Page 18 of The Close-Up (Hollywood Renaissance 1.50)

Chapter Three

Naz

As soon as I agreed to do this fashion show, I regretted it. I even called Kenan, trying to get out of it.

“Sure,” he had said. “You can pull out, but you have to tell Lo yourself. Oh, and tell Iris you don’t actually care as much about survivors of domestic abuse as we originally assumed.”

“Motherfucker,” I’d muttered and hung up on his smart ass.

Needless to say, I’mhere waiting to be powdered and brushed and groomed or some shit for charity, when something…someone soft and scented literally falls into my arms.

“What the hell?” I stumble a little but right myself before either of us fall and bust ass on the floor. I glance down to see who I’ve caught, and any words I would say cling to the roof of my mouth. I manage to pull one word down, despite my shock. Her name.

“Takira.”

It’s the first time I’ve seen her in twelve years. At least, in person. I may have lurked on her Instagram account and tracked her progress since senior year. On occasion.

“Naz.” A sooty fan of lashes surrounds doe-brown eyes. Her chin bears the same tiny dent as her brother’s. She’s always been a smaller, softer, prettier version of Cliff Fletcher. Over the years, they’ve both haunted me for completely different reasons.

“You two know each other?” Lotus asks, her alert eyes pinging between my face and Takira’s.

“A little,” Takira mumbles.

A little is accurate, since we only had one night before everything went to shit, but that doesn’t feel like the whole truth. Doesn’t tell the story of how we talked about real things on the roof that night, sketching our dreams in the sky with stars. As irrational as it is, when our glances lock, I see that awareness, the memory of that one night, in Takira’s eyes. She pulls back, but my hands tighten reflexively at her hips. It’s instinct to hold on to her. Not one I want to examine too closely, but she angles a sharp look up at me, her curves still pressed into the length of my body. Reluctantly, I let her go.

Even though she’s taller than average, her head doesn’t quite clear my shoulder. It makes me want to protect her even if it’s only from falling. Seeing her for the first time in more than a decade, it’s a ridiculous response, but that same connection I felt with her from the beginning is undeniable. Given a little time and attention, I bet it could grow into whatever it could have been had things not happened the way they did. That night before the championship, Cliff told our team that game would change everything. He probably was thinking of himself…because he always did, but it changed everything for me. As much as I’ve always been grateful for the chance that led me to a career in the League, I’ve also felt guilt over how things went down for Cliff. Any possibility for something with his sister fell apart that night along with everything else.

“I want to hear all about how you know each other later. Right now, he’s your first model,” Lotus says, nodding to the seat and mirror right behind me. “Naz, sit. I think just a little powder and a haircut for him.”

“I just got a haircut,” I protest.

“I mean a good one.” Lotus grins, mischief in her dark eyes.

I grumble but sit obediently in the chair because Lotus may be tiny, but she’s a bulldozer. Takira closes her eyes briefly and blows out a breath before pasting on a polite smile.

“Cat,” Lotus says, her smile fading. “Let’s go check those dresses that just arrived. I hope we got the sizes right. No time for mistakes today.”

“Right.” Catalina’s eyes widen, and she trails Lotus’s marching figure, casting a look over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Takira. You did say you can make the after-party, right?”

Takira’s mouth forms an O, and her glance slides to me before lowering to the floor. “Um, yeah, but now I’m not sure I—”

“You’re coming!” Lotus yells from a foot or so ahead, turning backward and narrowing her eyes at Takira. “I want all the Dessi Blue gossip, and I have some other stuff coming up I’d love to discuss.”

She turns to walk off, but not before giving me a discreet wink. Am I that obvious? Or is Lotus that omniscient? According to Kenan, nothing gets by his wife, and she knows things about you before you know them yourself.

Thank you, Lo.

The prospect of getting to talk to Takira at the party tonight lightens a mood that has been admittedly foul all day. I hate stuff like this. MacKenzie Decker, San Diego Waves’ president of basketball operations, says he’s only met one player less enthused about doing press and the public than me, and that’s Kenan Ross. People often draw comparisons between Kenan and me. When he retired, I was traded to the Waves and have never been happier with a team. Kenan has been a big part of that. He mentors lots of young players, and though after eight seasons, I’m not considered young, Kenan’s still about ten years older than me. There’s a lot I can learn from him, and he and Lotus have become close friends.

Which brings me back to the good turn Lotus inadvertently did me by recruiting Takira Fletcher for this fashion show. For Takira to also be doing my makeup…wait a minute.

“I don’t need makeup,” I tell Takira, who’s setting up little pots of blush and trays of eye shadow. Is that lipstick?

Oh, hell, no.

“It won’t be much,” she promises, her small smile tentative. “Powder to get rid of the shine. A little eyebrow grooming.”

She considers my head, narrowing one eye. “And Lo’s right. I’ll edge you up.”

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