Asher's Sonnet

by Ja'Nese Dixon

  We pass the time drinking beer, eating wings, and Dylan steps away to take a call and Jazz heads to the ladies room.

  “When will BrandShare make their partnership decision?” Asher asks.

  “Soon. They usually announce it by now, I don’t know what the hold up is.” I lick the spicy sauce from my fingers. I push around the contents on the messy table searching for the little wet towelettes. “I inked a deal for $5 million dollars yesterday. I’m just hoping that’s enough.”

  “That should guarantee your offer.” He finishes off the fries passing me a napkin.

  “I hope so.”

  BrandShare is a boutique marketing firm I joined after graduate school. My department specializes in subscription boxes. I pair companies with products as a means of expanding their presence in the marketplace and increasing brand recognition. My clients range from high-end cosmetic companies to custom chocolatiers. I’m on track to making partner by my twenty-seventh birthday less than two weeks away.

  Waiting for them to announce it is killing me. Then it hits me. “What if—”

  “Don’t worry. They’re slow, not stupid.”

  “Brother you are totally biased.” I smile appreciating his unwavering confidence in me.

  “Damn right. Join Smith & Jameson, we can use that marketing brain of yours.” He leans forward, I shake my head. That’s not an option.

  “One Smith is more than enough to secure the legacy. Besides, I have a job.” I try to sound nonchalant about it. Sure it has become more of a grind than a passion, becoming a partner would give me more control of the clients I work with and inject some excitement back into my career.

  “It’s not only about our legacy. This is our family business.” His knowing eyes scan my face, and I glance away. “Is that the only reason you won’t accept my offer?”

  The beer garden is their business. And the rest of his statements sounds like the Charlie Brown teacher in my head as I see him.

  “You two think y’all have us fooled.” I hear through the haze. “We all know you guys are attracted to each other.” He motions across the room towards Dylan talking with another woman. “Just get together already and save us the awkward tension.”

  “There’s no together for me. And what tension?” I roll my eyes, over this conversation. “BrandShare, you, Momma, that’s more than enough for me.”

  “Being alone sucks.” Asher states.

  “I’m not alone I have you.”

  “Big sis, I pray you find a man truly worthy of how precious you are.” His eyes pierce through my facade and hit his intended target—my fragile heart.

  “Yeah right. I’m the ball buster, remember?” I laugh. His grimace says he’s not buying it. “My hands are full. Partnership. Your spot. And who knows I may finally take up a hobby.”

  I look over again, Dylan is retrieving his phone from the gorgeous petite blonde. He drops it in his pocket. Player. I need to get out of here. I find the wet wipes and clean the remaining sauce off my hands as Jazz returns, her face tense. I turn a questioning gaze to Asher, his face clearly reads, Don’t ask.

  “I’m out. I want to stop by my office before heading home.” I toss the dirty wipe on my plate grabbing my purse from the back of my chair. “Congratulations again.”

  “Babe, I'll be back.” Asher stands as I do.

  “Stay here. I’m fine.” I motion for him to sit back in his eat. “My car’s right across the street.”

  “I’m walking Yuki to her car.” He talks over me, kissing Jazz’s check. Then he places a hand on my lower back guiding me to the front door.

  “Good night Jazz," I call over my shoulder. “See you Sunday.” Call me, I mouth. She nods, I send her air kisses. “Love you.”

  The sports bar is near capacity. Which isn’t a surprise since they have Friday night half-off Happy Hour. I maneuver around people, tables, and chairs, finally reaching the exit. “What’s that all about?”

  “We’re in a rough patch. I hope getting this trip behind us will relieve some of the stress and get us back to honeymooning.” He opens the door, and I step out into the chilly evening.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Nah, you’ve done more than enough. I predict….” Stopping next to my car, I turn with a smile. We’ve played this game since we were kids and now my very grown, very handsome brother is once again predicting our future.

  “Oh, brother.” I roll my eyes. “You do recall that you get it wrong about one hundred percent of the time. I appreciate your tenacity.” I pinch his cheeks.

  “Such a hater.” He flicks his hand in my direction like he’s shooing a fly away. He chuckles shoving his hand in his pockets, then he pulls me against him. Together we lean against my car as if our destiny is written in the Austin skyline.

  “Did you ever think we’d be here?” He asks so low I almost miss it.

  “Like physically? Against my car, in a parking lot?” The sun is dropping, and the breeze is perfect.

  “Are you charging for these terrible jokes? Because you are laying it on heavy tonight.” I dig my elbow into his side. He folds over laughing. “No, smarty pants, our lives.”

  “Never. Do you think it will get better?” I rest my head against his shoulder, his head now resting on top of mine.

  “I know it will.”

  “Then tell me, oh wise one. What do you predict?” I trust very few people in my life, and this man is one of them. If he says the sky will be purple in the morning, I will bank on it. Only one other man comes close, Dylan.

  The sound of chatter rings through the air as if the bar door was opened and closed. I glance toward the door, and there’s Dylan. He taps the face of his watch and disappears.

  I wonder if Asher noticed but he continues, “This time, two weeks from today, our lives will change for the better. You will be 27. You will be the first female partner at BrandShare. Smith & Jameson will secure the contract with Impose Brew and my marriage…” his voice drops.

  “Will resume the honeymoon,” I finish for him, placing my hand on his chest. I kiss his cheek, disarming my car doors. “It’ll work out, you’ll see.”

  He glances down into my eyes, and a faint smile crosses his face. I squeeze his arm and lower inside my car. “When are you telling Momma?”

  “Let’s do it in the morning. Meet me over there. We’ll go to breakfast.”

  “Cool. I’ll be there around nine. Love you.”

  I sit in my car staring at Asher’s retreating back. Images of Dylan chatting with that petite blonde hanging on to his every word. What am I doing? Comparing myself to the blonde?

  No.

  Maybe.

  Flipping down my visor, I touch up my lipstick, and my mother’s face stares back. I slap it closed and try to scrub my thoughts clear of any comparisons to her. I pull the visor open again.

  “Yuki, you control your destiny. You are a partner. No more secret meetings with Dylan. No more comparing yourself to petite blondes. No more Dylan.” I said that already. I close the visor and rest my head on the steering wheel. It can’t hurt to say it a few more times. “No more Dylan, no more Dylan, no more Dylan.”

  2

  “Do you have a reservation?” A man in a penguin suit asks from behind a podium. I glance over his shoulder, and the inside is formal with white linen and soft candles. It echoes one sentiment, romantic.

  No more Dylan. No more Dylan. No more Dylan. This chant isn’t working as images of his smile, his eyes and a low rate hum ensue. The one I get every time I think about him. Every time I see him. It happens more frequently. This romantic dinner will not help.

  Before Asher married Jazz the three of us did everything together. Then our three became two. It felt odd without Asher at first. Over the past year, it became something we did. Every Saturday. Movies. Museums. Concerts.

  Missing our third wheel this time alone feels intimate. And although our secret meetings aren’t really a secret we have never had a candlelight dinner. But
this is the address he sent by text this morning.

  “Ma’am.” His annoyed glare bores into me.

  “Ah, Jameson, Dylan Jameson.” He scans the list under a reading lamp, my stomach’s in knots.

  “Dylan, what are you doing?” I whisper searching the room for his familiar face.

  “I want to celebrate your birthday.” His silky voice holds a challenge. I stumble back connecting with his chest.

  “We shouldn’t.” Dylan steps closer planting his large hands on my hips.

  “Of course we should.”

  “Sir.” The suit insists.

  “Give us a second.” Dylan turns me to face him as he scans my body from head to toe. A singe of heat accompanies his roaming appraisal of my black dress paired with silver heels. “Yuki. Join me. Or I could celebrate your birthday alone.” I see his smile before his head falls.

  “How do you plan to celebrate my birthday without me?” I punch him in the arm. “You don’t have to do this.” I glance again over his broad shoulders at the impatient suit.

  “I know how important twenty-seven is to you.”

  I don’t buy luck. However, on my seventh birthday, Momma adopted me. I graduated college at seventeen. Twenty-seven looks as promising as the others. This is the downside of knowing him for most of my life. There are very few secrets between us. I stare up into his blue eyes, and I shiver.

  “We could dine upstairs,” he offers.

  Taking a deep breath. Upstairs means fewer eyes, we would be alone. Alone, alone. But this is Dylan, we’ve spent time alone before. I roll my shoulders back and close the space between us.

  “What’s upstairs?”

  “My penthouse suite.” His smoldering eyes are melting my resolve to treat him like a brother. Hell, I’ve known him since we were seven. Nothing about this man mirrors his seven-year-old self except maybe the honesty hidden in the depths of his eyes. And memories, really great memories.

  The suit clears his throat a few times, and Dylan glances back with a raised brow. And the suit nervously walks away to seat a couple.

  “What do you say?” Dylan asks.

  As a marketer and a saleswoman, I close deals. It is what I do. I tell colorful tales, full of hope and potential fused with a dedicated focus. I am a visionary. I see the unseen. I get paid millions to do it. But this is hard to envision. I can’t see how this will end.

  How can our friendship remain intact? How will Asher feel if it all blows up in our faces? If Dylan learns….

  “Dinner. Drinks.” He restates casting his own vision for tonight.

  “Just dinner and drinks.”

  “Baby girl, we passed just dinner and drinks a long time ago. I want more. Much more. You know it. I know.” He pauses letting his words penetrate my apprehension. “But I’ll accept what you offer.”

  I bite the inside of my lip counting the cost. “So dinner, drinks, and—”

  “You in my bed beneath me.”

  The air swooshes from my lungs. His intense gaze melting through my objections. And then his mouth covers mine. In front of the suit, the other waiting patrons. Soft and persuasive. His large hands grip my waist pulling my body to his. Intense, yet familiar.

  Our first kiss.

  He pulls back. “Yes?”

  I swallow, my body swims with desire at seeing this Dylan for the first time. “Yes.”

  Dylan grabs my hand as if we’ve done it a million times before guiding me through the lobby with nonchalant grace. Am I really going to his place?

  He stops in front of the elevator and presses the up arrow. I use the time to catch my breath and return his assessing gaze. His polished shoes and suit are expensive. The soft sheen of the navy blue fabric against his olive skin paired with a crisp white shirt and a power red tie. He screams wealth. But its the full beard trimmed low that imparts the right amount of edge to his pristine appearance.

  I’m glad I picked my best black dress. The knit fabric hugs my curves with a plunging v in the front, the back is open with double straps. It’s what I call sexy in the front, vixen in the back. I straightened my bra strap length hair and adorned a smokey dark eyeshadow look with ruby red lipstick.

  “Yuki you look gorgeous tonight.” He leans against the wall, powerful with his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  Ding.

  The elevator doors open and his hand finds my lower back. A hiss escapes under his breath. I glance over my shoulder meeting his gaze. Dylan is taller than my brother by at least two inches. I feel like a smaller woman in their presence, which is rare for my five-foot eleven-inch height.

  “Where’s the rest of your dress, Miss Smith?” His eyes dance with mischief.

  “Do you not approve Mr. Jameson?” The ease of our normal banter settles between us as the elevator doors close. I spin around to face him. The sparks in his eyes thrill me while my attraction for him bubbles to the surface terrifying me. Feelings I’ve run from my entire life.

  Love is not in for me. I am the evidence of love going terribly wrong. My veins hold conflicting truths fusing my parents and severing me from my living relatives residing in Korea. My black father and Korean mother banked on love and lost.

  He presses the PH button and enters a code on the keypad. The doors close. We are alone. He takes two giant steps, his eyes zero in on my silver body necklace. His index finger runs the length from my neck, down my chest, between my breasts. I inhale his familiar scent.

  “Why is this the first time you’ve invited me to your place?” I ask.

  “I had to wait for the right time.”

  “For what?”

  “For you to hear me out.” His voice low and smooth speaks volumes as his large hand brushes my exposed skin then rests on my bottom.

  “Why now?”

  Ding.

  The open living room is massive overlooking downtown Austin. The room is lit by the surrounding buildings and the glow from his private rooftop pool. I walk to the glass.

  “Breathtaking.”

  “I agree.” His eyes are on me.

  “Dylan…” He steps closer, pulling me into his arms. “Are you sure this is wise?”

  “Only one way to find out,” he kisses me slow, and it leaves me trembling with need. The intimate rhythm of his tongue invades my mouth in the sweetest way, I grip the lapels of his jacket until his chest is against mine.

  “Let’s order dinner.” I watch his eyes darken from sky blue to a vibrant hue dark enough to resemble denim.

  My lips ache for a repeat , I’ve waited a lifetime for this moment. Before I lose my courage, I stand on my tip toes brushing my mouth against his wrapping my arms around his neck. His strong arms circle my back and lava flows through my veins to the parts that make me female.

  “What do you want to eat?” His heated whisper brushes my ear, kissing my temple.

  “You,” escapes before I can stop it. My body aching for him to extinguish the fire he started. Not with food. But him.

  “Yuki don’t say it like that baby,” he growls. “Dinner first. Then your gift.” The promise lingering in his eyes makes the ache between my thighs intensify. He pulls me from the window to the couch. “I’ll grab the menu.”

  I collapse on the couch.

  “Make yourself at home,” he says over his shoulder, loosening his tie with one hand. He walks through a door on the far end of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

  The chant of no more Dylan is dead, its morphed into more Dylan, please Dylan. His kisses serve as a perfect distraction. But this is not what I need, not right now. I need to focus on getting that corner office.

  I glance at the doorway hearing him move around in the back room. The open space of the living room bleeds into the dining area. Across the room, I catch a glimpse of my younger self. I walk over and see the wall lined with pictures of us over the years.

  Elementary. Middle school. High school. Vacations. Each picture with Asher between us. Except one. I recognize the background, we were at Zilk
er Park for an outdoor concert. I am smiling at the camera, and Dylan’s eyes are focused on me in the same intense gaze I saw tonight.

  Has he always felt this way?

  I look at the doorway anxious for his return then back at the pictures. His kisses open a hidden door I locked away years ago. A yearning I recognized for the first time our sophomore year of high school.

  Asher and Dylan had a pool party at Dylan’s place. As always, his parents were off traveling the world, and Momma made Asher take me along. I promised to keep quiet as long as they paid for my summer camps. But what I really wanted was a pair of diamond rings. Camps won out. They were the sensible, more affordable option, and I’d gain credits for college.

  I found a spot by the pool with a book and several brochures for camps hosted around Austin, landing on a business management and entrepreneurship camp at the University of Texas. It was perfect. I circled the fee, deadline, and the website to submit my application. Satisfied I grabbed my potato chips and a Coke ready to read. Then I saw him. Really saw him.

  Dylan strolled out of the house with an air of confidence that belied his fifteen years of life. Shirt off, smiling and whispering in Amber’s ear. She laughed every time he leaned in, her hair blowing in the wind. I wanted more than anything to be one of the other girls.

  The girls that Dylan smiled at. The girls that Dylan whispered in their ears, giving his time. To be Dylan’s girl. But he didn’t see me as a girl or a young woman but as Asher’s sister.

  Until tonight.

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  When it comes to love, age ain’t

  nothing but a number.

  Rhonda Smith had to open her big mouth when she promised Asher and Yuki, her grown children, that she’d open her heart to love. And she intended to keep that promise until she learned dating ain’t what it used to be.

  Now there are apps for that. Not to mention speed dating, blind dates, and singles gatherings. To top it all off, there's Netflix and chills, and social media.