“Yes, 1100 square feet,” I responded. “Plenty of room for you and your family.”
He returned to the living room, and I took note of the black slacks and black dress shirt that fit him very well. “Oh, it’s just me.”
“Oh, then this is probably too much space for you, right? Or are you planning on having roommates? If so, they’ll have to be approved and sign a lease, too.”
He shook his head. “No roommates. Just me. I like a lot of space.”
“So you’re interested?”
“Definitely.”
“All right. Do you want to fill out an application?”
“Yes, I do.”
I crossed the room and entered the kitchen, pulling out the drawer that held the applications. When I turned around, he was right behind me. I jumped a little and dropped the papers. “Shit,” I mumbled as I bent over to pick them up, but he beat me to it.
“I got it,” he said softly. “Have this back to you in the morning. My job is transferring me here for a six-month stint. They’re covering my rent, so if I’m approved, I’ll pay the entire six months up front.”
Now, that made my ears stand at attention. “I see.”
He held the papers up. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Great. See you then.”
4
I bolted upright in bed and cringed at the sight of myself in the dresser mirror. I had spent most of the night after Ryan Boyé left thinking about him, ended up getting really hot and bothered and found it hard to sleep. So I watched hours of YouTube videos, everything from Trader Joe hauls to wig reviews, until I finally crashed and burned around three that morning. A quick glimpse at the screen of my phone advised me that it was 5:00 AM, and judging from the multitude of missed calls and text messages from Nicky, it was most likely her outside my place leaning on my doorbell, which felt like it climbed out of the box in my hallway and slammed directly into my eardrum, snatching me from a sound sleep. I scratched my half-unfauxlocked head and climbed out of bed in yesterday’s clothes, stumbled to the door and snatched it open with a deep frown on my face while yelling, “Damn, will you stop ringing my doorbell?!”
Ryan Boyé’s left eyebrow lifted, and his eyes instantly shot to the hot mess of a bird’s nest on my head, so I slammed the door in his face, muttered, “Shit,” under my breath. Raised my voice and said, “Give me a second!”
My eyes darted around the living room for…hell, I don’t even know. A scarf, a hat, another identity, a hole to crawl into for the rest of my days…
“Ms. Strickland?” he called through the door.
“Uh...just a minute!”
I owned at least a trillion and a half scarves, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of where to find even one.
I spotted a t-shirt I’d tossed in a corner and grabbed it, wrapped it around my head turban-style, and took a deep breath. Of course he’d notice I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, but at least I didn’t look like a seasoned crack head with my head covered. I returned to the door and eased it open to find him still standing there, but his back was to me, and my eyes involuntarily dropped to his butt. Dayum!
He spun around and I looked up at his face, attempting to smile warmly, but he was making me nervous again, standing there looking like he was looking.
He held up some papers. “Sorry to drop by this time of morning, but I have an early flight. Wanted to get this back to you before I leave town.”
I took the papers and studied them like I’d never seen them before. “Oh, the application,” I mumbled, like there was some other reason for him being there. Either my lack of sleep or his lack of being unattractive was tampering with my brain.
“Yeah…so how long do you think it’ll be before you can let me know something?”
I frowned as I looked up into his eyes. Hazel-green with flecks of golden brown… “Know something?” I asked.
“About whether or not I can lease the apartment?”
I released a nervous giggle. “Oh, forgive me. Haven’t had my coffee. I’m…I should be able to let you know something in a couple of days.”
“Great! I’d need to move in next Monday.”
I nodded. “That’ll be fine. Be looking for a call from me.”
“Will do. Thanks, and sorry again for the inconvenience.”
“Oh, no worries.”
I watched him descend the front steps as Nicky came screeching into the driveway and parked behind my car. As Ryan backed into the street, Nicky bounced up my steps, and shrieked, “Who the hell was that?! Got-dayum! He was fine as baby hair!”
As I led her into my place, I said, “Someone trying to rent the apartment.”
“He need a roommate? He could be my next ex any day! Shoot!”
I collapsed onto my sofa and rolled my eyes. “Hear you tell it, any man could.”
She took a seat in one of two zebra-print accent chairs. “See, and we were getting along so well.”
“Uh, you’ve been ignoring my calls and texts for weeks.”
“But I texted back last night, and you didn’t even have the decency to let me know everything was okay after you sent me that cryptic message.”
“And it took you all night to start worrying about me?”
She shrugged. “I was busy with Warren last night.”
“Who is Warren?”
“Someone I just scratched off my list of potential husbands. He left for work this morning without washing his ass. You know how I am about hygiene.”
“Mm-hmm. So that’s why you’re up so early? Because he had to go to work?”
“Yeah…he said I could stay there as long as I wanted, but I left after he skipped out of there with yesterday’s funk still on him, and I’m not tryna go home right now in case Daddy is there and is still on that BS about me getting a job. So I thought I’d come check on you. When does Mr. Sexy move in?”
“I don’t know if he’s going to move in at all. I need to do the background check and stuff.”
“Girl, are you nuts? As fine as he is, he should get an automatic pass.”
“That’s not how I do business, Nicky. And besides, a serial killer can be fine.”
“Name one fine serial killer.”
I thought for a second. “Valid point, but I’m still doing the background and credit checks.”
“I guess, if you wanna do all that work. Or…you could just let me rent it.”
“Like you said…we were getting along so well. Why ruin it?”
She gave me a smirk. “Whatever.”
*****
“Hello?” His lazy drawl crawled through the phone line and settled in my right ear.
I held the phone for a moment, hoping he’d repeat himself so I could hear his voice once more before I began to speak. The background check had told me he was originally from Louisiana, but he now called Houston his home.
“Um…hello?” he repeated.
I smiled. “Mr. Boyé? This is Angela Strickland from Tennessee? I’m calling about your application…”
“Yes, yes. Can you hold on for just a moment?”
“Sure.”
He must’ve muted the phone, because silence now filled my ear. I wondered if he was with someone, an intimate someone. Then I wondered why I cared. I was against relationships, vehemently against them, thanks to Benny and Khalil. I was also against men. But something stirred inside of me when my eyes first beheld Mr. Ryan Boyé a couple of days earlier. Something that I had been trying to ignore, something that made my head hurt to think about. Desire.
I glanced down at his application—employed with Sable, Inc., impressive salary. Single. Fine. Okay, so his fineness wasn’t on the application, but it was embedded in my psyche.
I shook my head as I shifted my focus to the results of the background check—clean. And the credit check? Man, I’d kill, borrow, and steal for a credit score that good! He was almost too good to be true, so I told myself he was probably gay. Only that would explain how
no one had snatched his gainfully-employed, handsome, good credit-having ass up.
Thankfully, he finally returned to the phone, cutting off my thoughts before they went any further in the wrong direction. “Hey, sorry about that. I’m at work trying to put out some fires. So, you were saying?”
“Well, I was saying that the apartment is yours if you’re still interested. All I need is the deposit and first and last month’s rent along with your signature on the lease.”
“Great! Like I told you, I’ll be paying the entire six-month lease up front.”
“Even better. So, see you Monday?”
“Bright and early. Thanks, Ms. Strickland. I travel a lot for work overseeing projects, and I hate staying in those residential hotels. You renting me this apartment is truly a lifesaver.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Hey, sweetie, it’s Mom. Just checking on you. You and Renee should call and check on me and your daddy more. We’re getting old, you know. Call me back. I wanna talk about the menu for the anniversary dinner. Love you. Bye.”
“Hey, Angie. It’s Renee. Wanna do lunch tomorrow? I’m missing you, little sis. Call me back.”
“Hey, Ang…huh? I’m on the phone trying to call my sister! No, I don’t know where your wallet is. What? You think I’m a damn thief? Nigga, really? Ain’t nobody robbed your broke ass!”
The last message, which was from Nicky, abruptly ended, and I sighed as I peeked out the window at Ryan Boyé carrying a box into his apartment. He was still gorgeous, and as I watched him, I pondered whether or not this was a good idea, letting someone who looked like him move in, because he was exactly what I didn’t need in my life. I turned away from the window and walked a few paces into the kitchen where I just stood in the doorway and stared at nothing in particular. My mind was in an I’m-attracted-to-a-man-but-I-don’t-want-to-be fog. I had worked overtime, weekends, and holidays to build a life that excluded even the mere thought of a romantic relationship, had told myself I didn’t need a man, and I really didn’t. But damn did I want one right at that moment, and I wanted the one who was carrying boxes from a white SUV into the dwelling that was attached to mine. How was I going to survive six months of living next door to him?
My eyes scanned the kitchen, and then I decided I was thirsty, reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a can of soda. Then my other hand reached in and pulled out another one, and my feet started moving to the front door like I was on autopilot or something. Opening the door, I saw that he wasn’t outside, so I walked over to his place to find the door open but him nowhere in sight.
“Hello!” I yelled inside.
No answer.
I just stood there like a lost puppy.
He finally appeared in the living room and jumped when he saw me, snatching a pair of earbuds from his ears before giving me a smile that sent a jolt of electricity to my core.
“Aw, man. You startled me.”
My eyes tried to find something other than him to focus on. They failed. “I’m sorry. I-uh-thought maybe you were thirsty since you’ve been working so hard and it’s pretty warm out.” I pushed the can toward him. “Do you drink soda?”
He took the can, his fingers grazing mine for only a second. A second too long, because my knees actually weakened a little. Shit, I really needed to get a grip.
“I do. Thank you,” he said.
I nodded and glanced around at the boxes littering the floor. “Need any help?”
“No, I think I got it, Ms. Strickland.”
My skin prickled at the way he dragged out the Ms. “Your accent…what part of Louisiana are you from?”
“Born and raised in New Iberia. Haven’t lived in Louisiana in nearly six years. Can’t seem to shake the accent, though. Does it bother you?”
“Oh, no. I love it.” Love? Really, Angela? Really?
He smiled again. “Good.”
We just stood there staring at each other until my sense kicked back in, or what little of it I had around him, and I said, “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.”
“All right. Thanks for the drink.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turned to leave, and I swear I could feel his eyes on me. Yeah, being around this man was definitely robbing me of all of my common sense.
5
I ain’t shit.
My brother ain’t shit, either, and my daddy ain’t never been shit.
Not being shit is embedded deep in my bloodline. It’s a rite of passage, my damn inheritance. It is as much a part of me as these eyes chicks seem to lose their minds over.
I mean, sure, I look good on paper—educated, six-figure salary, corporate job, well-traveled, articulate, A-1 credit. And my stats? Every black woman seeking a melanated partner’s dream—six feet even, fit, handsome, friendly, personable, nice smile, irresistible accent that I’m holding on to like a has-been holding on to the past. On the outside looking in, I’m a good catch, a thirty-year-old black man with no kids and no baby mama drama. The only problem with me is the way I treat women. I’m not abusive or anything like that, but I’m dismissive as hell. No one can hold my attention past two or three rounds in the bedroom. The main issue is they try too hard to be the one. You know, the one I fall in love with, the one I propose to, the one I commit to in some way…any way. One thing I really wish women understood is that just because you want to be the one doesn’t make you the one. And hell, for some men there will never be a one at all.
I’m one of those men.
I don’t believe in that “one woman for one man” shit, because it simply doesn’t make sense, and anyone who does believe in it is a damn fool. If that’s how things are supposed to be, why are there statistically more women than men on Earth? It’s true. I read it somewhere. And if there’s supposed to be one special woman for me, why is all sex so good? I’ve never run into a woman who was bad in bed. Sure, some women are more acrobatic or more flexible, but it all boils down to what’s between their legs, and I’ve never been disappointed with that on any woman. Yeah, that’s another myth, the whole “some women got better pussy than others” mess? Bullshit! It’s all the same, and it’s all good. Hell, I can’t get enough of it. And thanks to my job, I get to experience as much of it as I want all over the world without having to stick around and deal with these women’s attachment issues. Shit, you sleep with a woman a couple of times and she wants to introduce you to her family. Keep her around for a couple of weeks and she starts planning a wedding! With my job, I make it clear that I won’t be around long and can’t commit to a relationship. That makes things ten times easier.
But even though I’m a dog—yeah, I said it—I have rules that I follow, rules that keep me out of unnecessary trouble. For instance, as fine as my new landlord is, messing with her would be a disaster, because once she finds out she’s just one of many, she could, and probably would, make my life a living hell. How was I going to be able to screw in peace with her angry at me right next door? Yeah, she looks like the type to plot revenge if she gets hurt. So, as much as she turns me on, I have to pass.
She was the reason I was sitting at the bar in this little place I’d happened upon after work. I was horny as hell from just thinking about her, on the prowl for some satisfaction, and when a short, thick sister sitting at the other end of the bar looked my way, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. I gave her a smile and a little nod. Licked my lips and stood from the stool, slowly making my way to her. Settling in next to her, I softly said, “Hi, I’m Trey.” I rarely give my real name unless it’s unavoidable. That’s another reason Ms. Strickland is out of the question. She knows too much about me. Hell, she knows my social security number.
The sister smiled and slightly adjusted her body before thrusting her ample chest at me. “Hi, Trey. I’m Alexis.”
6
I sat in El Placer, devouring the salsa and chips the waitress had placed in the middle of the table and trying to decide if I was going to flag her down and ask for white or yell
ow cheese dip. Both were so delicious. Although Renee had invited me out to lunch, she was late meeting me, and that left me to sit and eat and ruminate on how Ryan Boyé’s slacks fit him this morning when he knocked on my door and asked me if it was okay to have a satellite hooked up. In the past, I had been against it, but I had no control over my brain or my mouth around this man or his smile or that Louisiana inflection of his, so I just nodded, smiled, and said, “Sure.”
I was attracted to him in a real, tangible, heart-racing way, but the problem with that was I had only ever been attracted to assholes, miscreants, horrible men who seemed to take pleasure in not only hurting me, but in humiliating me. Benny cheated with my BFF, but Khalil was more ambitious, cheating with just about any woman with an accessible vagina. And Ryan Boyé? Shit, he was a million times handsomer and more successful than either of them. And he was single. And I was one hundred percent sure he was single by choice. Beneath that smile had to be a masterfully terrible person unless I had mystically fixed whatever was broken in my sense of attraction, and I highly doubted that.
I was relieved to finally see Renee making her way to our table wearing a pale pink pair of scrubs, her hair in a ponytail. Renee had gorgeous hair that I was sure would look stunning if she went natural, but she refused, just like Nicky, who, by the way, entered the restaurant right behind Renee. Well, that was a pleasant surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time the three of us broke bread together.
I stood from the table and hugged both my sisters before reclaiming my seat, and saying, “Man, it’s been a long time since we had lunch together.”
Nicky nodded. “It’s been a long time since we did anything together.”
“That’s because you two are mean to me,” Renee said, as she grabbed one of the little white plates on the table and poured salsa into it.
“Sorry,” Nicky said, as she plunged a tortilla chip right into the big serving bowl of salsa. “You know what we should do? Set some ground rules. Let’s face it: we need each other. Neither of us really has any friends. Angie, I understand why you don’t trust other females after that Benny fiasco, and Renee, I’m pretty sure friends are a no-no when it comes to your marriage, and I don’t have any friends because I’m a ho’.”
Stay with Me (Strickland Sisters Book 1) Page 3