Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“That’s a specific choice for a charity.” Deke gazed deep into my eyes. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me. It was like he was reading me, trying to figure me out. “What made you choose it?”
One of my shoulders lifted up and dropped down in response. I wasn’t about to get into a whole spiel about it. The last thing I wanted was Deke’s pity. Plus, I didn’t like talking about Lew’s terminal illness with anyone other than my family and Tish.
“Let’s just say it’s a cause that’s close to me,” I told him.
Deke scanned my face. “Cool. Well, I’ll be in town for a couple days. I’ll be hanging with the Charlotte Wasps to school some kids on basketball. If you wanna catch a few waters at a bar, hit me up.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of me. “I’ll consider the offer. Have fun with the kids.”
With a smirk, Deke sauntered away with Arnold, and when he exited the studio, I realized my heart had been racing during our entire conversation. I’d been professional with a lot of men during my career, but with Deke . . . I don’t know. Being around him made me feel so . . . different.
The jokes.
The banter.
The natural flow of our conversations.
But a workplace setting and a bar were two very different atmospheres. One had boundaries, and the other didn’t. If I wanted to continue this deal and keep him the face of our brand, I had to maintain a safe distance.
He was my colleague. Not my friend. Not my buddy. A business colleague.
Regardless, planning to keep a distance from him was much easier said than done.
EIGHT
DEKE
I was a man born and bred in sunny Orlando, Florida, so you’d think I could call it home. The truth is, there was no better place for me to be than in Atlanta.
I’d signed on as a rookie to play for New York, but that only lasted me a year before I got traded to Memphis. It was hard for me to get along with the coaches at Memphis, so my agent found a home for me in Atlanta.
It’d been two years since signing with Atlanta, and after all the bouncing around prior, I felt I had to prove myself. Atlanta needed a shooting guard, and I was that guy. I took my training much more seriously and focused heavily on the fundamentals, while adding my own razzle-dazzle to it.
As soon as I signed, I knew Atlanta was the place to be. The team welcomed me with open arms, and I was cool with the majority of my teammates.
To put it simply, this city was my home. I had friends, a place to call mine, and passionate fans who loved me. Apart from my mama and my sisters, I’d never truly felt love in Orlando.
I dropped my keys off with the valet before heading toward my condo building. Justin, the doorman, put on a big grin when he spotted me. He was in his fifties, dark skin, salt-and-pepper beard. A man forever young in spirit.
“Deke Bishop is in the house!” he yelled, throwing both hands in the air.
I laughed as we clapped hands and bumped shoulders. “What’s going on, Justin? Your grandbaby still keeping you awake, man?”
“Every night. Swear my wife is about to strangle me because she can’t sleep. She’s the one who let our daughter move back in! She signed up for that, not me.” Justin laughed.
“You know what works? Flowers, man. Women love getting them for no reason.” According to Camille, anyway.
“I’ll have to bring some home for her. Oh, and just a heads-up. You’ve got company.” Justin gave me a look that said Sorry, man, and I sighed, throwing my head back and closing my eyes for a second.
When I lowered my chin, I released a slow sigh, thanked Justin, and made my way into the building.
I took the elevator up to my penthouse, but I didn’t have to unlock the door. It was already unlocked, which annoyed the hell out of me because she always left it unlocked.
The first thing I smelled when I walked inside was an overly sweet candy-scented perfume. I was growing to despise it. I dropped my bag by the door as Giselle walked around the corner in spiky heels and a ruby-red dress that hugged her body.
Giselle Grace, the woman everyone assumed was my girlfriend. That was a stretch by this point. Her red lips split apart as she smiled and placed a hand on her cocked hip. Zeke, my two-year-old Doberman pinscher, rushed around her, his paws tapping on the floors as he charged toward me.
“What’s up, man?” I bent over, scratching behind his ears, and as usual, Zeke flipped onto his back to show me his belly. “Damn, Zeke,” I laughed, giving him a rub. “Justin might be feeding you too much. Look at that belly.”