Playing For Keeps

by Deborah Fletcher Mello

  “We just miss you, Daddy,” she said as she hugged him. “Cleo didn’t mean that.”

  Malcolm took a deep breath as he hugged her back. He leaned to kiss the top of her head. “Why don’t you and your sister plan a daddy-daughter day for us this coming Sunday. Whatever you want to do. Within reason, of course. And I promise you’ll both have me all to yourselves.”

  “The whole day?”

  “From sunup to sundown.”

  “You promise?”

  Malcolm nodded. “Cross my heart and swear.”

  Claudia smiled brightly. “I’ll go tell Cleo. That will make her happy.”

  He pressed a hand to her cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Have fun on your date,” Claudia said as she skipped toward the door, turning to give him one last wave of her hand.

  As she disappeared from view, her footsteps echoing toward her own room, he blew out the breath he’d been holding, something telling him that Cleo’s teenage angst was just the beginning to the tribulations his beloved daughters were going to put him through.

  Cleo stood staring out her bedroom window as Malcolm left the house. When he pulled his SUV out of the driveway and into the cul de sac, Claudia entered her sister’s room through their shared Jack and Jill bathroom. She moved to Cleo’s side and stood with her as they watched their father until he was out of sight.

  “You really need to stop being so mean toward Daddy,” Claudia said, cutting an eye in her twin’s direction. “You just need to tell him what happened so he can fix it,” she said.

  “I’m not telling him,” Cleo replied. “I can’t.”

  “Then I will.”

  “No, you won’t! You promised,” Cleo said sharply, her head snapping as she turned to look at her sister. Saline suddenly burned hot behind her eyelids. “You swore, Claudia! Please, you can’t tell anyone,” she said as she struggled not to let the tears spill past her lashes.

  Claudia shook her head. She wrapped her arms around her sister’s neck and hugged her tightly. “But Daddy can make it right and you know he can. Then you two won’t be fighting all the time, Cleo!”

  Cleo shook her head. “He’ll hate me if he ever finds out. Please, Claudia, you promised you wouldn’t tell,” she begged. “You promised me!”

  Claudia hugged her sister tighter. “Okay,” she finally whispered, “but only if you promise not to be so angry all the time. You’re no fun anymore.”

  Cleo nodded her head. “I promise. I won’t talk back or make Grandma or Daddy mad or anything. I swear, just please, please, please, don’t tell,” she pleaded.

  “What are you two up to?” Miss Claudette suddenly questioned, throwing open the bedroom door. She looked from one girl to the other, not missing the tears that misted Cleo’s large, round eyes. The matriarch moved into the room, her arms crossed in front of her robust chest. “Cleo, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

  Cleo shook her head, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Daddy yelled at me,” she said. She cut her eyes at her sister, the look she gave Claudia begging her to confirm the little white lie.

  “She said some bad words,” Claudia confirmed, her head bobbing against her thin shoulders.

  Miss Claudette took a deep breath. She looked from one girl to the other, sensing that she was only being told half the truth. “Your daddy wouldn’t have to yell if you would just do what you’re told when he tells you without a whole lot of lip. It’s not hard.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Cleo said.

  Miss Claudette was still staring, her gaze sweeping over one and then the other and back again. She finally turned, heading back out the door. “If you still want to go to the pool then you better get ready. Maybe we’ll go to Olive Garden for dinner afterward.”

  Both girls answered in unison. “Yes, ma’am!”

  Claudia headed back to her own space, moving back through the shared bathroom.

  Cleo called after her. “Thank you, sissy.”

  Claudia nodded, then disappeared through the door.

  With no one eyeing her Cleo finally cried, her tears shadowing a wealth of hurt that she was holding too close to her heart. She would have given anything to go back to that time before the bad thing had happened and she suddenly had secrets from her father. When she could have told him anything, nothing and no one able to keep him from loving her. Now she didn’t trust anything and was scared to death that if he ever discovered what she’d done, her daddy wouldn’t love her anymore.

  Cleo sobbed, her mournful weeping echoing through the door. Hearing her sister cry, Claudia struggled not to let her own tears fall. Despite her promises, Claudia couldn’t help but think her sister’s secret wasn’t going to be a good thing for any of them.

  Cilla was laughing warmly. “They’re teenagers!” she exclaimed. “Don’t you remember what it was like when you were a teenager?”

  “I never called my mother or my father an asshole,” Malcolm said. “I liked having teeth and I wanted to live.”

  She and Malcolm were walking the exhibits at Gallery C, the art gallery housed in the historic Russ-Edwards House at the corner of Blount and Peace Streets. They stood in front of a lithograph by Romare Bearden, eyeing the image intently as they talked.

  Cilla shook her head as she continued the conversation. “I’m sure you called them something at some time or another. You might not have done it to their face but you did it. It’s part of growing up, thinking your parents don’t know anything and hating the rules they set down for you. At that age you know everything, remember?”

  “I’m sure there was a lot I didn’t like but I wasn’t crazy enough to disrespect either of them. My almost fourteen-year-old daughter told me I sucked and then she called me an asshole. It took everything I had not to seriously adjust her attitude.”

  He took a deep breath, still haunted by the exchange between him and Cleo. The girls had always been a challenge, but only because they were both so bright. Keeping them intellectually stimulated continued to keep him on his toes. Finding the school they currently attended had been a help, allowing them to progress with their education without compromising the innocence of their childhood.

  Technically they were high school freshman but nothing and no one pushed them to be anything other than the sweet kids they were. He knew peer pressure would eventually become a problem but to the best of his knowledge, it wasn’t an issue yet. But Malcolm knew that something wasn’t right with his little girl and hadn’t been for weeks. For the life of him though he didn’t have a clue what was bothering her. He just knew enough to know that it wasn’t typical teenage anguish.

  “So what kind of things bothered you at thirteen?” he asked.

  “Boys.”

  Malcolm’s eyes spun toward the ceiling. He shook his head.

  “I’m serious. Boys. It’s just that age. They’ve got puberty going on, hormones are raging, cliques are forming, and being a girl is suddenly pure hell.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “You were a boy. You wouldn’t know.”

  “Boys have issues too.”

  “Y’all like to think you do,” Cilla said teasingly. She gave him a look as she laughed.

  Malcolm laughed with her. “Well, I need to figure out what’s going on with her before I have to hurt her. She’s getting out of control and I plan to nip that attitude in the butt before it gets any more out of hand.”

  “Don’t you mean the bud?”

  “Nope! I meant her butt because I will tear that ass up if she doesn’t get herself straight. And I mean it.”

  “I can already see we’re going to have a problem raising our sons together. I don’t believe in beating children so there will be no spanking our boys.”

  Malcolm eyed her, amusement dancing in his eyes as he connected with the look she was giving him. “So, we’re having sons together?”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You said that.”

  “I was talking hypothetically. If w
e were ever to have children together,” Cilla said, her eyebrows lifting in jest.

  Malcolm moved in front of her, nudging her back until she hit the wall, her body pressed tight against the cream-colored structure. They were surrounded by a collection of paintings by Haitian artists, the artwork color-filled and whimsical. Malcolm tossed an anxious glance over one shoulder and then the other. He stepped in closer to her as he leaned one hand against the wall and snaked the other hand across her abdomen and around her waist.

  Leaning forward Malcolm coveted her mouth, holding her hostage to the desire that had risen with a vengeance between them. His kiss was possessive and urgent and Cilla could feel herself beginning to melt beneath his touch. When he finally broke the connection, both coming up for air, she pressed both of her palms against his chest to steady herself, her knees quivering like jelly.

  “You keep doing that, Mr. Cobb, and our making a baby might be more than hypothetical!” she gasped, fighting to catch her breath.

  Malcolm chuckled softly. “Well, I’m sure we’d both enjoy the practice to make that baby,” he said as he eyed her intently.

  His stare was intoxicating. It took her breath away and Cilla suddenly realized that she’d been holding the oxygen in her lungs. She exhaled and then took another deep breath. She suddenly broke out into a sweat, perspiration beading across her brow as she imagined what that practice might entail. She shook her head, fighting back the emotion that was suddenly overwhelming her. She took a step to the side, easing herself from his grasp.

  “I’m sure we would,” she muttered as she spun herself in the other direction.

  Behind her, Malcolm laughed, the wealth of it coming from deep in his midsection. Cilla tossed him a look over her shoulder, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. “You’re not funny, Malcolm.”

  “I wasn’t trying to be,” he said as he moved behind her. “In fact, I was very serious.” He grabbed her hand, entwining her fingers between his. They continued browsing through the collection of artwork, not saying another word and it was only when they were back in his car, their seatbelts tightened around their torsos, that Malcolm resumed the conversation.

  “For the record,” he said, as he twisted in his seat and turned to stare at her. “If we should ever have a son and he gets out of hand, I’ll have no problem enforcing the appropriate punishment, even if it means taking a switch to his behind. We will raise a strong, decent man so I am not going to stand idly by while you over-pamper any boy child of mine like he’s a baby.”

  “I beg your pardon!”

  “I mean it. I’ve seen too many women babying grown-ass men who needed a size fourteen up their backsides and not a soft hand talking about ‘my baby this’ and ‘my baby that.’ That won’t happen to any son of mine. Trust that.”

  Cilla laughed. “Have you ever given any consideration to having more children?” she asked.

  Malcolm shook his head. “To be honest, I never thought I’d meet a woman I would want to have a child with.” He paused and his gaze drifted for a brief second. “That is, not until you,” he concluded, his eyes returning to her face.

  Cilla smiled as they continued to stare at each other. “I always imagined that I would have at least two kids,” she said. “Maybe even three.”

  Malcolm nodded. “Something for us both to consider, but understand, I don’t do children out of wedlock. My mother is a card-carrying Baptist raised in the deep Deep South and she don’t play, so if you want to have kids with me, Cilla Jameson, you’ll have to marry me.”

  She laughed again. “So is that your way of asking me to marry you, Malcolm Cobb?”

  He grinned. “That was full disclosure. You said you wanted to have my baby and I’m just making sure you know what that’s going to entail.”

  Cilla shook her head. “How’d we get on this subject anyway?”

  “You started it.”

  “Well, let’s change it,” she quipped.

  Malcolm chuckled softly. “Whatever you want, beautiful, but I have to ask you one question first.”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you feel about meeting my daughters? Because I really want you to get to know my girls.”

  Cilla couldn’t stop grinning. Malcolm had left over an hour ago and thoughts of him still had her smiling like a Cheshire cat. After the exhibit they’d gone for hot dogs at Snoopy’s, Cilla finally fulfilling her promise to treat him to the meal. They’d laughed, talked, teased, flirted, and had laughed some more. Before either realized it the time had flown by and Malcolm had needed to head to work. He had returned her to her home and had walked her to her front door, giving her a kiss that left her wanting so much more.

  The kiss had been heated, his hands gliding the length of her body, as if on a mission of their own accord. His touch had been teasing, sending currents of electricity through every nerve ending. He’d grabbed her ass, kneading the soft tissue as he’d pulled her against the hardened member that had risen with a vengeance in his pants. His touch had taken her breath away and it would have taken very little for Cilla to open herself to him, excited to explore the sensual side of their relationship. Cilla had wanted him like she had never wanted any man before and she’d said so.

  “Stay,” she’d whispered, inviting him inside.

  Malcolm had captured her mouth a second time, his tongue searing her own. She’d gasped loudly as he’d trailed his fingers across the curve of one breast and then the other, her nipples hardening as they protruded against the fabric of her blouse.

  When he’d pulled away he’d blown a soft sigh, dropping his forehead to hers. His fingers continued to play with the buttons on her top, teasing the lace that edged her bra.

  “I can’t,” he’d finally whispered, sucking in the cool air that had finally drifted between them. “And God knows I want to, baby, but I have to go to work. You know that if I come inside that’s not where I’m going to be headed.”

  Cilla had giggled softly, knowing that he was right. If he had come inside, Malcolm leaving would have been next to impossible. So he left, with the promise that he would call as soon as he was able.

  She blew a soft, easy sigh, her smile filling her face one more time. She shook her head as she moved from the living room into the kitchen to fill a glass with ice and water, recalling everything they’d talked about during the time they’d spent together.

  There had been an in-depth conversation about his children and his expectations regarding them and any woman he brought into their lives. Malcolm had admitted to having some anxieties and he’d been honest and open about his concerns. Cilla had been as forthcoming about her own apprehensions. She’d always known she wanted children but never before had she considered a ready-made family. In fact, she had always sworn off men with children. Until Malcolm. And now he was wanting her to meet his daughters, hopeful that they would actually like one another. The weight of that was heavy and Cilla didn’t take what it would mean lightly.

  Their conversation had run the gamut from thought-provoking to comical, one subject leading to another and then another. The two had discussed whatever had moved them at the moment and Cilla loved that she could talk to him so easily. Getting to know Malcolm was proving to be one pleasant surprise after another. She’d never known a man so transparent, his honesty and openness a refreshing change of pace from what she had known in the past. He was also a sweet romantic with a generous spirit. Her mother would have described him as a true Southern gentleman. Malcolm Cobb was proving himself to be one of the good guys and Cilla found that extremely attractive.

  As she moved back into the living room and nestled herself comfortably against her upholstered recliner, she replayed their entire afternoon over again in her head. As the memories flooded back she shook her head. She thought back to how he’d touched her, his fingers hot against her skin and how delightfully sweet his kisses had been.

  It was becoming increasingly difficult to temper her desire for him and the nearness of him had begun t
o feel like lighter fluid tossed on an already burning flame. Cilla had always maintained a ninety-day rule with men she dated, needing at least eighty-nine of them to figure out whether or not they were deserving of her sugar and sweets. But Malcolm already had her ready to toss aside her convictions and her panties, convinced that everything about the man warranted her giving up the goodies. His upstanding demeanor with his scorching touch made her hot as hell.

  She took a sip of her water. Placing the glass back down on the table she reached for the paperback book she had rested there. It was a political-themed novel by Cheris Hodges, one of her favorite romance authors. As she flipped to where she’d marked the last page she’d read, she exhaled.

  Being honest with herself Cilla knew she would have preferred to be strumming her fingertips across Malcolm’s broad chest and back and not through the pages of a book. Since that first cup of coffee she’d been fantasizing about the man, imagining what it would be like to be in his arms as he made love to her. Envisioning each touch, the rich scent of his cologne teasing her nostrils, every hardened muscle connecting with her soft curves. And with each fantasy and every moment in his presence, Cilla wanted him like she had never wanted anything else before.

  “Malcolm?” Miss Claudette called his name as he came through the garage door.

  The house was still lit and music played softly through the speakers nestled in the walls.

  Her voice echoed through the space a second time. “Malcolm, I need to speak with you.”

  He moved into the room where she sat upright in a wingback chair, her beloved Bible resting in her lap. “Hey, Mama,” Malcolm whispered loudly. “I just knew you’d be asleep by now.”

  The matriarch shook her head. “Too much on my mind, son. How was work tonight?”