by Pamela Yaye
“You sound jealous.”
Her eyes thinned. “Me? Jealous? Never. I might not have dimples or three bags of human hair flowing down my back, but I’ve got it going on.” She punctuated her words with heavy sighs and excessive eye rolling. “In my opinion, she’s nothing but a fake…”
Kyra shook her head. That confirmed it. Jealous. Shaunice’s problem was and always had been that she was intimidated by anyone who was different. She was Kyra’s loudest, most aggressive friend by far. No one was exempt from her sharp tongue and critique, but she had always been a good friend to her. “How are things going at work? Still working all that crazy overtime?”
Flying high over the promotion she’d received on Monday, Shaunice chatted about her plans for the bonus. Her friend kept up a continuous stream of chatter, but Kyra’s thoughts were on Terrence. Every so often, she’d steal a glance at him and after several seconds, look away. This time, she gave herself permission to stare. Frowning, she scrutinized the women who had surrounded his table. Didn’t he have any male fans? she wondered, as another leggy blonde joined the group. Being surrounded by a troop of sinewy model types would make the average man puff out his chest, but Terrence looked bored.
Kyra heard a buzzing sound. Plopping her handbag down on her lap, she rummaged through it for her cell phone. Concealing it under the table, she flipped open the screen and quickly read the text message.
What’s your pleasure? A Cosmopolitan, or a Candy Cane Martini?
Hiding a smile, she glanced up at him. His eyes were all over her. Terrence thought the world belonged to him and arrogantly believed they could pick up where they left off. Overconfident and full of pride, he was the type of man who never gave up. The type who’d stop at nothing to win. They’d never be more than friends, but there was no harm in letting him buy her a drink, was there?
“What are you over there smiling about?” Shaunice asked, glancing over Kyra’s shoulder. “Hey, I thought we agreed not to answer our cell phones during dinner. It was your rule, remember?”
Feeling guilty, she switched her phone to vibrate and made a show of dropping it into her purse. “Happy now?”
“Very,” Shaunice said, wearing a cheeky smile, “and don’t let it happen again!”
Two waiters arrived, carrying trays of appetizers and cocktails.
“Courtesy of the Verbal Ninjas,” the server explained, placing a drink in front of each woman. “Enjoy the lemon piña coladas, ladies.”
Kyra softened. So, he did remember. Pushing an errant piece of hair off her forehead, she sent Terrence a smile of thanks. He didn’t respond. Instead, he studied her with all seriousness, as if he were putting together a hundred-piece puzzle. And maybe he was, because when it came to their relationship nothing made sense.
The bar filled up and soon every seat was taken. Kyra was on her third cocktail when the disc jockey from WTSU 95 took the microphone and greeted the crowd. Glancing around the room for Aimee, Kyra opened her cell phone and punched in her girlfriend’s number. When the call went to voice mail, she left a message.
“Let’s get this party started!” the emcee bellowed, pumping his fists. “The first team to fifty points wins!”
Allowing herself another quick glance at Terrence, she pushed away her dainty cocktail glass and sat up ruler-straight.
He mouthed, “Good luck,” took a swallow of his beer and faced the host like a diligent student awaiting instructions from his teacher. An act if she’d ever seen one. To the casual observer, Terrence was just another participant, enjoying a night of trivia, but Kyra knew this was much more than just a game. And when he answered the first three questions correctly, Kyra knew she’d been had.
“How many albums has Michael Jackson sold worldwide?”
Shaunice smacked the buzzer. “750 million.”
“Five points for the Foxy Cleopatras!” The emcee paused expectantly. “How many countries border the African country of Libya?”
A man with a nasally voice answered. “Four!”
“Wrong. The correct answer is six. Who did the Atlanta Braves beat to win the 1995 World Series?”
“The Cleveland Indians!” Terrence shouted, up out of his seat.
Kyra snorted. Of course, a sports question. Hell, everyone in the state of Georgia could get that one right.
“We’re down to the last question, and the Verbal Ninjas and Foxy Cleopatras are leading all teams with forty-five points each. Whoever answers the next question right will win a thousand big ones, y’all!”
Kyra tasted her water. If she botched the next question, she’d be cooking Terrence dinner at his house tomorrow night. What was she thinking, agreeing to such outlandish terms? He’d goaded her into the bet and she’d fallen for his trick—hook, line and sinker. It was the oldest con in the book, but she’d been too busy lusting to see what he was doing. How long could they spend together before crossing the line? Kyra would never dream of sleeping with Terrence, but she couldn’t keep pretending that she wasn’t attracted to him. Not when her heart thundered every time he walked into a room.
Leaning forward, hand poised to strike, she calmed her nerves. Losing to Terrence wasn’t an option, so she smacked the buzzer before the host even finished reading the question. “Nineteen fifty-five!” she shouted, high above the din. “Martin Luther King received his doctorate in nineteen fifty-five.”
“Correct! The winners, for the third consecutive week, are the Foxy Cleopatras!”
Shaunice cheered, whooping and hollering like the missing member of the Village People. Kyra followed her friend to the front of the restaurant and burst out laughing when Shaunice snatched the prize money out of the emcee’s hands.
They were back at their table, sharing a complimentary slice of chocolate raspberry cheesecake when Terrence sidled up to their table with two dark, equally attractive men.
“That was some game,” Terrence said, after introductions were made, “but just for the record, I knew the answer to the last question.”
“Too bad your hand isn’t as fast as mine!”
The group laughed.
“Terrence, what’s it like being back in the A after all these years?” Shaunice asked, setting down her cocktail glass. “Did you miss it?”
“Definitely. I grew up in Pittsburgh, but Hollington will always be home. I played ball, received my degree and fell in love for the first time, too.”
Kyra coughed.
“We saw your first NFL game,” Shaunice told him.
“Really? I’m flattered.”
“When you ran out onto the field, Kyra screamed so loud I spilled soda all over my jeans.” Shaunice tugged on her earlobe. “I still can’t hear properly out of this ear!”
Eyes wide, mouth ajar, he turned to Kyra. “You saw my debut game?”
“Oh, yeah, she’s a sports nut,” Shaunice explained. “She likes the Falcons, but the Cowboys are her favorite team.”
A grin on his lips, Terrence turned towards his cousins. “I think Shaunice deserves a celebratory glass of wine, don’t you think so, fellas?”
“For sure,” Damon agreed. “Winning is tough work.”
Under the table, Kyra clutched Shaunice’s hand. Speaking through the side of her mouth, she begged her to stay. “Please don’t leave me alone with him.”
“You’re a big girl,” she whispered, “I can’t pass up this opportunity! His cousins are single and hot!”
Then, in the likeness of Jezebel, she rose from her seat, linked arms with Neal and Damon and waltzed off as if she were the belle of the ball.
“So,” Terrence began, taking a seat in the now vacant chair, “you’re a fan.”
“A fan of football, not one of those insane Franklin Fanatics.”
“Oh, so you’ve been on my Web site, too.” His smile was ridiculously wide. “Ky, I have to admit that I’m shocked. You gave me the impression that you didn’t care.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. Why else would you be kee
ping tabs on me?”
“Keeping tabs on you?” she repeated. “You’re joking, right? I loved football long before we ever met. I have two brothers, remember?”
He didn’t answer, but his smile said he wasn’t buying it. Resting his elbows on the table, his gaze more devastating than a four-alarm fire, he watched her intently. “What time should I come by tomorrow?”
“For what?”
“A deal’s a deal,” he drawled. “I’m your handsome landscaper tomorrow.”
She started to protest, but he interrupted. “Pick a time or I will.”
“Anytime after ten will be fine,” she replied, prying the words out of her mouth.
“Great. Then I’ll be there at noon.”
Kyra laughed.
“I have a hell of a time waking up in the morning.”
“I bet. Parties at the Playboy Mansion never end before sunrise, do they?”
“I’d much rather spend an evening with you than watch a bunch of blondes play-fighting in a pool of chocolate pudding.”
“Is that what happens at those parties?”
“Why don’t we talk about us?” he proposed. “What are you doing later?”
Good question. What was she doing? Feeling dry-mouthed and woozy, Kyra gripped the side of her chair to keep from passing out. No more piña coladas, she decided, shifting nervously in her seat. “I don’t know. It’s up to Shaunice.”
Terrence stared deep into her eyes. Kyra looked away, but she could still feel the heat of his gaze. Wondering where Shaunice was, she searched the overcrowded room. Being alone with Terrence, even in a public place, was risky. He was openly flirting with her, trying to seduce her right then and there in The Tavern.
“Being here with you is just like old times.” Voice full of longing and regret, he leaned forward, brushing his fingers against her hands. “Can I ask you something?”
He looked serious, but Kyra felt the strange compulsion to laugh. Noting the hitch in his voice, she lifted her head and pressed her back flat against her chair. Terrence was moving closer and was just inches away. Worried her mouth smelled like onions, she discreetly checked her breath. Kyra didn’t want Terrence to kiss her, but if he did, she didn’t want him to recoil in disgust.
“Do you think you could ever date a guy like me?”
His voice fell gently on her ears. It was rich and soulful, the sweetest sound she had ever heard. She stared at him, wondering what it would be like to feel him inside her again. Back in university, they’d been inexperienced lovers, but now, at thirty-two, Kyra knew how she liked to be loved. Gaining control of her thoughts, she said, “I did date a guy like you, remember? And it nearly broke me.”
When Terrence didn’t respond, she continued. “We shouldn’t be discussing this,” she began, lowering her voice so they couldn’t be overheard. The strength of his gaze worried her. Nothing drove Terrence like failure, and she feared what he might do if she rejected him. If she wanted to keep their relationship pleasant, she had to handle him with kid gloves. “If you take the coaching position, we’re going to be coworkers, Terrence. I don’t want us to start the year off on the wrong foot.”
“I’ve achieved success beyond my wildest dreams and now I want what every man wants. Someone strong and sexy to come home to at the end of the day.”
“Have you considered placing an online ad?”
His eyes shone with jollity. “You mean on one of those dating sites?”
“I can help you to set up your profile.” Kyra had to calm down to finish her sentence. Giggling, she dug into her purse and produced a pen and notepad. “How does Sleepless in Atlanta sound?”
“I’d let you fix me up,” he confessed, slipping an arm over her shoulder and giving her an affectionate squeeze. “I’ve always thought you had great taste. Still do.”
He made a move as if he was going to kiss her, and Kyra froze. Panic flooded her body. Her tongue was heavy and she felt like her lips had been wired shut. She wanted to protest, but couldn’t find the words. Heart thumping wildly, she parted her lips, frantically gulping mouthfuls of air.
“Sorry I’m late.”
The sound of Aimee’s voice yanked Kyra from her daze. “Oh, hey, girl,” she greeted, glancing up at her friend. “What took you so long to get—”
“Terrence?”
He cranked his head to the right. “Aimee?”
“I haven’t seen you since that night in Houston.” Features contorted into a glare, Aimee pushed a hand through her sleek, golden hair. Slanting her head to the right, she studied him through her extra-long eye lashes. “What are you doing here?”
Confused, Kyra divided her gaze between them. Antarctica isn’t this cold, she thought, rubbing her hands over her chilled shoulders. Aimee toyed with her diamond bracelet and Terrence was staring off into space, but their mutual animosity was clear. Kyra sat there silently, passively, waiting patiently for an explanation, but when they lapsed in silence, she decided to get to the bottom of things. Addressing Aimee, she said, “Did you guys hang out in the same crowd?”
Aimee shot Terrence a surreptitious glance, but he was too busy studying his Nikes to notice. Kyra frowned. Things were getting weirder by the second. In all the time she’d known Terrence, she’d never seen him look so uncomfortable.
“We dated for a while,” Aimee said.
Terrence coughed. “I wouldn’t use the word dated. We went out once or twice.”
“Once or twice?” Aimee’s eyebrows shot up. Glaring at him, the wrinkles in her forehead jammed together in a clump of crooked lines, she stuck a hand on her hip. If it wasn’t for her designer clothes, she’d look like a deranged clown. “He’s lying,” she spat, anger seeping through her tone. “It was a lot more than a couple dates.”
Kyra remained seated, without moving a muscle, unable to believe the scene unfolding before her. Terrence had slept with Aimee? Kyra didn’t know why she was surprised. Everyone wanted Aimee Phillips. Her hazel-blue eyes were offset by creamy brown skin, and high cheekbones. The product of a black man and a white woman trying to make a go of an interracial marriage in the early seventies, Aimee had lived most of her life being teased by whites, ostracized by blacks and thoroughly confused about where she fit on the color line. But since relocating to Atlanta, Kyra had seen her friend blossom. After decades of fighting for acceptance, she’d finally come into her own.
Kyra didn’t think the evening could get any worse, but when Terrence excused himself from the table and Aimee launched into a lengthy play-by-play about their hot and heavy summer romance, Kyra felt sick to her stomach.
Chapter 9
At ten o’clock the next morning, Terrence turned onto Penrose Drive and searched for house number forty-nine. The suburban neighborhood of East Point featured impressive homes, neat lawns and a surfeit of shiny convertibles.
Terrence found Kyra’s condo at the end of the block. Decorative flower plants flanked the porch and fine calligraphy script beautified a pair of wooden rocking chairs. Trees arched gracefully along the entrance, and behind the row of mailboxes was a small pond. A red Dodge Viper car was parked in the driveway. Knots of tension twisted in his stomach. That wasn’t Kyra’s car. So whose was it? Charles’?
His luxury sports car rolled to a stop, but Terrence didn’t take his foot off the brake. What was Charles doing here? Had he come for breakfast or had he spent the night? He hadn’t considered, not even for a moment, that Kyra might be in love with Charles Roberts. She rarely mentioned the guy, and when she wasn’t working late she was with her friends. Terrence didn’t want anyone up under him 24/7, but if Kyra was his woman, he’d want to see her all day, every day.
He’d been smiling ever since he’d reunited with Kyra and thoughts of her snuck up on him when he least expected it. Yesterday, he was confident that he was making progress, but now he was back at square one. Still annoyed about his run-in with Aimee last night at The Tavern, he released a long, pained sigh. Aimee’s arrival had ruined everyth
ing. And he knew that she’d badmouthed him to Kyra after he left the table. That’s just the kind of girl Aimee Phillips was. He shook his head at the inanity of the situation. Of all the women in his past, he’d been dogged by a sister who could be the spokesperson for the Gold Diggers of America.
Terrence considered his options. Coming clean about his fling with Aimee would open the door to other conversations about his past. Did Kyra really need to know about that raucous weekend in Rio? Or about the DUI he’d been charged with last year?
His knee was acting up, but he wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to see Kyra. He’d popped a couple of aspirin, had a shot of whiskey and jumped into his car. His decision was an easy one to make. He was going to do what he’d always done in the face of adversity. Forge ahead. After all, Charles Roberts was the least of his problems. Kyra’s temporary boyfriend wasn’t the biggest obstacle. Their past was.
Terrence released his seat belt. He had his work cut out for him. It was going to be an uphill battle to win Kyra’s trust, but he was nothing if not determined. Shoving his keys into his pocket, he reached across the seat and grabbed the bags of takeout.
Strolling up the walkway, he took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell. A half-minute later, he heard light footsteps. Terrence wasn’t sure how he’d feel if Charles answered, but before he could reflect on it, the door swung open. Terrence didn’t know if he should be surprised or relieved. Aimee didn’t speak, but her arched eyebrows and upturned mouth spoke of her annoyance. “What do you want?”
Staggered to see her, he greeted the personal chef with all the kindness he could muster. “How’s it going, Aimee?”
Her frown deepened.
A dead ringer for the late singer Aaliyah, she wore her hair parted down the middle and a revealing, bone-white dress that offered two cupfuls of cleavage. “You look very nice today. Are you catering an event this—”
“You didn’t drive over here to hand out compliments, so get to it.”