Page 50 of Can't Get Enough

“Just making sure,” Andy replies, adjusting the knot of his tie beneath the jersey. Goofy shit. “I better get back to my box. My family’s there.”

You mean the wife you cheat on and your kid who periodically postson social media how much she despises you? I’m sure they’re waiting with open arms.

“Thanks for coming by,” I say instead and proffer the Macallan 60 again. “Sure you don’t want one for the road?”

“Uh, no,” Andy answers tersely. “We’ll talk soon. Enjoy the game. I think we might pull this one out.”

Once he leaves, my shoulders relax and the fist in my pocket unclenches. My body always reminds me that man is not to be trusted.

“’Bout damn time he cleared out,” my father mumbles into his beer, eyes still trained on the court.

The door to the box opens and I turn, prepared to ask Bolt what took him so long. He saw an old classmate and went down to meet him. He knows I would have been fine if he’d invited him up to the box, but Bolt is very discreet. Most of his friends don’t even know he works for me. I’m not someone who flaunts and neither is he. Zere’s penchant for flaunting, for making sure everyone knew what she had, what I had, is one of the things I don’t miss about our relationship.

When Bolt walks in, he’s not alone.

“Kenan fucking Ross,” I say, a wide smile breaking out over my face. “Bruh, what’s up?”

The retired future Hall of Famer gives me dap, towering over me by a good five inches and over Bolt by even more.

“Ran into this one,” Kenan says, his smile white against his brown skin. “And he thought you wouldn’t mind seeing your boy.”

My assistant and I share a lightning-quick glance. If Bolt brought Kenan to me, he probably sees an angle that I don’t recognize yet, but will soon.

“Chill with us for a bit.” I gesture to the oversized leather captain seats facing the game. “Come watch the Vipers whip your team’s ass.”

Kenan sketches a good-natured grin and sits. “We both know that ain’t happening tonight.”

I glance meaningfully from the tied score displayed on the board to the ex–power forward who ended his storied career in a Waves uniform.

“Just watch.” Kenan crosses one long leg over the other. “West’ll come out blazing after the half.”

“We’ll see.” I shrug a little too casually. “Not like I have an actual dog in the fight.”

Kenan Ross’s basketball IQ is legendary, and it’s matched by his astuteness off the court.

“That’s not the word on the street,” he says, sliding me a shrewd glance.

“What you hear?” I ask.

“My sources tell me you’re buying the Vipers.”

“Hmmm.” My monosyllabic grunt is all he’s getting for now. “Are those the same sources that tell me you’re in the market for ownership, too?”

“Not majority stake. Too rich for my blood, but I never tried to hide that I wanted more skin in the game.” Some of his humor fades. “This is our game. With all the brothers we have playing, I want to see more ofusin front offices, leading organizations and owning teams.”

“Agreed. So you got your eye on a piece of the Waves?”

“I’m working on something, but I have a feeling my path is a lot easier than yours. They don’t just give majority ownerships away. And I ain’t talking about money.”

“If it were easy, more of us would do it. Most of the shit I’ve done hasn’t come easy.”

“You ready to deal with Andy Jr. and them good ol’ boys?”

“The better question is are they ready to deal with me?” I keep my face neutral until Kenan chuckles and shakes his head, prompting me to yield a matching smile.

“Let me know if I can help,” he says.

“Same. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know.”

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