It's Not Love, It's Business (Young In Love Book 2)

by Elle Wright

  “Fine.” Resting my head on his shoulder, I said, “Did you see that Keisha T vlog about me?”

  Since Kimball had tilted my world on its axis, I’d been followed by random people wherever I went and received threatening messages from obsessed fans. And my inbox was inundated with interview requests from wannabe reporters. Speculation about my life and my character had become fodder for news outlets looking for a story and lyin’-ass vloggers vying for clicks. Which definitely didn’t make a potential political campaign viable. The latest video was a “documentary” about my love life and the slew of men I’d left heartbroken.

  “I saw that shit,” he grumbled. “I want to know where that loud-ass Keisha T even found those people to interview. I was watching it like, who the hell is that? Talking about they ‘grew up with you’ and had ‘inside knowledge.’ Da fuq?”

  I laughed. “Right? I’d never even seen those people before. And the one chick who said we hung out together in college? I met her one time at a party.” I only remembered that encounter after Demi had refreshed my memory. We’d met the woman at a party, and she’d said two words to me. “Hey, girl.” That’s it. How that translated to her being my former friend, I had no idea.

  “Yeah, I remember her too. She tried to get with me a few times.” Dex and I had chosen to buck tradition and go to an out-of-state college. We’d both attended Hampton University for our undergraduate degrees. It had been scary as shit leaving the comfort of our hometown, but having him and Demi there had made all the difference. I knew without a doubt, I wouldn’t be the woman I was today if I hadn’t experienced HBCU life. “Did she even graduate?”

  “I have no idea,” I murmured.

  “Are you okay?” There was something about Dexter’s voice, the way he was, that made me feel secure enough to be vulnerable with him. He had a calm demeanor, spoke in a soft tone, and never overtalked anyone. He was a magnet and people wanted to talk to him, to confide in him. He was the gentleman talking to the shy person in the corner and boosting their confidence to work the room. It was a superpower, really, and the reason why he was successful in his career as a professional wingman. A relationship coach. A real-life Hitch. While Bliss matched people with their potential soulmates, Dex helped his clients approach potential partners—among other services. And he made a great living at it.

  I shrugged. “If I said I was, would you believe me?”

  “No, but I wouldn’t push you.”

  Opening myself up to share bits and pieces about myself to anyone—including my siblings—had always been hard for me. I’d always loved that my family allowed me the space to come to them when I was ready. It was the benefit of being the offspring of Stewart and Victoria Young. In hindsight, I realized their habit of letting us set the rules of conversation had been intentional. They’d encouraged us to think about the right time to speak, what we needed to say, and how we wanted to say it. They’d also taught us the power of acceptance, of community, of trust, of love.

  After a moment passed, I finally looked at Dex. “When Maya approached me about her plan, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t even realize I wanted it. The possibility that this shit with Kimball could derail my future career prospects is pretty messed up. I feel like I got caught slipping or something. Like everything I’ve worked for or want to achieve is in jeopardy.”

  He squeezed my hand. “That’s not true. Your accomplishments are yours. This doesn’t change that. Maya hasn’t mentioned it yet. Let’s not assume the organization cares about some dumb vloggers who don’t know anything about you. Focus on your brunch with the board of directors.”

  “You know it’s not that simple.”

  “Yes, it is. Dallas, you got this. I’m not worried, and neither is anyone else who knows you.”

  “That’s the problem. The board doesn’t know me. Suddenly, people are analyzing my dating history, passing judgment on my choices, and assuming I fuck anybody with a dick.”

  He chuckled. “Even if you did, it’s nobody’s business.”

  “I didn’t,” I clarified. Despite my love of sex, I was very careful about who I let in my space. Most men need not apply. “I don’t. But it’s the type of first impression that’s hard to overcome.”

  “Hey. I love you regardless of your ‘ho-ish ways,’ and they will too.”

  I cracked up. “Shut up.” The jokes my family had cracked during Blake’s housewarming had been epic. I couldn’t be angry they’d laughed at my expense—once they knew I was okay, of course. Even my parents had gotten in on the fun.

  “Seriously, though. He’s a punk-ass muthafucka. Remind me why I didn’t fuck him up last week again?”

  “Because that wouldn’t solve anything.” I knew my brothers were itching to beat the crap out of Kimball. Violence was not the answer. “And Blake called dibs,” I added with a giggle.

  “I don’t know. Blake’s on her ‘the world is better with love’ tip lately. Besides, he’ll hear it better from me.”

  “You better not let her hear you say that.”

  “I’ll say it to her face.” He stood, tugging me to my feet as well. “She’s getting soft. Let’s go get food before our game.”

  Feeling better, I grabbed my purse and followed my brother out. And prayed I could enjoy the rest of my day without another false headline making the news.

  “Damn, Dallas!” my brother, Tristan, grumbled from behind me. “That’s two strikes.”

  Frustrated at my lack of prowess on the field today, I had half a mind to toss my bat at him and walk away. Figured I’d have an off day when my most competitive and irritating sibling had decided to play. Softball was one of our favorite pastimes. Ever since we were little kids, our parents had insisted we learn the game and play competitively. And we’d never stopped, forming an adult co-ed team every summer and fall.

  I glared at Tristan over my shoulder. “I don’t need a reminder.” Turning my attention back to the pitcher, I swung the bat a couple of times, then took my stance. I glanced at my father, who was peering at me from third base. On first base, my niece Raven was stretching. And my younger brother, Asa, was chatting with the woman playing short stop for the opposing team. Bases loaded. Bottom of the seventh inning. It was up to me.

  The pitcher narrowed his eyes on me, drew back, and tossed the ball my way. It only took a second, but when my bat hit the ball, I didn’t stop to think. I just ran. I sprinted past first base, then second. I could hear my brothers yelling commands, but I kept going. My mother’s strongly-worded order to stop didn’t permeate either, and I sailed past third. To my left, I saw the ball flying toward home base. And I went down, sliding into home before the catcher tagged me.

  “Safe!” the umpire shouted.

  Pain radiated up my leg to my hip. I rolled onto my back, struggling to catch my breath. “Shit,” I whispered. And since I couldn’t say anything else, I continued to say that until my heart rate slowed down.

  A moment later, I heard my name. When I opened my eyes, I saw Dex standing above me. Tristan, Asa, and my mom joined him shortly after.

  “Dallas?” my mom called. She was five foot two, shorter than all of us, but she always seemed tall. Probably because she radiated confidence, commanded any room she entered.

  I cracked one eye open. “Yes?”

  “Oh, Lord. She’s hurt. Asa, go get some ice.” With concerned eyes, she bent low and touched my forehead with the back of her hand. “Are you okay, babe?”

  “No,” I whined. “Not okay. But I don’t have a fever, Mom.”

  Dex laughed. “Exactly.”

  “Quiet.” Mom smacked him. “It’s a habit.” She squeezed my ankle.

  When she rubbed my hip bone, I cried out, “Ouch.”

  “You’ll probably have a bruise,” she mused.

  “Suck it up, sis,” Tristan said. “Walk it off. She’s fine,” he argued, nudging my other leg with his shoe.

  I wanted to kick him, but I could barely lift my leg. What the hell was I thin
king, acting all eighteen and shit? Yet, even as sore as I was, I managed to punch Tristan in his shin. “Shut the hell up.”

  It was just like my oldest brother to blow off my injury. He never let a little pain keep him from running or playing football or doing anything. And he expected the same from us. Bruised knee? Get over it. Stubbed toe? That’s nothing. Broken arm? It’d heal. When we were kids, he’d acted like a damn taskmaster, forcing us to do push-ups in the rain, making us run laps around the block for no reason, and assigning chores to do around the house when our parents put him in charge. Ugh. That’s why we all called him the fun killer, because he could spot fun from a mile away and ruin it.

  “Leave your sister alone,” Mom said. “She gave us a W.”

  My father appeared a few seconds later. “What’s up?” He glanced down at me and motioned at Dex. “Pick her up.”

  Dex did as he was told, scooping me up and carrying me into the dugout. Luckily, it was one of those perfect summer days. A light breeze cooled everything off, and the sun was still shining. After I’d graduated from Hampton, I’d considered moving to the DMV area permanently. But I knew I’d miss Michigan. It was home.

  “Thanks,” I told Dex when he set me on the bench.

  Blake sat next to me. “You okay?” She sipped from her bottle of water. “Because I love you, I won’t post the video I took of your dramatic slide into home to my Insta.”

  I leaned my head back, resting it on the wall. I was so focused on my goal that I hadn’t even thought about how I must’ve looked out there. “It was bad, huh?”

  She snickered. “Yeah, sis. I don’t know if you even realized you were screaming your ass off. Jersey riding up, titties swangin’.” She barked out a laugh. “Next time, tuck your neck in and raise your arms.”

  I studied the angry bruise forming on my arm. “This shit hurts.”

  Bliss stepped into the dugout. “Forgot this in the car.” She held up a first aid kit, sat down, and started tending to me. “You kicked ass out there, Sissy.”

  I looked at Blake. “See? I did good.”

  Blake shrugged. “Yes. You still looked crazy as hell, though.”

  Giggling, Bliss nodded. “You did. But you did your thing.”

  “You both get on my damn nerves,” I said.

  A few minutes later, my father called us out onto the grass. Dex once again helped me get there. Once we were all situated, Dad cleared his throat. “Since some of you are incapable of being on time for anything—” he shot Blake an accusatory glare, “—your mother and I want to take this time to talk to you about the retreat next month.”

  The Annual Young in Love Couples Retreat was in its 25th year. Each weekend event was full of seminars on everything from love languages to sex. Couples consistently ranked the experience high and referred others. The waitlist was long, but my parents were committed to the work. We tagged along every year, and afterward, we’d go on a family vacation. It was the highlight of the year for most of us.

  “There’s been a change of plans,” Dad continued. “We had an amazing year. Business ventures, job offers, new romances, and one more grandbaby.”

  My mother took over. “Initially, we thought it’d be fun to stay up north for the family vacation, which is perfect for us and something we all enjoy. However, your father and I felt the need to step it up a little, to celebrate every single one of our wins. The retreat will still take place in August, but we’re going to move the family vacation to September. We’ve decided to charter a yacht and sail the Mediterranean. Our treat.”

  “Whoa!” Asa said, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. “Are you serious?”

  “Do we lie?” was my father’s response.

  Asa ducked his head. “No,” he grumbled.

  “Since it’s our fortieth wedding anniversary, we’d like to renew our wedding vows with all of you present,” my father told us.

  “Paityn and Duke are already on board,” my mother chimed in, referring to my older sister and my brother, who both lived out of state. Paityn, in Cali with her husband; and Duke, in Atlanta being Duke.

  “We’ll be finalizing all the details in the next few days,” Dad added. “The only thing you need to do is tell me who you’re bringing and pack.”

  “Love you,” Mom said, before she and my dad said their goodbyes and left.

  Twenty minutes later, I limped into our favorite hangout, The Ice Box. While Dex and Lennox grabbed a table, I hobbled to the bathroom with Blake. On my way out, I spotted Preston at the bar.

  “Oh, there’s Preston.” Blake headed toward him, but I gripped her wrist.

  “Hold on,” I told my sister. “I’m not sure I want him to know I’m here.” I did look a hot mess after all, in my baseball cap and dusty softball team uniform.

  “Girl, please.” She waved a dismissive hand my way. “It’s just Preston. If you haven’t fucked him again by now, I doubt it’s going to happen.”

  Under normal circumstances, I’d agree. It was just Preston. But that sexuation hadn’t been normal. One night. One fuck. That mantra had been plastered to my bathroom mirror for me to see every damn day since our hot bathroom romp. For the most part, my fuckirmation worked. After all, I excelled at compartmentalization. And I purposefully used other people as buffers. Because despite all my bravado, I wasn’t confident I could be alone with him and not want a repeat. Or a threepeat.

  As if she read my mind, Blake tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and wiped my cheek. “You’re still fly. Grass in your hair and all.”

  I rolled my eyes, patting my hair down as if that would help.

  “He looks a little down, though,” Blake offered.

  Turning, I took a moment to study him. My sister was right. From where I stood, I couldn’t see his face, but I did notice his slumped posture. It wasn’t like Preston to slouch, and I’d never known him to drink alone. “Give me a sec,” I told Blake. I shuffled over to him, wincing every time my left foot touched the hard floor. My body ached everywhere. Instead of coming to the bar, I should’ve taken my ass home to soak in the tub.

  When I made it to the bar, I peered over at him. He didn’t even look up. He just sat there quietly, staring at the drink in front of him. Unmoving. Solemn.

  The bartender walked over to me. “What can I get you?”

  I glanced at Preston again and made a decision to try to make him laugh. So, I said, “I’ll have a margarita, light on the ice, heavy on the Patrón.”

  Preston looked up then, his dark, sad gaze meeting mine.

  I winked at him and was pleasantly surprised when the corner of his mouth quirked up. I grinned at him, then turned to the bartender. Pointing to Preston, I said, “I think he’s paying. Right?”

  Preston’s low chuckle settled something in my stomach. “Right. Put it on my tab.”

  I sat on the bar stool next to him. Slowly. “And keep them coming.”

  Chapter Four

  Come Through

  Preston

  “I’m waiting…”

  “I’m still not telling you.” I laughed when she folded her arms over her chest and pouted. “No matter how many times you ask me.”

  Dallas smacked her palm on the bar top. “Really?”

  I glanced over at Dallas, raking my gaze over every inch of her. Even though she had grass in her hair and wore a dirty softball uniform, she still managed to redirect my thoughts from my fucked-up life to my dick. “Really,” I confirmed.

  “Fine. If you won’t tell me what Cooper wants to talk to me about, I’ll leave it alone.”

  “Good.” For the last several minutes, we’d gone back and forth about Cooper and his news. And every time she’d formulated an argument designed to convince me to reveal all, I’d told her the same thing—no.

  She sighed. “He’s not answering my calls. Is it bad?”

  I laughed. “I’m not answering that.”

  “It’s bad.” She tapped her fingernails on the bar. “Is Angel pregnant?”
r />   I shot her a sidelong glance. “What?”

  “Is he sick or something?” was her next question.

  “Dallas?”

  “Huh?”

  “Stop. You need to talk to Cooper about Cooper. Not me.”

  She propped her elbow on the bar and rested her chin on her palm. Sighing, she said, “I’m going to kill him. I told him not to fuck up. And he went and did just that. Then, he came home and promptly dropped off the grid. It’s been over a month.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be eating dinner with your family?” I asked, glancing back at her group.

  Over in the corner, several of her siblings were laughing and eating together. Since she’d been sitting with me, some of them had come over and kicked it for a moment or two before rejoining the big group. But she hadn’t even attempted to go over there with them.

  Dallas looked back too. She shrugged. “They’re alright.” She took her second shot of the night and motioned to my glass. “Are you going to drink that?”

  I stared down at my still-full first shot glass. The revelation that my dad wasn’t my father and my mother had lied about it for almost forty years had wreaked havoc in my life. For the past few days, I’d gone over every detail of my childhood, reliving unpleasant memories in an attempt to make sense out of everything.

  After my mom had dropped that bomb on me, she’d closed herself off in her bathroom. To avoid tearing the door off at its hinges, I’d left her there. I hadn’t spoken to her since. Not because I hadn’t called her, but because she’d never answered. I’d driven to her house after work today, and she hadn’t been home. Instead of sitting at my place, wondering and worrying about her whereabouts, I’d come here. Partly to escape my thoughts, but mostly to prove to myself I wasn’t anything like her.

  Ordering this shot was an exercise in willpower, one I’d performed many times. The good news was I could never bring myself to take the drink. I couldn’t use the same coping mechanism my mother had used all of my life. I didn’t need it to feel something—or nothing.