Rhyme & Reason

by Nia Forrester

  ~~~

  Regan came out of his bedroom just as he opened the front door and walked into the apartment. She was wearing heels, and for a second, Deuce thought she was going to suggest that they go out to a club or something. Then he realized they were the ones she had been wearing the night of the robbery.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I need to bite the bullet.” She laughed at the reference. “And go home. I mean, I have to … sometime.”

  Deuce said nothing for a moment, then nodded. “It’s … I don’t want you to feel like I’m kicking you out …”

  “But you are,” she said.

  “Regan.” He shook his head and exhaled. “Look, let’s not fight, okay? I get that this is a tough time for you. I just …”

  “Weren’t counting on having me move in.”

  “Could you stop doin’ that? Finishing my sentences for me? I know what I want to say. I don’t need any help saying it.”

  He did, though. He wanted to tell her it was over. That it had been over the moment Lloyd had spoken Zee’s name at the stupid alumni mixer. Everything in his world had shifted in just that nanosecond. If Zora Diallo was on the same coast as him, in the same city as him, every other woman no longer mattered.

  “But yeah,” he continued. “I wasn’t counting on you moving in. And if this goes on much longer, we might default to that. And that’s not how you make that kind of decision.”

  Regan advanced toward him till she was mere inches away. She reached for the front of his shirt and tugged at it. All the previous petulance was gone from her expression, and when she spoke, she sounded almost afraid.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “If I pushed too hard. But you took … you take such good care of me. And you’re … In this city, you’re pretty much all I have.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I know I have all those girls I party with. The crew at the restaurant. But you know how that is. It’s all shallow bullshit. You’re the first person … to make me feel like I have a, I don’t know, like a home here. A reason to be here other than wanting to model and …”

  “Okay, I hear you,” Deuce said.

  He didn’t want to listen to anymore. Not if she was planning to continue down this path of telling him how important he was to her.

  “Okay,” Regan said. “So … I guess … Will you take me home?”

  He nodded and she moved closer, getting on her toes and pressing her lips to his. Deuce neither resisted nor participated when she briefly slid her tongue between his lips and after a few seconds, she thankfully, pulled away.

  “I’m just gonna grab a couple more things and then we can go,” she said.

  Once they got to her apartment, a third-floor walk-up in a small, pre-war building, Deuce took the keys from Regan and opened the door. Over his shoulder, he could hear her breaths, barely managed, and a little labored.

  Inside, the air was heavy and stale, because her ceiling fans and window air conditioning units hadn’t been turned on for a long while, and New York’s summers were brutal. He walked in ahead of her and glanced over his shoulder only to make sure she was following. In the doorway outside her bedroom, she paused and squeezed his shoulder.

  “Can you just … check everything?” she asked in a small voice.

  And Deuce had to acknowledge that she had cause to be frightened. Detective Wortham said that nothing from the robbery had been recovered, not even the purses and wallets of the servers and other staff.

  I doubt they even went through the effort to look through them for cash, the detective assured them. The haul they got from the safe was decent enough. I’m sure everything else just got dumped somewhere.

  “Okay.” Deuce went into the bedroom, checking the closet, under the bed, behind the door.

  The room was small, so there weren’t many plausible hiding places for an adult. When he emerged once again, Regan sighed.

  “I know you think I’m being stupid.”

  “No,” he said, honestly. “I don’t.”

  Exhaling deeply, she took two steps toward him and rested her cheek against his chest.

  “Can you stay with me tonight?”

  “Yeah. Of course.” Deuce put an arm up and around her.

  With that encouragement, Regan moved in even closer and wrapped both her arms around him.

  “I’m going to take a shower, and then maybe we can order from Hunan or something?”

  “Sure,” he said, though he was still full, from having had that late lunch with Zora and her cousin.

  Deuce tried to make himself comfortable while she showered, walking through the apartment that he had walked through many times before. Just as there were a few items of hers in his place, there were some of his here. An old tablet that he rarely used since he’d upgraded to the new iPad, a pair of Nike sneakers, a necktie he had worn to an SE event that Regan had accompanied him to.

  Who was that guy? It seemed now as though he had to have been someone else, or maybe sleepwalking through what felt at the time like a relationship. It was already a dim memory; the feelings of that time were a sad and sorry comparison to what he felt after just one night with Zee.

  Resisting the urge to gather all his stuff and put them in a pile so he could take them with him in the morning, Deuce instead went into the kitchen and got a beer from the fridge. There were four Coronas—his brand. Regan didn’t even drink beer too much, saying it was empty calories that she couldn’t afford.

  He opened one then took the Chinese food menu from beneath a refrigerator magnet and scanned the choices, though he already knew that Regan would get the Singapore rice noodles.

  Wouldn’t it be cool? Zora had asked him once. To have Chinese food in China one day. I feel like we’re being duped with all this General Tso’s nonsense.

  What’re you talkin’ ‘bout, crazy?

  There’s no way this is authentic is what I’m saying. Don’t you think so?

  They were sprawled across her bed, eating the mediocre Chinese food from one of the delivery places in their college town. It was a Friday night and he was looking forward to sleeping in late with her on Saturday. She had so many activities during the week that Fridays and then Saturday mornings were golden.

  I don’t think so, he told her. But only because I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about my Chinese food at all. Unless it’s to wonder how long it’ll take to get here.

  Zora rolled her eyes.

  But I’ll take you to China one day, baby, he added. I promise. So you can check out the real stuff.

  At that she beamed, as brightly as though he’d told her he already bought the plane tickets.

  Would you really?

  You know I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.

  “Singapore rice noodles for me.”

  Regan came into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around her, her hair still wet, and hanging in black fronds over her shoulders and down her back. When it dried it would curl, and then she would blow it out with the hotter-than-was-safe dryer she had. Or, she would lament the amount of time it would take to get an appointment at her preferred Dominican hair salon. He and Regan spent an inordinate amount of time talking about her beauty routines, and how inconvenient she found them.

  “You’re staring at me,” she said in a sing-song voice, hunching one shoulder, and looking a little coy.

  “Am I?” Deuce tipped back his beer bottle and took a long swallow.

  “Yeah. And I think I know why …” She extended a hand. “It’s been a while since I … took care of you.”

  Zora said that. The night he went to her place after hearing about his mother she said, tonight, let’s just take care of you.

  “Nah.” Deuce shook his head now. “Regan. I’m cool. That’s not …”

  “Okay, so it’s been a while since you took care of me, then,” she said, still holding out the hand.

  Deuce put the beer bottle on the counter and took the hand.

  “Thought you were hungry,
” he said, feeling the warring emotions of mindless desire and reluctance settle in the pit of his stomach.

  “I am. But I want you more.”

  ~~~

  The fact that Regan got on top made him feel like he was more of a passive recipient than a participant at first. It reinforced the lie he was telling himself that it didn’t count since he was not the initiator. But when they started to really get into it, Deuce closed his eyes, gritted his teeth and flipped her over onto her back.

  Her breasts were smaller than Zora’s the nipples a pinkish-brown, and no larger than chocolate kisses. And she had longer legs, narrower hips. Regan was always watching her weight, mindful of the modeling jobs that still came her way. She felt birdlike and almost brittle in his arms.

  “Ow, ouch … baby, slow down …” Regan’s breathy protest in his ear brought him back to himself and Deuce opened his eyes, propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at her.

  “Sorry,” he breathed, stopping all movement. “Did I hurt you?”

  “A little. Just … gimme a moment. It’s been a while …”

  “Okay.”

  Deuce let his head drop a little, so he wasn’t looking at her, and tried to catch his breath, waiting while she adjusted to him. He could feel her, the way her body loosened and how her slick hold on his dick unclenched and relaxed a little.

  Regan’s hand came up and she tipped his chin, so they were face to face.

  “You’re not … You didn’t kiss me,” she said. “I think that’s why. I like it when you …”

  She didn’t finish her sentence but craned upward to capture his lips and slide her tongue between them. Deuce’s dick jumped and he hardened a little more, hating himself when he began to kiss Regan back just as enthusiastically as she kissed him.

  Tearing her lips from his for a moment, she exhaled. “Yes,” she said. “I like that … so good … it’s so good …”

  Arching her hips toward him she began moving again, and Deuce tried not to; and tried not to feel how good it was. Hating himself just a little more each second.

  “You okay?” he asked her, his mouth against her ear. “You ready for me?”

  “Yeah …” Regan panted. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”

  So, he did.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Standing in the doorway to Lounge Two-Twelve, Zora scanned the club’s VIP area, looking for the familiar faces of her friends. Finally, it was the sight of Kaleem doing the Crip walk to a throwback Snoop Dogg song and the sound of Deuce’s howls and laughter, loud enough to be heard above the music, that caught her attention.

  Kaleem looked different. It was the hair, mostly. Once cut low, it was in a much longer buckwheat, the edges clean and shaped up. But he was still the powerhouse he had always been, his flawless physique accentuated in a close-fitting white crewneck shirt, and skinny black pants. Deuce, cheering him on, was monochromatic in dark shirt and pants, the precise colors of which Zora could not make out in the black lights and intermittent strobe lighting.

  Women slowed down when walking by, but as usual—in a way that Zora knew had to make their admirers just a little crazy—neither Deuce nor Kal seemed to notice.

  Seeing them together again, Penn State’s “hot boys” reliving the tomfoolery that used to be typical of their time together, made Zora’s lips part in an involuntary smile. Making her way through the crowd in their direction, her stomach twisted with something like nervousness.

  When Deuce sent her the text message to let her know where they were meeting, she wondered whether he would bring his girlfriend along. But she had been too scared to come right out and ask.

  That fear might have had something to do with her choice of outfit—a flared white miniskirt and matching long sleeved surplice crop top with high-heeled sandals—that she knew lengthened her and created a showstopping contrast with her dark skin. Even as she chose the pieces from the bottom of her dresser drawer, she almost blushed at how ridiculous she was being. It didn’t matter how good she looked tonight. If she was there, Deuce’s girlfriend had the upper hand. Because she was Deuce’s girlfriend.

  Still, she spent just a little extra time on hair and makeup as well. Sometimes the right shade of lipstick could buy a girl a world of self-esteem.

  Kaleem spotted her first, and his face broke out into a wide grin. Not missing a beat, he Crip-walked in her direction and extended a hand. Zora tucked her clutch under her free arm and V-stepped in time with Kal’s own movements.

  “Aw shit!” he yelled. “What you know ‘bout all that, Zora D?”

  Humoring him, Zora danced for a few beats more until he stood back to watch her with arms folded, his lips twisted in appreciation.

  When she stopped, Kaleem pulled her into his arms for a long warm hug. He hugged her the way her brother, Ousmane or Asif would, with one arm around her waist, and the other hooked around her neck. He smelled good, and of a scent that Zora couldn’t identify, but that she associated with him and had missed. It made her eyes sting a little from the nostalgia.

  “You look good,” Kaleem said into her ear. “You know you gon’ drive my boy crazy, right?”

  Zora pulled back and kissed him on the cheek. “You look pretty amazing too.”

  Kaleem put a hand briefly atop her head, tugging at her large natural.

  “I missed you, big head,” he grinned.

  When he stepped aside, Zora saw that Asha was standing just behind him, and squealed, flinging her arms wide and pulling her friend into a hug.

  Asha’s locs were noticeably longer, but she, too was different. For one thing, she was very tan; and where she once wore her hair falling on either side of her face, it was now pulled up into a large bun at the crown of her head. And where her attire used to be baggy and nondescript, now she didn’t seem to shy away from making the most of her slightly fuller figure in a two-piece jumpsuit in sage-green, with a close-fitting sleeveless top.

  But it wasn’t just Asha’s outward appearance that had changed. She had a subtle, new confidence and didn’t hesitate to lean into Zora’s hug the way she once might have.

  “Asha!” Zora said. “Look at you!”

  Though she couldn’t detect the change in her complexion that Zora suspected was there, she knew from the drop in her gaze that Asha was blushing.

  “And you,” she returned, as always trying to deflect attention from herself.

  Zora hugged her once again and when she stood back, was surprised that her throat was clogged. That only worsened when she finally looked in Deuce’s direction. Through the greetings, he had remained seated, and now, was watching her with an unsmiling, unreadable expression.

  When Zora’s eyes met his, he held her gaze. Only once she smiled and gave him a small wave did one corner of his lips lift, just the tiniest bit. If she didn’t know better, she would have believed that her arrival had ruined his evening. But he slid aside making room for her next to him on the white leather sofa.

  Not wanting to create a spectacle of their changed circumstances and relationship, Zora sat next to him, trying to look more comfortable than she felt. The moment she was that close, her senses were assailed with everything Deuce—his scent, the knowledge of his solid arm close to but not quite touching hers, and the memory of their night together.

  “You want something to drink?”

  The sound of his voice, and the sensation of his warm breath against her neck made goosebumps rise on the surface of her skin. His breath had the scent of cognac with a smoky undernote that she knew from experience meant that he and Kaleem had smoked a little before coming out.

  It was never very much, because Kaleem was always training for something, and Deuce didn’t like the feeling of being too out of himself. He even used to get a little irritated with her coming back from BLM team meetings smelling like weed all the time. Weed and activism for whatever reason seemed to go hand in hand, probably because it was yet another rebellion that, back then, made them feel grown-up and in charge of th
eir own destinies.

  Yeah, that’s real woke, Zora remembered Deuce saying when once he had picked her up from a leadership team meeting, leaned in to kiss her and smelled the smoke in her hair. Gotta get all blunted-out before you change the world?

  I wasn’t smoking, for your information, Zora said. Not that it would be a big deal if I was.

  And then they had a stupid fight because once she became his girlfriend, Deuce’s expectations changed in subtle ways.

  He never outright tried to prevent her from doing anything, but those expectations were always hovering in the background, and they all seemed to be about the same thing. He didn’t want her to be compromised or seem available in any way. And chicks who sat around smoking with other dudes were potentially both compromised and making themselves available.

  It felt like chauvinistic BS to Zora, and way too close for comfort to the expectations her father and brother had of her. And she had often told Deuce so, but the expectations persisted, as had the occasional bickering about them.

  “Just a white wine. Doesn’t matter what kind,” she said now.

  He nodded and stood to go get it.

  He was escaping; that much was obvious. Because having been to Lounge Two-Twelve with Deuce in the past, Zora knew the VIP area was almost aggressively serviced by a team of servers dressed in white and silver, smiling expansively as they brought liquor and tapas almost before you knew you wanted either.

  “Are we expecting anyone else?” Zora called to Kaleem across the table where he had settled, with Asha on his lap.

  “Nah,” he called back. “Just us.”

  Zora turned away, needlessly taking in the surroundings she had seen many times before, just to hide her relief.

  ~~~

  This was going to be much harder than he thought.

  The idea of being in the Lounge, where it was loud and hectic seemed like the perfect plan when he thought of it, but Deuce now doubted its wisdom. He hadn’t counted on her walking in looking like that. He’d prepared himself for her to look good, but knew he had to keep his distance, especially what went down with Regan when he took her back to her apartment.