Rhyme & Reason
An ‘afterwards’ novel
Nia Forrester
Stiletto Press | Philadelphia, PA
Copyright © 2019 Stiletto Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.
Stiletto Press
Philadelphia PA 19109
www.niaforrester.com
Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Book Layout © 2016 BookDesignTemplates.com
Rhyme & Reason/ Nia Forrester -- 1st ed.
ISBN: 9781094671826
ROSALIND: But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?
ORLANDO: Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.
‘As You Like It’, William Shakespeare:
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Also by Nia Forrester
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
Deuce leaned in close, straining to hear over the din. Unless he was mistaken, Lloyd just said …
“Zora. She’s supposed to be here, too. I thought you’d know.”
Lifting his glass to his lips, Deuce took a long sip, giving him just enough time to compose himself.
“Nah,” he said, swallowing. “I didn’t know.”
Lloyd squinted. “For real? So, you …”
“This is so cool, you guys!”
Before Lloyd could finish his thought, Summer had thrown her arms around them both, having to reach up a little because she was so short.
Summer Harris, the unofficial organizer of the alumni mixer, had reached out to a bunch of folks from Penn State on Facebook and Twitter and suggested the get-together in a Midtown bar. She had only given a couple of weeks’ notice and Deuce stopped in only because the location she chose was close to his apartment and he was a little curious to see who else was in the city.
The turnout was surprisingly good. So far there were about twenty people there, most of them familiar, though none of them people Deuce had been particularly tight with. New York was a post-graduation mecca for thousands of new graduates from around the country each year, but most Penn State alums wound up in Philly. So, he stopped in just to see who else from the Black Student Union might be around. He already knew that most of his crew were spread far and wide, including his best friend, Kaleem who was back out West in an MBA program and training for the Summer Olympics.
“I never thought so many people would make it!” Summer sounded like she had to have been drinking well before anyone else showed up, because the mixer had only been underway for about an hour. Too short a period for her to be slurring the way she was.
Early in, early out. That had been Deuce’s plan, but what Lloyd said already had his head spinning.
“Especially just one year after graduation,” Lloyd said, peeling Summer’s arm from around his neck. “I guess the real world ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, and we’re just pining for the old days.”
“I know I am,” Summer said, raising her voice a little more than was necessary to be heard. “My gig at HarperCollins is not what I thought it would be. I’m like a glorified file clerk.”
“Bet you don’t have them kinda problems, huh?” Lloyd said, nudging Deuce in the ribs. “Workin’ with your dad and all.”
“I don’t work with my father,” Deuce said.
He was looking at the entrance to Le Bar now, scanning the clusters of folks who walked in. The moment Lloyd said her name, his heartbeat sped up. Just at the sound of her fucking name.
“You don’t?” Lloyd looked confused. “But I thought you were at …”
“Yeah, but my father isn’t there anymore. I work for the new CEO.”
Lloyd shrugged, and looked like he didn’t understand the distinction. Most people didn’t. They tended to think that because his last name was Scaife, he could walk up in that joint and start running shit.
Scaife Enterprises was one of the most successful privately-held music companies in the country, started by Deuce’s father, and now run by his longtime friend and protégé, Jamal Turner. Having his name on something so huge had been both a bane and a benefit for Deuce’s entire life.
Knocking back the remains of his vodka tonic, Deuce extricated himself from Summer as well.
“Lemme go get another one of these,” he said. “Anybody want something while I’m over …”
“There she is!” Summer shrieked.
Shoving her way past Deuce and Lloyd, she plowed her way out of the reserved section and toward the front of the bar.
And yeah. There she was.
Zora looked a little disoriented when she first walked in, her eyes narrowing a little as they adjusted to the relative darkness of the bar. She stood still for a moment and pulled the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder, surveying the room before Summer accosted her with a hug.
Zora’s face lit up in a smile when she saw who it was, and she held Summer back at arms’ length to look her over. While she did, Deuce looked Zora over.
She was wearing a canary-yellow blouse with long sleeves and a ruffled neck with skinny black pants. And her hair … damn, he’d always loved her hair … It was in neat, sleek, cornrows, and in her ears were medium-sized gold hoops. Her lipstick was a vivid shade of purple like a bruise, but somehow made her lips look even fuller, even sexier. Sunglasses were pushed up atop her head, giving her an air of mature sophistication that was at odds with how Deuce was accustomed to seeing her.
He thought of Zora and the picture that came to mind was of her in one of his sweatshirts, nothing underneath. Her hair messy as hell, her lips swollen from being kissed, curled in a smile, and her eyes sleepy, cloudy, and looking at him the way only she did.
Deuce had not seen her in eight months, and they hadn’t spoken in six. And yet, he could already feel his body orienting itself in her direction, pulling him toward her.
She stood at the entrance for a few moments more, talking to Summer and Deuce stood watching her, not realizing he was staring until Lloyd spoke.
“So, I’m guessing y’all split up or somethin’, huh?”
Deuce looked at him.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Anyway. I’ma grab this drink. You want …?”
Zora was looking their way now, as Summer pointed him out. The expression on her face robbed him of every coherent thought in his head. Her lips trembled, like someone trying not to smile, or not to cry. And her eyes …
The moment their eyes met, she touched Summer on the shoulder, wordlessly excusing herself from their conversation and coming toward him. Deuce felt Lloyd take his glass.
“I’ll get this one,” he said, from what sounded like far away.
Fighting the urge to meet her halfway, Deuce stood immobile until Zora reached him. And when she did, he bit into his lower lip and looked down at her. She looked up at him, her long neck curving. Her lips finally parted in a smile, and her shoulders lifted and fell in an inaudible sigh.
“Deuce.”
Out of nowhere there was a lump in the back of his throat, hard and immovable.
Zora’s shoulders sagged even further, and she shook her head.
“Deuce,” she said again.
And then she hugged him. Not like you hug a friend, putting your arms around their waist. But the way you hug a lover, her arms up and around his neck, pulling him down to her, so that her cheek was momentarily pressed against his.
Muscle-memory dictated that the next move was for him to turn his head and kiss her. Deuce fought it, and instead reached up and took her by the wrists, gently removing her arms from around his neck.
“Hey, Zee,” he said, keeping his voice level.
“Hey,” she said.
Though she said relatively few words, her throaty, slightly husky voice just kept hitting him right in the center of his chest. He hadn’t heard it in so long, another muscle of his remembered and clenched. His heart.
“I was hoping …”
“I didn’t know you were …”
They spoke over each other, then both stopped at the same time.
“You first,” she said laughing a little. She sounded nervous.
“I didn’t know you were in New York,” he said.
“Well. I am. Have been for a little while.”
Narrowing his eyes, Deuce shook his head. “What’s a little while?”
“A couple weeks.”
“Weeks.” He exhaled a short breath and shook his head.
“Yes. I was planning to …”
“How long you here for?” he asked.
Not that it matters, a voice in his head said. It doesn’t matter how long she’s here.
“Well, that’s the thing …”
“Zora!”
Someone came out of the crowd and shoved their way between them. Hugs were exchanged, quick catch-ups given and finally, they drifted away again without Deuce even registering who it had been.
“I’m here kind of for good,” Zora said.
“What?”
She seemed to shrink a little at his tone. Probably because he sounded pissed about it. He was pissed about it. Or maybe not pissed but … maybe confused or something. Because if she was here, if she was in New York that meant …
“I transferred,” she said. “To Columbia Law.”
“The same Columbia Law you said you didn’t want to go to when I …”
“I know. Deuce, I know. But …”
“So, UCLA wasn’t all you thought it would be?” His tone was bitter.
Zora shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “A lot of things weren’t how I thought they would be.”
“Vodka tonic.”
Lloyd shoved a glass into Deuce’s hand and grinned at Zora.
“Damn, girl,” he said. “Look at you.” His eyes skated over her in obvious appreciation.
Deuce felt the familiar stab of reflexive possessiveness in the pit of his stomach.
“Lloyd,” Zora said, smiling. She opened her arms to him and they hugged. This time the hug was that of a politician, socializing with a constituent.
Lloyd had been the editor of a student-run blog, and had written extensively about Zora’s social activism, not all of it flattering.
Deuce distinctly remembered more than one occasion when Zora, who generally didn’t cuss, had slammed her laptop shut and shoved it aside calling Lloyd a few choice names for his coverage of Black Lives Matter.
Come over here, lemme make it better, Deuce might tell her.
And she would give him one of her kittenish smiles. Yeah? How’re you goin’ to do that?
“I thought you’d be running for Congress by now,” Lloyd told her.
“Nope. You know better,” she said. “I would never look to become part of the corrupt establishment.”
Lloyd laughed, but Deuce knew that Zee was just playing a part, living up to Lloyd’s treasured misconceptions about her—that she was a flamethrower who lacked pragmatism.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Lloyd asked. “I just grabbed these …” He indicated his drink and Deuce’s. “But I’d be happy to get you a glass of wine, or …”
“No. Thank you, though. If I feel like getting nice, I’ll just steal sips of Deuce’s,” she said, winking.
As a Muslim, Zora wasn’t supposed to consume alcohol at all, but for as long as Deuce knew her, she had, though in moderation. When they were together, and they went out, she hardly ever ordered her own drinks, preferring to have a little of whatever he was having.
As though those drinks don’t count, he’d teased her.
She was ridiculously easy to get intoxicated, too. Just two beers had her silly as hell. And four had her kissing the side of his neck, pressing herself against him, her voice breathy in his ear, and asking him to take her home.
Don’t you want to have your way with me?
Lloyd looked between them, his expression slightly confused.
“So, wait. I thought you two …”
“Zora.”
All three of them turned at the sound of yet another interruption. The voice belonged to a tall, solid brother with obsidian skin. Bald, and built like a Mack truck, he materialized at Zora’s side and she turned to face him, pulling him into the fold.
“Deuce, Lloyd, this is Asif. Asif is …”
“Can I get everyone’s attention?”
The sound of metal on glass turned their focus toward the bar where Summer was kneeling atop a barstool.
Zora and Lloyd turned to listen, but Deuce didn’t. He couldn’t. Summer was droning on about the ‘chance to reconnect with friends and relive shared experiences’ but all he could do was study the backs of Zora and her male companion.
Nah.
After all this time, she parachutes back into his life and with some diesel motherfu…
Reaching out, he held her by the elbow. Zora turned, her eyes questioning. Deuce tugged her toward him, inclining his head in the direction of one corner of the bar. She nodded and went ahead, walking down a narrow hallway where it was quieter. A few paces in, he held her arm to stop her.
Zora leaned back against the wall and he did the same directly opposite her.
“Zee,” he said. “What the fuck?”
She swallowed and nodded. “I know. I should have … You don’t know how …”
“Could you have called me first?” he demanded.
“I wanted to. And I tried. I really did, but after the way things ended …”
“After the way you ended things, you mean,” he said.
“Yes. After the way I ended things …”
“And now suddenly you want to be back on the East Coast. And you bring with you … who the fuck …”
“Deuce, Asif is …”
“Asif.” He shook his head. “Another Arab-themed motherfucker.”
Zora rolled her eyes. “Asif isn’t …”
“You know what? I don’t give a fuck.” He ran a hand over his head. “This isn’t even my business.”
“Stop cur
sing at me!”
A moment’s shame overcame him. Because Zora had always been that woman for him—the one he respected, the one he cherished. The one who taught him that all women needed to be respected and cherished.
“If you were coming back to town you could’ve given me a heads-up,” he said. “Maybe not a call. I don’t know, text me at least. So I could …”
“So you could what?” she prompted. Her voice had softened.
Prepare.
So he could prepare to see her. So he could stuff down every single memory, every last trace of feeling he had for her.
“Nothing. Look … I gotta go …”
“Deuce …” She reached out a hand to him, but he evaded it.
“You take care of yourself, Zora.”
“Take care of my …. What does that …? Do you …?”
“I gotta go,” he said again.
He turned and collided with someone heading for the nearby unisex restroom. Maneuvering around them, Deuce shoved his way out of the bar and into the humid evening.
Walking about a block before he stopped to take a breath, Deuce glanced over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to go back to Le Bar. Part of him wanted to go back and start a ruckus. But that was all it would accomplish—he would start a ruckus and at the end of it, they would be at the same place they were at eight months ago when shortly after he’d gone to see her in California and Zora told him they needed to “take a step back.”
Just for now, it feels like friendship is what’s realistic for us, she’d said, cracking his heart in two.
But he’d recovered from that. The last thing he needed to do was rip himself apart again. Leaving the bar had been the right thing to do. She said she’d been in the city for weeks, and he didn’t know.
Manhattan alone had a population of over one-and-a-half million people. It wasn’t like he was going to run into her on the street, or anything. It would be fine. She was all the way uptown at Columbia.
It took him only another ten minutes before he was entering the cool recesses of his apartment building.
He nodded at the doorman and once inside strode toward the elevators. The weekend had only just begun. And it wasn’t like he didn’t have enough to occupy him.
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