“To hear Aunt Priscilla tell it, you’ll be married and pregnant by Christmas.”
“Pregnant?” I scowl. “Mama would love that. The higher Caleb goes in the draft, the more she’ll want a grandbaby to hook him for life. That’s the last thing I’m thinking about. A baby right now would ruin all my plans.”
“What’s the rush anyway?” Lotus adjusts an errant lock of hair until it knows its place on my shoulder. “Why’s Caleb so eager to get married?”
“I know. What’s wrong with a long-distance relationship? I’m not ready for marriage. It’s too soon.”
“Do you love him?” Lo’s eyes pick around the edges of my expression.
“Sure.” I shrug, looking down at my knees. “I mean, we say it to each other, but does that mean he’sthe one? I don’t know. We’ve been dating a year. We started as friends, and he’s gorgeous and smart and considerate. I’d be crazy not to love him, right? He’s perfect.”
Lotus puts her hand over mine. “Hey, look at me.”
I meet her eyes, braced for whatever she’s about to say.
“It doesn’t matter if he’s perfect, Bo, if he’s not perfect foryou.” She squeezes my fingers. “You need a guy who respects your ambitions and your dreams.”
“I think Caleb can be that guy.”
But even as I say it, I question if it’s true. If my ambitions took me to one place and Caleb to another, would he expect me to follow him? Would I lose him if I didn’t? I hope I don’t have to choose. I know how important basketball is to him, but does he really understand how important my dreams are to me?
“Just be sure,” Lotus says, pasting on a plastic smile and aiming it over my shoulder. “In the meantime, here comes papa.”
“Good evening, ladies,” Caleb’s father says, finally making his way to stand in front of us.
Donald Bradley’s smile is always as carefully coordinated as his ties and tailor-made suits. The word that comes to mind is calculating, like he’s added you up and subtracted you to determine how much of his time and attention you merit. His every movement is smooth, but there is a hardness to him that makes me wonder if there’s really a heart beating beneath that silk shirt. He’s so much like Caleb physically—the same golden hair and dark blue eyes—but Caleb doesn’t have that hard smoothness.
Not yet.
It’s a whisper I try to ignore. The thought of Caleb evolving into his father drops a bag of stones in my belly.
“Hi, Mr. Bradley.” I glance up at the man beside him, forcing a smile for Caleb’s cousin. “Hey, Andrew.”
“Hey,” Andrew replies politely. Neutral is the word I always associate with him. He’s in medical school, so I know he has his own talents, but beside the vitality of his superstar cousin, there is something . . . bland, beige about him. Like he’ll match whatever’s around him, absorb whatever he needs to in any given situation. Maybe that’s not the worst thing, but it makes him hard to read. When you grow up with a series of creepy “uncles” in your house like we did, you learn to read men’s intentions. What makes me wary of Andrew is I can never read his.
“You’re both welcome to join Barbara and me up in the box,” Mr. Bradley says. “We’ve got quite a spread up there to celebrate after my boy wins tonight.”
“I’m fine here for now.” I try to warm my lukewarm smile. “I like being close to the action.”
“And I’m sure Caleb wants to see you in the stands.” He looks at me sternly. “But tonight at the party, work the room some. A beautiful wife is a huge asset for a man like Caleb. We’ve got as much work to do off the court as we do on it.”
My teeth grind together. I have so many things I want to do before I settle down. And right now, none of them involve being a baller’s trophy wife.
“I’ll support Caleb in every way that I can,” I say. “Just as I’m sure he’ll support the things I want to pursue.”
Mr. Bradley wears a pleased smile and pats my shoulder. “There are all kinds of charities and committees for the players’ wives that I’m sure you’ll enjoy.”
“We’ll see how much time I have,” I tell him. “I’ve applied for several internships, including one with St. Louis.”
I don’t have to wait long for his reaction.
“St. Louis?” His thick brows lower and clump over his eyes. “My team?”
Mr. Bradley, already in the Hall of Fame as a player, is a front office executive for the St. Louis expansion team. He’s built many teams from nothing into championship-caliber squads.
“St. Louis is one of the teams I’m interviewing with, yeah.” I suppress a satisfied smirk.
“You should probably wait to see where Caleb is drafted before you make any commitments,” he says, his tone condescending. “You’ll want to know where he lands.”
