“I told you I can’t—”
“But do you?”
“Yes,” I pouted, letting my head fall into my hands again. “I do, but I couldn’t really be with one of The Lost Boys. It goes against everything I stand for. My brand and my career are tied to who I am and what I believe. And he represents the opposite of that. How can I fight for what’s right while being tied to someone who supports what’s wrong?” I lifted my head. “He’s so confusing, Meghan. On one hand, he’s part of this trio and on the other hand, he’s passionate and intelligent. I’m drawn to him and I don’t know how to stop it. It’s not going to work between us.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Have you talked to him about it?”
“No. When we talked yesterday, it was seriously just about the notebook, and that’s it. It seemed like he was in as big of a rush to get off the phone with me as I was him.”
“Well, talk to him tonight.”
I nodded. “Maybe.”
She gave me a look.
Smiling, I sighed, “I said maybe.”
Two hours later I walked into Café Nervosa where they host Sunday Expressions. The dimly lit café was perfect for creating the intimate vibe for spoken word performances. Even from a quick look around, many people were there on a date, and there were far more women than men in the building.
Hmm. This is a great date spot… But for a single, heterosexual woman, I don’t know…
I got a drink from the bar and saw a small high-top table in the far corner. I made a beeline for it. Slipping off the black jacket, I could feel the eyes of the man at the next table on me. I knew I looked good—it was my favorite dress. I always felt confident in the way the sweetheart neckline was both sexy and sweet, and the fitted material showcased the width of my hips and the roundness of my ass. I wore my tightly coiled hair brushed into a high ponytail that sat on top of my head like a crown. The plan was to look good, but also because I wanted to make a point.
“You look beautiful,” the man at the next table said.
“Thank you,” I replied, taking a seat.
“Can I get your number?”
I pretended I didn’t hear him.
“Are you here alone?” he asked a little louder.
I looked at him with a healthy dose of suspicion as I zipped up my jacket. “No.”
The squeal of the microphone echoed through the speakers and pulled my attention. I was listening to a woman with amazing hair welcome us to Sunday Expressions, but I was distracted. I felt him before I actually laid eyes on him. Scanning the room, I stopped once I zeroed in on Carlos who was staring at me.
Without breaking eye contact, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile. We continued to just watch each other. He started walking over to me. It seemed as though time slowed down, and the world quieted so we could focus on each other. When he reached me, I didn’t know if I should shake his hand or hug him. Deciding to play it safe, I stood, reaching out to shake his hand. He broke our eye contact for a moment to look at my outstretch hand as if it were some foreign object. I watched the confusion quickly play out on his face before his face was again, emotionless.
“Akila,” he murmured, slipping his hand over mine.
As soon as our skin connected, my hand tingled, and I felt a powerful surge of energy course through my body.
I gasped.
All the guilt, anxiety, and anger I’d felt all weekend temporarily dissipated as I breathed him in. He was like a breath of fresh air and I forgot everything that was wrong prior to that moment.
“Carlos,” I whispered.
“Is our truce still intact?”
“For now.”
“May I sit with you for a minute?”
“Sure.”
After he helped me into my seat and was no longer touching me, all of the feelings from before gradually seeped back into my mind. Unfortunately, it didn’t do anything to quell the rush of dopamine that he filled me with. The conflicting feelings did nothing but confuse my system.
“It’s mostly couples and single women in here.” He smirked. “I’m sure that’ll come up in your article.”
“Of course.” I tilted my head to the side. “And I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself for the same reason.”
“Of course.”
I struggled not to give in to the smile he pulled out of me. “Are we going to be treated to a poem by you tonight?”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I actually would. It would be good to see you sweat.”
With a straight face, he replied, “You’ve seen me sweat.”
I tossed my head back and laughed hard. “That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh, sorry. No, I’m not a poet. I could probably do better than you up there.”
My jaw dropped. “How dare you? You don’t know what skills I have.” I laughed at the way his eyebrows quirked. “What I meant is that I could be a hell of a poet!”
“Well, let me hear something.”
“Um… let’s see.” I rubbed my hands together. “I met a man named Carlos in my photography class / We have one more assignment until we pass / I think he’s cool, but his friend’s an ass.”
The sound of Carlos chuckling brought a smile to my face.
“That was pretty good,” he complimented me before sipping his drink.
“And accurate.”
“And accurate.”
“Now, it’s your turn. You can either do a spontaneous poem or answer a series of questions.”
“I’ll take the questions.” He squinted while pointing at me. “But I reserve the right to make up a poem to get me out of answering a question that will incriminate myself.”
I let out a short laugh. “Sure.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Okay, question one… When’s your birthday?”
“November eleventh.”
“Ahh… you’re a Scorpio.” I bit my lip. “That explains so much.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Scorpios are sexual and passionate. All about seduction.”
“By that description, that could be you, too.”
I shook my head. “You seduced me on Friday. You were in the lobby waiting for me wearing those sweatpants. You know damn well what you were doing.”
He laughed. “What?”
“Question two… you know those sweatpants you had on showed off your big ass dick with that big ass dick print, right?”
Carlos laughed hard and loud.
“I’ll take your laugh to mean you knew what you were doing,” I giggled.
“Let me ask you a question.”
I made a face. “I did a poem. I get to ask the questions here.”
He lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll give you one more and then it’s my turn.”
“Well, then I have to make this one good…” I tapped my chin. “What’s your book about? I know it’s a book of essays, but what are the essay topics?”
The way he looked at me made my stomach flutter.
His eyes lit up. “It’s about a bunch of different stories from my life. It’s pretty funny. Some stuff is more serious. But overall, it’s just an entertaining read. It’s going through a second round of editing now, and I’m hoping that the stuff I’ve been learning from Luca is going to give a little hint of what each essay is about.”
“That’s a really good idea. What made you decide to write essays instead of fleshing out each of the essays into a whole book?”
“Time.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I want to write a novel one day. But with my teaching schedule and my other commitments to my fraternity, I don’t have the time to commit to it. But with an essay, I can write it and when I’m done, I’m done. It doesn’t have to be a certain length. It just has to tell the full story of what happened.”
“I look forward to buying it when it comes out.”
He took a sip of his drink before offering, “I’ll send it to you when it gets th
rough this round of edits.”
I smiled at him. “I’d like that.”
“Now, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes.”
“Reading some of your work, I’m interested in knowing how your dating life is going—off the record.”
“Off the record.” I looked beyond him momentarily. “I don’t get out to date much.”
His eyes moved over my face as if he were studying me, studying my features, studying my words. “Why not? When was your last date?”
“I’m busy. My full-time job is a freelancer, so I don’t have the security of a steady paycheck. I have to grind for every opportunity, every check, every byline I get. I love that because it’s all me—everything I have is because I worked my ass off for it.”
He lifted his glass to me. “Respect.”
I clinked my glass against his. “Respect.”
“But you didn’t really answer my question. Why don’t you get out to date much? And ‘busy’ isn’t an answer.”
I opened my mouth in faux disbelief. “What do you mean? Yes, it is!”
“Yeah, okay,” he responded. “You still didn’t answer the other part of the question though.”
I cocked my head to the side. “And what was that?”
He chuckled to himself. “When was your last date?”
“About a month ago. And before then, three months ago.”
“That’s what I want to know about. Why aren’t you dating, Akila Bishara?”
I lifted my shoulders. “When was your last date, Carlos Richmond?”
“I’ve been on a few dates over the summer, but once the school year started, my focus has just been elsewhere.”
“See? Busy!”
He shook his head. “I’m busy, but that’s not the reason I’m not dating.” He licked his lips. “For the right one, I’d make time.”
My stomach flipped.
“Oh, I love this song!” The sexy new single by Super Casanova moved through my body and I swayed to the music.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked, amusement dripping from his words.
“There’s no dance floor!”
“We’ll create our own.”
I laughed. “No!”
“You sure?” he asked, making me laugh harder.
“I’m sure, I’m sure.” Wiping the corners of my eyes, I let out a contented sigh. “Do you like to dance?”
“I would’ve done it if you wanted to.”
“Oh, okay.” I took another sip of my drink to hide my smile.
“So, you’re a Super Casanova fan, huh?”
“Yes. Are you?”
“I am. I like their sound. I listen to almost anything that has a good beat. But my go-to is hip hop.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
“You can’t ask a music head a question like that!”
I wiggled my eyebrows playfully. “I just did.”
“Let me think about it.”
“Okay, but if you’re thinking about it, here’s a better question: who’s your favorite artist?”
“Damn, Akila…” He chuckled under his breath. “That’s another hard one. I’m thinking it might be easier to write you a poem.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it is hard. I agree with what you said before. If it has a good beat, I like it. If it has lyrics that affect me, I love it.” I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Music is important, so if you didn’t have quality taste in music, I would’ve had to ask you to leave my table.”
“You would’ve kicked me from the table? That’s cold.”
“It’s a cold world,” I quipped playfully.
He chuckled. “I guess that’s better than being escorted out by security.”
I groaned. “Don’t remind me. That was ridiculous. It was something out of a movie.”
“Yeah, it was crazy.”
“So, what else do you like?”
He smiled sexily before pouring the remaining contents of his drink into his mouth. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific.”
Biting my lip, I tried my best to not grin. “What do you like to do when you’re not working?”
Ordering drinks and appetizers, we went back and forth talking about movies, television, current events, family, friends, and the future. The conversation flowed effortlessly, and time was flying by. He was interesting, insightful, and a great listener. For what felt like the twelfth time, I got caught up in a fit of giggles courtesy of something he’d said.
“Watching you laugh is something special,” he uttered, a hint of awe in his voice.
My heart raced at his words, but I rolled my eyes. “Save your lines for one of these unsuspecting women in here.”
“I don’t have lines. I don’t run game.” He paused. “I just say what it is…and I think this could be something.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t…know what to say.” I took a shaky breath.
“You don’t have to say anything. I just… I just wanted you to know. This isn’t game. This isn’t a line. This is how I feel.”
“We don’t work. We couldn’t date.”
“What do you think this is?” He gestured to us and the food between us. “This is basically a date.”
It wasn’t just a date. It was the best date I’d ever had.
I stared at him, lost. “I can’t date you.”
“But you want to.”
“Do you understand how being part of Date Night and one of The Lost Boys goes against everything I’m about?”
“Yes.”
“So, there’s really nothing to talk about.” I sat back in my chair, inhaling deeply.
The way he assessed me made me hyperaware of my body language. I sat up a little straighter.
He stroked his beard. “You knew I was part of Date Night, you knew I was one of The Lost Boys from the beginning, so what changed?”
“Nothing changed.” I threw up my arms. “Nothing! And I’ve said it since the beginning. You may not be a bad guy, but when you silently condone the problem, you become the problem by proxy, and Friday night—”
“I was wondering how long it would be before you brought something up from the interview. I’m sorry that B—City Boy—was an asshole. He’s like that, but he was over the top with you. I checked him for that. Believe me, you didn’t see the worst of it.”
“It’s not just the interview. It’s everything Date Night with The Lost Boys represents. It’s…” I shook my head. “Do you believe in Date Night and what it promotes?”
“It promotes conversation and it’s for entertainment purposes. The money raised is used for service work with the fraternity. It has its issues—mostly City Boy’s point of view—but this year we’ve increased streams and raised more money than any other year.”
I felt like I was being punched in the chest. “So, you believe in Date Night and what it promotes?” My voice was a little more emotional, a little more raw. “Yes or no?”
“I believe in what we do with the money raised.” His eyes pleaded with me to understand.
“Yes or no?”
“It’s complicated.”
I shook my head. The only thing that was complicated was my feelings for him. “No, it’s not.” My lips parted, quivering slightly. “Yes or no?”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. Nodding, I replied, “Okay, then. I guess that’s the end of that.”
“Akila.”
Instead of replying, I held his gaze and unzipped my jacket, letting it slip off my shoulders.
I caught Carlos’s eyes raking my body. My skin flushed under his gaze. But when our eyes met again, I froze.
He wasn’t looking at me with lust. He wasn’t even looking at me with attraction and appreciation. I didn’t know what was in his eyes, but it wasn’t sexual at all. Even though my plan was to wear that dress on purpose, I didn’t expect to feel the way I did when realization hit him.
I wanted to make a
point, but I didn’t expect this—whatever this is.
He swallowed hard. “I have to talk to you about something.”
“…so please put your hands together for Meta Day!” The woman with the amazing hair clapped, prompting everyone in the packed café to clap. Once Meta Day stepped on stage, the place was silent.
The poem started, but I didn’t hear a word of it. Carlos’s eyes were glued to me.
My breathing hitched.
“Can I talk to you?” He mouthed the words to me.
Nodding, I slipped out of my chair and pulled my jacket closed.
Grabbing my hand, Carlos led me out of Café Nervosa. Just feeling his fingers intertwined with mine sent butterflies ricocheting through my entire body. They traveled through each of my extremities and gathered in my chest. My heart was beating so fast, I couldn’t handle it. When we were outside, I removed my hand from his and crossed my arms just under my breasts.
“What else is there to say?” I asked, looking around the active downtown area.
He handed me my notebook. “Before you left on Friday, you told City Boy that he knew what he did… what were you talking about?”
“Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I’m asking you.”
“The newsletter objectifying unsuspecting women.”
“You already knew about the newsletter. I told you about the newsletter.” His eyes flicked down to my dress and then back up. “What did you mean?”
I unfolded my arms, opening my jacket wide. “You keep looking at my dress, so I think you know.”
He scrubbed his face with his hands. “Was that you in the newsletter? That first one that went out had someone in a yellow dress—that yellow dress. It didn’t look like you, but…” His voice was a low, rumbling growl. “Was that you?”
“No.”
His eyes cast over me and I could see a mixture of relief and confusion.
Blinking back tears of anger and frustration, I yelled, “It was my sister!”
Carlos took a step back. “What?”
“City Boy used a picture of my sister to get back at me for speaking the truth about Date Night and the trash advice that he gives. He objectified my sister because he thought it was me. He saw the name Alexandria Bishara and figured she was A. Bishara. So, while he hurt my sister, he originally thought he was hurting me.”
Sweatpants Season Page 22