His by Spring

by Tina Martin

  Tennyson ordered the same, but instead of an apple martini, he settled on a beer. After the waitress left their table, he said, “You know what I do for work. What do you do?

  “I work at a financial lending company.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Lending people money.”

  “I figured that much out already. I want to know your specific role within the organization.”

  “I used to be a loan specialist, but I worked my way up to manager recently.”

  His face lit up. “That’s awesome.”

  “Oh, hush. Don’t act like you’re impressed over my little accomplishment.”

  “I am impressed. I admire people who work hard to better their lives. That’s what I like about your brother. Harding. I understand he had his own business back in Wilmington.”

  “He did. Still does, actually. It’s going to take some time to get it up and running here, though.”

  “As to be expected. This is a new market for him, but it’s a market that needs his services.”

  Zoya nodded, then locked eyes with him thinking of Savannah’s comment about being chosen. She flashed a smile, hoping it would serve to divert his attention elsewhere.

  It hadn’t.

  Tennyson was caught up in the beauty of her. She was a woman that, although pretty in every sense of the word, didn’t come across as being stuck on herself. And she exuded a level of innocence that most women he’d come across didn’t possess. He liked that. Was intrigued by it.

  Zoya looked up and saw the waitress bringing their drinks, feeling relief filter through her.

  “One appletini and a beer,” the waitress said. “I’ll be right back with your waters and the food will be ready shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Zoya said. She took a long sip of her drink, nearly consuming half of it before she set the glass on the table.

  “How is it?” Tennyson asked, staring at her lips.

  “Good.”

  He took a swig of beer. “So, tell me a little about yourself.”

  There it was – the infamous conversation initiator. Tell me about yourself. Nobody was prepared to tell anyone else about their self unless they’d just been practicing for a job interview. Other than that, people weren’t primed to talk about themselves and if they claimed to be they were lying.

  Zoya certainly wasn’t, especially with gorgeous, Mr. One Date. “Uh...” Zoya froze. What did he want to know? “Like what?”

  “Like your family. I know about Harding. Are there any other brothers or sisters?”

  “Yes. I have another older brother, Mordecai, and younger sister, Amira.”

  “That’s cool. Must’ve been nice growing up with friends.”

  She smiled. “Yes. Ready-made friends. That’s one advantage of having siblings.”

  “Right.” Tennyson sipped beer.

  Zoya took another sip of her drink. “I have to say it was nice growing up with them.”

  “I’m an only child, so—”

  “Seriously?” she asked. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off.”

  “It’s fine, but yes, no siblings. It was just me and my mother.”

  Zoya nodded realizing they had yet another thing in common – being raised by their mothers. Seemed the more she wanted to find reasons to not like him, the more reasons she found to know him better.

  When the food arrived, she delighted at how good it was, then continued the conversation by asking, “Was it difficult not having your father around?”

  “It was at times,” Tennyson said. “When I was younger, much younger, there were times when I would ask for him. He’d make promises to see me and never show up, so eventually, something clicked—like a light bulb went off in my head and I knew he was never going to be the kind of father I needed him to be. I accepted it. As the saying goes, if you never expect nothing from somebody, you’re never disappointed.”

  “That’s true.”

  Tennyson drank more beer. “What I couldn’t tolerate was how it affected my mother. She loved him—there was never a man after him to my knowledge and she just seemed miserable to me.”

  “My mother was the same way,” Zoya said. “I’m sure you already know the story since you did a background check on us.”

  “Not you. The background check was actually just for your mother and Harding, and please don’t hold that against me. I was just doing my job, so don’t shoot those pretty eyes at me like that.”

  Zoya withheld a smile and finished her martini. She held up her glass to signal the waitress for another martini then continued, “My mom is one of the sweetest women you’d ever meet. There are so many questions I have for her regarding my dad though. I don’t understand how a woman can love a man knowing he’s married or is involved with someone. And I can’t fathom how he could think it was okay to treat my mother that way.”

  “He knew it wasn’t okay.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so. People do what they want and some people are just selfish and don’t care who they hurt. He was actually married to Dante’s mother, right?”

  “Right.”

  “In that case, he knew exactly what he was doing.”

  Zoya glanced around the restaurant briefly spotting the waitress toting another apple martini her way. “He will never know how his actions have affected my family. How it has affected me as a woman growing up without the person who was supposed to set the standard and show me how to love and be loved.” She frowned since knowing she was being more forthcoming than she wanted to be. It was probably more liquid courage than anything else. “Do you know what I mean, Tennyson?” She took a long swig of the martini that the waitress had just placed on the table, awaiting his response.

  “I think I’m following you, but just in case I’m not, are you saying you don’t know how to love someone because of him?”

  “Not exactly. What I’m saying is, he was supposed to be the standard in showing me how a man treats his woman. Instead, he showed me how he cheated on her and broke her heart and that, in turn, has taught me not to trust men.”

  “That would mean, in your eyes, all men are like your father.”

  “He’s the example, or shall I say was the example.”

  “Was he, because you said he wasn’t there? How, then could he be an example?”

  “Easy. He was an example of what not to look for in a man, I suppose.”

  “Why not focus on who was there for you instead? Harding’s your older brother, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was he there for you when you were growing up?”

  “He was.”

  “Then let him be your example. He loves Savannah. I couldn’t see him doing anything to hurt her. Could you?”

  “Harding isn’t my father, but whatever. I’m not so sure you know where I’m coming from after all.”

  “I believe I do, and I’m here to tell you—not all men are like your father. I know he hurt you with his actions, but—”

  Tennyson paused when he watched Zoya pick up the martini glass and guzzle down the remainder of it. And then she glanced around the restaurant, looking for their waitress like she wanted to order a third one.

  “Didn’t you drive here?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m going to have to hold you to a two-drink minimum, young lady.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, holding up her glass to get the waitress’ attention yet again.

  Tennyson was uncomfortable with her drinking so much but he didn’t stop her. She was a grown woman. He trusted she knew her limits.

  “Men suck,” she blurted out. “No offense.”

  He stared across the table at her. Maybe she didn’t know her limits after all. “Zoya, it would be highly immature to judge all men based on the actions of one man.”

  She shrugged. “That’s how I see it. That’s my truth.” She closed her eyes and steadied herself. “I’m thirty-two-years-old and I’ve never been in a s
erious relationship. I know the statistics when it comes to fatherless girls—how we’re more likely to be promiscuous in search of somebody, anybody, to provide the love daddy couldn’t bring. Or—” she said raising her index finger to silence him when he’d opened his mouth to speak. “Or, I could be withdrawn and avoid love and relationships so I don’t end up with a man who would treat me the same way my father treated my mother. Lucky me, right?”

  “Or you could live your life optimistically and create your own experiences instead of dwelling on those negative ones in which you didn’t have any control over and won’t help you grow as a person.”

  Zoya’s brows furrowed. “It has helped me to grow as a person…helped me pick out the men who are no good. Who wants to waste my time telling me what I want to hear, tickling my ears with compliments like I don’t know how I look. I’ve learned a lot from my father.” Zoya took a sip of martini number three, the drink sloshing around in her glass as she set it on the table.

  Tennyson finished up his spring rolls deciding to let her continue on with her ranting. This was probably the first opportunity she got the chance to do so and with the help of liquor, she was getting it all out.

  “My father was selfish. He wanted two women, so he got two women. But what was so bad about my mom that he had to keep her hanging on like a side chick? She deserved so much better.”

  “I agree.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sure you do.”

  “I do.”

  “It’s such a double standard with men. It’s okay for you to have a wife, a side chick and a third anonymous hoe, but women have to be loyal to you even if we know we’re being cheated on.” Zoya finished off the third martini.

  Tennyson could only sit there and take it all in. This is not how he pictured their evening – with her borderline intoxicated, talking negative about men. He was all set for some relaxing conversation. He’d planned on showing her a good time so she’d be begging him for a second date. Instead, she was in her feelings, possibly intoxicated and in anti-men mode because of her father.

  “I think we should go,” he told her. “I’ll get the check.”

  Zoya buried her face in her hands while Tennyson threw up a finger to get the waitress’ attention.

  “Zoya, are you okay?”

  She lowered her hands and revealed a pair of glassy eyes. “I’m fine,” she said above a whisper.

  He knew otherwise.

  After taking care of the check, he took her by the hand and escorted her outside to the parking lot where he took her car keys from her grasp. Surely she didn’t think she was driving home after three martinis. She couldn’t even walk straight.

  “Why’d you take my keys?”

  “I can’t let you drive.”

  “I’m fine, Tennyson.”

  “I don’t care. I can’t let you drive. I’ll drop you off.”

  “No. Don’t. I can’t go there like this.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want Harding yelling at me and bring all peachy...I mean preachy.”

  “Then what do you want to do, Zoya?”

  “I’ll just sleep it off in my car.”

  “No. I’m not giving you the keys, so why don’t you come home with me? I’ll take you to the car in the morning,” he explained, not knowing whether she was following him or not.

  “Whatever you say, Ten. Let’s just go. I’m tired.”

  Tennyson walked around the car, opened the door for her and once she was safely inside, he closed the door, then walked around the front of the car to open the driver side door. He jumped in, started the car and drove out of the parking lot. His house was only a short drive away, in the exclusive Kenilworth neighborhood of Asheville. When he made the left to turn onto his street, he looked at her, catching glimpses of her face as they passed dim street lights. She was passed out, leaning up against the door like she was trying to get comfortable snuggling with a pillow. He pulled up in the driveway, then pressed the garage door button that was preprogrammed in his car’s settings, driving in once the door raised. He hit the button again to close it back and looked at her. She was still sleeping. He’d never witnessed anyone fall asleep so quickly – drunk or otherwise.

  He got out, opened her door carefully then said, “Zoya, wake up. We’re here.”

  “Hunh?” she questioned with her eyes still closed.

  “We’re here.”

  “Where?”

  “At my place. Come on. Let’s go in.”

  She reached for his hand, allowing him to do most of the work to actually get her out of the car and make sure she was stable enough to stand up. It wasn’t until they were in the mudroom that he felt comfortable enough to release her hand.

  “Wow,” she said looking around. “Where are we?”

  “I told you…we’re at my house. Sit down, Zoya,” Tennyson said, leading her to a chair in the kitchen. “Let me get you some water.”

  “Water? How about something a bit stronger?”

  “You’ve had enough alcohol for one night.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop being so stuffy and uptight. I bet you ain’t had a drink in years.”

  He chuckled slightly. “I just had a beer at the restaurant.”

  “Beer...schmeer…you need some real liquor. Beer only makes people fat.”

  “That’s not true,” Tennyson said, putting ice in a glass. If she could see his abs, she’d eat those words.

  Tennyson placed a glass of water on the table in front of her and said, “Drink.”

  Zoya picked up the glass and took a sip.

  “All of it, Zoya.”

  “Okay. Jeez. Give me a minute.”

  He glanced at her. He wasn’t judging. Through it all, he could see her pain, and come morning, she’d forget most, if not all, of tonight. It had him thinking if this was a regular thing for her – to drink then offload her problems on whoever would listen. Was this the first time a man had taken her to his home while she was intoxicated? The thought that it could’ve happened before sickened him. “I’ll get the guest bedroom ready for you.”

  Zoya grunted, then sighed as Tennyson walked away. She looked around the expansive kitchen then got up from, holding on to the counter in search of a bathroom.

  “Ten, where’d you go?” she yelled out. “Ten!”

  “I’m upstairs,” he said, jogging downstairs to stop her from climbing them alone. He put his arms around her and held her up as she walked up the stairs.

  “Ooh…a winding staircase...it’s making me dizzy,” she said then giggled.

  “I don’t think it’s the stairs that’s making you dizzy, sweetheart.”

  “It is all of these stairs. Why are there so many stairs in this castle? Are we ever going to get to the top?”

  “We’re in the room already, Zoya.” Tennyson walked her over to the bed.

  Zoya sat down then fell backward. “Wait, I gotta use the bathroom.”

  “Okay. Come this way,” he said again, helping her to the bathroom a few doors down the hallway.

  She went inside, closed the door. He’d instructed her not to lock it for fear she’d pass out again. He couldn’t have her sleeping on the bathroom floor.

  He tapped his knuckles against the door. “You okay?”

  “Give me a minute,” she said.

  A few minutes later, she turned the knob, stepped back into the hallway partially undressed. The blouse she had on when she went inside was missing and his eyes landed on the lacey, crimson-colored bra, showcasing her perfectly plump breasts.

  Tennyson swallowed the lump in his throat at the sight of her. “Zoya, where’s your shirt?”

  “I took it off. It was hot in there. Now, which way is the room? I’m sleepy.”

  “This way,” he said, taking her hand, leading her to the guest bedroom again.

  Zoya climbed beneath the covers, wiggled out of her pants, then tossed them to the floor.

  Tennyson looked at her, not believing the event
s that had transpired within the last hour, then decided to walk away and leave her alone to sleep it off. When he flicked the light switch to the off position, he heard her say something but couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “I said come here.”

  “Zoya—

  “Please.”

  He knew he shouldn’t have, but since she was at his house and under his care, he thought it was necessary. He walked over to the bed and stood there, staring at her face – that beautiful face. Her eyes were closed, but when she opened them, it was like the lights were on again. Amazing how those vivid hazel eyes could catch a glimpse of moonlight and illuminate the room while igniting his soul.

  “Can you stay in here with me?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Please...just until I fall asleep.”

  “Zoya, no. You’re naked under those covers.”

  “I’m not completely naked. Lie on top of the covers if you want. Just for a little while.”

  He sighed heavily before he did so, but laid on the bed, on top of the covers as she had suggested.

  She immediately slid closer to him and adjusted the covers so she was lying on his shirt-covered chest.

  “You feel warm.”

  “Get some rest, Zoya.”

  “Shh, you’re talking too loud. Keep your voice low.”

  “Okay,” Tennyson said, abiding by her rules but his voice was already low.

  “You must have some special powers, Tennyson Tillman—getting me to talk about my personal problems to a complete stranger.”

  “I’m not a stranger.”

  “You are. And you smell sooo good.”

  “Go to sleep, Zoya.”

  “I’m not sleepy.”

  “You said you were.”

  “Well, I’m not anymore. I want to talk to you, Tennyson Tillman.” She sat up, running her index finger up and down the stubbles of hair on his face.

  He only stared back at her, not saying a word. Not stopping her.