Romance in Color

by Synithia Williams

  “Thinking of me?” Kareem’s low voice jolted her from her fantasy.

  Patrice’s eyes flew open. She dropped her hands and ran them across the smooth marble of the sink. Kareem leaned against the bathroom door, eyes assessing and making her self-conscious as hell.

  She spun and crossed her hands over her breasts. “Just inventorying the marks.”

  Kareem pushed away from the door and crossed the room in a few determined strides. “Marks?” He grabbed her chin and lifted. After surveying her for several seconds his hand dropped. Kareem’s face pinched, and his eyes shifted away.

  Immediately Patrice regretted saying anything. “There’s only a few.”

  “I’m sorry.” Regret laced his voice.

  “Don’t be. It’s just a few hickeys.”

  Kareem scowled and spun her around to face the mirror. “It looks like I chewed you like a piece of rawhide.”

  The self-loathing in his voice made her heart drop to her knees. Kareem stepped back, and she spun to grasp his shoulders.

  “Stop it. Don’t pull away from me, and don’t feel bad about the marks.” He thankfully stopped struggling to get away. “Did you hear any complaints from me last night?”

  Kareem brushed the back of his hand down her neck. “I should have treated you better. You deserve better.”

  She pushed his chest, but his hard body didn’t budge. “I deserve what I ask for. I asked for and want you, Kareem. Why is it so hard for you to see that?”

  “Neecie—”

  She stood on her toes and kissed him. Kareem’s body froze. She brushed her lips across his. He didn’t pull away and sparks flew through her veins. Not once during the course of the night had he kissed her. And she’d been either too out of breath from before or after the sex to care. Patrice pressed forward, slipping out her tongue to trace his lower lip.

  Kareem lifted his head and pulled back.

  Patrice looked at the floor to hide the disappointment.

  “Get dressed.” He lifted her chin with a finger. “We’re going out.” He spun to walk out of the bathroom.

  Patrice stood frozen then rushed to follow. “What? Go where? Why?”

  “Because I don’t want to sit in this house with your parents and sister after I spent the night making their daughter scream and moan. Fran has already turned up her nose twice when I walked in a room.”

  Patrice covered her face with her palms. “Don’t tell me they heard.”

  “Do you want to stick around and find out?”

  Her head popped up. A small but sensual smile graced his face. Patrice’s heart cut cartwheels.

  “Not a chance.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. So take a shower and get dressed. I’m taking you to a football game.”

  • • •

  “Yes! That’s how you do it, baby! Whoo!” Kareem yelled.

  Patrice dropped the popcorn in her hand, and her mouth gaped open. She stared at Kareem standing next to her in the Bank of America stadium cheering on the Carolina Panthers. When Kareem slapped high five with the people behind him and chest bumped the man with black and blue face paint next to him Patrice laughed out loud. Who was this man, and what had he done to Kareem Henderson?

  The kicker made the field goal, winning the game. Another round of cheers and hand slaps went through their section. People grabbed their items and prepared to file out of the crowded stadium.

  Kareem faced her. “That was a good game.”

  She chuckled and nodded. “It was.”

  “I didn’t think we’d be able to pull it off.” The grin and excitement in his voice brought back the image of the carefree guy.

  “It was a nail biter,” she said.

  He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her into the throng of people. The thick crowd made maneuvering nearly impossible. Kareem wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to his side. His body heat slowly overcame the chill that seeped into her bones from the fall winds.

  “Did you have fun?” he asked. His eyes sparked with happiness, no longer dark and flat.

  She continued to grin like a contestant on The Price is Right. “I did, but not as much fun as you. I didn’t know you were such a Panthers fan.”

  “I like football, especially live. I haven’t been to a game in years.”

  “You really got into the game. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cheer.” She raised a brow. “Or give high fives, or chest bumps.”

  Kareem rubbed his lower lip. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. We’re at a game; it’s what you do.”

  “It’s not what you normally do. I like seeing you so happy. I like your smile. It’s sexy and should definitely come out to play more.”

  He pulled her a little closer. “Sexy, huh. Maybe I’ll let it out to play with you.” His grin knocked away any remaining cold in her body.

  Patrice raised one of her fists and yelled, “All right, Panthers, keep pounding! Roar!” The rest of the crowd, already hyped from the win, cheered.

  Another round of high fives and chants kept the smile on Kareem’s face. Instead of going back to her parents’, they walked to the Epicenter for a drink at one of the many bars located there. Kareem kept his arm around her shoulder. The action chased away her some of her concerns about the night before, but she still needed to guard her heart. Kareem happy and laughing, cheering a football team and slapping high fives just like any other ordinary guy started her to believing he could be in a relationship like any regular guy. Obviously the afterglow from a great night clouded her judgment, but somewhere between dancing to Bob Marley and watching him cheer, her this is just a fling wall started to crack.

  They snatched the last two seats at the bar in Wild Wings, cramming themselves into a corner at the end. “I’m going to need to stay here for a while before I’m ready to walk back to the car,” Patrice said.

  Kareem slid his barstool close to hers. “Your feet hurt?”

  “My everything hurts.” She shifted in the chair and rubbed her lower back.

  His gaze dropped to her neck. All marks were hidden beneath a blue turtleneck, but regret from earlier slipped into his eyes, drawing away the life. Patrice slapped a hand on his muscled thigh. “What do you want to drink?”

  “How about two beers?”

  “Sounds great to me.”

  He ordered then stared at the television over the bar. The bartender brought their beers, and Patrice studied Kareem as he brought the bottle to his lips, focusing on the scar above his lip that started beneath his right nostril and cut across the left side of his mouth.

  “How did you get that scar?”

  His hand jerked so faintly she wouldn’t have noticed if she weren’t already so intently focused on him. “You want something to eat?”

  She shook her head. “I want you to answer the question.”

  He took another swig of his beer then cleared his throat. “Prison.”

  She took a deep breath. Dozens of questions popped to the surface, but bombarding him would only mean he’d clam up. “Was it an accident?”

  “No.”

  “Someone cut you on purpose?”

  He sipped, then glared at her. “Yes.” The hard clipped answer said that was the end of the discussion.

  She nodded, and Kareem turned back to the television. Patrice brought the beer to her lips but pulled back before sipping. “Why did you go to prison?”

  Kareem’s nostrils flared with his deep inhale. “Carjacking.”

  “I know that, but why? Why did you try to steal a car?”

  He didn’t answer, just swigged the beer. His tongue did a quick sweep of thinning lips, and he forcefully brought down the bottle. Patrice’s brows drew together. Apparently, she’d crossed a line. She swiveled her chair toward the bar and studied the label on her beer.

  Several minutes passed before he let out a heavy sigh. “Are you going to sit there and pout until I give you an answer?”

  Her eyes snapped to his. “I’m no
t pouting.”

  “Yes you are, and it’s not cute.”

  Patrice straightened her shoulders. “Well, clamming up and not talking to me about your past isn’t very cute either. I thought we were …” He raised a brow, and she shut up. She pulled the paper on her bottle.

  Another few minutes passed before he leaned in. “I was young, bored, and looking for excitement.”

  She turned her seat to face him. “Were you really in the gang, or just hanging around them?”

  “There was no hanging around.” Kareem paused. His hands moved back and forth as if he were grasping for the right words. “I met my boy Omar freshman year of high school. He introduced me to the Runners, and the rest is history.”

  “Again with the Cliff’s Notes version. Your family is successful. Why would you even consider hanging out with a gang?”

  Kareem rubbed his lower lip then ran a hand over his dreads. He spun in the chair and leaned an elbow on the bar, facing her. “Hanging out with Omar and the rest of the Runners was exciting. I even started my dreads then, just because my dad would hate it and the head of the Runners wore the style.” His voice lifted with some of that long ago enchantment. “They introduced me to stuff I never saw at any of the parties my parents made me go to and did stuff the kids that hung in my circle wouldn’t dream of. They taught me how to use a gun. Had so much money from running guns they could buy anything they wanted. And the women …” The corner of his mouth lifted, but there was no joy in his smile. “They introduced me to sex.”

  Patrice studied the frayed edge of the label on the beer bottle. “Was there a girl that you liked who was part of their group?”

  He scoffed and sipped his beer. “If you’re asking if there was a girl I loved, no. Sex was everywhere, but love played no part in it. The girls at school, they all wanted to hold hands, be romantic, and put a claim on me. The freaks who hung with the runners, that’s what we called them, weren’t about that. They would do anything to be with one of the guys. Doing whatever felt good with whoever.”

  Patrice swallowed hard and stared at the button at the top of his black polo shirt. “Was there one freak in particular who did whatever with you?”

  “Neecie, you don’t understand. I lost my virginity with two other guys and one of the older freaks.”

  Patrice’s head shot up, and her stomach twisted. “You what?”

  The flatness returned to his eyes, but he didn’t look away. “That’s the way it was. All the time. There was no place for love, and unless you were one of the main guys or earned enough cred, you didn’t get to stake a claim on one of the freaks.” He shrugged. “We shared.”

  She tried to swallow but her mouth went dry. “Sooo, what you …” She didn’t really know what she wanted to ask.

  “I never had a girlfriend. Never lusted for the head cheerleader or took some girl out to dinner or the prom. If I wanted to have sex, I either joined in or waited until I could get with one of the fr—”

  “Women in the gang.” She held up a hand. “I get it.”

  Kareem shifted in his seat and spun the beer bottle on the bar. His eyes shifted to then away from her. “Are you disgusted now?”

  Patrice shook her head and guzzled from the bottle. “No … just … taking it all in.”

  He grunted and watched the television. Patrice peeked at him from beneath her lids. Maybe she should be disgusted. He’d spent his teenage years learning about sex with no connection to love or affection. But disgust wasn’t what she felt. She felt sorry, and any hint of pity would have Kareem sprinting out the door. Would he even know how to have something else? Was she crazy enough to want to be that woman? The woman who took on the project of dating a hard to love, flawed man?

  Yeah … kinda.

  Patrice closed her eyes and quickly shook her head. That type of thought would have her crying for months after this thing ended. Nope, better to just keep her heart out of things. Time to throw some plaster on the cracks in the walls guarding her heart.

  “What did your family say? About the gang?” she asked.

  The tension in his body diminished a little. “They didn’t know how deep I got involved. While I was in high school I wasn’t allowed get into the deep stuff. I basically counted money and relayed messages. Looked the other way when things went down I wasn’t supposed to know about. As I got older, I handled more deals. Jacking the car was something we’d done before.”

  “What happened?”

  “Me and this guy, Red, ran up on a man at a red light. It should’ve been easy. Just break the window, pull the man out, and take off with the car. But the guy had a gun. Red was shot in the chest, me in the leg when I ran.” He sighed and shrugged. “Instead of going back to tell the runners I went to my parents. Stupid really, but after seeing my boy bleeding in the street, I just wanted to be home. I tried to hide the injury, but my mom caught me washing off the blood in my bathroom. They took me to the hospital, the police put two and two together, and I ended up in prison.” He stared unfocused at the television. “I should’ve been graduating from college.” He gave her a humorless laugh. “That’s what my dad said that night in the hospital.”

  “And you were hurt in prison?”

  A shutter came across his face. “I thought I was hard. I didn’t realize how soft I actually was until I had to fight off murderers and rapists.”

  She reached over to lay her hand on his thigh. “Did anything bad happen to you?”

  He moved his leg out of her reach. “Nothing good.”

  “Is it why you don’t like for me to touch you?”

  The smile returned to his lips, but avoided his eyes. “I like it when you touch me.”

  “You like having sex with me, but you didn’t let me touch you or kiss you. Just now, I placed my hand on your leg and you pulled away. Unless you initiate it, you don’t like to be touched.”

  Kareem’s shoulders went rigid. “I spent five years where the only reason someone touched you was for ulterior motives. Sick, twisted, ulterior motives. Sometimes people coming up on me …” He scowled and waved at the bartender then held up his empty bottle.

  “Touching triggers you.”

  Kareem drummed his fingers on the bar. His gaze darted around the room, seemed to go out of focus. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

  Patrice put her hand on his arm, which vibrated with tension. “What happened to you?”

  He jerked away. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “You just ordered another beer.”

  He stood, pulled a twenty out of his wallet, and waved the wrinkled bill at the bartender. “This’ll cover it.” He slapped the twenty on the bar. “Let’s go.”

  They left the warmth of the bar to go back into the busy square of the Epicenter. Patrice wanted to know more, but she’d pushed too hard today. At least now she had some answers. All she knew about prison she’d learned from cable television. No matter how disturbing, the real experience could only be worse. Heaviness settled over her heart and thoughts of what could have happened to him in there played in her mind. She glanced at his clenched jaw.

  The sound of reggae music came from one of the clubs next to the bar they’d just left. She shook away the dark revelations and suddenly needed to get back the happiness from before.

  “They’re playing your music.”

  Kareem blinked and focused on her. She wondered what he’d been thinking about, but honestly wasn’t ready to hear more.

  “I hear it. Did you want to go in there?”

  “Only if you’ll dance with me again.” Kareem narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth, but she held up her hand to stop his argument. “And you can’t say you don’t dance because you already danced with me.”

  He chuckled and the sound made her belly flop. “That wasn’t dancing, Neecie.” He took a step forward and overpowered her with his dark eyes and presence. “That was foreplay.”

  She took a step until they almost touched. She wanted to reach up and touch him, or w
rap her arms around his shoulders, but after his confessions she restrained herself. They were just having fun and helping each other out. She needed to remember this wasn’t a real relationship. That he didn’t know how to have a real relationship.

  “I’d like more foreplay, please.”

  The flatness left his eyes, and humor, maybe warmth, livened up the dark centers. Kareem wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Then hell yeah, we’ll dance again.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Where are you going?”

  Kareem continued tucking his shirt into his pants and glanced at Neecie over his shoulder. She leaned against the door of the bathroom wearing nothing but his black tank top from the night before and a smile. Her hair was messy, and his marks were all over her body.

  Something stirred deep in his chest. She was his. “Downtown,” he said. “I want to find out the process for a business license and verify what I read online about getting my master barber certification in North Carolina. I may swing by a realtor’s office and start scoping out places.”

  Interest brightened her eyes. “Do you mind if I come with you?”

  He finished with his shirt and checked his reflection in the mirror. “I doubt it’ll be much fun. Don’t you want to hang out with your parents?”

  Neecie sauntered into the room and jumped up to sit on the counter. “I’m here to help you, and that’s what I want to do. Besides, I’m going to meet mother’s friend Lorelei while we’re downtown.”

  “The model? I didn’t know you were interested in that.”

  “It never hurts to hear what she has to say,” Patrice said. “Plus, Beth gave me a lead on a friend who’s willing to help. We can go by his office.”