Page 120 of Love, Rekindled

“She’s clean as a whistle on the things that matter. Criminal record. Credit score.”

“Jesus.” I take another sip of my drink. “Is that really necessary?”

“I take care of my guys.” The soft curve of Banner’s mouth levels out. “I’ve seen too many of my players get played. So new girl shows up out of nowhere, I dig. I do the due diligence sometimes men forget when they find a nice fresh piece of ass.”

“She’s not…” I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s not like that.”

“She seems perfectly wonderful based on what I’ve learned.”

“She is.” I look up to meet her eyes. “I like her, Banner. And she’s not out of nowhere. I met her in high school.”

“I know that, too. I mean, I figured, since you played ball with her brother at St. Cat’s.” She laughs at the narrow-eyed look I use to search her face. “That wasn’t a hard connection to make.”

“Well then, you know we met when we were eighteen years old, so this is more getting reacquainted.”

“Just be careful.” She holds up a hand to stem the words poised on my lips. “I can take care of your career, your endorsements, your money, even your reputation to a degree. I can’t take care of your heart, though, and I don’t want to see you hurt.” She squeezes my hand, affection in her dark eyes. “Ever.”

I know how fortunate I am that Banner signed me straight out of college. She handles my business, but she cares.

“What’s this?” she asks, lifting some shrimp wrapped in dough from the hors d’oeuvres plate.

A group enters the dining room in a chorus of laughter and raised voices. I glance up to find Kenan, Lotus, Iris, August, and Jared approaching.

“Ban!” Jared walks over swiftly and snatches the shrimp from her fingers, drawing a startled yelp out of her. “You can’t have shellfish.”

A loaded silence gathers in the room as we wait for the inevitable.

“Why can’t she have shellfish?” Iris asks, drawing the question out.

“Yeah.” Lotus frowns. “I know you’re not allergic, so are you…?”

Realization dawns on the cousins’ faces almost at the same time. Kenan, August, and I all seem to find something else to look at, careful not to reveal that we already know. Banner’s lips part like she’s about to explain when she seems to notice our strategically averted gazes and studied silence.

“Jared Foster!” Hands on hips, she turns on her husband. “You told.”

“I didn’t mean to.” Jared pops the shrimp in his mouth. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I mean, it’s not a secret you can keep for long anyway. What’s the point?”

Banner rolls her eyes, surrendering to a happy laugh and accepting the ensuing squeals and questions from Iris and Lotus. Under the cover of all the excitement, no one notices Takira slip through the dining room doors.

No one except me.

I leave the group and cross over to her. My steps literally falter for a second when I see what she’s wearing. Ornotwearing. The silvery-white halter dress ties at her nape with fragile straps and dips low in the front, nearly to her belly button, contrasting against the gleaming curves of her shoulders and breasts, baring her arms. It clings to her hips and ass but floats around her thighs in frothy layers. When she walks a little ahead of me, the dress is so low the small of her back is visible.

Is she even wearing underwear?

She looks fantastic. Anticipation swells inside me at the thought of introducing her to my friends. I grab Takira’s wrist and pull her close, leaning down to whisper in her ear, “You look amazing.”

She slants an innocent look up at me. Her dress may not be subtle, but her makeup is. A smoky eye shadow and the slightest tilt of a cat eye at the corners. Nude lipstick and her braids styled into an elaborate updo studded with crystals.

“I was worried you wouldn’t approve,” she says with a small pout.

“Why not? You look gorgeous.”

“Well, I know you wanted me to wear these,” she says, shoving a ball of silk into my hand and closing my fingers around it. “And this dress doesn’t allow for panties.”

“Shit, Kira.” I shove the panties into the pockets of my slacks.

I’m not sure which part makes my dick hardest—her slightly damp panties in my pocket, the sexy-as-fuck dress that barely covers her butt cleavage, or the fact that she just told me her pussy is bare under there.

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