Can't Stand the Heat

by Shelly Ellis

  “Wishful thinking,” she muttered to herself, pushing the kitchen door open.

  Chapter 9

  “So what did you tell her?” Jamal asked as he leaned over his plate. His fork hovered inches from his mouth. Fettuccine dangled precariously from its metal tongs.

  “What do you mean, what did I tell her?” Cris lowered his water glass.

  “What did you say when Alex said she wanted to come out here to Virginia? You didn’t say yes, did you? Not after that fucked-up shit she did to you? I know I wouldn’t!” He shook his head. “You can’t let her walk all over you, man. If you let her back now, she knows she has the upper hand.”

  “You sure your name is Jamal Simmons and not Dr. Phil? Since when did you start giving love advice?”

  “Since you started needing it!”

  Cris laughed.

  Now that Cris was settled into his new home, he had more free time on his hands. He had already wandered his property at least three times. He had spent a few days swimming laps in his private pool, shooting hoops on his court, watching television, and reading some horror fiction. Needless to say, he was bored, so bored that watching grass grow was starting to sound appealing. For a diversion, he had asked Jamal if he wanted to grab a bite to eat today. Jamal didn’t hesitate before saying yes.

  “I need to get out of this damn office,” Jamal had complained. “You know I slept here one night a week ago? These four walls are driving me crazy, man! It’s like I’m in prison with no conjugal visits!”

  Cris had laughed. “Well, I can meet up with you for lunch, but you’re on your own in trying to get those conjugal visits.”

  The two were now eating lunch at a small bistro not far from a strip of law offices on Chesterton’s Main Street where Jamal worked. The conversation had started with them gossiping about this year’s NFL draft. Somehow it had drifted to Cris’s last phone conversation with his ex.

  “I’m serious, Cris. You said no. Right?” Jamal leaned forward eagerly, dangling his necktie dangerously close to his plate of pasta. “Tell me you said no.”

  Cris lowered his glass back to the table. “I said I’d think about it.”

  “‘Think about it’?” Jamal contemplated his answer. “Well, I guess that’s better than saying yes. But to me, there’s nothing to think about. She made her bed. Let her lie in it.”

  “I know. It’s just . . . Jay? Jay?”

  Cris shook his head in bemusement as his friend’s attention was suddenly drawn to a curvy waitress. Jamal’s eyes lingered on her backside as she passed their table. Her plump bottom moved brusquely back and forth as she walked across the room holding a heavy tray of veal parmesan and spaghetti with meatballs over her head.

  When she felt Jamal’s heated gaze on her rear end, she turned around to look at him. He smiled and gave her a wink. She rolled her eyes and continued her purposeful strides to a nearby table of diners. Deflated, Jamal returned his focus to Cris.

  And he’s giving me love advice? Cris thought with amusement.

  Jamal cleared his throat. “You were saying?”

  “I was saying that I wasn’t expecting her to call. I wasn’t expecting her to say we should get back together either. She caught me off guard. The most I could say was that I’d think about it. I didn’t want to do anything I would regret later.”

  “What’s to regret? She left you, man! Don’t tell me you’re still stuck on that chick.”

  “No, I’ve already moved on. I told you that.”

  “So prove it.”

  “What? How do you propose I do that?”

  “I’ve got an invite to this party in DC tomorrow night. It’s one of those clubs downtown. I’ve been looking forward to this all damn week! I went there last year. This place was crazy! There’s gonna be some hot mamacitas there. I’m telling you, man! It’s wall to wall with beautiful women. It’s like you’ve died and gone to heaven. I’m serious!” Jamal nodded. “So you’re coming out with me? You wanna see what I’m talking about? I bet you could get in there and make me proud!”

  Cris shook his head.

  “Oh, come on, man! You’ve got to!”

  “Jay, I am getting too damn old to go clubbing. I hate the loud music and sweaty people. Besides, I can’t do it anyway.”

  Jamal grumbled and shoveled another forkful of pasta into his mouth. “You can’t do it or won’t do it? I told you that you weren’t over Alex!”

  “This has nothing to do with Alex. I can’t do it because I’ve . . . I’ve got a date.”

  Jamal dropped his fork back to his plate. “What?” Bits of fettuccine and shrimp flew from his mouth. The alfredo sauce splattered his chin. He quickly wiped his face with his white dinner napkin.

  “You really need to wear a damn bib.”

  “You holding out on me, man?” Jamal asked, ignoring his friend’s comment. “You’ve finally taken off the shackles? Why didn’t you say anything? I’d expect at least a text message when you finally broke down and asked a woman out! So you got a date, huh?”

  “Well, yeah . . . kinda.”

  “ ‘Kinda’? What do you mean, ‘kinda’? Either you do or you don’t!”

  “She . . . doesn’t know it’s a date. I asked her to cater for a small party tomorrow night, an intimate dinner. She doesn’t know that the party will be just me and her.”

  Cris didn’t like to play games, but he had to make an exception in this case. He had held off for a week or so going back to Le Bayou Bleu, not wanting to seem too eager when he asked Lauren out. But by the time he’d finally decided to go back and talk to her, he was nervous with anticipation and eager to get it over with. He had planned to ask her on a date as soon as he saw her, but when he witnessed her response—how surprised and flustered she was—he knew instantly that he would have to backtrack. He had tried to avoid it, but unwittingly, he had still come on too strong. So he’d quickly made up the story about the dinner party. He figured that it would give him the chance to lay the groundwork with her more slowly next time.

  “Very nice.” Jamal slowly nodded his head. “All right, man. You handle your business. I hope it works.” He started to eat again. “So she’s a caterer, huh? Is her business in Chesterton?”

  “She’s not really a caterer; more of a chef.”

  “Uh-huh.” Jamal sampled another forkful of his meal. Jamal certainly wasn’t the prettiest of eaters. “A chef where? Do I know the place?”

  Cris took another drink from his water glass. “At the Bayou Bleu on Broadleaf.”

  “The Bayou Bleu? Are you sure, man? Le Bayou Bleu’s chef isn’t a woman. I thought Phillip Rochon was the head chef over there. You gotta have the wrong place.”

  “No, it’s the right one. She’s his sous chef. Her name’s Lauren.”

  Jamal stopped midbite. “Lauren?” His eyes widened to the size of quarters. “Not Lauren Gibbons. Not that Lauren!”

  Cris frowned at the thread of alarm he detected in Jamal’s voice. “Yeah, Lauren Gibbons. Why?”

  Jamal’s fork dropped back to his plate with a loud clatter, drawing the attention and stares of other bistro patrons. The annoyed waitress whom Jamal had smiled at earlier now glared at them.

  “Oh, no! No, no, no!” Jamal waved his hands in front of his chest like he was waving down a speeding truck. “You can’t do it, Cris! I should have warned you as soon as you moved into town! Trust me; you don’t want to do this!” He pointed at Cris. “You got your cell phone on you?”

  Cris glanced down at his jeans pocket. His phone was inside its denim compartment. “Yeah, of course I do. Why?”

  “Good! Call her now and tell her your party is canceled. Do whatever you’ve got to do, just don’t put yourself alone in a room with her!”

  “Jay, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Lauren is a Gibbons girl! If you want to keep your wallet and the clothes on your back,” he said as he pointed at Cris’s T-shirt, “you don’t want to mess with them! Don’t let the nice face and
tight body fool you! They’ve got a well-earned reputation around here. Any man with a brain in his head knows to keep at least fifty feet between him and one of those Gibbons gold diggers at all times!”

  “Gibbons gold diggers? Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

  “Oh, don’t laugh, man! I’m telling you. If you mess with her, you’re messin’ with trouble. All they see in men are dollar signs. They’ve been like that for decades.”

  Jamal leaned across the table, motioning for Cris to lean forward, too. Amused, Cris appeased Jamal by meeting him halfway over the tabletop.

  “I heard that a few of their ex-husbands have even met their maker under ‘mysterious circumstances’ while they were married to them,” Jamal whispered gravely, making air quotes with his fingers. “The sheriff’s office has never said that it was foul play, but nobody around town is convinced none of those girls had anything to do with it.”

  “And I guess you think they killed them?” Cris asked, holding back a sardonic smile.

  “I can’t say for sure, but . . . hey, you never know!”

  Cris leaned back in his chair. “So she’s going to steal my money and kill me. All because we went on one date?”

  “It always starts with just one date, Cris! Then she invites you over for dinner. The next thing you know, she’s your baby mama and you’re paying her ten thousand a month. Year after year, you’re giving her money. Finally, you’re broke and you can’t pay her anymore. What happens next? She gets pissed off, calls up some big dude named Tiny, and you’re six feet under!”

  At that, Cris broke into laughter. He held his stomach because it was beginning to ache from laughing so hard.

  “It’s not funny, man!”

  “Yes, it is, Jay! Look, thanks for the warning. Really. But Lauren doesn’t seem like a cold-blooded killer.”

  “I didn’t say she was the killer! She’ll get Tiny to do it!”

  “And she certainly doesn’t seem like a gold digger either.”

  Jay rolled his eyes. “Oh, what do you know, man?”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  After all, Cris had been a professional football player for almost fifteen years. He had come across his share of groupies and gold diggers. Their type trolled the sidelines of every open practice. They finagled their way into the VIP sections of clubs where the players celebrated after a win. If they couldn’t smooth talk their way past the velvet rope, they sometimes bribed the bouncers with money, even naked photos of themselves. He could spot them at thirty paces: They had the same perfect bodies, fake hair, overwhelming perfume, and tight clothes with a push-up bra and thong to match. They came in all shades and were of every imaginable nationality. Cris’s father had warned him about them back in high school and Cris had been smart enough to keep them at a distance for all of his college football career and during his time in the NFL. Whenever he saw them, alarm bells went off in his head.

  “Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!” he’d mutter whenever one of them tried to slip him their phone numbers.

  But he hadn’t heard those alarm bells with Lauren. She hadn’t clawed at him. She hadn’t seemed eager to get his attention with big boobs and a smile. She was quiet and proud, reserved and earnest. The fact that she wasn’t constantly trying to win him over turned him on. She was beautiful, but more important, she was real.

  What Jamal was saying about her sounded like nothing more than small-town gossip, in Cris’s opinion. In the short time that he had lived in Chesterton, Cris had realized that it was a beautiful place, but it also had its downside. The secluded enclave seemed a bit elitist at times. In small towns, someone had to be the odd man out, and it looked like Lauren and her family had been chosen for that role. He wasn’t surprised. A family of unattached, attractive women would make lots of people uncomfortable. They had to smear them somehow, and calling them a bunch of gold-digging black widows would certainly do the trick.

  Jamal opened his mouth in protest, but Cris quickly shook his head.

  “I can’t speak for all of the Gibbons girls,” he conceded before Jamal had the chance to argue, “but Lauren specifically does not come off like a gold digger to me. She knows who I am, Jamal. If she’s really that concerned about what’s in my wallet, I wouldn’t have had to trick her to get her to go on a date with me. I had to do a lot of fast talking to get her to agree to cater my party! Wouldn’t she have come on to me first if she was trying to get my money?”

  “What can I say? She’s got crazy skills.”

  Cris realized that he wasn’t going to win this argument.

  “They’re the Jedi Knights of gold digging, Cris! Can’t you see that? Lauren knows how to use reverse psychology to make you think you were the one who asked her out, but really she was after you all along.” Jamal tapped his forehead with his index finger. “I had to go to law school to learn how to win people over, but she’s been learning this stuff her whole damn life! That’s how they work! They mess with your head, man!”

  Cris slowly rose from the table. “There isn’t much in your head to mess with. Look, I’ve gotta get going. I’ve—”

  “Cris, if you don’t believe me, talk to her last boyfriend, then. His name’s James Sayers. He’s always seemed like a good guy to me, and he’s well respected around here. One of his law offices is on Main Street. Ask him what he thinks about Lauren.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like a perfect idea. I’m going to ask her ex-boyfriend if she’s a gold digger. I’m sure he’ll be totally honest and unbiased. Why didn’t I think of that myself?”

  “Why not? You’re not even gonna try?” Jamal exclaimed with disbelief. “You mean you’re still going to go out with her after everything I told you?”

  “Rumors are not facts, Jay. All you have are a bunch of rumors about her. I’m not going to cancel a date over that.” He slapped two crisp twenty-dollar bills on the table. “That should cover our lunch.”

  “I’m warning you, man,” Jamal called after him as Cris made his way through the restaurant. “That way lays suffering and pain! Get out while you still can!”

  Cris laughed as he continued to slowly shake his head.

  Chapter 10

  “Mmmm,” Hank said, licking his lips as he slowly let his gaze trail over Stephanie. “You look good enough to eat.”

  One of the “Jedi Knights of gold digging” stood in her doorway, giving Hank her best sultry pose, flexing her Jedi skills. For tonight’s date, Stephanie had worn a skintight black halter dress with a plunging neckline and an open back. Her long hair was swept up, showing off the diamond and opal pendant necklace and chandelier earrings.

  “Why, thank you, Hank.” She patted his shoulder and smiled as she stepped through the door. “If you play your cards right at dinner tonight, maybe you’ll get to have me for dessert.”

  His eyes widened. She shut her front door behind her, locked it, and walked toward his car, which was parked at the curb, leaving Hank gaping and panting as he watched her.

  Forty-five minutes later, they walked arm in arm into one of the best restaurants in the city. It was a supper club nestled on K Street, where Washington, DC’s movers and shakers liked to play and talk business. Stephanie was impressed. A place like this usually had a long waiting list. How had Hank managed to get them a table?

  I guess he’s just got it like that, Stephanie thought as they strode toward the maître d’ desk, excusing themselves through the throng of people who huddled near the door waiting anxiously for a table to come open.

  Thank God she had decided to focus on Hank instead of Cris Weaver. Her sisters were still trying desperately to track down the ex-NFL player, just like about half of the other single women in Chesterton. Meanwhile, Stephanie was about to enjoy a five-star meal with the handsome deacon.

  “I have a seven o’clock reservation for two,” he said to the blond gentleman who stood at the lacquered desk. “The last name is Montgomery.”

  The maître d’ glanced at the electronic scr
een in front of him, scanned a few names, and smiled. “Yes, we have you right here, Mr. Montgomery.” He handed two leather-bound menus to a tall, thin woman who stood beside him.

  The hostess tilted her head and grinned. “Please follow me.”

  They were escorted across the dining room to one of the booths toward the back.

  Not one of the best tables in the house, but far from the worst, Stephanie thought. They could be stuck near the kitchens.

  The din in the restaurant was pretty loud. The conversations, laughter, and clinking of utensils and glasses created a steady wall of sound. Every table was filled with people. Even the bar was crowded.

  Hank stepped aside to let Stephanie slide into the semicircular booth first. He climbed in beside her. The woman handed them their menus.

  “A waiter will be with you shortly,” she said, before turning around and leaving them alone.

  “I’m going to have a hard time focusing on food with you looking as good as you do,” he said, huddling close to Stephanie.

  Stephanie removed her linen napkin from her plate and draped it over her lap. “And I’m going to have a hard time concentrating with you smelling as good as you do. I love your cologne.”

  “Thanks.”

  Their waiter arrived soon after, bringing sparkling water and taking their dinner and wine orders. Over their meal, Stephanie learned a little bit more about the deacon. Not only was he a deacon at one of the biggest churches in the county, but he also owned several retail businesses: a few based in Georgia and one he had just started in Virginia. He still owned a residential property in Georgia.

  “I left it furnished just in case I decide to rent it out. It’ll mean buying all new things for whatever place I decide to buy in Chesterton. Unfortunately, everything I own is still back at the house in Sugarloaf,” he said between bites of his scallops.

  “Everything except the dogs,” she corrected, making him frown.