Crush
Page 8
“You’re a little too good to be true. I can’t trust it.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I don’t trust me. My instincts when it comes to men suck and I don’t have it in me to be disappointed and hurt like that again.”
“So you’d rather both of us be hurt and disappointed now than later. Is that what you’re saying?”
“It sounds crazy put like that but that’s what I’m saying.”
“Well, that’s an argument against which I have no defense. I mean, I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future, but right now we’re good, right?”
“We’re perfect.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“It’s a bad thing for me. I don’t trust perfection; it doesn’t exist in my world.”
“I’m not a perfect man: I don’t always do or say the right things. It takes me a while to lose my temper but when I do, I hold a grudge. I don’t fold my clothes when they come out of the dryer. I squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube. C’mon, woman, I had sex with you in the middle of my business. Clearly I’m a degenerate sex fiend, and those are only the flaws I can think of in the thirty seconds since you said you’re planning to kick me to the curb.”
In spite of myself, I laughed. “Even that answer was perfect.”
“What can I say, what can I do? I think we have the possibility of something really special here. If there’s something I can say to change your mind, give me a hint and I’ll figure it out.”
“Jason, it’s not you. It’s me.” I put my hand on his arm when he rolled his eyes. “Wait, I know that sounded completely lame, but let me explain.”
“Please give me something better than that. You owe me at the very least something better than that.”
So I gave him brutal honesty. “I’m just terrified. It’s my phobia. You know my parents bailed on me, every man I’ve ever cared about . . . I just can’t experience that again. Please understand.”
“I’m trying, but please listen to it from my point of view. You’re telling me that because I’m too good to you, you need to leave me before I leave you and there’s nothing I can say to change your mind. What am I supposed to do with that? The only thing that will allay your fears is giving us more time, but you won’t do it, worrying that more time will just make it hurt more later. It’s a catch-22. You need to know me to trust me, but you won’t allow yourself to get to know me in case you start trusting me.”
“Don’t get angry.”
“Well, that’s the one you’ve asked me that I can’t do. I am angry. I know I didn’t have the same hell growing up that you did, but I have worked my ass off for everything I ever got, Jayla. My life hasn’t been all rainbows and unicorns. And I’ve never done anything to make you think I won’t be good to you. Good for you. So yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry that you are ruining this before we even get started.”
“I’m trying to save both of us some heartache down the line. You don’t even know me well enough to know if I’m good for you. I’d rather cut my losses here before we get in too deep.”
“Well, one thing you didn’t factor into your formula? I’m already in. I’ve made plans in my mind and they include you.”
“How is that even possible for you to be that sure?”
“Because I’m a grown-up. I know what I want. And until this moment, I thought it was you.”
“Oh, Jason.”
“I never suspected that you could be cruel.”
“I never meant to be cruel.”
“And yet here we are. I distinctly remember you telling me that you weren’t a heartbreaker. This feels pretty close. But this is your decision, I’ll respect it. One I think you’ll come to really regret. I hope you change your mind and I hope you do it soon.”
“I don’t think I will, Jason.”
“You know where to find me when you do. I’ll call a cab to take you home.”
Those were his last words before he walked out, letting the door slam behind him. I had either just saved myself a lot of grief in the long run or made the stupidest mistake in my life.
13
Convince Me
Six weeks later, I had decided—or rather, Celeste, Kim, and Grammy had forced me to decide—it was the biggest mistake of my life. Good Lord, what was wrong with me? I’d had an opportunity to build something with a man who took me at face value, flaky phobias and all, and I ran. As Grammy said, “Ran like a scared chicken with no head and no good damn sense.”
She was right. It was a cowardly thing to do. Jason had showed no indication that he was anything like my father or Joseph yet I’d lumped him in with them and hadn’t even given him a chance.
I was ready to admit my idiocy, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it. I’d been dodging the coffee shop for weeks and was in serious mocha withdrawal to boot. I’d thrown myself back into work and we’d completed our projections. I came up with innovative cost-cutting techniques that would garner a larger profit margin for the next eighteen months. We were so far ahead of the workload that the entire department was working regular forty-hour weeks. My vice president was giddy. I was depressed.
Overall, life sucked. I couldn’t imagine it getting any worse. And then the phone rang. It was eleven o’clock on a Thursday night; I couldn’t imagine who it could be. I glanced at the caller ID. It was LuAnn. Heart racing, I snatched up the phone.
“Hey, LuAnn. What’s wrong?”
“It’s Ethel Joy, baby. She slipped getting out of the tub and it gave her a little fright.”
“Speak medicine to me, LuAnn. How bad and where is she?”
“Nothing broken, sprained hip, but she’s having irregular heartbeats. They are worried that this could trigger a lupus flare-up. She’s at Palatine Heart Center. She’s asking for you.”
“Oh Jesus, oh Jesus. Okay. Okay. I’m coming.” I slammed down the phone and took two shaky breaths. “Tears won’t solve da-da right now,” I whispered to myself, repeating a line Grammy had said to me many times. I pulled it together and headed into the closet. It was downright cold outside so I put on wool pants, a thick sweater, and boots. I contemplated whether my car, an Acura that I rarely drove, had any gas in it. Looking down I noticed my hands were shaking. Not good. I snatched back up the phone and dialed a number.
Celeste answered on the first ring. “What’s up? Did you go get the Mocha Man back?”
“Celeste, it’s Grammy.”
“I’ll be there in five. Put on your coat and meet me out front.”
True to her word, Celeste pulled up in front of the building in six minutes. I filled her in on Grammy’s condition on the way out there. Even though she had the pedal damn near floored, it seemed to take forever to get there.
We found the closest visitor parking to the Cardiac Unit entrance sign and ran inside. We went up three floors and I located the desk. “Ethel Joy Sweatt?”
“Visiting hours are over.”
The look that came over my face told the charge nurse all she needed to know. “She’s in room 412, but she’s already over the limit on visitors. You’re going to have to boot someone out if you want in.”
“Fine,” I said shortly and headed in the direction she pointed. Halfway down the hall I heard Grammy’s laughter followed by masculine laughter. I exchanged a confused and relieved glance with Celeste and we picked up the pace.
Looking inside room 412, I saw Grammy propped up with a huge smile on her face. On the far side of the room sat LuAnn. At the foot of the bed stood Rick and right by her side, holding her hand and sharing a smile, was Jason.
Celeste nudged me forward. “I guess she’s okay and in good company.”
“Gram?” I said as I stepped into the room. My eyes scanned the monitors and then her form. If she was a cardiac patient, she was the healthiest-looking one I’d ever seen. Overwhelmed with relief, I flung myself next to her and started weeping. “Gram, you can’t scare me like this, you’re all I have.” I kissed her cheek.
Celeste rounded up LuAnn and Rick and they stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind them. Jason stayed, holding my grandmother’s hand. She patted my head. “Aw baby, now don’t carry on so. Grammy ain’t going nowhere quite yet, but you know what?”
“What?” I sniffled.
“I’m not all you have if you’d just give my friend a real chance.”
I squinted up at Jason. “Hey.”
“Hey, you. You want me to leave?”
I got up and walked around the bed and flung myself at Jason to commence weeping all over again. “No, I don’t want you to leave. I never wanted you to leave. I’m just stupid.”
He wrapped his arms around me and backed up to sit on the couch. He pulled me onto his lap and rocked me back and forth comfortingly. “Don’t cry, baby, I’m right here. We’re both right here.”
“Now see, this right here does my heart good,” Grammy said from her bed.
“Gram, are you sure you’re all right?”
“Girl, I bumped my hip and got panicky. These folks just want to take a look at me overnight. I’ll be back to whipping you two at Scrabble by the weekend, provided you don’t go getting stupid again. In my day, we didn’t let fine men get away. No, ma’am. We knew how to trap ’em and keep ’em. And there are damn sure better things to do in a man’s arms than cry. . . . I know that.”
“Grammy!”
She cackled. “What? I’m old, I’m not dead. Now you two get on out of here and let me get my beauty rest. I expect to see both of you tomorrow evening to spring me from this joint. The both of you, together. You hear me, Jayla Faye?”
“Jayla Faye?” Jason laughed.
I climbed off his lap and gave Ethel Joy a kiss. “You’re evil, but I love you, grandmother. If Jason doesn’t run for the hills, we’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Jason sticks, Jayla Faye,” Jason said, leaning down to give Ethel Joy a kiss of his own.
“Get on, the two of you. Go on ’head, now.”
Jason and I stepped into the hallway, hands clasped firmly together. LuAnn gave me a hug and went back inside the room. Celeste put her hands on her hips and gave Rick the look. “Jayla, I’ll give this one a ride back to the city so you and Jason can talk.”
“Uh-oh,” Jason and I said at the same time at the thought of those two hooking up.
They walked off and Jason stood with me in the middle of the hallway. I sighed. I was exhausted. “You want to talk?”
“Maybe later. You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
I leaned against him. “I really could. I have missed my mocha.”
“Did you know we have a shop here in Palatine?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have the keys on you, would you?”
He smiled. “As a matter of fact . . .”
I smiled back. “You are so good to me.”
“I’m about to be a lot better.”
“Are we still talking about the coffee?”
“Whatever you’d like. One promise, though?”
“Okay.”
“Don’t break my heart again.”
“I wouldn’t dare. A man with your skills?”
“Are you talking about the coffee?”
I whispered in his ear. “Take me to the shop and find out.”
“You’re going to have to convince me.”
“I’ll do my very best.”
We walked down the hallway hand in hand.
Wanted: You
Lutishia Lovely
1
Lois Edwards’s jaw dropped, as did the paper from her hand. She surreptitiously looked around, as if her mother was lurking in the office and would catch and then chide her for reading porn. There’s no other way to describe the contents of the note she’d hastily thrown on her desk, the note that even now silently taunted her to be picked up and read again.
Lois looked at the clock: 8:45. She always came in to work early, especially on Mondays. Her boss, whose weekend mail she was opening and to whom the letter was addressed, wouldn’t be in until 9:00, at the earliest. There was no one else around. Her heartbeat quickened as she picked up the paper and read the letter again:
Dear Chaz:
You don’t know me, well, not really. But that’s neither here nor there when it comes to why I’m writing.
I’m writing because, simply put, I can’t get you out of my mind. This morning, while in the shower, I imagined you there with me, hard and naked. I imagined your thick shaft pulsating inside me, envisioned taking you full into my mouth. The water ran all over my body, and I imagined each drop was your tongue. I fingered my nipples, my nub, but in my mind, it was your hands that touched me. Chaz Covington, I want you. There, I’ve said it. And I won’t take it back. One of these days, maybe my dream will come true.
Signed, Yours
Lois crumpled the paper and threw it into the trash. “That’s where you belong,” she hissed under her breath, rubbing her hands against her slacks as if the words she’d read had soiled them. Mr. Covington doesn’t need to know about this. With resolve, she continued opening mail.
Lois had worked for Chaz Covington, the handsome, prominent thirty-nine-year-old attorney representing the poor and downtrodden in the state of Illinois, for two years. Her admiration bordered on idolatry, and where Chaz was concerned, she was loyal to a fault. He was constantly fending off interested females and Lois counted protecting him from these predators one of her duties—along with typing, filing, and opening mail. “They ought to be ashamed,” she muttered, unaware of her facial expression or that she’d spoken out loud.
“That frown is fierce, girlfriend. Must have been some weekend.”
Lois jumped. She hadn’t heard her co-worker come in. “Hi, Gina.” Please keep walking. You’re the last person I feel like talking to right now.
“So what happened? Bad date? Oh, but wait. I forgot. You don’t date.” Gina Perez obviously didn’t get the telepathically sent “keep it moving” message. She perched her perfectly round, silk-covered derriere on the edge of Lois’s desk, her flawlessly made-up face still beautiful despite the smirk.
“I’m fine, just busy. You know how Mondays are.” Lois underscored this statement and discouraged further conversation by turning on the shredder and feeding a pile of junk mail into the device. While she watched the paper being cut into miniscule pieces, she thought of the letter that needed to be obliterated as well.
“I know who’ll put a smile on your face,” Gina whispered conspiratorially, nodding in the direction of Chaz’s office. “And one of these days . . . I’d like to put a smile on his.” She slid off Lois’s desk and continued down the hall, her waist-length hair swaying from side to side, much like her hips.
Lois’s eyes narrowed as she watched Gina sashay to the break room, looking as if she’d slid off a page in a fashion magazine. Her thick ebony hair glistened with dark auburn highlights, complementing the tangerine-colored suit that Lois felt fit much too snugly for the workplace. And how does she walk in those heels? One step in what she assumed were four-inch stilettos, and Lois knew she would keel right over. When she’d dressed for work this morning, Lois felt that her pink, polka-dotted, button-down blouse—a nod to the arrival of spring and the unseasonably high seventy-degree March morning—navy slacks, and sensible loafers were quite adequate. But with the whiff of Gina’s floral perfume still tickling her nose, she now felt unfeminine, and underdressed.
Lois’s eyes followed Gina until she’d turned the corner. She thought of the note lying in the bottom of the trash can, and thought that someone like Gina, who exuded sex appeal along with tons of confidence, could write something like that. Something bodacious and crass and . . . nasty. Her co-worker was always talking about men and Lois’s boss was the man Gina talked about the most. “I’d do him in a heartbeat,” she regularly admitted. Lois’s face showed her disgust. She believed she’d just read exactly how Gina would “do” him.
After fishing the note from the wast
ebasket, Lois hurried to the restroom. I’ll flush it down the toilet . . . make sure no one else reads it. Passing the mirror on the way to a stall, she saw her reflection and stopped.
She stepped toward the glass, put a hand to her face. Her fingers idly stroked the smooth tanned skin, thin lips, and puffy cheeks. She stepped back, cocked her head, and saw breasts that were too small and hips that were too big. I’m average-looking, she concluded, before going into a stall and flushing the note. “Average, but decent,” she whispered, watching the torn paper pieces swirl around and go down the toilet. And probably the only thirty-one-year-old virgin in Chicago. A virgin whose body now shivered from the impact of the words contained in the note she’d just destroyed.
2
Personal-injury attorney Chaz Covington was a household name. His television commercials were legendary: actual testimonies from rags-to-riches clients whose cases he’d won, followed by an impeccably dressed, confident-looking Chaz delivering the tagline straight into the camera: If you don’t get paid, I don’t get paid. Today, Chaz entered the office wearing a tailored navy suit, expensive cologne, and an award-winning smile.
“Good morning, boss,” Gina said, not even trying to hide her lust.
“Good morning, Gina,” Chaz replied, with a wink.
“Good morning, Mr. Covington.” Lois’s face was somber as she handed Chaz his mail. “I’ll get your coffee.”
“Make it green tea,” Chaz replied. When Lois looked questioningly in his direction—because she couldn’t look him in the eye—he added, “Trying to cut down on the caffeine.” Chaz took a step toward his office and then turned around. “Are you all right, Lois?”
“Uh, sure, Mr. Covington. Why do you ask?”
Because you can’t look at me, is what he thought. “Just checking,” is what he said, accompanied by his signature killer smile. He looked intently at Lois another moment. “On second thought, I’ll skip the tea for now. Come into my office and give me today’s schedule.”