Celeste was tall and willowy, and could’ve been a model if she hadn’t been determined to save the world, one cause at a time. Currently, she was running a nonprofit to bring free fitness centers to areas of Chicago in need.
She was also a serial man-eater. She devoured them like potato chips and disposed of them like Kleenex. She was very much like the Samantha character in Sex and the City: a great friend but you would not want her to date your brother. Best friend or not, I would not be taking dating tips from her. Instead of sharing those thoughts, I diplomatically replied, “You aren’t the first person to tell me that recently.”
“How hot was he?”
“Blazing, smoking, evaporating-panty hot.” I couldn’t get the look of him out of my head.
“And yet yours stayed on.”
“That they did.” I finished my drink and pushed the glass away.
“Well, what held you back? He was giving all of the ‘green means go’ signals.”
I had asked myself that question a time or two in the last seven days. “I don’t know. Maybe that was the problem. Who knows how many women he’s mixed a special mocha for? Maybe I’m just not that girl.”
“Was he giving a smarmy ‘notch on my headboard’ vibe?”
“He really wasn’t. Truthfully, I made the first semi-sort of move. And then I changed my mind.”
“Or lost your nerve.”
“Or both. But I can’t stop thinking about him.”
She arched a brow. “You’ve got a bad case of coulda, shoulda, woulda.”
“Along with what-if-itis.”
“Next time at least get the man’s name, marital status, criminal history, something.”
“Next time? I hardly think so. That was one of those now-or-never moments, I think.”
“You never know what’s around the next corner. Chicago is a big city but a small town.”
“True.”
“Speaking of which, remember that guy Wayne who hits on you every time he sees you?”
I groaned. “Ugh, yes, why?”
“He’s approaching on your right in 3—2—1 . . .”
“Hey Jayla, looking good.” Wayne, an accountant from the company where I used to work, was the very definition of persistent. No matter how many times I told him “no, thank you,” he just seemed to pursue me more. He was a good-looking guy, great credentials, but . . . he was trying too hard. It made me uncomfortable.
Looking at Wayne made me realize one more thing that had attracted me to Cute Coffee Guy. He didn’t try to engage me or attract me, he just did. It was effortless and that much more sexy because of it. Wayne suffered in comparison. “Hi Wayne, what’s good?”
His smile broadened. “You and me given half a chance.”
I exchanged a look with Celeste. She rolled her eyes. I was spared having to respond by the arrival of another man at Wayne’s side. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Larry. Larry, this is Jayla and her friend Celeste.”
Inwardly, I sighed. I saw the look Celeste gave Larry. She was going to invite him to sit down, which meant Wayne would sit down. Which meant I’d have to pretend to be interested in whatever he had to say. I wasn’t in the mood. “Larry, why don’t you take my seat? I have to head out.”
“Where are you headed? I’ll walk with you,” Wayne offered.
“Oh, that’s okay, Wayne. I’m not that far away. Larry, Celeste—have a great evening.” Celeste was already giving Larry her patented spider-to-fly look.
“No way am I letting a fine lady such as yourself walk these streets alone.”
I’m positive my face resembled a trapped deer in headlights at that point. Thankfully, Celeste stepped into the breach. “Why don’t you catch a cab since you have that thing to go to way across town?”
“Right, right.” I smiled an insincere apology at Wayne. “I’m just going to grab a cab. Don’t worry about me. Great seeing you, though!” Before he could answer, I had my tote bag on my shoulder and was out the front door. Stepping out into the humid night, I decided a cab wasn’t a bad idea. The suit and heels I’d put on hours earlier were great for the office, not the best for a long stroll. I flagged a cab and slid into the back. On a whim, instead of giving my home address, I said, “Grant Park, please.”
It took less than five minutes to get there even in happy-hour traffic. For some reason, I just wanted to walk around for a minute. I switched into some ballet flats I had in my tote and started my stroll. I came to a hill overlooking the softball fields, sat down, crossed my legs, and closed my eyes. It was the first time in weeks that I’d just done nothing. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I could feel the tension melting away.
I’m not sure how long I sat there in the moment and at peace. But I liked the feeling. It seemed like I had spent the majority of my life just trying to get to the next, better place. I grew up as an only child raised mostly by my grandmother in the less than enviable neighborhood of Englewood, and scrapped and clawed my way through public schools before landing a scholarship to Duke University.
Duke had been both a blessing and a curse. For the first time I was surrounded by people who were unfamiliar. They didn’t look or sound like the people I’d grown up with. But I was in an atmosphere of learning, excitement, and growth. I blossomed. I soaked up alternative cultures and ways of life, understanding that I could live any one of them that I wished to live.
I had wanted to pursue an advanced degree, but my grandmother had fallen ill. I came back to Chicago and took an entry-level position at a nonprofit company, where I met Celeste. She assisted me in finding live-in care for my grandmother.
Then came the men. The string of “looked good on paper, just okay in bed, and not ready for prime time” boyfriends. By the time I met Joseph, I was ready to be dazzled and swept off my feet. He did just that. As my career was progressing and taking off, he was there with the encouraging word. Mostly, he was just there. In my house, eating my food, “borrowing” my money without my knowledge.
The last straw came after a grueling two-week period on the road meeting my people in the BeniCareCo field offices. As I sat in the airport waiting to get home, my phone rang. It was American Express, curious to know why I was charging business expenses in Denver and pleasure expenses at a five-star resort in the Dominican Republic at the same time. I had no idea what they were talking about. They gave me the resort name, phone number, and the room number I was supposedly staying in. When I called down there, Joseph answered the phone and there was the sound of girlish giggles in the background. I was too through. I called the front desk and let them know that none of the charges would be honored. I called the airlines and let them know the tickets were fraudulent. I called my bank and had them begin a fraud investigation.
When I got home, I packed up Joseph’s stuff. I didn’t realize that he had virtually moved in. I suspected he didn’t even have a place of his own to go to. I sent his things in a prepaid taxi to his mother’s house, changed my home number and locks, advised the doorman to never let him back in, and decided that was that. I had no idea how or if he got back from the Dominican Republic with his beach mate and I frankly didn’t care. That let me know the reality of that relationship. I never missed Joseph, I just missed having someone there.
I heard a loud cheer go up below and I was startled out of my reflection. The sun was starting to set as I opened my eyes to see someone sprinting around the diamond. The cheers amplified as he slid into home. With a smile, I gathered my things and started to turn away. The logo on the front of one of the team shirts caught my eye: JAY’S COFFEE CAFÉ in a familiar blue and green. Impossible. But now I had to take a closer look.
I walked to the edge of the field and peered over at the players. In the center of the celebratory group was Cute Coffee Guy, wearing the number 00 on his uniform. He wore the baseball shirt and athletic shorts well. Yeah, he looked just as good as I remembered. I watched him laughing and talking with his co-workers before I reluctantly turne
d back toward the path.
Walking away briskly, I started talking to myself. “You are the biggest idiotic wimp on the planet! Seriously. I mean the man was right there. Did you NOT see that man? You couldn’t even wave, say hello, and see if he remembered who you were? No, not you. You have to slink away into the night all safe and stupid. This is how it’s gonna be, huh? Look but don’t touch? Coulda, woulda, shoulda INDEED.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt while you are clearly in the middle of an important discussion with yourself but—”
“Ah!” I swirled around, raised my fists, and shifted my stance.
“Hold up there, killa.” Cute Coffee Guy smiled at me.
“Oh, sheesh. You scared me to death. Hey.”
His grin widened. “Hey yourself. Those are some serious survival instincts you have there, Ms. White Mocha.”
“It’s Jayla.”
He extended his hand. “Jason.”
I put my hand in his; there was that chemistry thing again.
“Jayla, what brings you out?”
“Believe it or not, just a mental-health break. For some reason I wanted some fresh air and found myself sitting on top of the hill over there.”
“Do you believe in providence?”
“Not so much.”
“Fate, karma, destiny?”
I laughed. “Maybe.”
“Are you headed home?”
“I am.”
“May I see you home?”
I looked at him in the fading light of day. There was something about him I trusted. Then again, he was a stranger. So I hesitated.
He turned back toward the remaining team members on the field. “Guys, am I not the safest, nicest man you know?”
“He really is.” “You’re all good, girl.” “Too nice for his own good.” He turned back toward me with a smile and a shrug.
Take a chance, Jayla. “All right Jason, I’m taking a chance.”
“Do you want me to wait for you to finish your conversation?”
I gave him a look. “I’m good.” I started walking and he fell into step with me.
“I’ve no doubt.” He reached over and took my hand in his.
Since the hand-holding felt right, I decided to ask a personal question. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-five. What makes you ask?”
He seemed supremely comfortable in his own skin.
“Just wondering.”
“Do you mind if I ask your age?”
“I’m thirty-three,” I said with a slight wince. The years fly by when you’re not paying attention.
“Why the wince? You wear it well.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“So did you win?” I asked him, referring to the softball game.
“In fact we did. Are you a sports fan?”
“More football and tennis than baseball and basketball.”
“A girl after my own heart. So you like coffee and real sports, what else?”
“Mexican food, gerbera daisies, vodka drinks, and Hitchcock movies. What about you?”
“Shrimp fajitas, long baths, ice-cold martinis, and classic blaxploitation films. Are you married?”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I.” He flagged a cab. We slid in and I gave my address. “Oh, Wicker Park? We’re practically neighbors.”
“Where are you?”
“Lincoln Park.”
I wondered how a barista could afford one of Chicago’s toniest neighborhoods but I kept my thoughts to myself. I didn’t want to disturb the vibe between us. We were still holding hands.
“Can I ask you something?” he said in a deep voice.
“Only if you know I might not answer.”
“So cautious, Jayla.”
“So I’ve been told. But go ahead.”
“What did you really want in the coffee shop last week?” I blushed, something I hadn’t done since junior high. “I came in for coffee.”
“And then, once you saw me?”
My face heated more, but I didn’t answer.
He glanced at the driver then back at me. He lowered his voice. “Answer me this: I didn’t imagine it, right? I’m not imagining it right now. There’s a thing between you and me.”
I nodded. “There’s a thing.”
He squeezed my hand. “A definite thing.”
I nodded again.
“So what do you want to do about it?”
The cab pulled to a halt while I thought about my answer. A million thoughts raced through my head as he helped me out of the backseat. His hand slid along my arm and I gripped his hand tightly. I took a shaky breath and vowed to maintain some semblance of control.
“You don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly.
Glancing up, I asked, “Don’t have to what?”
“Be all cool and in control.”
“How did you know?” Did I have “uptight control freak” broadcasting from my pores?
He shrugged as he pulled me closer. “Just a hunch. Listen, Jayla—I’m single, disease free, relatively sane. I’m enjoying you. I won’t hurt you. I won’t judge you. If you want me to walk away from here tonight and never see you again, I’ll accept that.”
“But?” I bit my lip nervously.
“But . . . I’d rather come inside with you tonight. Or have you come home with me. I’d like to spend the night buried inside you, seeing how many times you can scream out my name.”
My eyes widened as I took in what he was saying. He clearly had no problem asking for what he wanted. This beautiful man wanted me. He was, in fact, my every fantasy. Something about him made me want to cede control, live in the moment—two things I rarely, if ever, did. But he seemed way too good to be true.
He shifted closer. “You’re thinking.”
“I’m overthinking. That’s what I do.” It was something I alternately loved and hated about myself. Everything was a Rubik’s cube to me, a puzzle to be turned this way and that until it made sense.
He slid one arm around my back, leaned down, and placed a kiss to the side of my cheek. “Find me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”
I wondered if he really would be. Men like that, in my experience, did not sit home alone waiting for neurotic, wishy-washy chicks to look them up. As I watched him walk away, I wondered for the second time in two weeks if I was being really smart or really stupid.
3
Special
“You are so distracted right now. And you say it’s all because of some girl who tried to jump you in the coffee shop? Then she changed her mind and left. Fast-forward to you seeing her again in the park, where you take her home but she shuts you down again? I’m afraid I don’t understand the issue or the fascination. What was so special about her that we can’t just call this a walkaway and be done with it?” Jason’s business partner, Rick, was giving him a baffled “please help me understand” look. They were sitting in a skybox at Soldier Field watching a Chicago Bears preseason game. The game was going great; this conversation wasn’t.
Jason and Rick had known each other since meeting on the baseball diamond in the tenth grade at Fenwick High School, a private school in the Oak Park area of Chicago. Though the school had some diversity representation, they had still bonded first as minorities at the exclusive school. They were both half Spanish (Jason had a Spanish father and Rick had a Spanish mother) and half African American, so they had that commonality of culture and background. They were both strikingly handsome men with easy smiles, charming personalities, competitive natures, and brains to match.
Whereas Jason was tall, green eyed, and quick to laugh, Rick was a few inches shorter, blue eyed, and quick to tell a joke. Rick was the big-picture person, Jason was the details guy. They both came from families of privilege. Jason’s father was a dentist, Rick’s father was a county judge. Rick was a Casanova racking up conquests, Jason was more of a Romeo interested in long-time monogamy. They had been fast
friends for years. Rick was the one person Jason could count on to be absolutely straight with him about absolutely everything.
After prep school, Jason had gone to Columbia University, including a semester abroad in Spain, while Rick had attended Emory University in Atlanta. They reunited for graduate school at Northwestern, both earning MBAs. After graduation, they both launched small businesses. Jason’s coffee shop and Rick’s martini bar. They merged their interests into one large corporation. The number of businesses had grown from there. As part of an annual review of businesses, they took turns working in the businesses. This is how Jason came to be cleaning up coffee mugs when Jayla strolled in.
Jason continued his explanation. “There was just something about her. I don’t know what to tell you. She spoke to me. Not just with words; I’m telling you there was a vibe or a spark or something.”
“We call that ‘sexual chemistry’ and there’s an easy fix for that. Find her, scratch the itch, and let’s be done. We have to keep our heads in the game here. No time for nonsense.”
Jason shook his head. “It’s not just an itch, I’m telling you.”
“Whatever, Jay, this is a ground-breaking quarter for us. We have to decide if we’re going to franchise nationwide or just broaden our local customer base. I need you at 100 percent.”
Jason smirked; he was usually the one reminding Rick that the business came before the babes. “So you’re actually telling me it’s all work and no play?”
“Whatever it takes.” Rick smiled back.
“No can do. Not when you meet a woman like this.”
“Like what?”
“Special.”
“From seeing her twice, you know this?”
“You know special when you see it,” Jason said firmly. “Or rather, I know special when I see it. You’re not really concerned about that.”
“What I don’t get—or should I say what I REALLY don’t get—is how you of all people still believe in ‘special’ women after the hell you went through with Delia.”
Jason’s face fell at the mention of Delia. Delia was his ex-wife. He met her at Columbia. She was “that chick” on campus and he pursued her with a vengeance. Throughout their courtship, she appeared to be all the things he was looking for. And in those days he was looking for a lot, for what he thought made up the perfect mate. He had what he called the “Ten-Point Checklist” of must-haves for his future spouse. In those days, he believed that the future Mrs. Jericho needed to be model-quality gorgeous, sexually adventuresome, double-degreed, ambitious, savvy, well-traveled, impeccably dressed at all times; have a six-figure income and flawless social skills; and be from a family of means. He had been so intent on those ten things that he ignored the important five: someone who was honest, loved him for him, was attuned to his moods, knew how to communicate, and believed in mutual respect.
Crush Page 2
