Her Cajun Valentine

by Michaels, Vee

  After a silent spell, she blurted, “Why me?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Why me?” she repeated. “This secret admirer thing. You didn’t know me at all. Is it because I’m black?”

  T Deaux set his fork down and considered her. “Is that what you think?”

  Nabirye shrugged. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “It’s not because you’re black. Truthfully, I think you’re absolutely stunning. But I’m also attracted to this quiet intensity you have. It’s like there’s so much inside you ready to burst out, only you’re too polite to let it.”

  Nabirye’s heart sped up, and her breathing quickened. His assessment was both unnerving and exhilarating. Feeling as though she didn’t belong anywhere, she constantly feared rejection. As a result she often gave in to others and kept her opinions to herself.

  “And there’s this sense of pride,” T Deaux continued. “In two years, I’ve only seen you wear like seven different outfits. I know they’ve got to be worn out, but every day you’re immaculate. That’s why I gave you the Nordstrom’s card—so you could splurge.”

  Nabirye’s mouth went dry. It embarrassed her that he knew she rotated seven outfits. That T Deaux had given her money for clothing was humiliating. She didn’t need charity. She pushed the card and gift closer to him. “For your information ...” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I could buy more clothes if I wanted to.”

  “I’m sure you could, but I’m guessing your money goes to something more worthy.”

  Nabirye stared at him while she struggled with how much to divulge.

  “Am I right?” he asked.

  “I send money to the orphanage where I spent eight years.” Her gut clenched as she recalled what it was like to go to bed hungry. “My one indulgence is my own apartment.”

  T Deaux touched her hand. This time Nabirye didn’t flinch, and he gently caressed the back with his thumb. “This is going to sound stupid, but something about you makes me want to be a better man.”

  She laughed from nerves then pulled her hand away.

  “It’s true. You just ... I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. You’re something to live up to, and I am really attracted to that. Plus, you have the most”—he looked heavenward and placed his free hand over his heart—”delectable legs I have ever seen.”

  Nabirye tried not to show her pleasure. “Don’t put me on a pedestal. I’ve got nowhere to go except down.”

  “Maybe.” He smiled. “Or maybe you underestimate yourself.”

  His gaze had her squirming in her seat. So his attraction was genuine. “Life’s a work in progress. I do the best I can,” Nabirye said.

  T Deaux nodded then checked his watch. “Oh no. I’ve got to go. I’m late for setting up.” He produced his wallet, pulled out three twenties, and set them on the table.

  “I can get it; I invited you out, remember?” Nabirye asked.

  “Not a chance. I only wish I could stay longer.”

  Nabirye picked up a twenty and tried to give it back to him. “This is way too much.”

  “It’ll make the waitress’ night. I know you’re not interested in me, but you’re welcome to come to the gig with me as a friend.”

  “Uh...” Nabirye waffled, confused by her own change in attitude. “I’m...”

  “I won’t put you on the spot. Tell you what.” He grabbed a napkin. “Do you have a pen?” Nabirye gave him one from her purse. He scrawled something on the napkin and handed it back to her. “I’d love to see you there, but if you don’t make it, I’ll understand.” He leaned close and gave her a peck on the cheek. Catching a whiff of his cologne, Nabirye was stunned by her desire. “I’ll save a seat up front for you.”

  “Thanks.” As he left, his broad shoulders and narrow waist cut an impressive figure. He was gorgeous without his glasses, plus interesting, and kind. So what was stopping her? The fact he was white? Her disappointment that he wasn’t Armondo?

  When she conjured Armondo’s image, the longing she’d experienced before was gone. In the span of a dinner, T Deaux had captured her imagination.

  She glanced at the napkin. The Black Door, N. 21st and Grant. Free entrance. T Deaux. She’d never known anyone in a band. She’d never even heard live music in a club. The idea made her feel included in a way she wasn’t used to. Anxious, yet excited, Nabirye’s gut twisted with indecision.

  ***

  As the lead singer for the Cajun Peekons, T Deaux usually played the crowd like others played their instruments. But Nabirye’s rejection weighed heavily on his heart and his jokes fell flat. While he doubted she’d come to the show, the romantic in him hoped. He’d told himself to give it up; even so, he watched the door.

  Two songs after the break, a flash of yellow caught his attention. He recognized the yellow dress and the tall, curvy beauty, and T Deaux’s hopes lifted. Nabirye, with her shoulders rigid and gait stiff, followed the club’s hostess toward the stage.

  Once seated, Nabirye cast her gaze toward him then smiled shyly before glancing away. Hoping to acknowledge her, T Deaux waited for her to look up when something thwacked his shoulder. He spun to face his band mate. “What?”

  “Dude! Sing!”

  Had he stopped mid-song? He picked up where he’d left off and sang to a smattering of applause.

  When the song was over he called an impromptu five-minute break then hopped off the stage.

  Nabirye’s eyes grew wide. “What are you doing?”

  “I just had to say hi. You look incredible.”

  She covered her cheek with her hand as though embarrassed. “I’m wearing the same thing I wore earlier.”

  “You looked good then too. Thanks for coming out.” He touched her knee, and she angled it away.

  “Are you supposed to be stopping right now?”

  “I had to. I couldn’t concentrate. Will you stay through the rest of the set?”

  Nabirye nodded.

  “Would you like a drink?” Without waiting for an answer, T Deaux waved a hand at Olivia, the waitress. Olivia, wearing a black top that looked three sizes too small, came to the table. She plopped a fist on her waist and uttered a curt, ‘What T?’

  “Get the lady whatever she wants. On me.”

  “I’m okay,” Nabirye assured.

  “The band has its own signature drink called the Cajun Peekon Blues. Would you like to try one?”

  “They’re delicious,” Olivia added flatly.

  Nabirye fidgeted. “Uh ... I don’t drink alcohol.”

  “We can make you a virgin drink,” Olivia’s tone mocked.

  Nabirye’s brows drew together. “That means without alcohol?”

  “You caught yourself a quick one T Deaux.” Olivia pursed her lips. “Can we decide here?”

  “Be nice Olivia,” T Deaux chided.

  Tucking her chin, Nabirye capitulated, “I don’t want to make trouble. The Cajun Peekon Blues is fine if you can make it without alcohol.”

  “A virgin for the virgin.” Olivia reached toward T Deaux, but he stepped away.

  ***

  The drink was tall, cool, light blue, and minty with a bit of tang. Intrigued by the flavors and liking how the drink started off cool yet heated her throat as she swallowed, Nabirye sipped it frequently.

  While she savored the drink, T Deaux’s silken voice hypnotized. On stage he possessed sensuality and a vulnerability that held Nabirye transfixed. She couldn’t believe he was the same man who sat behind a desk paying bills and collecting debts. When he closed his eyes, hit a note and held it, unbidden sexual images bubbled into her conscience. The only man she’d ever been with, she’d dated for over a year before they’d had sex. His roommates had come home before they’d had intercourse and she, nervous anyway, wanted to stop. Her boyfriend had forced himself on her. Afterward, she’d broken things off.

  Aside from fantasizing about Armondo, someone she’d considered safe because he was unattainable, she’d steered clear of men. But listening
to T Deaux and watching him move, caused a twinge in her groin and heat to rise to her chest and face. Her mind conjured erotic images of their bodies entwined. White on black, black on white.

  Feeling warm, she sipped on her drink and discovered her glass was empty. Nabirye fished an ice cube from the glass and slipped it into her mouth.

  Olivia came by and replaced her empty drink with a full one. Nabirye relaxed into the music swaying along with the bluesy beat. Her nerves, usually close to the surface of her emotions, had calmed.

  The song finished and the crowd applauded. Wondering why T Deaux wasn’t famous, Nabirye clapped vigorously and almost toppled sideways off her chair. After regaining her balance, she smiled up at T Deaux and found him watching her. She held his gaze longer than was proper. Her pulse raced and her desire uncurled itself. Sure her lust was showing on her face, Nabirye distracted herself by picking up her drink.

  Discovering it was empty, she blinked a few times in surprise, then, misjudging the distance to the table, she whacked the glass hard against the tabletop.

  “You okay there?” Olivia startled her. Not waiting for a reply, Olivia swiped the empty glass and replaced it with a full one. “Enjoy.” Olivia flashed her a smile. Nabirye focused on the swaying concoction until she realized T Deaux was talking.

  “... finished here. But I have one last song. We haven’t practiced this, so you’ll have to indulge me. It’s for a special friend who is here tonight.” He winked at Nabirye, and her stomach did a little flip.

  In a smooth, rich voice T Deaux sang a cappella. As he put voice to feelings of longing, Nabirye was moved, drawn into T Deaux’s emotional state of unrequited love. His raw emotion made her heart ache. She couldn’t help wondering whether he was singing about her. As she listened, the bar smells of alcohol and people faded. Her vision narrowed to the sexy, handsome man on the stage.

  When T Deaux finished, the room erupted in applause startling Nabirye and reminding her other people were present. Opening his eyes, he gazed down upon her. After pointing to and thanking each band member, T Deaux hopped off the stage.

  “Thanks again for coming.”

  “I enjoyed it. You have a wonderful voice.” Nabirye’s head spun. She put one hand to her temple while flattening the other on the table.

  “You okay?”

  Nabirye blinked a few times. “Must be the heat.”

  “Hm.” T Deaux picked up Nabirye’s drink and sniffed. “This is not a virgin drink. How many did you have?”

  “Two, I think.” Her swollen tongue made it hard to form clear words. Nabirye tilted sideways. She grabbed for the table’s edge and missed. T Deaux caught her before she hit the floor and steadied her on the chair. “Oh.” Nabirye blinked in surprise.

  “That’s kind of sweet, you can’t hold your liquor,” T Deaux said.

  “My liquor?” Was she drunk?

  “She could sneeze a booger onto the table right now, and you’d think it was sweet,” Olivia muttered as she picked up the drink she’d just served Nabirye. “I’ll take this before she knocks it over.

  “You gave her alcohol on purpose!” T Deaux accused.

  Taken aback by T Deaux angry tone, Nabirye swung her gaze his direction. Eyes narrowed, he stared at Olivia. Olivia spun away casting him a backward glance.

  “I don’t think she likes me,” Nabirye mumbled.

  “Forget about her.”

  “Am I drunk? I’ve never been drunk before. It feels weird.” She patted the side of her face.

  “Let’s get you home.”

  Nabirye laughed. Leaning toward him she blurted, “You’re cute and you sing beautifully. I can’t believe you’re an accountant.” The words came out warped. “You should be on stage somewhere”—she swung her arm wide and swayed—”bigger than this.”

  T Deaux scowled. “I’m driving you home.”

  “Seriously,” Nabirye insisted. “You’re incredible. A male Etta James.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  “I’m right about this. You should be famous,” she said again.

  T Deaux’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s sweet, but I think it’s the alcohol talking.” His smile faded. He glanced at the stage. “As soon as we’re cleared out, I’ll get you out of here.”

  Nabirye didn’t want to be a burden. “I’m fine.” She slid off the stool and stood. Tilting off to one side, she grasped the table’s edge and steadied herself. “I’ll call a cab.”

  “No. Don’t waste your money. It’ll just be a minute.”

  “I’ll help put your equipment away.” She surveyed the stage. Microphones in their stands were the only equipment left. “Wow. That was quick.”

  “I’ll say goodbye to the guys, then we can go.”

  “But—”

  “Nabirye, it’s okay.” T Deaux put a hand on her shoulder.” I want to make sure you get home okay. Please sit tight for a second.” After saying his adieux, T Deaux returned. As he pressed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the exit, Nabirye was intensely aware of his touch.

  T Deaux’s Toyota Camry smelled like a mixture of leather and T Deaux. Studiously, he entered her address into his iPhone to get directions. Impressed by his resourcefulness, Nabirye was grateful she didn’t have to think, but mostly she yearned to kiss him. She hungered to discover how his hand would feel on other parts of her body.

  “Buckle up,” T Deaux said.

  Feeling dizzy, Nabirye slanted across the center console, and rested her head on his shoulder.

  When he rested his hand on her thigh, tingles traveled to her core. Nabirye’s body hummed, and fantasies of their making love played in her mental theater. To hell with racial barriers, she thought, T Deaux is an attractive, sexy, romantic man.

  Twisting, she scooted closer. She pressed her shoulder into him and nibbled his ear.

  When T Deaux groaned, she laid her hand on his chest. Never had she acted so brazenly. She knew she ought to stop, but the will to behave had disappeared. Nabirye rotated more, pushing her breast against his arm. She slid her hand across his taut chest and smooth belly. “You smell good,” she murmured.

  “So do you.”

  She reached up and wove her fingers through his hair. It was soft and silken like his voice. “Do all white guys have soft hair?”

  T Deaux exhaled audibly. “I wouldn’t know.” He peeled her hand off him and gently pushed her away. “You better buckle up.”

  Discouraged, Nabirye sat upright and pulled at her seatbelt. It took two tries to click her seat belt into place. Nabirye told herself to stop, but as they drove, she couldn’t shake her lust.

  “We’re here. Where should I park?” T Deaux asked.

  “I’m in building C. Will you come up?” Where had her natural inhibitions gone?

  “Oh, Nabirye.” T Deaux closed his eyes. “I’ve wanted you for so long, but not like this. I’ll make sure you get in safely.”

  “You can stay longer.” Who was she?

  T Deaux helped her to her apartment. After Nabirye missed the keyhole for the third time, T Deaux coaxed the keys from her and unlocked the door. The tidy apartment swam into view and Nabirye saw the ratty furniture that she’d purchased from a yard sale.

  T Deaux guided her inside. After crossing the threshold, Nabirye grasped T Deaux’s arm and angled closer. “You know, you’re handsome without your glasses.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. “Your pink lips are kind of cute.” She leaned in intending to kiss him.

  “I can’t.” T Deaux stepped back, and she lost her balance. He caught her, and Nabirye relished the feeling of his arms around her. She pressed into him. Groaning, T Deaux wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. He steered her toward the couch. Extracting himself from Nabirye’s embrace, he guided her down. “You need to sit down before you fall down.”

  Nabirye seized his hand and tried to pull him onto the couch with her, but T Deaux slipped from her grasp.

  “I’ll come back in
the morning and give you a ride to your car.”

  Realizing she was making a fool of herself, Nabirye stared at the floor. “Don’t bother. I can get back to my car.”

  “Nabirye.” T Deaux blew out a breath. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Disappointment wound a knot in Nabirye’s gut as T Deaux walked to the door. This was the guy who’d given her gifts for weeks. How could she have blown it so severely?

  “Get some sleep. I’ll be by around ten o’clock. If you’re feeling up to it we can go out for breakfast.”

  Nabirye closed her eyes and tried to recall her plans for the following day, but her brain felt like it was swimming in muck. Her stomach lurched, and if she didn’t lie down, she was going to vomit. She tipped sideways onto the couch until she came to rest.

  At seven a.m. the alarm in her bedroom went off, waking her. Disoriented, Nabirye reached for it and fell off the couch. Her screeching alarm caused her head to throb. “Please shut up!” she croaked then regretted it when pain pulsed behind her eyes.

  Staggering into her bedroom, she shut off her alarm. Still wearing her yellow dress, she plopped across her bed. Light seeped through the curtains, burning her eyes. The last time she’d felt so sick, she’d been living in the orphanage. Curling into a ball, she squeezed her eyes shut then woke to the ringing phone on her bedside table.

  “Hello?” she croaked.

  “Where are you?” Her aunt demanded.

  Nabirye cringed. She’d conveniently forgotten her commitment to go to her family’s home to cook and clean for the day, something she’d been doing every Saturday since she’d moved out. “I’m sorry Auntie. I’m not feeling very well and I overslept.”

  “So, when are you going to get here?”

  Nabirye felt the familiar pang of hurt at her aunt’s obvious lack of affection. It seemed to Nabirye she was little more than a workhorse to the family. As one of the women she was expected to dote on the men. She’d hoped that would end when she moved out, but her aunt had insisted that until she was married her duty was to them. They were all she had. Nabirye pressed her palm to her eye to ease the pounding. “Maybe in a couple hours I’ll feel better.”