hair hanging on my shoulder. “If you were mine, Iris, there would be no doubt what position you’d hold in my life. You’d be center. I’d play you at the five.”
I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to sing hallelujah that a man like this exists and that I know him. A deep-seeded longing springs up inside of me, and I’m not sure when I’ll be able to give in to it. I long to let him hold me. To let myself hold him, have him. I drop my forehead to his chest and take in his scent and the intoxicating nearness of him. He strokes my hair, and I feel his lips ghost the top of my head.
The door swinging open startles us apart. Sylvia stands at the gym entrance, looking between us before settling on me.
“Sorry to, um, interrupt,” she says. “But there’s a man looking for you, Iris. Quite insistently actually. He—”
She stops when Ramone appears at her side, as unyielding and intimidating as a brick wall. Panic rushes the air from my body and pounds the blood in my ears.
“I have to go.” I take two steps toward the door, but August’s hand gently restrains me.
“Who is that guy?” he demands.
I can practically feel Ramone’s narrow gaze lasered in on August’s hand touching me. Damning information for his report to Caleb, no doubt. This is only making things worse. What an idiot I’ve been, playing games in here with August and forgetting that I live in a war zone. That I’m fighting for my life, and Sarai’s.
“He’s my driver, August.” I jerk my arm away and walk swiftly across the gym floor, not looking back.
When I reach the door, Ramone stares at August for a few seconds before following me into the hall. I run to the daycare to get Sarai.
I’m pushing the stroller to the exit when August appears. His confusion, displeasure, and concern are all soldered together into one stare that burns holes in my back. I don’t acknowledge him, but walk past with my baby and my watchdog. I walk past with indifference, as if we didn’t just share the best afternoon I’ve had in as long as I can remember—as if he hadn’t gotten past the guard I’d erected around my heart for my own protection.
I don’t even say goodbye.
August
It doesn’t make sense. Yesterday was like the first night Iris and I met all over again—laughing, teasing, opening up. The attraction sometimes lurking just beneath the skin of our conversation, sometimes shivering across its surface. And then Muscle Head showed up, and she shut down and rushed from the building without a word.
And today? Still no words. She hasn’t looked at me. Hasn’t spoken or even acknowledged that I exist.
By all rights, I shouldn’t even be here for the community center beautification project. Sylvia told me I wasn’t needed. The students are painting the rec room, and Torrie, Shelia, and Iris are helping. Iris paints a wall across the room and wears dark denim overalls and Chuck Taylors. Her hair is in a messy bun, and the work lends a glow to the soft curve of her cheeks. She looks like a little girl.
She bends, stretching the denim across the fullness of her ass.
Maybe not a little girl.
I’m a guy. I can’t be expected to ignore how good her ass looks in those jeans. But it’s not the most important thing. We only have two days left, and after spending even the little time with her that I’ve had, I know things can’t go back to the way they were. Us having no contact. Her living with Caleb, sleeping with Caleb. Her staying with Caleb is not an option anymore, and I need to hear her say that, promise that. I need her to explain what the problem is, so I can fix it.
How hard can it be to leave him? How complicated can it be to choose me over him? To throw his damn ring in his face and walk away?