Playing for Keeps

by Yahrah St. John

  “Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” Jenna asked when she met up with Avery on Friday evening for dinner. They were standing in the foyer of a new restaurant waiting for a table.

  “I’m sorry,” Avery apologized and hung her head low. “It’s been a tough week.”

  “No kidding.” Jenna grabbed Avery by the chin and peered into her face. There were lines around her eyes. “Have you gotten enough sleep? You look haggard, my dear.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Avery said, snatching her head away.

  “Is everything okay?” Jenna asked. “I can tell something’s wrong. You aren’t yourself. What’s going on?”

  The hostess interrupted them before she could answer and led them to a table that had suddenly become available.

  Avery wasted no time spilling her guts once they were seated. “Oh, the usual. A fight with my mother.”

  “That seems to be par for the course these days.”

  “Jenna, sometimes she and I are like oil and water. We just don’t mix. You think she’d be proud that I’m doing so well at the gallery, but she’s always quick to point out my shortcomings. Or my single status. A girl of your age,” Avery mimicked her mother’s voice, “should already be married and settled by now.”

  “She didn’t try and set you up again, did she?” Veronica Roberts was notorious for setting Avery up on unsuccessful blind dates, much to Avery’s chagrin.

  “No, but she would have tried if I’d given her the opportunity.”

  “Well, forget about her for tonight and let’s have some fun. How about some jazz later?”

  “That sounds like a fabulous idea.” Avery could use the distraction.

  After dinner, Avery and Jenna found themselves at Blue Note. Known for its late-night grooves and full house, Avery wasn’t sure they’d get in, but one of Jenna’s former models just so happened to be the bouncer at the door and squeezed them in. As they walked to the bar, Avery spied someone familiar seated at a table with some friends. As she approached, Avery realized it was none other than Quentin Davis, the photographer she’d made a fool out of herself in front of last week.

  “Cover me,” Avery said, pushing Jenna in front of her.

  “Why?” Jenna asked over her shoulder.

  Avery didn’t answer until they were safely past his table and seated in a corner at the bar. “You remember that guy from my showing last week?”

  “You mean the good-looking one you were rude to?” Jenna asked. “Then yes, I remember him.”

  “Well, he’s over there.” Avery motioned with her head toward the front of the room. When Jenna went to turn around, Avery stopped her. “Don’t look. You’ll draw attention to us. Let’s just stay over here and hopefully they’ll leave soon.”

  “You hope.”

  “Yes, I do,” Avery replied. The last thing she needed was another round with Quentin Davis.

  Across the room, Quentin, Sage, Malik and Dante were having a good time laughing and reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

  “Do you remember when Mr. Peeples caught us sneaking back in after curfew?” Dante asked.

  “Oh yeah, we had just turned sixteen, gotten a fake ID and decided we were grown enough to go out on our own,” Malik continued.

  “That’s until we got jumped by those older guys, had all our money stolen and ended up walking twenty blocks home in the rain,” Quentin remembered.

  “And then Mr. Peeples caught us and put us on dish detail for a month,” Dante finished.

  “Yeah, those were the days,” Malik said.

  Sage’s brow furrowed. “Why don’t I remember that story? Where was I?”

  “That’s because you were only fifteen, kiddo, and we had to leave you at home,” Quentin teased as he rose to his feet. “And you did nothing but sulk for days that you had been left out of all the excitement.”

  “I did not,” Sage returned, even though she recalled being somewhat of a brat afterward.

  “You did, too,” Quentin whispered in her ear as he leaned down. Once he made it to the bar, he ordered a bucket of Miller Lite and was glancing around the room when his eyes rested on a female frame at the corner of the bar. It was that ice queen from the gallery who’d treated him as if he’d crawled out of the gutter.

  Great, Quentin thought. All of a sudden the air in the bar turned chilly. The bartender slid him a bucket and Quentin slipped him a twenty. “Keep the change.”

  Quentin sat back into his seat with a frown. “Guess who’s here?” he asked, grabbing a bottle out of the bucket.

  “Who?” Sage asked, looking around.

  “Remember that woman from the gallery?”

  “The one in the Chanel suit who was pissed we crashed her showing?”

  “The one and only.”

  “Why don’t you go over and say hello?” Sage suggested. “You know, get off on a better foot?” Sage knew the woman had gotten to Quentin.

  “I don’t think so,” Quentin said. “That woman’s as cold as ice.”

  “Remember when we used to make bets with each other to go out with someone and see how long we’d last?” Malik asked. “Well, I’ll bet you twenty bucks—” he pulled out his wallet and slid a twenty Quentin’s way “—that you can’t melt that ice queen.”

  “You’re joking,” Quentin said, pushing the money back toward Malik. “We haven’t done that since we were teenagers.”

  “Who said we ever have to grow up?” Dante replied. “Do it. And for added incentive, let’s up it to fifty.” He slid another thirty dollars across the table.

  Quentin considered it for a moment. They thought he couldn’t melt the ice around that diva’s heart. Sure, it would be difficult, but he was Quentin Davis after all. “All right, you’re on.” He accepted the bet, tucked the bills in his pocket, grabbed his bottle of beer and stood up ready to face off against the dragon lady.

  “Wait!” Sage yelled when Quentin started to walk away. She jumped up from her chair and tucked another fifty bucks in his pocket. “Don’t leave me out.” She kissed Quentin on the cheek, smacked him on the butt and said, “Go get her, tiger, urgh.”

  Quentin strutted to the back of the room and walked up to Avery Roberts, who was sitting at the bar with her back to him. She was with that sexy friend of hers from the showing. Quentin would have preferred the bet was on her as it would be much more enjoyable, but alas it wasn’t. Quentin coughed. When Avery didn’t turn around, he coughed again.

  Avery swiveled around in her bar stool and was surprised to find Quentin standing behind her. “What do you want?” she asked a little too sharply.

  Although Quentin didn’t care for her tone, he persevered. He was always up for a challenge. He smiled and said, “Ladies.” He nodded over to her friend.

  “Hi, how are you?” Jenna smiled back flirtatiously.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” Quentin replied. “I’m just here with some friends listening to the jazz band. They’re great, aren’t they?” He placed his beer bottle on the bar and moved closer to Avery.

  “Yes,” Avery said curtly. She didn’t like that he was so close to her. It unsettled her. “Now, can I help you with something?” She ignored Jenna, who was glaring at her.

  Quentin took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down before responding. “Well, I came over to apologize for last week.” At Avery’s blank stare, he continued. “You know, crashing your showing. My friends and I really shouldn’t have come without an invitation. I hope we didn’t cause you any trouble.”

  Avery was shocked when Quentin apologized. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Now she felt two feet small because once again, she’d misjudged him. But this time instead of insulting him, she’d be the bigger person. Especially since being angry took too much energy and after arguing with her mother she was fresh out. “No apologies necessary. No harm, no foul.”

  “Great.” Quentin smiled. And when he did, Avery’s heart skipped a beat. Why was it she hadn’t noticed what a great smile he had? Could it be becau
se she’d been too busy judging him? Perhaps he’d been right last week when he’d implied she was judgmental. She would have to work on that. “So, how about I buy you ladies a drink?”

  Her initial reaction was to say no, but then Avery thought better of it. “Thank you, I’d like that,” she replied.

  “Bartender, I’ll have two…” He glanced over at their empty glasses.

  “Apple martinis,” Avery offered.

  “Two apple martinis, please,” Quentin said. When the barkeep returned with two glasses, Quentin handed each of the women one and raised his bottle. “To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings,” Avery and Jenna chimed in and clinked glasses before sipping their martinis. From her perched view atop the bar stool, Avery was nearly face to face with Quentin, and what a face it was. She allowed herself to enjoy the view. Smooth, sexy chocolate skin, broad nose, full lips and a glistening bald head made Quentin Davis one very attractive man. He was wearing a royal-blue silk shirt, tucked into black trousers along with two pieces of jewelry, the diamond stud she’d seen before in his ear and a St. Christopher cross that dangled from his neck.

  The band struck up a slow ballad and couples began filling the small dance floor. Quentin realized that a slow dance was a prime opportunity to make his move and put all the Davis charm on Ms. Roberts.

  “Would you like to dance?” Quentin asked. He chugged the rest of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the bar.

  Avery shook her head. “I really don’t dance. I’m terrible at it. I have absolutely no rhythm.”

  Quentin chuckled. “You can’t be that bad.” He took the martini glass out of her hand and pulled Avery to her feet.

  “No,” Avery resisted. “I’m really that bad. Why don’t you take Jenna?” Avery glanced in her friend’s direction, but Jenna shook her head.

  “He didn’t ask me,” Jenna said. “And I’m not finished with my drink anyway.” She held up her full martini glass.

  “There, it’s settled.” Quentin placed his hand on the small of Avery’s back and led her to the dance floor, much to her dismay.

  “I warn you, I’m very bad,” Avery said.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll lead.” Quentin encircled her waist with his arm and pulled her toward him. Thanks to the crowded dance floor, they were thigh-to-thigh and cheek-to-cheek. When Avery squirmed and tried to put some distance between them, Quentin pulled her even closer until her small pert breasts were resting firmly against his chest. Slowly and deliberately, he moved her slender body with his to the rhythm of the music.

  Being so close to Avery allowed Quentin an opportunity to see what he’d really gotten himself into with this bet. She smelled fantastic. Soft, light and airy—fresh and ripe for the picking. His second thought was that she was much prettier than he’d originally thought, especially if she did a little bit more with her hair rather than having it pinned up all the time. Quentin wished he could take out every pin and run his fingers through her long hair and make it unruly. Avery Roberts needed to be cut loose from her restraints.

  As Quentin glided her across the dance floor, with one big strong hand clasped firmly in hers, Avery wasn’t surprised to find that he was a skillful dancer. He looked like the sort who knew how to move a woman’s body. She tried not to peer into his arresting dark eyes for fear she’d get lost in them and step on his feet. She needn’t have worried; Quentin kept her on the floor through several slow tunes and didn’t release his hold on her until the tempo changed.

  “See, you’re not as bad as you think,” Quentin whispered in her ear once the dance was over.

  “That’s because you were guiding me,” Avery said. “Anyway, thanks for the dance.”

  “You’re welcome. Maybe we can do it again sometime?”

  “Maybe.”

  Quentin joined her back at the bar but not before glancing at his friends, who were giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Quentin smiled. His friends knew him well enough to know that Avery would be putty in his hands in no time. Quentin wasn’t arrogant about his prowess. He had a way with women and he had an oversize black book to prove it, with names from across the Atlantic.

  “Aren’t you going to rejoin your friends?” Avery asked. “You don’t have to stay and keep us company.”

  “Perhaps I find your company more appealing,” Quentin said silkily.

  “I, uh…” Avery couldn’t think of a proper comeback. Why did he have to say things like that? Was he trying to throw her off-kilter?

  “Well, I’m exhausted.” Jenna faked a yawn and stretched her arms. “I think I’m going to head out.” She stood up, reached for her clutch purse and plopped her credit card on the bar. “Since you’ve had a rough week, drinks are on me tonight.”

  “Jenna.” Avery turned and pleaded with her eyes for her best friend to stay, but Jenna ignored her and settled the bill with the bartender. When she was done, she leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Relax and enjoy.” She gave Quentin a wave before exiting.

  “What did Jenna mean you had a rough week?” Quentin inquired.

  “I had a disagreement with my mother.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Quentin said, taking the stool vacated by Jenna. “Perhaps I can remedy that.”

  “Not so fast, Mr. Quentin Davis.” Avery placed a hand on his chest to stop him. And when she did, she wished she hadn’t. Quentin’s chest was broad and rock hard. “Just because we shared a dance does not mean anything is going to happen here.”

  “Must you always be so combative?” Quentin asked, sitting down. “A drink and a few laughs amongst friends might cure your bad mood.”

  “So we’re suddenly bosom buddies now? You don’t even like me very much.”

  “I thought we were off to a brand-new start, but if I was wrong…” He rose to his feet.

  When he did, Avery realized she didn’t want him to go. “No, no, you weren’t wrong. Sit back down.”

  That was when Quentin knew he had her.

  “I’m sorry,” Avery apologized and shook her head. “Listen. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m going through a rough patch right now and although I appreciate the drink, I’m really tired and going to head home.”

  “Sure I can’t tempt you to have another drink?” Quentin asked. He’d seen the anguish in her eyes.

  “Not tonight.” Avery stood up, turned on her heel and walked out the door, leaving a frustrated Quentin in her wake.

  His charm usually worked on most women, but apparently not on Avery Roberts. It had only worked as much as she’d allowed it to work. For a moment he’d been sure he’d gotten to her, but just as quickly the moment had passed. He was going to have to work a lot harder to break the ice around Avery.

  He returned to the table where his friends sat with gigantic smirks on their faces. “What’s wrong, playa? Did she shut you down?” Malik joked.

  “Seems someone has bitten off more than he could chew,” Dante chuckled.

  “Oh, leave him be,” Sage said.

  Trust his little sis to always defend him, Quentin thought.

  “Forget them.” Sage turned to Quentin. “You said she was a cold fish.”

  Quentin shook his head. “It wasn’t that. There was something else.”

  “An aversion to playas,” Malik suggested.

  Quentin laughed from deep within his belly. “No. Something was troubling her. I could see it in her eyes.”

  “Then, you’re just in time to help a damsel in distress,” Dante said. “It’s Quentin to the rescue.”

  “If I didn’t love you so much, I’d have to hurt you.” Quentin laughed.

  “So, what’s next?” Sage asked.

  “I don’t know.” He rubbed his goatee. “I’m going to think about it. Because, trust me, the next time I meet Avery Roberts, she will not walk away.”

  “Those are some big words, my man,” Malik said. “Now let’s see if you can back them up.”

  “Oh, he can back them up,” Sage continued.
/>   “You better believe I can,” Quentin boasted.

  Chapter 3

  The following Monday, Quentin stopped by the old neighborhood in Harlem to visit the community center that he, Malik, Dante and Sage had frequented as children. The center had been an oasis for them after having been seen as a bunch of misfits at the orphanage: the troublemaker, the angry boy, the nerd and the sickly girl. Since he had so much free time now that he was on vacation, he could finally make a difference and volunteer. Perhaps he could be a positive influence in a child’s life.

  After exiting the blue train, Quentin was surprised at how much the area had stayed the same. Sure, there were some pockets that even he wouldn’t be caught dead in in the middle of the night, but all in all, not much had changed. It was sure a far cry from his current digs in SoHo. Quentin smiled to himself as he opened the center’s tattered front door. He’d come a long way, although the same could not be said for the door.

  He gave his name to the receptionist at the front counter and signed in on the guest list. She wasn’t Vivienne Falconer, the old battle-ax who used to give him, Malik and Dante a hard time, but she sure looked as if she could check a young brother if needed and scare him into acting right. She waved for him to come back.

  Malik came rushing out a side office just as Quentin came through the door separating the lobby from the offices. “Wow, I’m surprised you came.”

  Quentin tried not to take offense at his best friend’s comment. “You did ask me to come by and take some photographs, or did I miss a beat somewhere?”

  “No, of course not,” Malik replied. “I’m sorry, Quentin. It’s been a trying morning. Come on in.” He brought him into his small office.

  As Quentin looked around, he saw that it too was in need of a paint job. He determined right then and there to give a generous donation to fix up the community center, that was if he had the opportunity to do so and the corporation Malik had mentioned didn’t take over the neighborhood.

  “It’s all right,” Quentin laughed and settled back into a chair across from Malik’s desk. “If I didn’t love you like a brother, I might be offended. But since I do, I’ll let it slide.”