“It doesn’t matter that I didn’t cheat. I’m Simone’s father. I’m responsible for her. It’s not about blame, right, or wrong. It’s about making sure she’s okay. If I’m not healthy, I can’t be the best parent possible to her, so every week, we’re at counseling. And I hate every minute of it, having to hear my ex talk about her stupid choices and pretend she wants to put our daughter first when it’s obvious she doesn’t.”
I shake my head and run a hand down my face. “I’m sorry. This is about you talking to someone, not why I have to.”
“Iris has been telling me the same thing,” she says with a grimace. “Lately I’ve been . . . well, I’ve been thinking maybe she’s right.”
I sense that if I press on this anymore, I could push her away. I’ve said my piece. She has to make that choice for herself. I have a different choice to present to her.
“So full disclosure, I admitted I wanted to see you today, but I didn’t tell you I wanted to extend an invitation.”
“An invitation?” One brow shoots up. “What kind of invitation?”
“I’m judging this dunking contest at Rucker Park Saturday, and I wondered if you’d like to come.”
“Rucker Park? All the way in Harlem?”
“Um . . . you say it like it’s Antarctica.”
“I could pack lighter for Antarctica than Harlem.”
I laugh outright and take her hands again, pulling her closer and leaning down until our noses touch.
“Come on,” I whisper. “We could have lunch after the contest and hang out.”
The air grows viscous between us, and second by second, the humor drains away, leaving whatever magnetic thing that has drawn me to her since the moment I saw her. Her lips part and her breasts rise and fall with shallow breaths. The same desire that rises inside me at the sight of her, at the scent of her, at the promise of tasting her again, I see it in the look she angles up at me. Does she want to kiss me as badly as I want to kiss her?
“Remember what I told you,” I say, so close the words brush our lips together for just a second. “The next time we kiss, you have to make it happen.”
She steps back, putting some space between us, but it’s only distance. Those few inches can’t dispel the way we’re connected, and soon I think we’ll both have to stop ignoring it.
“I don’t kiss my friends,” she says, only half joking, her eyes sober.
“Good,” I say with a smile. “Then when you kiss me, I’ll know you want to be more than just my friend.”
9
Lotus
I’m in the backroom with my laptop working on spec sheets when the Spanish Inquisition shows up.