I’ll be so pissed at myself. It’s one thing for me to have refrained from hitting on Laila for my best friend in the world—the guy who’s more responsible than anyone else for my current lot in life. But as friendly as I am with Cash, I’d never in a million years step aside from hitting on Laila for him. No fucking way.
Becoming increasingly frustrated, I wander into the pool area and immediately stop dead in my tracks, and then sigh with relief, when I spot Laila in the far distance, bopping around happily on Reed’s basketball court, looking like a kid on a playground during recess. There’s a large group on the court along with Laila that includes Aloha Carmichael and the guys from 22 Goats and their dates. But no Cash.
I smile to myself. Did Naughty Little Laila ditch Cash’s ass the minute he was no longer useful to her—the minute she no longer needed him to make me jealous? I bet she did. Which means I’m still in the hunt, baby. That is, if Kendrick strikes out with her, of course. Obviously. I owe him at least that much.
I watch Laila and her friends for a moment, and quickly discern the group is playing HORSE, based on the way everyone keeps taking the same shots in rotation. And the minute I realize the game, I feel oddly invested in standing here long enough to find out if Laila makes her shot. I make a bet with myself: “If Laila makes her shot, I’ll head over there and welcome her to the tour. If she doesn’t, I’ll head inside and make her come to me.”
Fish from 22 Goats takes his shot and makes it and his cute date jumps for joy like he’s won a Grammy. Next up, Fish’s girlfriend takes her shot and whiffs so badly, I laugh out loud. Immediately, Fish and Laila console her and the girlfriend slinks into Fish’s waiting arms.
Finally, after a few other players take their shots, it’s Laila’s turn. She gets the ball from Aloha’s husband, Zander, a buff Black dude I’ve met here and there, and then heads to the designated spot on the court—a location a few feet behind the three-point line. After taking a ridiculously long time to gather herself, as if the fate of the world depends on her making the shot, Laila bends her knees, exhales, and flings her arms upward, releasing the ball into the air.
And . . . it’s a brick. A clunker that thuds to the ground a few feet from the rim.
Confronted with her abject failure, Laila shrieks before peeling off a glorious streak of laughter I can hear all the way over here. Finally, she drops to the ground, dramatically, and writhes around like she’s been shot, making her friends guffaw.
As Laila is writhing on the ground, a couple of tall, muscular guys reach the court. They high-five Aloha’s husband, Zander, before standing over Laila and laughing along with everyone else. And that’s when I realize one of the guys is the pro basketball player, Malik Wallace of The Knicks. The NBA’s Rookie of the Year last year, who led his team, singlehandedly, to win the Eastern Conference Finals. Jesus Christ. Reed’s contact list really is the coolest in LA.
As a fan of The Bulls, I should probably hate Malik Wallace, given how much he bitch-slapped my team last season. But it’s impossible not to respect such rarified talent and skill.
Heeeey, I think. Malik would be a perfect cover for me! I suddenly realize I could walk over there to the court and act like I came to meet Malik, thereby giving Laila the chance to introduce herself to me and thank me for letting her join the tour. Laila doesn’t know I had nothing to do with her getting the gig, after all. So why not walk over there to “meet Malik” and let Laila kiss my ass while I’m there, as any grateful opener would do? It’s pure genius.
I start walking, feeling pretty damned good about my strategy. It’s critical with a woman like Laila Fitzgerald—the kind who can get any man she wants—not to let her know how much I’m drooling over her. I can’t let her think she has the upper hand. Otherwise, she’ll surely ditch me as fast as she ditched Cash. And maybe Kendrick, too? That remains to be seen.
Fuck.
No.
I stop walking, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.
Of all the people