Deuce shook each of their hands in turn and mumbled a brief ‘hello’ as Zora slid into the booth next to him and Mia at the end, next to her. Kaleem let Sophie into the booth before him on the other side, which was what Deuce assumed his friend wanted, so he could he could be sitting directly opposite Zora.
“You ladies want something to drink?” Kaleem offered, waving for a waitperson.
Mia and Sophie readily agreed, but Zora demurred, with that low, almost husky voice that Deuce recalled from her campus speeches and comments in class, could be quite powerful when she wanted it to be. Tonight, she sounded quieter and more reserved, like she wanted to be anyplace but here. He could relate.
“What y’all up to tonight?” Mia asked.
The way she leaned forward when she did, made it clear she was directing the question mainly to Kaleem. When Zora turned to look at her friend, her hair brushed the side of Deuce’s face, because it was so close in the booth. It was coarse but soft at the same time, and bore the vague scent of fruit. Beneath the table, her thigh was touching his, though barely. She seemed to realize that at the same time he did, because she shifted slightly, and just enough so that they were no longer making contact, but not enough that it would appear she was recoiling from him.
Deuce inhaled, wanting to smell her hair again, wondering whether he could identify precisely what fruit the scent was.
“I heard the Nupes got somethin’ goin’ on,” Kaleem said. “Y’all wan’ ride?”
Mia and Sophie said ‘yes’ in unison just as Zora said, ‘no thanks.’
The table fell quiet for a moment. “You sure?” Kaleem said, addressing Zora directly, as though her girls hadn’t even spoken.
“I’m sure,” Zora returned. “I roll out tomorrow and I still haven’t done any packing.”
“I could help you with that,” Kaleem said. He grinned and then bit into his lower lip.
Next to Deuce, Zora’s shoulders shook a little as she gave a brief laugh. “Thank you, but no. I can’t imagine letting anyone see my messy-ass room right now.”
Like the voice of someone who had just woken up and not yet cleared their throat—that’s what her voice sounded like. But smoother, warmer. Sexier.
Deuce cleared his throat now, almost guilty at the thought. Kaleem had his eye on this one, so he had no business thinking about how sexy she did or didn’t sound.
And besides, she wasn’t his type. He liked Spanish chicks. Long dark hair, caramel complexions, and just enough African blood in them to give them ass for days. He liked that they were emotive and a little wild, that they fucked as hard as they fought … all stereotypes, it was true, but in his experience, also based in a little bit of fact.
“Zora always tryin’ to break up a party,” Mia said, her voice a little bitter.
Clearly, she wasn’t mad that Zora wouldn’t be going to the Nupe party so much as she was that Kaleem would choose to skip it as well, just to hang with Zora.
“Ain’t nobody breakin’ up the party,” Kaleem said. “We can still roll. We’ll just drop Zora off on the way.” He turned his smile, and his charm in Mia’s direction.
Fickle muthafucka, Deuce thought, amused.
“I think I’ma sit this one out, too, man,” he said.
“D. C’mon.”
“Take the truck, just bring it back clean.”
Kaleem looked at him with narrowed eyes for a moment then shook his head, a look of realization entering his eyes before he nodded. “Okay, cool.”
“You’re not coming?” This from Sophie.
“Not feelin’ it tonight,” Deuce said, trying to sound apologetic.
“We had a little run-in with law enforcement earlier,” Kaleem explained. “I think my boy was traumatized.”
“Really? What happened?” This time it was Zora who spoke.
“Zora’s going to represent you in your civil rights action against the police department,” Sophie said.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” Deuce said, angling his body to face Zora as much as he could in the confines of the booth. “We just got stopped that’s all.”
“Were you speeding?” Zora asked. She had turned to face him as well. Her eyes, he now saw, were a lot less dark than he thought. They were visibly brown, though not quite light-brown, and fringed by long lashes that curled almost sharply upward at the ends.
“Nope.”
“Broken taillight?”
“Nah.”
“So, it was one of those stops, huh? That’s the worst kind.” Zora shook her head. “When you’re pretty sure you haven’t done anything wrong and there you are … at the mercy of someone with all the power, and questionable motives.”
Deuce shrugged.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she said, so low that only he could hear her.
“Who wants in on some more wings?” Kaleem asked loudly from the other side of the table.
Deuce broke his gaze away from Zora’s. “I could eat some wings,” he said. Then he looked at her. “How ‘bout you?”
“Always down for wings,” she said, smiling.
“Thanks for the ride.”
They were in front of Zora’s dorm, and she was preparing to get out of the SUV when Deuce had an impulse. He could escape too. He still didn’t want to go to the Kappa party, and his dorm was mere yards away.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
He turned and looked over his shoulder as he spoke and his eyes met Zora’s for a moment. She smiled at him, a little quirk at the corner of her full lips.
After she heard about his traffic stop, Zora had been much more talkative, and when she did speak, Deuce felt the vibration of her voice. That it could be so low, and yet so feminine was a puzzle. Once she loosened up, they wound up talking about all kinds of random stuff including what she called her “latest obsession”—a baking reality show where teams competed to make the best and most creative cupcakes. Deuce didn’t give a crap about reality shows, no matter their subject. But he liked listening to and watching her talk about them. She was a “hand-talker,” once even accidentally hitting him on the side of the face as she gestured to make her point. Laughing, she’d touched his cheek briefly and apologized. Deuce thought he felt her skin on his long after she removed her hand.
“Enjoy the packing,” Kaleem said, glancing toward the back of the car.
The dismissiveness in his voice confirmed for Deuce that his friend’s attentions had been transferred elsewhere. Kal wasn’t used to working for it, so he had no patience for a prolonged chase.
“Hey,” Deuce said, as Zora opened the door. “Hold up a sec.”
She shut it again without getting out, looking at him questioningly.
“Might as well jump out here myself. Kaleem, don’t mess up my ride, man. I’m serious.”
“I’ll treat it like it’s my own,” Kaleem said, stroking the arm-rest. “Now get the hell out my car.”
Mia and Sophie laughed, as though it was funniest thing they had ever heard, though Sophie shot Deuce a long, significant look as well.
“Last chance,” she sang. And Deuce knew she wasn’t just talking about his chance to opt into going to the party.
Shaking his head, he unlocked his seatbelt and shut off the engine, sliding out of the SUV and leaving the door open for Kaleem.
On the same side, in the rear, Zora opened the door and stepped out, pulling the collar of her coat up to her ears. The coat was knee-length, one of those puffy ones that made people look like walking grenades. With it, she was wearing close-fitting jeans and brown UGGs that were splotchy and mud-stained; not something a girl wore for a night out with her friends, even in college. Zora had probably been lured out of her dorm when her only plans were to pack for Winter Break.
When Kaleem came around and jumped into the driver’s seat, he shut the door and waved out of the window, pulling off without another word. Deuce and Zora looked at each other and laughed.
“I think you might have made a mistak
e,” she said.
“Nah,” Deuce said, smiling at her. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t.”
“I mean, a mistake letting him have your car. Your really nice car, I might add.”
“Kal’s good,” Deuce said. “He only acts a fool.”
Zora shrugged. “Okay. If you say so.”
They both stood there for a few silent moments, until finally she inclined her head in the direction of her dorm. “You want to come in?”
Zora’s room was a corner unit, with two large windows that overlooked the lawn behind the dorm. When she shoved open the door and flipped on the lights, the windows were the first thing Deuce noticed. The godawful mess was the second.
“Wow,” he laughed. “You weren’t lyin’ huh?”
Zora laughed with him. “Nope. I warned you that it’s a mess. I have a lot of cleaning on top of all the packing to do.”
She had a nice laugh. Delicate, soft, with a hint of the same huskiness that made her speaking voice so unique.
“But you still let me see it,” he said. “I feel special.”
Shrugging, Zora tossed her handbag across the room and onto her bed. “You’re welcome.”
“Where are you from?” he asked, on a whim.
“Ahm, New Jersey,” she said, looking amused.
“No. I mean …”
She cocked her head to one side, waiting for him to go on. “You mean …what?”
“You just look …”
“I look …” she prompted him again, looking close to laughter.
“Not just American. You look …”
“African?” she finished for him. She shut the door and leaned against it, that little half-smile crossing her lips again. “You can say it. It’s not like it’s an insult. I am African. My father is Senegalese.”
“I didn’t mean …”
“Oh, just … shut up,” she said.
She grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him against her, getting up on her toes and pressing her full, plum-colored lips against his.
Chapter 2
Nah. Hell nah.
He was being punked. That was the only way to explain this. Out of the almost one hundred thousand students at Penn State… No way.
Deuce took a deep breath and stood as Zora approached his table in the Hub. Wearing a scowl with her grey sweatshirt and jeans, she was obviously just as surprised and dismayed as he.
“Wow,” she said, her tone sardonic. “Small world.”
“That wasn’t your name,” he said. “On Zimride, the person who responded wasn’t you.”
“I had a friend find the ride for me,” Zora said, referring to his inquiry on the campus rideshare system. “I didn’t know it was you either. Obviously.”
“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose?” he asked sourly. “Of knowing exactly who you’re letting into your car? Of knowing exactly whose car you’re getting into?”
“Look,” Zora said. “We don’t have to do this. If you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure I can find someone else.”
“Like who? It’s five days before Christmas. And didn’t you tell me last week you were leaving the next day? But I guess that wasn’t true either.”
“Either? When did I ever lie to … whatever, man. For your information, I planned to leave when I said I would. But then my car died on me. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, being that those are poor people problems and all.”
Deuce ignored the jab. “So, we doing this or not? I want to make it to Jersey before nightfall.”
Zora shrugged. “Then let’s go.”
It was only then that Deuce noticed the heavy duffle she had slung over her right shoulder, along with the smaller weekend bag and pocketbook in her left hand. He reached for it and after a moment’s hesitation, Zora surrendered the weighty bag.
Without a word, Deuce headed for the exit, sensing her presence just behind him.
Three-and-a-half hours. That was how long it would take to drive from State College to Short Hills, New Jersey. He could endure almost anything for three-and-a-half hours. Even the company of the one girl on campus he least wanted to see.
What he’d been hoping for when he posted the rideshare inquiry was just someone to kill the miles and hours with, someone he could shoot the breeze with about music, or if it was a dude, football. Maybe they would share some mutual hatred of the New England Pats, or talk about how overrated Cam Newton was. The last thing he wanted to do was relive his brief misadventure with the campus revolutionary.
When they got to his car, Deuce disengaged the locks and tossed Zora’s bag in the backseat of the Range Rover with his stuff and turned to face her again.
“Here,” he said, reaching for the smaller bags. “Lemme put those back here as well, so you’ll have some legroom.”
“Thanks.” She handed them over willingly.
Once he’d tossed those bags in the backseat as well and straightened up, Deuce was surprised to find that she was still standing there, next to the passenger-side door, shifting her weight from one leg to the other, as though trying to keep warm in the frigid air.
“It’s open,” he said inclining his head in the direction of the door.
Zora looked at him blankly, and Deuce rolled his eyes, opening it for her, waiting for her to get in and then shutting it. Taking a deep breath, he walked around the rear of the car and got in on his side.
“Your tank is full,” Zora noted when he started the engine.
“Yeah. So what?”
“The deal on Zimride was that the passenger pays for gas, you pay tolls.”
“I don’t need it,” Deuce shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter if you need it. It’s the principle.”
“And we know you’re all about principles,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.
“I could’ve sworn you said you lived in New York.”
Zora had removed her boots and curled her feet beneath her. Deuce tried not to look at her legs in the close-fitting jeans. Unless he was mistaken, they were the same jeans from that night. That dumb-ass night that he couldn’t stop thinking about.
“I do. Upstate. My father lives in Jersey. I’m going there first to see him, my stepmother, my baby brother and sister, and to spend the night with them.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
Deuce looked at her, and Zora shrugged.
“Is that something I should know?” she asked.
Maybe not. Some other chick, maybe. But not Zora. Of all the girls unlikely to have followed his complicated blended family’s exploits on the entertainment blogs, Zora was probably the unlikeliest.
“Four. Two brothers, two sisters.”
“And you’re the eldest?”
“Yup.”
Zora breathed a deep sigh. “Chris …”
“Deuce. I don’t like to be called Chris. That’s my father’s name.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Deuce saw her take another breath.
“Sorry,” she said. “I get it. Your father is a big presence. You want to be your own person.”
“Zora, don’t … psychoanalyze me.”
“Sorry,” she said again. “Look …” She touched his thigh. “Can we just … clean the slate and …?”
“Clean the slate?” he repeated.
“Yeah. I mean, look … it’s not as though it wouldn’t have always gone down exactly the way it did. It’s just that I was the one to put it into action, and …”
“You’re doing it again. Trying to head-shrink me. You don’t know how it would’ve gone down, Zora.”
“Of course I do. Do you even know your rep on campus?”
“Nah,” he said sarcastically. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”
“I could,” Zora said. “But I don’t want us to start fighting again.”
“You don’t think I can take it?” Deuce, switched lanes, heading toward the I-80 on-ramp.
“I’m sure you can take it. I’m just not sure I want to be the one t
o dish it out.”
“Go ahead. We have three hours to kill.”
“Okay … but don’t say you didn’t …”
“Just spit it out.”
“You’re Chris Scaife’s son. Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and grew up in a little post-racial bubble. You’re from that crowd who says color doesn’t matter because the only one that matters where you grew up is green. You date White chicks almost exclusively and pretend that doesn’t matter either, and sisters like me you hardly ever give a second glance. Which might be insulting, but for the fact that you treat those poor little White girls with nothing resembling respect, and are pretty much done with them after a week. So … there you have it. Truth.”
Deuce shook his head, and shook off the pang in his chest as well. “Wow … now that was some angry Black woman bullshit right there.”
“See what I mean? White chicks don’t get angry too? Or is it just us you don’t like to see mad? But come to think of it, the ones you mess with don’t get angry, do they? They just line up, one after the other to get their turn with Christopher Scaife Jr.”
“You forget what happened between you and me that night? I didn’t see you walking away from your … turn.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But I chose it, Deuce. You didn’t choose me. I wanted you. But it was sexual curiosity, that’s all. And that’s all it was for you, too. Admit it. I’m probably the blackest chick you’ve seen naked since … ever. You’re just mad I was the one to shut it down afterwards.”
“That’s one fucked up double-standard. You see that right? And I ain’t about all that color-struck nonsense.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. Really.”
“And how is what I said a double-standard?”
“Do you like to be dismissed, Zora?”
“I don’t know. I can’t say it’s ever happened.”
“Well that’s what all that mess you just said is—dismissal. You don’t even know me. And that night I thought …” Deuce stopped talking abruptly, realizing he was on the brink of sounding like he was begging. And that was something he would not do.
Young, Rich & Black Page 2
