Reggie shook his head. “That’s a damn understatement. All this… smartphone shit, social media. My daughter has been talking my ear off about “Twitter”, taking “usies” with me, using some crazy stuff that it made it look like I had goddamn flowers on my head. I missed two terms of a Black president, only to come out to a fucking orange one.”
Clayton and I laughed.
“Alexis texted me,” I told him, referring to he and Chloe’s sixteen-year-old daughter. “Said the first thing you wanted to do when Aunt P drove them up there to pick you up was stop and get a grinder.”
“Fucked my stomach up too,” he chuckled. “It was good as a motherfucker though. I had my sandwich, chopped it up with them, then took mama’s car down to the barbershop, got my shit cleaned up right. I had to, man.”
“I see you bruh,” I said, playfully swiping at his fresh haircut. “You’re looking good, man,” I told him, honestly. Gone was the harrowed look in his eyes from the last time I’d drove out to Danbury to visit him – which was better than when he was at Allenwood. Already, his light was coming back, and I was glad to see it. “Don’t tell me you got locked up and turned into a pretty boy on me, gotta get a fresh cut soon as you get out.”
He sucked his teeth. “Nigga, you’re sitting there in a floral shirt and matching socks, calling somebody pretty,” he called. “But nah… I had to be right before I saw Chloe.”
I nodded. “I feel you… how did that go?”
Before he answered, he took a long swig from his drink, then shrugged. “As well as I could expect.”
“She still pissed?”
He let out a dry laugh. “Unfortunately. Who would’ve thought the woman would hold a twelve year grudge?”
“I would,” I chuckled. “We’re talking Chloe here. She held you down though. Made sure the kids were good, kept them around Aunt P, made sure you had what you needed in there.”
Reggie shook his head. “Not denying any of that, Ram. And not complaining, either. She gave me better than I deserved, all this time – and a warmer welcome than I anticipated, after not showing her face the whole damn time I was in there.”
Clay let out a low whistle. “Damn, man. The whole time?”
“Whole time. Again though… not complaining. My dues are paid now, and I’m looking ahead.”
“Smart man,” Clayton said, and I nodded.
“I’ll drink to that.”
We actually drank to it several times, before I had to leave Reggie and Clay talking so I could swing by the men’s room. On the way out of the little foyer that led to the restrooms, even though I was looking ahead of me, I somehow still ended up colliding with someone – a petite, pleasant-smelling, female someone – and I instinctively reached out, putting my hands on her forearms to steady her.
“Excuse me,” I apologized, and stepped back, already heading back to my table. “I didn’t see you.”
“Of course you didn’t,” she spoke back, in a too-familiar voice that made me actually look at her. “The whole “fake bump” thing was by design, Ramsey. Checking your gentleman reflexes, and I see you still have them.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest as I surveyed Lena in person, for the first time in months. As always, she was impeccably dressed, in a fitted red floral dress that hung off her shoulders, the rich color making her dark skin pop. I’d be lying if I said she didn’t look good – she looked good as hell. But the memory of our last in-person conversation – Valentine’s Day, to be exact, when she’d shown up at my door in a Cupid costume – still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I hadn’t been moved then, and I wasn’t moved now.
But that didn’t stop a mischievous grin from spreading over Lena’s face as she stepped closer to me, stopping just on the right side of too close. “You have been a very busy man, and a very naughty boy, Mr. Bishop. Congratulations on the new gig.”
“Thank you, Ms. McBride.”
She pressed her teeth into her perfectly-bright-red painted bottom lip. “You’re very welcome. I, uhh… saw those pictures from your vacation. Wil Cunningham, huh? I never would’ve thought.”
I lifted an eyebrow, knowing I shouldn’t feed this beast, but curiosity got the best of me. “Why is that?”
Lena shrugged. “I don’t know, I just imagined that, if you weren’t with me… you’d get with someone with a little more edge. And that’s no shade to Wil, honestly, she just seems, very wholesome. But you do have a way of bringing things out of people, don’t you Ramsey?” When I didn’t respond, her smile widened. “Oh come on. You don’t have to play shy with me, Ram. We’ve known each other since we were twenty-year-olds. I know you like to get juuust a little rough, all sexy and demanding. And she probably eats that shit up, doesn’t she?” Lena stopped, and giggled. “I know you’re too much of a gentleman to answer that, but still… good for her. She’s a beautiful girl, and she seems sweet.”
“What are you getting at, Lena?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
She laughed. “Nothing, Ramsey. But I should probably be getting back to my date.”
Lena started to walk off, but I grabbed her wrist, hauling her back into the relative privacy of the foyer. “Nah, I know you, and I know how you operate. So let me make something clear – Wil is not your competition. There is no competition, because me and you… we’re done. Completely.”
“Duh,” she snapped, rolling her eyes as she pulled away. “You know I don’t handle rejection well, Ramsey. I heard you loud and clear when you put me out of your place on Valentine’s Day. In top notch lingerie, might I add.”
“Then what is your agenda right now?”
“None. Seriously. I saw you, made an excuse to say hello, and now I’ve done that. I know you don’t think I’m pining over you? Not going to lie – I still think we would’ve been great, but Lena McBride doesn’t pine – she gets engaged to last year’s NBA MVP just before news of his one-hundred-fifty-million guaranteed contract goes public,” she said, holding up her hand to show me the damn-near obscene diamond on her finger.
My face screwed up, immediately. “Marcus Ingraham? How the hell did you…?”
“Great timing, impeccable planning, and these,” she said, groping her breasts. “I did my research – Marcus likes titties, I have titties. Marcus likes money, I have money. Marcus likes fame, I have fame. And after next year, Dr. Lena Ingraham-McBride – I like that order better than the other way around – will be a household name.”
Yeah.
There it was.
She’d already done all she could on her own to reach whatever it was she was looking for. The woman was a doctor – actually a good one, who would probably be a great one, with experience. She came from a whole family of them, with enough money to make their reality show happen and all of that. What she never could seem to get was the celebrity factor she wanted, which was where I had come in – she’d been planning the shit out for a while. And apparently, since I wasn’t down with that, Marcus was her ticket to get there.
And really, he was a bigger name than me anyway.
“Don’t look so disappointed Ramsey,” she laughed a little. “Marcus is a really good guy, and I actually like him. Almost as much as I liked you.”
I shook my head. “And that’s enough for you? Liking him?”
“Hell yes,” she exclaimed, looking at me like I’d lost it. “I’m certainly not looking to fall in love. Ramsey, come on,” she stepped closer, lowering her voice. “I’ve watched my mother cry too many tears over my whore of a father to trust any of you with something like my heart. Since I was a teenager, my plan has been to find somebody I can tolerate enough to build this social capital with, while I do my own thing, and he does his. Love doesn’t get my juices flowing, Ramsey… but status and money… they give me butterflies. And I am happy.”
Honestly… I believed her. Now that I was on the outside looking in – and had grown up some myself – I could see that in her, where I couldn’t before. But still…
“It would have been nice to know that before we got involved.”
She sucked in a deep breath, and actually had the decency to look remorseful. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. Seriously.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I know. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it.”
“Damn right. I guess you do know me pretty well, huh?”
“Damn right. But… I have to admit being surprised as hell that you – low key – defended Wil, by telling the press she wasn’t involved in us breaking up.”
Lena propped her hands on her hips. “Wow, Ramsey, what kind of bitch do you think I am? I mean, I am one, admittedly, but I’m a fair one. I know the two of you were just friends when we were together. And besides –I couldn’t have the world thinking another woman took my man from me. The fact that it helped Wil was just… gravy.”
“Uh-uh,” I said, wagging a finger. “I mean… maybe that’s part of it, but something about that doesn’t quite fit. It’s more than that. Spill it.”
She sucked her teeth. “Ugh. Fine. Maybe I really like her for you. There was a picture of the two of you randomly out in New York, and the way you looked at her… it was almost the way you used to look at me. Only… amplified. And she looks at you the same way. The way you probably wanted me to look at you. And I mean… you deserve somebody that looks at you like that, and vice versa, and I really hate you right now, for making me admit this corny, sappy shit, that I don’t even believe in. Bye. See you around.”
Lena turned and sashayed off, stopping a few feet away to turn and blow a kiss in my direction. I shook my head, then headed back to the table to find Reggie and Clayton rolling about something as the server delivered a fresh round of drinks.
“The fuck y’all laughing about so hard?” I asked, as I dropped into my seat.
“The fuck you been?” Reggie asked. “Dropping the kids off at the pool in this nice ass establishment?”
I laughed. “Hell nah. I… ran into Lena.”
Both guys instantly went quiet as hell, and exchanged a look, which kinda pissed me off, because they didn’t even know each other like that to be exchanging looks and shit.
“What?” I asked, breaking the silence before I reached for one of the freshly delivered drinks, to take a swig.
Reggie shrugged. “Nothing… just… shorty had your head a little messed up, so I’m wondering if you’re good.”
I stopped with my glass halfway up to my mouth to consider the question, and… “Actually… yeah. I am.”
Even though unwanted feelings had lingered, I’d been officially, no take-backs, no flags on the play, done with Lena since Valentine’s Day. Before that, even though we were broken up, I’d toyed with the idea of us getting back together. Maybe I was just seeking a companion for comfort because of what I was watching my mother go through. After she passed, maybe I was seeking a distraction from my grief. But whatever it was that had me going against all my common sense, intuition, and mother’s advice, to consider getting back with Lena disappeared when, three months after I buried my mother, she showed up half naked on my doorstep for sex and wedding plans.
I’d cancelled our engagement while my mother was in the worst part of her battle with cancer, because Lena’s selfish ass was trying to put cake samples in my face and asking me to choose between 38 different shades of white for tablescapes. She thought I was just too preoccupied with my mother to focus on the wedding, but in reality, I was disgusted by her selfishness, and wanted nothing to do with her. She – wrongly, and way too soon – thought that after my mother passed, we’d be right back on.
Talk about tunnel vision.
Over these last few weeks though, ever since Bali, even though I’d spent a little time messed up about realizing how big a mistake I’d almost made… Lena was the furthest thing from my mind.
“Yeah man… ol’ Ramsey here is on something new. Wil’s fine ass,” Clay said, tempering his normally inappropriate remarks about her, now that she and I were involved.
Reggie gave a deep nod. “That’s right! The whole yard was hyped up about that shit – Wil is…” he whistled. “That’s quite a woman.”
“Wait until you see her friend,” Clay insisted, whipping out his phone. I chuckled as he pulled up pictures of Soriyah, happy to let the conversation go there instead of staying on me, especially when my own phone buzzed in my pocket. They were too distracted to clown me about the grin that overtook my mouth when I saw that is was a message from Wil.
“I know you’re out with your boys, and I hate to be “that girl”, but… you’re gonna come see me before you report to pro camp, right? – The Champ”
“If that’s what you want, you know I’ll make it happen.”
I shook my head at myself as soon as I sent that text – it hadn’t taken nearly enough time for Wil to have me so completely wrapped around her finger that I’d bend over backwards to make her happy.
But I wasn’t interested in changing a damn thing.
Twelve
I need to go on a damn diet.
It wasn’t even negative self-talk this time – it was just the damn truth. I tried – and failed – one more time to button my favorite pair of jeans, but it wasn’t happening unless I wanted to walk into the Connecticut Kings box looking like a can of Pillsbury.
I did not.
Nor was I interested in potentially fainting because all my organs were compressed in weird ways, in my pursuit of squeezing into a damn pair of jeans. I dropped onto the end of my bed and laid back, spreading my arms out in defeat.
The last month and a half had finally caught up to me.
Ever since Ramsey reported to training camp – and I ended up in the middle of a sex-scandal – I’d been eating every feeling I had, when I actually had an appetite. My accidental intermittent fasting had probably ruined my metabolism, and the fact that I hadn’t set foot in a gym or on a track definitely hadn’t helped either. I was paying for it.
Luckily for me, it was summer, and I had a closet full of cute dresses.
Ramsey loved me in dresses.
And with the way pre-season had been going so far, I didn’t feel a shred of hesitation about dressing solely to please him. If nothing else, his woman could look good, and if this game went like the rest… the sight of me might be a needed win.
It wasn’t that Ramsey had played badly, not at all. He just hadn’t been… great. Those were words that would never come out of my mouth, if I could help it, but there were plenty of people saying it for me. One of the harsher critics had referred to his performance as “disappointingly average”.
I desperately wished I didn’t agree.
But I knew what it was – nerves, plain and simple. Ramsey got out there on the field, in front of a roaring crowd, for the first time in years, and did exactly what he was supposed to do. Nothing more. Nothing less. For a rookie, that probably would have been fine. But he was goddamned Ramsey Bishop.
We all wanted to see magic happen. But making that magic required risks, and for some reason, Ramsey’s head just wasn’t there yet.
I wished I knew what it would take to get him there.
Instead of dwelling on it though, I just sent up a prayer that today would be the day those jitters cleared, and he was able to play at the level we all knew he could. Shifting my head to see the clock, my eyes widened when I saw the time. I needed to be moving.
As soon as I sprang up to my feet, intending to push the too-small jeans down my hips, my head started spinning, like I’d gotten up too fast. I tried to turn and put my hands on the bed for balance, but ended up tripping on one of the pairs of shoes I’d pulled from the closet in my quest to find something to wear to the game.
The next thing I knew, I was twisting and falling backward. My hand shot out, closing around my bedspread, which I thought would save me.
It did not.
What it did, was slide off the bed and land right on top me as the back of my head bounced off the floor. Tears sprang to my ey
es as dull pain blossomed through my skull.
Had to have the damn hardwood floors, huh genius?
Flipping the covers off my face, I groaned as I sat up, with stars swimming in front of my eyes.
“Shit,” I muttered, hesitantly pulling myself up from the floor, then lifting my hand to touch the tender spot that would surely be a knot later. “This day is starting on a great note.”
Instead of waiting for it to get worse, I took a couple of anti-inflammatories and then finished getting ready, so I could make it out of the door on time. I brought my laptop with me, to take my own notes during the game, to use for future interviews.
By the time I made it to the team box, my head was pounding so hard that it was making me sick to my stomach, and I hoped no one would try to talk to me. Obviously, that didn’t happen. It seemed like everybody and their mother wanted a word with me, about an interview, or something I’d said on the show, or my relationship with Ramsey.
Luckily, Ramsey’s cousin, Reginald, who I’d been introduced to a couple of weeks ago, seemed to notice the distress in my eyes and pulled me away, tucking me into a seat on the other side of him and Ramsey’s niece and nephews, basically out of reach from the crowd.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and he grinned, extending his fist in my direction.
“You’re welcome,” he said, as I bumped my fist against his. “You were looking a little wild in the eyes, like you were just about ready to cut somebody.”
I laughed a little, then winced in pain. “I just don’t feel that great. Knocked myself in the head getting ready.”
He frowned. “You good? Ram know you hurt yourself?”
“No, and please let’s keep it that way,” I pleaded, holding out my hand as I saw him already going for his cell phone. “I’m fine, and Ramsey doesn’t need any distractions. I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure, Ramsey number two,” I teased, and he shook his head.
“My bad – the chivalry is in our blood I guess,” he laughed, then turned to look at something one of his sons was showing him. As I watched him interact with his kids – with Chloe’s kids, which had blown my mind – the story Ramsey had told me about him played in my mind. As well-known as Chloe was, her having children wasn’t common knowledge, and a whole-ass husband in federal prison, that no one had known about?
Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3) Page 24
