I look back to the menu right away. I can’t do this all day—have a fluttering heart and stuttering pulse every time he turns those intense eyes on me.

“So what are we having?” the young man who’s serving us asks after bringing Kenan water and me a mimosa.

“Ladies first,” Kenan says, still studying the menu.

“I’ll have your akee and saltfish,” I tell him.

“Dumplings and sweet plantain okay with that?” the server asks.

“Perfect.”

“And you, Mr. Ross?”

It would jar me to have people know who I am when I first meet them and know nothing about them, but Kenan seems used to it, and his expression remains unchanged.

“I’m looking at your omelet.” He glances up from the menu. “Can I get it with egg whites? Eight of them? And with just the veggies, skip the bacon?”

“For sure.” The server nods and scribbles on his pad. “Fries and salad okay?”

“Nah. Let’s skip the fries.” He turns a blinding white smile on me. “Apparently I need to save room for ice cream later, but I’ll take the kale and arugula salad.”

“We’ll get that right out.”

When the server leaves, silence falls on the backyard. We’re the only ones out here now, and intimacy thickens the air. I truly wonder how long I can hold out. A month ago, I would have been crawling across this table to kiss him, dragging him into the bathroom and scratching this itch so hard I’d break the skin.

But that was before I found myself crying in Chase’s shower. That was before I found myself huddled in my closet with a bass drum where my heart should be. I don’t want that with Kenan. I want to sort my shit out. Not just for him. For me. But there’s no denying I want him.

And based on the way his eyes keep probing the edge of my strapless top and sneaking glances at my legs in these itty-bitties I’m wearing, he wants me, too.

“We should talk about what happened at the restaurant,” he says, concern momentarily dousing the lust in his eyes.

I would prefer feeling the pull of him in the balmy air and silently wondering how long I’ll be able to stop myself from humping him, but if we must.

“You mean how your ex-wife wants to deport me so she’ll never have to see me again?”

A shout of laughter crinkles his eyes at the corners and his chest moves subtly with the force of it. When he throws his head back, the strong length of his throat is exposed. I could watch this man laugh all day.

“Bridget’s like this kid who had a toy she got tired of,” he says, looking at me from beneath a thick sweep of lashes. “Unfortunately, I’m the old toy in this scenario, and she found a shiny new one. Now she wants the old one back and doesn’t want anyone else to play with it.”

“I have no interest in playing with you,” I tell him, the words sneaking out before I think better of it.

We watch each other for long moments, the muted sounds of the city and the muffled laughter and clinking glasses from inside a soundtrack for the story our eyes keep building, adding another line, another chapter with every second.

“Well that’s disappointing,” he replies straight-faced.

I laugh and he joins me, not breaking the tension, but bookmarking it until our eyes meet again.

“I’ve been as honest with her as I can be,” he goes on. “I don’t want her. I don’t want a life with her. I wouldn’t even be in the same city if she didn’t have my daughter.”

“So you don’t share custody?”

“We do, but it’s complicated.” He grimaces. “Basketball has an eighty-two-game regular season, one of the longest in sports. It’s September to July from camp to playoffs, if you make them. And during the season, you’re constantly on the road. Away from home. I can’t provide any real stability for Simone with that schedule. Bridget wasn’t wife of the year, but she’s a good mother. She and Simone are close. There wasn’t even a question of Simone staying with me in San Diego when Bridget decided to move to New York. Maybe for the summer, but there’s this dance program here that Simone’s excited about.”

There’s an openness to his features when he talks about his daughter. Usually so guarded, he doesn’t try to hide his love for her.

“She’s dealt with a lot of crap because of us the last couple of years,” Kenan continues. “Leaving Houston when I requested a trade to San Diego. Now moving from there to New York. She hasn’t been into anything like she’s into dance for a while. I couldn’t deny her this chance by demanding she live with me in Cali over the summer.”

“You could have denied her,” I correct. “But you’re a good father and chose to put her first.”

“Of course.” He frowns like that’s a given.

It’s not a given. I know what it’s like for it not to be given. To be withheld. I envy Simone, having two parents who love her this way.

Even if one of them is a shine-grabbing cheater who shook my hand like I might have crabs. “Your ex seemed suspicious of me, or something.”

He’s about to speak when the server arrives with our food. Kenan attacks the mammoth omelet of egg whites, and I’m not shy about my meal, either.

“Suspicious?” Kenan finally speaks, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Maybe. I’m not sure why she thinks she wants me back.”

“Really?” I ask disbelievingly. “You don’t know why she wants a handsome, intelligent, handsome man who—”

“You said handsome twice,” he interjects, grinning.

“Don’t interrupt. A handsome man who’s obviously a good guy? She’s probably kicking herself from here to the moon for being so careless. For losing you.”

“Well if she is, she can keep kicking because there’s no chance.”

“None?” I ask. “What she did killed your love?”

He looks down at his plate and sets his fork aside.

“I’m going to be completely honest with you for some reason.” He shakes his head like he can’t believe he’s telling me this. “I think there was something broken in our marriage long before Bridget cheated on me.”

His look is sad and holds regret.

“I’m not an easy guy to know,” he says with a one-sided grin that goes straight to my heart. “You might not believe that by how I’ve talked your ear off, but I’m not usually this talkative. I’m an introvert. I like to be home. I love my music and to read and to relax. I love my business interests and pour a lot of time into making them successful.”

He takes a long sip of his water before speaking again, and I don’t try to fill the space with words or questions. He needs to tell me these things, and I want to hear them.

“We married straight out of college right after I was drafted into the league,” he says. “My family was well-off growing up, but getting drafted meant money like I’d never seen. Millions and millions of dollars on day one. Maybe Bridget thought we’d have this rock-star lifestyle. That I would suddenly become this guy who wanted the limelight—that I wouldn’t be able to resist the lure of fame—but I don’t care about it.”

“And she does?”

“She does now.” He shrugs. “The saddest part is that I’m not sure she ever really knew me, and I’m pretty sure I never really knew her. Not if Baller Bae is what she’s after.”

His sardonic laugh comes and goes quickly. “We had Simone, but we didn’t have much else in common. My dad tried to tell me. He’s gone now, and I see what a hole it’s left in my mother’s life. They were deeply satisfied with each other. I never had that with Bridget.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling bad for them both, but especially her being married to a man like Kenan and never really knowing him.

“Well, I wouldn’t be sitting here if things hadn’t gone how they did,” he says, sobering when he looks back to me. “And I’m really glad to be here with you.”

“This is not a date,” I blurt.

His sinfully full lips compress against a smile, but he manages not to laugh. “That was a very timely reminder,” he says with false sobriety. “Thank you.”

The server brings our check, and I’m seriously wondering if the whole day will feel like this—like we’re in a pressure cooker. Like I’m boiling under my skin every time he looks at me for more than two seconds.

We stand to leave and the server comes back to the table. He’s already collected the bill, so I’m not sure what else he needs. His smile, hesitant and sheepish, clues me in.

“Mr. Ross,” he says, scrunching his face. “Could I get a selfie? It’ll only take a second.”

I imagine it requires some patience for Kenan, a self-confessed introvert, to deal with this on a regular basis.

“Sure,” he says with a gracious, if somewhat reserved, smile.

I consult the list on my phone for all the things we’re doing today while they take their photo.

“You ready?” Kenan asks once they’re done.

“I think the question is are you ready, Mr. Ross, for all that I’ve got planned?”

While we walk, he puts his hand to my back. I try to ignore the heat of it—ignore the electric storm brewing in the air around us every time we brush against each other on purpose or by mistake. With us, there’s no such thing as a casual touch.

“No,” he says, shaking his head and not smiling. “I don’t think either of us is ready for this, but damned if I’m not doing it anyway.”

For a few seconds, I’m thrown, lured deeper into his unbreakable stare, but I try to lighten the moment, break the tension, and stick to the plan.

“Well, I hope the old man can keep up with the millennial.”

After a second, he yields a grin. “I can’t believe I’m gonna be that cliché, the older rich guy dating a younger woman.”