Me + Somebody's Son: A Heights Story

by Christina C Jones

  Which was crazy, because it wasn’t as if being wanted was some new phenomenon for me.

  It was practically my personal brand.

  This, however, felt different.

  Maybe because it was this unrequited thing – the only man I’d ever wanted and not had.

  Couldn’t have.

  Or rather… shouldn’t have.

  I’d never been that great with being told what I could or couldn’t, should or shouldn’t do though. The rebelliousness was engrained too deep.

  I took a deep breath, shaking off the arousal of that little moment – and all the ones before it – with August.

  And then I followed him into the building to see what was next.

  I was not, however, even remotely prepared for the extreme cuteness of about fifteen kids screaming at the top of their lungs and then racing toward us.

  Well, toward him.

  He took it in stride, apparently well-accustomed to this reception from – as he explained – some of the kids serviced by the Thirsty Roots foundation. They were there as part of an afterschool program, learning about plant life cycles and the like today. I was content to be part of the lesson – I loved learning new things, personally – but eventually August pulled me away so that the kids could continue their lesson without distraction.

  “So, this is why I had to be ready for a date at four in the afternoon, huh?” I asked, walking beside him as he led me to another part of the space.

  He nodded. “Yep. I figured you should see what this date was paying for, at least.”

  “Right. And the sheer cuteness of how those kids reacted to you… that wasn’t a factor at all?”

  “It definitely was,” August laughed. “Whatever tricks I can use, I’m pullin’ em all out. Including this right here,” he said, leading me through another door, into a room full of flowers that honestly took my breath away.

  “Oh my goodness!” I whispered, putting my hands to my chest as I absorbed the explosion of colors and textures from what had to be fifty different types of flower.

  “Come here,” he said, grabbing me by the hand. I accepted that, following him down a few rows until we arrived at a particular section that brought a big smile to my face. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but… these are lisianthus.”

  Inwardly… I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t moved by this, but outwardly I couldn’t act too impressed.

  “They’re lovely,” I complimented, a marked suppression of my desire to squeal in delight. “I didn’t realize they came in other colors.”

  There in the nursery plot, there was lavender – the color I’d been gifted – white, pink, and a beautiful deep purple that was almost blue. I must’ve really been giving those the eye, because August bent and picked one off, then tucked the stem into my oversized puff of hair.

  “Exquisite,” he observed, almost making me blush, but I couldn’t go out like that.

  “Why is it so hot in here?” I asked, fanning myself with my hand as I turned away from him, needing something else to look at. “Climate control for the plants?”

  “Yep. Certain things need certain conditions. For example, none of the freesia is in here, because it’s too hot for it – those like a nice consistent sixty-five degrees.”

  “Me too,” I mused, chuckling as I explored the greenhouse further, with August right behind me. “You said this was owned by your family?”

  “Not my family, but… family. Simone, who owns Posh Petals – she’s an Owens. One of her cousins married one of mine, and that’s how she and I met. We bonded over a love for growing things, ended up starting the foundation, and a couple years ago, I moved here for the manager job at the flower shop,” he explained.

  “So when did you find time to develop your seeds and all that? You started that research at school, didn’t you?”

  He nodded. “I did. They actually gave me a research grant for it – not at the time we were there together, of course. But I mean… I made time. My mother got sick, and she believed more than anybody in my ability to develop those seeds. I just wanted be able to tell her I’d done it, you know?”

  “Why do I feel like this is a sad story?” I asked, turning to face him.

  He shrugged. “Probably because that part is. I didn’t finish in time, which… you know… angst.”

  “Of course.”

  “I did finish though. That part I did. And then like I told you in the car, I sold the research and all that, and now I can do stuff that I genuinely enjoy.”

  “Like… teaching kids in the city how to grow things,” I said, and he smiled.

  “Yeah. Like that.”

  I stared at him for a moment, just… absorbing. Thinking about all the women – maybe even some of my friends – who would tell me I was being silly, that August was a unicorn I should lasso while I had the chance.

  A prize among Black men.

  And really, I didn’t even disagree with that assessment – hadn’t seen a single reason to.

  Was I really supposed to just gratefully accept a prize for a game I had no interest competing, just because that’s how it “should” go?

  According to who?

  “What?” he asked, wearing a little smirk. “I feel like you’re looking at me the same way I was looking at you earlier, before we came in.”

  I lifted my shoulders. “Maybe so. Only… I don’t know if what’s happening in my head is quite as flattering as what you were thinking about me.”

  “I’m musty or something?”

  “Wh-no,” I laughed. “No, not at all.” I shook my head. “You’re perfect. Which is why I don’t feel comfortable wasting your time. You could be with someone right now who could give you what you’re so obviously seeking.”

  “I’m with the only person who can give me what I’m seeking – the attention of Haven Trotter. You know this is a dream of mine, right?”

  “A dream?”

  “Damn right,” he chuckled. “Do not underestimate how bad I wanted you. I would’ve had to beat Marcus’ ass if he knew some of the shit that went through my head.”

  “Oh, so this is fulfilling a whole fantasy scenario for you then?”

  August put a hand to his chest. “You make it sound so dirty…”

  “Your thoughts were clean?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Okay I didn’t think so,” I giggled. “And you’re a terrible friend, by the way. Is this not the definition of dirty macking?”

  “No, it would’ve been dirty macking if I’d made a pass at you back when y’all were together. I waited until you dumped him, on your own. But you didn’t want me like that – used Marcus as your excuse.”

  “It wasn’t an excuse, it was a reason,” I playfully argued. “It would’ve looked bad on both of us, and I didn’t need that – neither did you.”

  Reluctantly, August nodded. “You’re right about that. I’ll give you that. It wouldn’t have been smooth, by any means. I just want the record to show though – even though you don’t date – that Marcus shit isn’t a valid excuse. He’s married, and it was twenty years ago.”

  “Twenty? If you don’t get the fuck—”

  “Fine, fifteen,” he laughed. “But the point stands either way.”

  “I hear you. I do. But the bigger point is that I—”

  “Don’t date. I know,” he smirked. “I’m eliminating your objections one by one, I’ll get to that one.”

  “No,” I insisted, crossing my arms. “I don’t want to be worn down, I want my wishes respected. Period.”

  This time, there was no smirk. “I’m sorry. I was joking with you, but I can see it’s something important to you, so I’ll stop.”

  “I appreciate that. But honestly… it’s probably best if we just…” I pushed out a sigh, trying to figure out the best way to articulate myself.

  Before I could though, August closed the rest of the space between us and grabbed my hand, giving it a squeeze.

  “Do you want me to take yo
u home, or can we still have dinner? Just as old friends,” he clarified, and I….

  Fuck my life.

  I felt bad.

  Not bad for him, because he’d manipulated me into this shit in the first place, but bad like… I was missing out on something.

  Which was why this line shouldn’t have been crossed.

  One good look at his dick and I was second-guessing myself.

  A good long look.

  At his perfect dick.

  Fuck.

  “Dinner is fine.”

  5

  August

  Dinner was fine.

  Really.

  More than, actually.

  We talked, we laughed, we had a good meal, and a great time. And then, when I dropped her off at home, and walked her to the door… I did not kiss her.

  I wanted to.

  I wanted to bad.

  And maybe she would’ve let me.

  Maybe she would’ve enjoyed it.

  Maybe she would’ve invited me inside to do a lot more than kiss.

  Instead of taking any of those chances though, I’d decided to honor what had come directly from her mouth.

  I didn’t want to convince her – I wanted her to be enthusiastic.

  So, I wasn’t giving this situation any pressure – only patience.

  I just had a feeling.

  Which was why, even though my homeboys had me at some wing, ass and titties spot in Blackwood, I wasn’t very focused on the titties and ass.

  I was a little focused on them.

  But my thoughts inevitably kept drifting back to everything that wasn’t in front of me – work, the charity, a new project to dive into, and… Haven.

  “Nigga, you’re worse than Marcus,” EJ called across the table at me, getting my attention. “He already won’t even glance at the ass on display, now you acting above it all too? Who am I supposed to evaluate these booties with?”

  Marcus chuckled. “Man, it’s too many damn cell phones in here – I have to keep my eyes on this table or the TV, nothing between. You motherfuckers ain’t about to have my wife mad at me cause one of those gossip blogs selling a story about me scoping out new pussy.”

  “Lena knows your ass ain’t going nowhere,” I said.

  “Fuck that – I ain’t taking chances with her volatile ass,” he shook his head. “She will literally pack her shit.”

  To further his point, when one of the scantily-dressed servers approached the table to refill our glasses, Marcus made a whole point of becoming very occupied with the wings on his plate, not peeking up until she was gone. Me and EJ laughed, but we both knew he was dead serious.

  And so was Lena, who a doctor and reality star in her own right, with a history of dating professional athletes. She really would leave his ass.

  That didn’t stop us from roasting him about it though, which I was very comfortable with until the attention came back around to me.

  “You doing a lot of laughing to not be looking at any ass either,” Marcus accused. “You got a girl you’re keeping under wraps or something?”

  “Probably so,” EJ spoke up. “Nigga over there plotting to take one home.”

  “Nah, that’s all you,” I laughed.

  If any of us was going to do that shit, it was definitely him – and that turned out to be the right thing to say, because the conversation shifted from there to him figuring out exactly which one.

  And acting on it.

  Me and Marcus ended up talking outside the restaurant for a little longer, really just burning time until closer to his flight back home. At least, that’s what we were doing, until this strange look spread over his face as he stared past me, down the street.

  I turned to follow his gaze, and that’s when I saw her.

  “Ay… is that… Haven Trotter?” he asked, and… well, yeah, it was.

  She looked good as fuck too, in this dress that didn’t make any secrets of her shape, and her hair pulled back from that pretty ass face. She was standing a ways up the street, in front of another restaurant, with her hand resting very comfortably on the arm of some nigga she was showing all her teeth. We watched as she laughed with him, laughed with someone else in their group, and then ol’ boy turned and—

  “Nigga. Is that Steph Foster?!”

  Ah, fuck.

  Before I could say anything, Marcus had already started walking, and it wasn’t exactly like I could just let him go by himself.

  I guess I could, but…

  “Steph!” Marcus called, only greeting him first because he was trying to get Haven’s attention – I’d known him long enough to know exactly how he operated. “What’s up man? And Nubia – you ain’t left his old ass yet?” he said to Steph’s – fine ass – wife.

  They were all celebrities and shit – knew each other. So it was the perfect entry point to what he really wanted. He even went as far as introducing me to Steph and Nubia first before he finally looked to Haven, who was already glaring a hole in my face.

  “Oh, shit,” he exclaimed, as if he hadn’t spotted her before right then. “Haven… it’s been a long ass time, how are you?” he asked, extending his arms for a hug, which Haven graciously accepted. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Well, Nubia’s book with Scattered Seeds is coming out soon, and I came over from the Heights to talk with her about it, since Tones&Tomes is hosting her first signing,” Haven explained.

  “From the Heights?” Marcus asked. “You over there now?”

  A big, beautiful smile spread over Haven’s face. “I am. I’m surprised August didn’t tell you.”

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Marcus turned to me, eyes full of betrayal, and I had a hard time not laughing at his ass, cause… really nigga?

  “Yeah,” I nodded, since I wasn’t about to play it off. “Haven and I ran into each other a few weeks back, and caught up. I was trying to sweat her, but she wasn’t having it.”

  “Oh really?” Marcus asked.

  At the same time, Nubia spoke up with, “Why not? This man is gorgeous.”

  “Oh?” – that was me, and Steph, with entirely different inflections.

  Haven shrugged. “Yeah, but Marcus and I dated back in college, and they’re friends, so…”

  “That’s right,” Marcus nodded.

  Simultaneously, Nubia shook her head. “That’s dumb.”

  “See?” I said, talking to Haven. “She gets it.”

  “Maybe somebody can help me get it then,” Marcus said, his face wrinkled in disgust. “You’d really mess with her after she broke my heart?”

  “You’re married,” we all reminded his ass, with me bringing up the other very obvious point of, “and it was a decade ago” too.

  “So you’ve been thinking about this – plotting this?” he shot back, shaking his head. “It really be ya own niggas, wow.”

  “I’ma tell Lena you’re out here crying about your ex,” Nubia said, lips pursed in disapproval.

  That shifted Marcus’ focus. “Ay, chill,” he pleaded, suddenly unconcerned about Haven, who was clearly very amused as she watched this thing unfold. “I’m just saying, I don’t like it.”

  “The game is the game, bruh.” I shrugged. I mean… it wasn’t like I didn’t get it, but… he dated Haven for a few months in college, and was balls deep in a new girl by the next week when she dropped him.

  Hell, I may have grappled with the loss of her presence longer than he did.

  As far as I was concerned, we were way too grown for the shit he was on right now, so he was going to have to just accept it.

  And there wasn’t gonna be any long-term grudge holding either.

  “The game is the game? Wow.” – it was Haven who reacted to that, with crossed arms as she shook her head. “In case we’ve all forgotten, I’m not actually on the market, but the game is certainly not the game, if I’m not playing.”

  “But when the game becomes the game, Marcus’ married ass will not be a factor. Yo
u’re still the homie though,” I said to him, extending a hand in his direction.

  Really, there was a fair chance that he might smack it out of the way, which would mean we had to fight it out, but he sucked his teeth and shook my hand anyway.

  A move Steph praised, while Nubia and Haven harmonized an exaggerated “Woooow.”

  “You know I’m never giving you any pussy now, right?” Haven added, but there was a little too much of an amused glint in her eye for me to believe that.

  “Don’t do me like that,” I said, approaching Haven and slipping an arm around her waist – and she let the shit happen, which let me know… I was in there.

  She might not know yet, but I definitely was.

  “Nah, go play the game with your friend over there,” she teased as she stepped away.

  “You know the game is a dick-measuring contest right?” Nubia giggled.

  And I… I should have seen this next thing coming, but I didn’t, and I really wish I had.

  “Oh, I’ve already seen them both,” Haven said, in slow motion. She dropped that bomb with a smirk, and gave none of us a chance to recover before the second. “August is bigger.”

  “What?! What?!” Marcus exclaimed, eyes wide as shit, and I… I just dropped my head.

  “It was for the kids,” Haven added, which only led to more confusion, more, “What?!” until she gave a quick explanation about the charity sip-n-paint and all that, which only made things marginally better.

  “Man, I can’t wait to tell EJ about your ass,” Marcus said, shaking his head. “We think you’re over in the Heights quiet and shit witcha lil’ flowers, but nah – you out there showing your dick for money, pushing up on my lost loves, what else you doing over there nigga? I don’t even know you anymore!”

  “That’s so dramatic,” I laughed. “You need to get to the airport, before you end up late for your flight.”

  Marcus snorted. “Yeah, I bet you are trying to get me outta here now, aren’t you?”

  “Exactly,” I nodded. “Come on, let me drive you back to your hotel so you can make it happen.”