Any Man I Want

by Michele Grant

  Both of their mouths fell open. Uh-oh. So it was as bad as I thought.

  “Then I told him to fight for me and ask me to stay and instead he got me to say I didn’t really want to go and we hugged it out. But he was still mad. He went to the gym. But worse than that, he looked really hurt. Like, really hurt. I think I broke something I can’t fix.”

  Beau’s voice was deadly quiet. “You threatened to walk out on Big Sexy? On Carter Evan Parks? Are you freakin’ kiddin’ me?”

  “What?” I looked from him to Chris and back again.

  “Do you not understand my brother at all?” Chris looked at me in equal parts dismay and confusion. “After the way my parents played him? Pretending to love him and getting close to him until he gave them what they really wanted—which wasn’t him, by the way—and left him over and over again?”

  Beau added, “After he spent his childhood being shuttled from one relation to the other, then to strangers and teachers feeling like no one wanted him? The man who has worked his entire adult life to feel a sense of security, you wake up and flip out on him? This is the man you threatened to walk out on?”

  “Wait . . . what? I didn’t know!” I protested and put my hand to my stomach. I felt sick.

  Chris shook his head and looked at Beau. “Even I didn’t know about that. How old was he when Gramps came for him?”

  “He was twelve. Your grandfather had been in the service overseas and thought he was still with your mother. When he got discharged he went to find him,” Beau explained.

  “And then he came and got me,” Chris said in wonder.

  “Family, relationships, people who believe in him and stick by him? Knowing that the people around him trust him to do the right thing. He’s that guy. The one who is there. No matter what. Whenever you call. All he asks is that the people he cares about accept him for who he is. No more, no less. That means everything to Carter. Everything.” Beau looked at me with reproach. His voice was pained when he spoke again. “Katrina. I spent so much time warning him about hurting you, I never thought you’d hurt him. I never thought in a million years that you would do that to him.” He looked at me like he didn’t even know who I was at that moment.

  “Why didn’t he tell me?” I whispered, tears springing to my eyes.

  “Why didn’t you ask?” Chris wondered. “I mean, he’s your man, right? Don’t you want to know what made him the person he is today?”

  “I’ve known him for so long, I just assumed I knew all the important stuff.”

  “Don’t you want to know what he needs to be happy or is it all about you?” Chris asked.

  “I want to know. I want him to be happy. I want him to be happy with me. But you’re right. Really. It’s all about him now,” I clarified.

  “Wow.” Beau pushed the rest of his sandwich away. “You have to fix this.”

  “I offered him makeup sex. He said maybe later.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Chris exclaimed, finishing his food. “He turned down the cookies? You broke him.”

  “And I never need to hear about your sex life ever again. I mean like ever, Audelia.” Beau gave me his sternest big-brother voice. “He is my best friend. He would walk through fire for any one of us. I don’t give a shit what you have to do; you better make him feel like Superman tonight.”

  “I thought you said—”

  “Not with the goody bag, Katrina, for Christ’s sake. You can’t really think that’s all he wants from you?”

  I hesitated. I knew it was more than just the sex, but a lot of it was the sex. “That’s what keeps guys coming back.”

  “Wooo! Mon Dieu! Okay. You have dated some hella-losers in your day. I’m sorry that as your older brother, I wasn’t around to stomp dey asses and teach you better, but believe me, Carter is not putting up with you for the swerve of it all.”

  “You’re sure?” True, Carter was a great guy, but underneath it all, he was still a guy.

  “Seriously?” Chris said. “I mean, you’re hot and all, but do you know how many hot women throw it at my brother regularly? Like supernova hot women?”

  “No. Do tell.” I quirked a brow.

  Beau elbowed Chris in the stomach. “It doesn’t matter because he’s not catching. He’s yours. Now do you want him or not?”

  “I want him.” And I knew in that moment it was absolutely true.

  “For real and for keeps?” Chris asked.

  “Maybe.”

  They both glared at me.

  “I’m being truthful. If I am cut out for that ‘real and keeps’ stuff, then I definitely want it to be him.”

  “Find a way to make him believe it,” Beau said. “Or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “I will sic Madere on you.”

  “And I’ll sic Gramps.” Chris and Beau exchanged a fist bump.

  “Fine. I’ll fix it. I know what I have to do.”

  “Fabulous. Just don’t let it end up on YouTube.” Beau stood and wrapped up the rest of his lunch to go. “Can you get your spoiled ass into the office tomorrow? We have a summer line to work out.”

  I glared at him. “Just because you sleep with the boss doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

  “Actually, yeah—it kinda does. Get your shit together, Kit-Kat. You’re not a kid anymore.” He kissed me on the cheek and headed to the front door.

  “But I’m still a growing boy; can I have seconds?” Chris asked, putting his folded hands under his chin and blinking.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be at camp?” I remembered belatedly.

  “I told them it was a family emergency. Hey, it’s camp, not game day.”

  “Training camp. Like I should have given you a salad instead of that sandwich?”

  “I hit people all day, I need the carbs. If you give me seconds, I’ll give you some insider tips,” he bargained

  “Like what?” I leaned forward.

  “His favorite mood music, his favorite movie, his favorite poem.”

  “I know those—huh, no I don’t.” I realized I had to do better.

  “His favorite drink.”

  “It’s not single-malt scotch?”

  “No.”

  “Spiced añejo rum and Coke?” I guessed.

  Chris snorted. “Rookie.”

  I took the sandwich I was saving for myself, cut it in half, and handed it over. “Spill.”

  “Deal.”

  By the time Carter arrived home, the house was completely transformed. And so was I. After picking Chris’s brain for close to an hour and listening to him tell stories about Carter when they were growing up, I felt I knew my man better. I was ashamed that I hadn’t taken the time to find out before. Turned out that Carter Parks was not only a traditionalist, but a romantic at heart. Underneath the finely tailored suit and warrior’s body was a sweetheart of a man.

  I’d spent the day adding my own touches to the living room. I swapped out some of his traditional lamps for a few more contemporary styles with turquoise and berry shades. I’d added a plush mint green throw to the chaise and three lavender pillows with sequins to the couch. The large, heavy square marble slab that took Chris and three of his buddies to move was gone, replaced with two tufted suede rectangles that could be used as ottomans, tables, or storage.

  The area rug under the dining room table was a Middle Eastern–inspired swirl of greens and blues with a little bit of peach. I brought over two bright floral paintings from my house to replace two of his sedate landscapes. Because I had bad memories of the way I’d acted on the bed that morning and just because I felt like it, I bought a new bed with a new mattress set. Also, upstairs I’d exchanged all the bedding and towels and bathroom accessories. I’d rearranged my side of the closet and brought in a vanity stool for my side of the bathroom. The entire house was infused with the scent of vanilla and passionflower.

  The minute I heard the garage door go up, I sprang into action. Though it was starting to get dark, there was plenty of moonlight al
ready, so I lit a few lanterns outside on the covered patio. I turned on the sound system so the soundtrack to Love Jones played softly indoors and out.

  I was dressed in a simple LSU tank top over white capri leggings with sandals. Carter liked me no matter what I was wearing, but he liked it best when I was just myself. No artifice, no props, just Katrina. I did spend an hour on my hair, though. He liked it curly and curls took time. The result was a flowing mane of curls that framed my face and hung down my back. A little mascara and lip gloss was all the decoration I bothered with.

  Checking the table settings one last time, I went inside to fix his drink. He walked in the back door slowly, as if not sure what to expect. A little twinge gripped my heart. I did that to him, made him wary walking into his own house. I vowed to make it up to him. He paused and looked around, as if making sure he was in the right place.

  I started toward him. “Hi honey, how was your day?” I purred, taking his laptop case off of his shoulder and setting it on the side before sliding off his jacket and loosening his tie. I lifted up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. He slid his arm around my waist.

  “My day? Well, it started off a little rough, but it’s looking up right about now. How was yours?”

  “Busy. Can I offer you a drink?”

  “I don’t see why not.” I stepped away and he caught my hand and twirled me in a circle. “You look nice, Kitty.”

  I curtsied and threw back my head and laughed. “Only you, CP.” The man had seen me in ball gowns and bikinis and business suits, but was wowed by an outfit I would go to the grocery in.

  He grinned. “I like what I like.”

  I handed him a tall glass. “Bourbon, sparkling water, and two slices of orange.”

  His brows jumped up and he took a sip. “Someone has been busy today. This is perfect, thank you.”

  I took his free hand and turned toward the living room. “You like?”

  He took it all in and the smile on his face spread. “I do like. It looks like you.”

  “No,” I corrected. “It looks like us.”

  His eyes met mine in consideration. “You’re right. It looks like us now.”

  “Are you hungry?” I led him outside.

  “Always.” His eyes lit up as he took in the covered dishes, the set table, the lighting. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as I led him to a chair and handed him a napkin. It made me wonder how often anyone had taken the time to do something special for him, just because. I was ashamed that I hadn’t made more of an effort before to do more for him than just show up, look cute, and bounce on him whenever the mood hit. Moving a few things in, getting settled, making an effort for dinner; these were little things to do that brought him so much joy. After talking with Chris and Beau this morning, I realized that it really wasn’t all about me. Or at least, it shouldn’t have been. Not all the time.

  I uncovered the dishes. Spicy fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, greens, and biscuits. I started loading his plate.

  “Oh my God,” Carter moaned. “You cooked. You cooked carbs for me.”

  “Yeah, I did, baby.” I grinned as he snatched my hand and kissed the back of it.

  “Goddess. You’re a goddess.”

  I shook my head, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat down next to him. “Nah, I’m just a woman who realizes she has a good man who could stand to be appreciated.”

  “Yeah? You’ve got me, huh?”

  “Hope like hell I do.” I handed him butter, Tabasco, and maple syrup.

  He looked down at the items and back at me. “All right, Katrina, who’d you grill?”

  I blinked innocently. “Beg pardon?”

  “My favorite food with all the right condiments, my favorite drink prepared perfectly, my favorite album?”

  “Your favorite girl?”

  “My favorite girl,” he agreed. “Apparently, you’ve got some sleuthing skills.”

  “I’ve got all kinds of skills. Eat up; I have praline cheesecake for dessert.”

  He bit into the chicken and made a sound I’d only heard him make while naked. “Girl, when you apologize you do it up right.”

  “This?” I gestured toward the table and living room. “This isn’t an apology. This is me playing catch-up, doing what I should have been doing from the beginning. Upstairs later, on the new bed? That will be an apology.”

  “New bed, huh?” He scooped up some mashed potatoes.

  “Indeed. Eat up, Sexy. We’re just getting started.”

  He set his fork down. “Kit-Kat?”

  “C?”

  “If I forget to say it, this is excellent and thank you.” He started slathering butter on his biscuit. I envied that kind of guiltless eating.

  I kissed him on the neck. “Thank you for being you, babe.”

  “Who else would I be?” He looked confused.

  “Exactly. That’s why I love you. Now stop blocking the butter.”

  He passed the butter and then went still with the biscuit halfway to his mouth. “What did you just say?”

  “I said you were kinda bogarting the spreadable butter a little bit. You were.”

  “Before that.”

  “The I love you part?” I bit into a drumstick and mentally patted myself on the back. This was good.

  He cleared his throat. “Yeah. That part.”

  “I do,” I confirmed and forked up some greens.

  Taking a sip of his drink, he nodded as the smile spread across his face again. “Good.” He picked up his fork and we ate in companionable silence while the song switched over to Maxwell’s “Sumthin’ Sumthin’.” “I love you too and not just because you put your foot all up in this food.”

  “Good, then.” I stayed calm even though I wanted to get up and dance around the pool. The neighbors wouldn’t appreciate me screaming Carter loves me, ME over and over again.

  “If I weren’t determined to clean my plate and have seconds, I’d do you right here in the middle of these mashed potatoes. To commemorate the moment and all.”

  “You sentimental sweet-talker, you. Hold the thought. I’m not going anywhere any time soon.”

  “You’re not, huh?”

  “No Carter Evan Parks, I am not. You’re stuck with me.”

  “That’s a hell of a day you must have had.”

  “You don’t know the half. Got scared, got some sense knocked into me, got my mind right.”

  “That’s a good day.”

  I raised my glass. “Getting better every minute.” We clinked glasses and I gave him a smile full of promise. He would go to sleep tonight much happier than he woke up.

  23

  Because neither of us has enough to do

  Carter—Saturday, July 10—1:11 a.m.

  “Why don’t they make movies like this anymore?” Katrina groused as we watched the last scenes of Love & Basketball fade to credits. When I found out that Katrina had missed a lot of the neo-soul neoclassic films of the late 1990s, early 2000s, I decided we’d have a little marathon. We watched Boomerang, Hav Plenty, and then Love & Basketball.

  “They do,” I argued, though I tended to agree with her.

  “We get maybe five or six African-American romantic comedies or relationship stories a year and two of those either suck or have some guy dressing up as a woman in the lead role.”

  “Somebody should do something about it,” I told her and moved the empty popcorn bowl to the ottoman.

  “We’re somebody,” she said, shifting the empty drinkware to the tray on the side table.

  I stood up and started putting the dozens of pillows she seemed to think we needed back on the sofa. “We are two somebodies, neither of which knows a damn thing about making movies.”

  “We know people, we should look into it. Maybe do something small. Think about putting together an independent production house and start looking around for interesting stories to tell.” She sat up and stretched.

  “A joint venture between you and me in an industry that is
notoriously fickle. I see you, diva. Because neither of us has enough to do.” I looked down at her as she tossed aside the lightweight blanket-thing she had been curled up under. I picked it up and folded it into a rectangle and tossed it over the back of the couch. It wasn’t that Katrina was messy. It was that she felt there was a time and a place to pick up and clean things. That was usually Saturday mornings. The rest of the week, she tended to let things go. I had a housekeeper who came in on Tuesdays and Thursdays to do a few hours of light cleaning and straightening. Once every six weeks Katrina’s housekeeper came with a team and did things that we weren’t going to do, like windows, drapes, and something to do with bleach and grout in the bathrooms that I didn’t care to know too much about. My point was, between our jobs, families, friends, household stuff, and time together, I didn’t see how we were going to launch some sort of independent film company. But one of Katrina’s charms was that she was also a dreamer who frequently found ways to make dreams come true.

  Katrina smiled up at me. “I know you’re thinking this is another of my pie-in-the-sky dreams.”

  “A l’il bit.”

  “It doesn’t have to be today, just something to start thinking about.”

  “Montgomery-Parks Productions. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “That’s sweet of you to put me first, but I’m thinking Big Kat Productions. And the logo would be this lean lion with a grin on its face and its paw on a football.”

  I smiled down at her. “Did you just come up with that on the spot?”

  Her lids drooped and a sultry smile crossed her face. She reached down and whipped her T-shirt off and tossed it away. Then she took two fingers and pulled the drawstring on my pants. They fell to the ground, leaving me bare-assed naked in the middle of my living room. She stretched across the length of the sofa and leaned back with her hands above her head. “I’m inventive.”

  “So I see.”

  She spread her legs so one foot rested on the floor. “And rather wet. Can you help me out with that?”