by Zuri Day
“Because I’m not going to take anything you don’t want to give. We’re both adults here, Eden. And we both know what’s up. I’m just suggesting we stop denying the attraction and let nature take its course. I don’t know about you, but since getting divorced, I haven’t had too many women. Now, I know that’s hard for you to believe,” Jansen said hurriedly, continuing on before Eden could object, “but it’s true.”
“You’re right, it is hard to believe.”
Jansen shrugged. “Guess I’ve become more discriminating in my old age. And, to be honest, the divorce did a number on my emotions a little bit. Separating was my idea. I wasn’t a saint during our marriage, but Yolanda having an affair was the final straw.”
“Were you always faithful to her?”
Jansen shook his head. “I messed up once when my comforting a grieving coworker, who’d lost her son, got out of hand. I’m not proud of it either, believe me.” He stood and walked to the window. The street was quiet, the darkness broken up only by a streetlight nearby.
“So what was good for the goose wasn’t for the gander?” Eden’s voice was soft, questioning. There was no sarcasm or condemnation there.
“Made me ashamed all over again. I’d been cheated on before, knew how it felt.” Jansen looked away from the window, turned to stare at Eden. “Which is why I’d never step out on a woman again, wife or otherwise. I know how it feels. And it doesn’t feel good.”
Seeing this caring, sensitive side of Jansen made Eden uncomfortable. She tried to diffuse the building intensity with humor. “Well, don’t worry about me being the wifey you step out on,” she said, forcing a laugh. “Been there, done that. Single is good.”
“Single is safe. I don’t know how good it is.” Jansen walked over and knelt by Eden’s chair. “Look, if you just want to hang out, not take the relationship to an intimate level, I’ll respect that. But I’ve enjoyed getting to know you again, spending time together. I think what we’ve discovered is worth exploring . . . don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you think we’ve discovered, but I think you’re at least worth a date.”
“Ah, okay, it’s like that, huh?” He stood, pulled Eden up with him, and wrapped her in his arms.
“Yes, it’s like that.” Eden basked in his musky manliness for mere seconds before pulling away. She didn’t want him to feel how rapidly her heart was beating.
A semblance of their casual camaraderie returned after that. Eden joined Jansen on the couch, where they finished off Eden’s bowl of grapes before giving in to something a little more decadent—chocolate peanut-butter ice cream . . . shared from the same bowl. Jansen watched as Eden slipped a spoonful of cream into her mouth and pulled it out empty. He imagined her tongue savoring the chocolate—knew that that would be him later on. Eden watched in fascination as Jansen licked an errant drop of chocolate from his finger, watched his thick, firm tongue against smooth caramel skin before returning to its hiding place behind soft, cushiony lips. Suddenly Eden wanted to lick something besides ice cream. She wanted to lick what they hadn’t discussed earlier, what she’d seen of Jansen’s that had sent her scurrying away from him faster than a roach from a can of Raid.
“Be ready at seven tomorrow night,” Jansen commanded into the silence. “Dress to impress.”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” The familiar cocky smile, with a hint of added devilishness, returned to his face.
16
Had she slept at all? Eden wondered because half the night she’d tossed and turned, her body refusing to sleep on command. She tried to tell herself it was the ice cream she’d eaten, but that lie didn’t sound good even to her own ears. She was excited. About Jansen, and their first official date.
Eden stretched, rolled over, and looked at the clock: eight-fifteen. I probably got three hours’sleep in the last eight. She remembered looking at the clock at midnight, and then again at two, three-thirty, five-fifteen and seven. Had Jansen’s night been as fitful as hers? She doubted it. She hoped so.
After quick ablutions in the bathroom, Eden pulled on a pair of navy yoga pants and a powder-blue T-shirt. She wanted to get out of the house before Jansen awoke or, if he was already up, escape while he was out on his morning jog. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, slipped into a pair of lightweight tennis shoes, did a last check for earrings, watch, and keys. Check. Eden grabbed her phone from its charger, her purse from the dresser, and was out the door.
Jansen couldn’t stop smiling, and he had enough energy to run all day. Admit it, dog, you’re excited. More excited than he thought he could ever be over a female. And Eden Anderson, of all people. When did it happen? he wondered. When did he go from loving her like a sister to being in love with her?
Jansen stopped in his tracks, a scowl on his face. Wait, I’m not in love with Eden. Am I? He started running again, turned the corner, and purposely chose to run up a hill. He instantly felt the pull of the incline in his calves, relished the feel of muscles clutching and releasing as his feet pounded pavement. He worked his arms, using them to propel him forward. His fists clenched as he neared the top of the hill, his body straining under the taxing climb. He reached the top of the hill, but instead of leaning over and panting the way a mere mortal would, Jansen pranced on the balls of his toes, like a boxer, working the kinks from his neck, with a few jabs at an imaginary opponent thrown in for good measure. Only then did he stop, put his hands on his waist and twist this way and that. He did a couple lunges and massaged the muscles in his thighs and calves. He looked at his watch, surprised. Had he really run for an hour straight? Jansen pondered his options and then decided to take a shortcut that would put him back at the house in thirty minutes. He did one last stretch and began to run.
Just three more blocks to go. Jansen increased his speed, ready to get home, take a shower, and eat. He’d promised Reggie he’d coach the boys again and wanted to get there early in order to hang out with them a bit before practice. He’d already practically decided he’d coach one of the summer leagues full time next year. Truth be told, he’d missed his time spent with young, impressionable males, missed the feelings that came from steering one away from negative choices and toward the good ones. After practice, he’d make a couple more stops before returning to the house and getting ready for the evening. With Eden. And, again, came the smile. . . .
The scream was weak but audible. Jansen stopped, all senses put on red alert. He quickly scanned the area, straining to hear anything, see anyone. It was a relatively quiet Sunday morning. He’d seen a couple neighbors walking their dogs, had waved to Mr. Johnson, who’d sat on his porch, doing his weekly ritual of enjoying the Sunday Times and several cups of coffee. A jogging couple had passed him several blocks back, and a few teens here and there were going about their business. Activity, to be sure, but scarce in the span of two hours.
Jansen slowly retraced his steps, not making a sound. He casually felt the small of his back, and the small Smith & Wesson hidden there. That was when he heard it again, an attempted yell cut off in midshriek coming from the second floor of the house in front of him.
Jansen wasted no time. He ran to the door and banged furiously. He had no time to think or try to surprise the assailant. Somebody’s life was at stake. He had to interrupt whatever was in progress. “Police! Open up!” He banged again. “Police!” Jansen scanned the door quickly. Solid wood. Dead bolt. He had no doubt he could kick in the door, but it might take a while.
A yell, louder this time. Whoever was being assaulted had at least temporarily escaped her attacker. “Get him!” the woman yelled from inside. “He’s running out my back door!”
Midway through the sentence, Jansen heard the bang as the rear screen door slammed back into place. He rounded the corner in time to see a blur of blue jeans and a black, hooded shirt of some kind round the bushes and sprint down the alley. Rather than give chase, Jansen reached for his cell phon
e as he hurried inside the house. “Ma’am? It’s the police. Are you okay?”
“Here,” came the ragged reply. “I’m up here.”
Jansen quickly provided a description to the 911 operator and then took the stairsteps two at a time. He walked into a bedroom, and his heart stopped. On the floor was a woman Jansen guessed was around seventy years old. Her dress was torn, and her hair was askew. She was balled up, almost in a fetal position, rocking herself. “Thank you, Jesus,” she kept saying over and over. “Thank you, Jesus, for sparing my life.”
Jansen rarely got emotional on the job, but he felt his eyes grow misty as he helped the small-boned woman to her feet. Jansen guessed she was around five-foot-one or -two and a hundred pounds soaking wet. The woman reminded him of his favorite great aunt. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t caught the perpetrator—he may have pummeled him senseless.
“It’s going to be all right,” he whispered to the woman. He led her over to the bed and sat her down. She was still murmuring her thanks to God and clinging to Jansen as if he were a lifeline.
“The Lord sent you,” the woman whispered, her watery brown eyes staring at Jansen in wonder. “I prayed for God to save me, and here you come. An angel. . . .”
“I’m just an officer doing his job,” Jansen replied, touched by her kindness.
“You don’t look like no police I’ve ever seen. You’re one of those tall, strapping types, and a handsome one, too . . . though my eyesight ain’t what it once was.”
Jansen laughed even as he remained in police mode. “Do you think you could identify the man who attacked you, say, in a lineup?”
“Wouldn’t have to do no lineup, I know’d who it was.” Jansen waited. “It was Odette’s grandson, a friend of mine’s daughter’s boy. I used to have him over to do odd jobs, cut the grass and thangs. Then, as he got older, he started hanging with those gangbangers, smoking that crack, and getting all funny acting. The last time he borrowed fifty dollars and didn’t pay it back was the last time I invited him into my house. Until today. He begged me to let him in, said Odette had sent me something. Something told me not to open that door, or at the very least to call and confirm she’d sent him. But I didn’t listen.
“You saved me,” she said again, her eyes watery as she caressed Jansen’s cheek with an aged hand. “You’re an angel, and you saved me.”
Eden felt great. She’d been primping and getting pampered all day long. After an hourlong workout of yoga and pilates, she’d splurged on a massage and body wrap at Burke Williams. Then she’d gone for a mani-pedi and finally to the hair salon. By the time she arrived back at the house, she fairly floated toward the front door, carrying a dress she hoped would drive Jansen wild. She knew how disciplined he could be, how he liked to be in control. Tonight Eden wanted to lead the dance, from the time he saw her in her silk, to the time he took it off her. That’s right, the end of the evening had already been decided. By Eden. She and Jansen McKnight were going to make love.
She opened the door and immediately felt that something was wrong. This feeling was confirmed as she rounded the corner and saw Jansen sprawled on the couch, some cop show blasting. Oh, no. She ignored his mood and placed a smile on your face. “Can you hear it?” she yelled with a smile.
Jansen reached for the remote and clicked off the TV.
“I didn’t mean for you to turn it off, but it was pretty loud.”
“That’s okay.” With barely a glance in her direction, Jansen lay back and closed his eyes. “I don’t need to be watching that shit anyway. I live it every day.”
“Even on your off days?” Eden eased a little flirt into her voice.
“Especially on my off days,” was Jansen’s gruff reply.
“Well, that’s all the more reason to get up and shake a tail feather. You’ve only got an hour until our date.”
“Look, Eden,” Jansen said, settling deeper into the couch. “We probably should hook up some other time. I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
“Hook up ”? Is that how he defines our evening—a hookup? Eden felt immediately defensive, but she didn’t let it show. “Fine,” was all she said before she calmly climbed the stairs.
17
Exactly thirty minutes later, Eden walked back down. Her scent preceded her, tickled Jansen’s nose before she’d taken the second step from the top. A sensual aroma of vanilla and something . . . floral maybe? Jasmine? Gardenia? Jansen couldn’t tell. He just knew he’d walk on hot coals if it meant being able to smell this flower in Eden’s garden. The scent immediately made you want to wrap your arms around the person wearing it. Jansen sat up.
But was glad he was sitting down. A vision of sheer loveliness hit the middle landing before proceeding down the remaining seven steps. Stunning was the word that came to mind as Jansen watched Eden walk, or, rather, glide, down the stairs. The simplicity of the dress was its best feature, a breezy pale yellow number for which Jansen felt Eden needed to wear a flashing neon sign—DANGEROUS CURVES AHEAD. The vee-neck dipped down to show enough cleavage to tantalize, but not enough to embarrass. Jansen’s mouth watered. Shapely calves were accented by strappy jeweled sandals, their sparkle teasing him, taunting him, begging him to massage the feet they encased. Jansen wanted to do that and more. Now.
“Where are you going?” Jansen asked as Eden reached the door without looking in his direction.
“Out,” she replied, opening the door.
Looking like that, there’s no way in hell she’s going anywhere without me. Jansen was off the couch and by the door in a flash. He firmly grabbed her wrist. “I’m going with you.”
Eden looked down at her wrist and then up into Jansen’s eyes. The look on her face conveyed that she was not impressed or amused. “You will kindly remove your hand from my wrist.”
Jansen’s smile was easy, his mood unfazed by Eden’s brashness. “Yes, I will. There are several other places I can see to place it.”
Eden jerked her arm away and walked out the door.
“Give me thirty minutes!” Jansen yelled after her. “I made reservations.”
“When?” Eden asked, turning around.
“Earlier, when I was in a better mood.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Eden frowned her skepticism. “Someplace nice.”
Eden looked at her watch. “I’ll give you fifteen minutes. And then I’m leaving.”
“When you leave, it will be in my car, and it will be at seven PM, the way we planned it. Now move your car from behind mine so we can roll on time.” Jansen paused, eyed Eden with a smoldering look. “Then get back in here before somebody swoops up your fine ass.” Without waiting for an answer, Jansen walked inside and bounded up the steps.
Most fibers of Eden’s being wanted to leave Jansen hanging just because she could. Who does he think he is, ordering me around? Like I have to wait for his moody behind. I don’t! But that was most of the fibers of her being. Those other pesky threads, like the ones that formed her heart and lower parts, wanted nothing more than to have that fine hunk of manliness by her side. Eden moved her car, then went back into the house. She forced herself not to smile. There was no way she’d get giddy over going out with someone she’d known for three decades. Still, she had no doubt that even with her four-inch heels, sparkly tennis bracelet, and diamond studs, Jansen would undoubtedly be her most valuable, and hottest, accessory of the night.
At precisely seven PM, Jansen opened the passenger door and helped Eden inside his black Navigator. Eden wasn’t surprised to find it spotless. He kept his temporary quarters the same way. She watched Jansen stride around to his side of the car. He looked amazing in black, light wool slacks, a stark white shirt, and polished black loafers. His jewelry was simple: silver watch, silver cross chain, and a two-karat diamond stud in his left ear. Truth be told (though Eden would never tell Jansen this truth), he could have thrown on a T-shirt and khakis and looked just as good.
“Thanks
for waiting,” Jansen began as he eased the car out the driveway.
“You’re welcome.”
Silence ensued as Jansen headed north on La Brea. These two who’d known each other since back in the day had spent countless moments together, shared dozens, if not hundreds, of conversations. But this felt different. This . . . was a date. A current of attraction fairly sizzled between them; the air was dense with anticipation. Jansen turned on the iPod that was connected to the car stereo. Tupac’s signature smoothness oozed through the speakers, telling everybody it was him against the world.
Jansen glanced at Eden. “You like Tupac?”
Eden shrugged. “He’s all right, I guess. I’m not much into hip-hop.”
“What do you like?”
“Mellow music: jazz, new age.” Eden cast a side glance at Jansen to gauge his reaction. When she didn’t see any, she went on. “I like some of the neo-soul sound. Love some of the sounds coming out of England.”
“Your musical tastes have definitely changed. You used to like rap.”
“Um, not really.”
“Yes, you did.” They reached a stoplight. Jansen breezed through his playlist, pressed a button, and soon a flow of rhymes about summertime filled the air.
“Ha! DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince!” Eden said, laughing, immediately beginning to move from side to side and bob her head. “But this was a different kind of rap—positive, made you feel good.”
“Looks like it’s making you feel good now!”
Thanks to the DJ and Fresh, the uncomfortable atmosphere between Jansen and Eden dissipated. By the time they arrived at the seaside Italian restaurant, they were once again laughing and chatting like the old friends they were. Between their delicious antipasti and main course, they shared the day’s events.
