by A. C. Arthur
“Can you play ball around her? Because you sure as hell can’t now,” Keith joked.
“Shut up, man. I mean, I feel different around her. Usually I’m thinking about the business, work, my family. But last night all I could think about was her and what I could do to make her happy.”
Keith evaluated the forlorn look on his friend’s face and shook his head again. He had it bad. “I’m just saying to be careful. Reka’s not in the mood for men right now. I know because every time we’re together she tells me how fed up she is. If you think you can change that, then by all means give it a try. But understand that it may not be an easy job.”
Khalil heard him and appreciated the heads up. “My entire life’s been easy. I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth, went to the best schools my father’s money could buy, wore the best clothes, drove the best cars and even dated the best girls. I’m thinking that I’m kind of tired of that type of perfection. I want something more, something substantial. I want Reka.”
* * *
“Here, this is great. You can wear it to dinner tonight.” Tacoma shoved the silky black slip dress into Reka’s hands.
Reka held the dress up, surveyed it a moment, decided she liked it, then decided she had nowhere to wear it and hung it back on the rack. “I am not going to dinner tonight. I told you I told him no.”
Tacoma grinned as Reka turned her back and headed towards the men’s section. Quickly and discreetly he pulled the sexy black number from the rack and tossed it over his arm. He had to take a few lengthy steps to catch up with her, but as soon as he did he brought the subject up again. “You also said he didn’t take no for your answer. Which means he believes you’re going to dinner.”
“I don’t care what he believes.” Yeah, right. She’d been steadily trying to convince herself of that fact since last night. Too bad she’d been unsuccessful, else this shopping spree would have been much more enjoyable. As it was, for the last three hours she and Tacoma had been in and out of stores purchasing everything from tulle for the wedding favors, to gorgeous navy slacks and matching silk shirts for Tacoma and Terry to change into after the reception. All the while the conversation had stayed firmly on Khalil Franklin and his proposal.
“Oh, get over yourself,” Tacoma sighed with a bored expression. “It’s a free meal. He didn’t ask you to marry him, for Pete’s sake.”
“I’m usually interested in the men I share meals with.”
Tacoma was headed for the checkout counter. He was meeting Terry at four and didn’t want to be late. “I know, the thugs, street pharmacists and wanna-be rappers really capture the imagination. But now it’s time to grow up, expand your horizons. Khalil seems like a good guy.”
Ignoring his jab at her ex-boyfriends’ occupations, Reka frowned. “They all seem like good guys in the beginning.”
Tacoma passed the black dress to the cashier and noticed that Reka was staring off into space, so he motioned for the woman to put the dress into a separate bag and took Reka’s hand as a further distraction. “What are you really afraid of? That he’ll turn out to be a dog and break your heart, or that he’ll be so fantastic you’ll find yourself opening your heart to him instead?”
Because she didn’t know the answer to that question, she remained silent.
* * *
An hour and a half later, as she soaked in her bathtub, she still hadn’t figured it out.
Without a doubt she knew that Khalil scared her. That was enough to piss her off—fear was not an emotion she was used to feeling.
But what scared her most was not knowing whether he was a good guy, a tall, extremely handsome, well-dressed, chivalrous good guy or, more likely, just some stuffy computer guy looking for entertainment with a young hottie.
She chuckled then. Was she a young hottie?
Still, he seemed almost too educated, too polished for her tastes.
Reka heard the knob jiggle just before the door was thrust open by a woman dressed in a floral creation with a hideous black background and another woman only a few inches taller and wearing too-tight jeans, red boots and a red leather jacket.
“You been in here forever,” the lady in red chirped.
“Just like when you was a baby, didn’t wanna come out ’til you was wrinkled as a prune.”
That was Grammy, her words making Reka look down at her fingertips—yup, wrinkled. She frowned. “Could I have some privacy?” she said indignantly.
The lady in red, aka Janell Boyd, made her way completely into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror lifting her hands to her hair. “Chile please, we all have the same thing.”
Grammy plopped down onto the closed toilet seat, a weathered hand going to her bosom. “Yeah, but gravity’s taken hold of mine.”
Reka rolled her eyes and groaned. She closed her eyes, knowing the women would still be there when she finished, and stood to grab a towel.
“Grammy’s going to stay with you for a while,” Janell said as she followed Reka out of the bathroom.
“What?” Reka’s wet feet slapped against the hardwood floors. “Why?”
Janell took off her jacket to reveal a skintight red t-shirt. “She had a little disagreement with some of the women at Sunny Days, so she needs some coolin’ off time.”
“Why can’t she cool off at your place?” Reka whined.
“Because I’m barely there.”
Reka fell with her back flat on her bed, the towel secured around her breasts. “I work too, Mama.”
“Yeah, but you don’t do anything but work lately. So I figured Grammy would keep you company.”
“I want that handsome friend of hers to keep me company.” Grammy said once she entered the room and took a seat on the opposite side of the bed.
“What handsome friend?” Janell immediately looked down at Reka, who was now groaning loudly.
She should have known that while Grammy was known to forget to wear panties she would remember meeting Khalil Franklin, only because her granddaughter wished to forget him.
“He’s not a friend, he’s a co-worker,” Reka supplied, praying she wouldn’t have to go any further, but soon realizing her prayers were rarely answered.
“They went on a date last night and then came back here for a nightcap.” Grammy was going through her purse, in search of what, nobody knew for sure since she never seemed to find it.
“We did not go on a date,” Reka said adamantly, then threw her hands in the air in defeat. Grammy was going to say and think exactly what Grammy wanted, and nothing Reka said was going to change that.
Janell fell on the bed beside her daughter. “You seein’ somebody new? He works with you, huh? Well, you know, working with somebody and sleeping with him can be a pretty dangerous game.” Janell put a hand to her neck. “I remember this guy, Todd. We worked together at J.C. Penney years ago. He had the biggest hands and man, oh man,” Janell shivered, “in that storeroom after hours, he sure knew what to do with them.”
“Mama,” Reka scolded. She was used to Janell’s graphic depiction of her relations with men, but she didn’t think it was appropriate in front of her grandmother. Janell, however, didn’t seem to care.
“But there was this other chick, Nellie. She worked in men’s shoes, and she thought she was ‘it,’ so as soon as she found out about me and Todd, she started blabbing. Then my supervisor started questioning why I always wanted to work the closing shift. And wouldn’t you know it, one day when me and Todd was in that storeroom—and I mean Todd was hittin’ it somethin’ good—that old battleaxe came waltzing in, screaming and bustling about like she was about to have a damned heart attack, and both of us got fired.” Janell’s head was tilted back as she reminisced.
Grammy tsked and shook her head, her big sponge roller curls bobbing at her ears. “If I told you once, I know I’ve told you a thousand times, if a man can’t afford to take you to a moe-tel, he ain’t worth the time it’ll take you to open your legs.”
Reka
dropped an arm over her eyes. Her family was nuts. No wonder she didn’t have any luck with men. She sat up. “Look, Khalil is just a co-worker. We’re working on a project together. That’s all,” she said emphatically. So emphatically that two pair of eyes widened and searched her face intently.
The telephone rang. The two older women didn’t move, just kept looking at Reka as if she were about to reveal the secret to nuclear fusion. Muttering a few choice words, wisely under her breath, Reka scooted off the bed and picked the phone up from the nightstand. “Hello?”
“Hello, Reka. I was just thinking about you and wondering if you were getting ready for our date.”
We don’t have a date, her mind screamed. But to do so verbally would most certainly amuse the two instigators in the room, who no doubt had their ears perked up. How was she going to convince them that Khalil was just a friend if he insisted on this so-called date? She gripped the phone tightly. “I just got out of the tub, and I’m trying to take a nap. Tacoma and I were out all morning.”
Khalil tried not to feel the slight edge of jealousy—she’d spent all morning with Tacoma, while he’d spent all morning thinking of her. “Well, I said seven, and you have another hour, so go ahead and lie down for a bit.” He paused, trying like hell not to say he was on his way. “But I’ll be there promptly at seven.” He knew she’d try to give him another excuse, so he hung up before she had a chance.
Setting the phone down in its cradle, he figured that was two things he’d catch hell for tonight. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of her voice replay in his mind. It wasn’t so much what she said as the way she said it, with determination and attitude. He smiled. Man, he really liked her style. Her candor and her stubborness. Well, he could forego the stubborn streak, but then that would be changing a part of her. And there was nothing about Reka that he felt needed changing.
He took that back. Her ideas about men needed changing, and he was just the man to make that happen.
* * *
Reka slammed the phone down. He had a lot of nerve telling her what she was going to do and how long she had to do it. She was about to release a few choice expletives when she turned and bumped right into Grammy.
“Was that him? Was that Mr. Handsome?”
Reka rolled her eyes. Her choices for this Saturday evening were to stay in this apartment with the two love connectors picking at her to find out about her relationship with a man she didn’t have a relationship with, or go to dinner with a man she wasn’t quite sure she could trust.
“Hmph, he must be a doozy if he’s got you all worked up with a simple phone call,” Janell added, standing to touch Reka’s cheek. “Look, Grammy, she’s blushing.”
“I am not!” Reka pulled away from them, going to the side of the bed to pick up the bags from today’s shopping spree as a diversion. “I told you he was just a co-worker.”
“Mm-hmm.” Janell folded her arms over her chest and continued to stare.
Reka dumped the contents of the bags onto the bed and gasped when the silky black material slid out. With two fingers, as if it were a piece of burning wood, she lifted the dress.
“Hot damn! Old co-worker’s gonna score tonight!” Janell whooped.
“I know that’s right,” Grammy added with her own denture-filled grin.
Reka groaned again. “I’m going to kill Tacoma!”
5
At seven o’clock on the dot, Khalil raised his hand and knocked on Reka’s door. Within seconds it swung open, and a slim, hippy woman smiled up at him from the other side.
“You must be the co-worker, Mr. Handsome.”
She extended her hand, lifting it palm downward to signal him to kiss it. Khalil chuckled a bit to himself, took the offered hand and performed the desired deed. “I’m Khalil Franklin. And you are?”
Amazed and impressed, Janell lowered her hand slowly to her side. “I’m Janell Boyd, Reka’s mother.”
Damn, Khalil thought to himself, if all mothers looked like this, young boys would have a hell of a time deciding which woman to date. Luckily for him, his interest had already been piqued and, even though Janell had a pretty tight body and didn’t look a day over thirty-five with her stylish hair and impeccably made-up face, there was only one woman for him.
Entering the familiar living room he spotted Grammy and went to the sofa to give her a hug. “Hi, Grammy. It’s good to see you again.” He liked the older woman, but wondered why she hadn’t returned to the retirement home.
Grammy embraced the young man, enjoying the sexy smell of his cologne. “Hey, handsome, you smell good tonight. Where are you taking my grandbaby? You’re all dressed up, too. That’s a fine suit you got on.” Grammy surveyed him.
Khalil felt a bit uncomfortable as Janell closed the door and began to examine him. He was being appraised, and he wondered if their approval would work to his favor with Reka. He smoothed down his tie and smiled lightly. “I’ve made reservations at Roth’s.”
Janell whistled. “That’s a pretty nice spot. I’ve been there once. Reka likes steak, good choice.” She winked at Khalil before taking a seat at the other end of the couch.
“Have a seat, handsome, and tell us about yourself while you wait for my grandbaby.” Grammy motioned to the single chair that matched the couch.
Khalil did as he was told, faintly amused by these two women. He could see where Reka got her build and her catlike eyes. A pair exactly like hers was staring him down something terrible right this moment. He wasn’t nervous, though, didn’t feel an ounce of wariness. These women looked at him appreciatively, and he was used to that from women, almost expected it half the time. Yet when he’d met Reka, her look had been something totally different. “What do you want to know?” he asked, letting his palms fall flat on his thighs.
“Where do you live?” Janell asked first.
“I have a condo at The Zachary.”
“That’s not far from here,” Janell noted.
“No ma’am, it’s not.”
“How old are you?” Grammy queried.
“I just turned thirty-five.”
“Mmmm, an older man. You know Reka’s only twenty-eight. Does the age difference bother you?”
He thought for a moment; he hadn’t really considered it except for the comments Reka had made the night before. “No, I don’t think the age difference is a problem.”
“Uh huh, so what are your intentions towards my daughter?”
Reka cleared her throat even as her pumps clicked across the floor. She should have known not to leave him too long with them. “Dinner is the intention,” she said to Janell. Then turning to Khalil, she said, enunciating very carefully, “And that’s it.”
Khalil stood, her words falling on deaf ears as his eyes lingered over her body. The black dress she wore hugged all the right places, emphasizing all the pleasurable spots and leaving her arms and neck bare so that her smooth skin tantalized him even more. The auburn curls that had been swept up the night before now hung down past her shoulders, held back at both sides with diamondlike pins that made her eyes sparkle even more. She wore light makeup, a silver dusting over her eyes, an almond glaze on her lips. Her legs were clad in sheer black nylon, and the straps of come-and-get-me pumps twined around her small ankles.
He swallowed—hard—tried to find his voice and took a step towards her. “You are stunning.” That was an understatement but the curve of her lips, the twinkle in those once leery eyes, said it was just enough.
Beneath his intense gaze Reka felt her heart thud a rhythm that sounded strangely like the Ludacris song that had just been playing on the radio in her room. She’d taken a good look at him as he stood statue still in front of her. The black suit, crisp white shirt and ice blue tie looked almost regal on him. His shoulders seemed broader, if that were possible, since yesterday, his thighs, thick and muscled. Usually a beard and mustache thoroughly turned her off, but Khalil’s was neat, thin and a bit sexier than she was ready to admit.
�
�Thank you,” she said without the terseness she’d intended. “I’ll get my coat and we can leave.”
She moved to the closet with Khalil admiring the way the thin fabric of her dress molded over her backside, wishing he were the dark material himself.
“Dessert comes after the main course,” Janell muttered from behind.
He’d forgotten the other two women in the room, so she startled him a bit, though he didn’t show it. “It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Boyd,” he said as he turned to face the two women—the Mod Squad, he’d dubbed them. “Take care, Grammy.” He nodded, then moved to the closet, taking Reka’s coat from her hands and holding it while she slipped her arms inside.
Reka tried to squelch the fuzzy sensation rippling through her. He was a gentleman, she’d already given him that much, so his actions should not keep inciting school-girl feelings.
They left the apartment without another word, walked down the steps and out into the chilly night air, still in silence.
“Should we hail a cab?” she asked when they both stopped at the bottom of the stoop.
Khalil had been focused on the intense heat between them as they walked so closely together, so her words startled him for a second. “No, I drove my car this time.” With a hand to the small of her back he led her to the curb.
Reka didn’t whistle, as she normally would have, nor did she seem overly impressed with the shiny silver Jaguar parked in front of her building. But truth be told, she was bowled over by the luxurious car and was positive it had been paid for with honest money. So as she slipped into the leather passenger seat, her heart didn’t thump with the fear of being arrested. Instead it beat steadily with excitement about what tonight might bring.
Khalil closed the door when she’d settled in the seat and fastened her seatbelt. He walked around the car with extra pep in his step, opened the driver’s side door, and climbed in. Sensing she was still a little uncomfortable, he took her hand, rubbing his thumbs over the smooth skin. “Just relax, Reka. I promise you a wonderful evening.”
In the darkness of the car, his eyes seemed more the color of coal, yet they caressed her with a warmth she’d never felt before. In that moment she could swear that all her reservations about trusting this man were bogus. More than anything she wanted to believe in him, believe that he really wanted to be with her, that he was really attracted to her and for tonight—just for tonight, she promised herself—she would allow herself to trust and to accept.
