by Nia Arthurs
I squirmed.
Abort! Abort!
My marriage was in one week and here I was ogling my best friend from college like some kind of pervert.
“I should go…”
Chef Henry waved my words off and spoke over me. “Ms. Davis, I’ve already filled Elliot in on the menu you requested. You two can work out the details from here, right?”
“Uh…”
“We’ll deposit the refund back into your account. Again, our deepest apologies. We wish you the best and sincerely hope that your wedding day goes off without a hitch.”
“Thank you.”
With a nod, Chef Henry rose and disappeared from the hall.
I fiddled with the straps of my purse. “I should head out too. Lots to do before the big day.”
“I can imagine.” Elliot took one more swig and turned to me. “Need some company?”
“No. No. I’m good.”
“Come on.” He swiped his phone from the table and stood. “I just so happen to be free.”
“What if I don’t want your company?”
“Please.” He flashed me a heart-stopping grin. “Who would turn down all of this?”
Me.
I should.
“Besides it wouldn’t be the first time I acted as your chauffer,” he added.
My mind flitted to the second year of college when I sprained my ankle. Elliot drove me everywhere for two weeks straight and even carried me—bridal style—to class when the pain flared up.
“I can drive myself. My car’s outside.”
“That’s great because mine isn’t.”
“What?”
“I haven’t gotten around to buying a truck yet. Maybe you can help me out in exchange for my company.”
“You mean help you buy a car?”
“Yup.”
“A real one.”
“No, a toy one.”
I choked.
“I’m kidding, Mami. A real one.” He arched an eyebrow. “Now pick your pretty jaw off the floor and let’s get moving.” Elliot strolled ahead of me.
I stumbled behind.
It wasn’t that I was shocked Elliot was buying a car. People bought them all the time, so no surprises there. It was the fact that he was asking me to pick one out with him.
Like he would back in the day when he needed an opinion on a gift to buy his grandmother or when he wanted to change his hairstyle or needed company in the library while he studied.
My opinion. My presence. As if it mattered to him now, seven years of silence and distance later. As if we were two carefree kids again with a relationship that bordered on boyfriend-girlfriend but never really was.
Elliot paused and noticed I wasn’t trailing him. His eyes fastened on my face. Lips curved into a smirk. Blue eyes crackling. And I had the sudden realization that I was amusing him deeply.
I teetered back before I came face-to-face with a force that I hadn’t been able to resist in college and somehow knew that I was no stronger to combat now.
“Imani,” he said.
Deep, chocolaty voice.
Steely gaze.
Enough sex appeal to steam up a club.
Clearly, I wasn’t as immune to Elliot White as I wished. As I’d tried to be so many years ago. Much to our colleagues’ complete confusion.
“Are you sure you’re not dating?”
“We’re just friends,” was our constant reply.
No one believed it.
Not even me.
But Elliot never said anything to hint at an interest in something deeper while I’d just kept falling and falling until I didn’t know where I ended and he began.
Did I try to clarify anything?
No. Because I wasn’t a fool. I refused to be one of his many, many half-dressed groupies who served up their hearts on a platter only for Elliot to crush at his whimsy. He was the un-chainable and I was the hapless heart he’d chosen to take along for the ride.
“I missed you,” Elliot said softly.
Emotion welled in my throat. His version of missing me included not calling or bothering to contact me despite the many, many different avenues that social media had birthed.
I put on a brave face and smiled. Because that was the Imani that Elliot knew best. The one who covered her emotions and laughed at all his jokes and secretly pined for him from a distance.
That Imani had broken her number one rule and fallen headfirst for a guy who didn’t feel the same way.
But that was a long time ago.
And though I could pretend, I would never be that girl again.
Chapter 3
Elliot
“When’s the wedding?” I spit out the word, wondering why those seven letters—that meant something as innocuous as a ceremony—could taste so bitter.
“Next week Saturday.” Imani focused on the road, her eyes squinting slightly to combat the harsh, evening glare. As her fingers flexed on the wheel, she pulled her bottom lip slightly between her teeth.
The movement was subtle, but I was distinctly aware of it.
Everything she did had my full attention.
Imani and I went way back—we met at university when we were both only eighteen. During the school year, we spent hours sitting side-by-side, our arms, hips and thighs touching, while we studied. On holidays, we stripped down to our underwear and went swimming in the lake with our friends.
Normally, thinking of Imani filled me with a warm, fragile feeling, like bubbles in the wind. Beautiful, but delicate.
Right now, seeing her in the flesh, my emotions were all over the place and I wasn’t sure why.
I stared out the window at the scenery rolling by. Colorful houses. Diverse people. Enough coconut and palm trees to fill the Caribbean Sea.
Paradise.
We stopped at a red light.
Imani glanced over.
I caught her looking and smiled.
She slid her eyes away and said randomly, “I think you’d really like Amir. I’ve had him for two years. He’s loving and very affectionate.”
“Amir? Is that your dog?”
“My fiancé.”
I frowned, the excitement seeping out of me.
Forget paradise. This place was hell.
“How’d you two meet?” I asked to be polite.
She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel and unleashed a brilliant smile.
Freaking stunning…
Back in the day, guys used to line up outside Imani’s dorm doing stupid crap just to see her eyes light up. I was the only one who could tug that grin from her though.
Looked like my throne had been usurped.
“It’s a really funny story. I was driving to work and the car in front of me slammed on the brakes. I had to do the same so I didn’t ram into him, which made the car behind me slam into my taillight.”
“Let me guess. The guy who tailed you was Amir?”
She nodded enthusiastically. The dark curls sticking out of her messy bun bobbed their tails in agreement. “I froze up. Couldn’t get out of the car. You know how I get when it comes to drama.”
I did.
Biggest example was our third year of college. My girlfriend at the time was a huge catch. Pretty face. Big tits. Everything a hormonal twenty-one-year-old could wish for.
Life was perfect.
Then without warning, Imani started distancing herself from me. Excuses. One-word text messages. I swear I saw her diving into bushes to avoid me.
In a fit of confusion, I went to Portia and asked what was up. That’s when I found out the truth. Behind closed doors, my girlfriend had been bullying my best friend.
We broke up immediately and I went straight to see Imani.
My thuds almost cracked the metal door.
Silence.
“I know you’re in there, Mami!”
Another knock.
“Open up!”
The door creaked open and a tiny sliver of her pretty face came into view.
“What?”
“Come outside.”
“No.”
“Then I’m coming in.”
She sighed and slipped into the hallway, wearing only a tank top and sleeping shorts.
“What the hell, Imani?” I hissed. “Why didn’t you tell me Sasha was being such a—”
“What would it have done?”
“Huh?”
“ You liked her, didn’t you? I didn’t want to get in between you two.”
“Bull.” My nostrils flared. “More than anyone else, you should know me best. You should know I wouldn’t be down for anyone who treats people that way.”
Imani frowned.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I stepped closer.
“Because people would think I was trying to sabotage you two.”
“This isn’t about other people.” I stopped. Near enough to smell her light, vanilla scent. Like the earth after a fresh rain. Clean. Sweet. Vulnerable. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyelashes flickered. “Because… giving up is better than giving your all and losing.”
“Elliot?”
“Hm.” I straightened.
“Are you listening?”
“Yeah.” I licked my lips and held the strap of my seatbelt. “You were saying something about a car accident.”
She chuckled. “You could at least pretend to be interested.”
“I am interested.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes.
“Tell me the rest.”
“Not much to tell.” She flicked the indicator. “After the accident, Amir asked me to dinner. I said yes and the rest is history.”
I knew a thing or two about history and, if I cared to compare sizes, I was pretty sure four years trumped two.
The light turned green.
Imani drove ahead. “Did your Mom come with you and Gran or did she stay in Chicago?”
“Mom passed a few years ago.”
Her eyes widened and she whipped her head to the side. “Geez, Elliot. I didn’t know.”
The mood in the truck took a nose-dive.
I could sense that Imani was beating herself up and assured her, “It’s fine. You couldn’t have known.”
“Are you okay?”
“We were with her till the end. She passed peacefully. It was the most we could hope for.”
“I’m so sorry, Elliot. I know how much your mother meant to you.”
I sucked in a deep breath. Mom’s battle with cancer was a dark cloud in my life. A season of quiet horror. I should’ve been heartbroken when she died. Anyone in my position would have lost it.
Instead, I’d smiled.
At the end, Mom had been in so much pain that they’d shot her up with medication. It made her numb. Stole her sanity. She wasn’t the woman who’d raised me. She was just a husk of her former self.
Moments before that last dose of painkillers, Mom had begged us to let go.
She wanted to go.
And I wanted whatever she wanted.
Imani squirmed, clearly uncomfortable with the Pandora’s box she’d accidentally thrown open.
I decided to toss her a rope. “So what dealership do you recommend?”
“Actually, if you don’t mind, I was hoping I could help you pick out a car another day. I have a schedule I need to stick to.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. What are we doing first?”
“Shoe shopping.”
“Shopping?” I groaned.
She gave me a mischievous side-eye, the life returning to her smile. “You’re the one who insisted on sticking around.”
“You should have given me a heads-up.”
“And ruined this moment?” Luscious lips tilting up, she laughed. “No way.”
Just like that, we were back in The Bean Room, joking around and drinking copious amounts of caffeine.
Some kids took Adderall to make it through rigorous essays and research papers, but I never took a tablet. Imani energized me more than any drug could.
“What about your older sister? Jemma… Emma or something?”
“You mean Ellen?” She snorted.
“Right.”
“Ellen’s studying in Jamaica right now.”
“Oh.”
“And Portia’s busy with her boyfriend, Shawn.”
“Portia.” An image of the pretty girl with brown skin and a crown of wild, black curls came to mind. “How is she?”
“On cloud nine. She found someone who loves her more than life itself.” Imani bopped her chin as if that was the way it should be. “Shawn is even more introverted than her, so they really suit each other.”
“Did you set them up?”
“Nooo.” Imani coughed. “My attempt at getting Portia to loosen up made things worse.”
“What happened?”
Imani swerved the car into a parking spot. “Oh, look. We’re here.”
I flattened my lips together, shooting her a dark look for avoiding the topic.
She smiled sweetly. “You can bounce if you want. I don’t mind taking you home.”
“I’m game.” I pushed the door open.
Leaving her now, after spending so many years apart, was not an option.
I hopped outside and almost fainted when a wave of heat slammed into my body. It’d take a while to acclimate to the temperatures in Belize. Already, I could feel my cheeks burning.
Imani walked into the boutique. The store was empty, unsurprising for a Friday morning. Most of their customers were probably at work.
“Good evening, ma’am.” A woman in a polo shirt with the store’s logo on the pocket beamed at us. “How can we help you today?”
Imani smiled. “We’re just looking.”
“Let me know if you need any assistance.”
“Thanks.” I nodded.
When the woman was out of earshot, Imani leaned over to whisper. “I see you’ve still got it.”
“Got what?”
“Those flirting skills.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” she sang.
Dumbfounded, I followed Imani to another aisle. She’d been like that back then too, accusing—no, not accusing… insinuating that I was a flirt who never took a woman’s attentions seriously.
We’d argued about it. At length.
My mother and grandmother raised me to be polite. If someone misunderstood my intentions, it wasn’t my problem.
Imani had gotten strangely passionate about her opinion though. I used to fight with her just because I enjoyed seeing that flame in her eyes.
“You can sit over there,” she said as she browsed.
I draped my arm on the shelf and looked down at her. “I’m good.”
She pulled her lips in and nodded.
We spent a few minutes looking around until Imani found something she liked. I stood behind her while she tried it on. Her movements were graceful and confident.
Man, she looked so good.
She’d filled out in all the right ways, but those eyes and that spunk were Imani Originals.
“What do you think about this?” she asked, rising to her feet and bouncing around with one foot in silver heels and the other bare.
“It’s—”
“Gah!” Imani tripped over the box on the floor and went flying.
I moved on instinct. Stepped forward. Slammed my hands against her waist and upper back, keeping her up while still holding her in a dramatic dip.
My fingers curved against her waist, taunt, hesitant. Torn between setting her on her feet and pulling her closer.
She looked into my eyes. A four-letter word tumbled from her pink-stained lips. It shocked me, but it was so like her that I had to smile. She cursed again, her hands winding around my bicep.
Translation: we were both screwed.
Chapter 4
IMANI
Screw it. Elliot was beautiful. There. I’d said it. Or thought it. Because saying those words out loud woul
d make me a bigger jerk than I already was.
And having feelings for a man who was not my soon-to-be-husband popped up as number one under the ‘How To Be A Jerk List’.
So what could fix this?
Was there even a fix?
It wasn’t like I wanted to be attracted to Elliot. I didn’t wake up this morning and decide, ‘hey, I should start drooling over my ex-best friend seven days before my wedding’.
I loved Amir.
I. Loved. My. Fiancé.
Why was this my fault anyway?
It was Elliot’s.
How dare he look so damn sexy in a baseball hat and a T-shirt? Who gave him permission to sculpt his biceps or grow his scruff or singe me with his gorgeous blue eyes?
He should choose between being handsome, sexy and adorable.
What kind of greedy douchebag claimed all three?
I shouldn’t be thinking this.
But the more I tried to stop, the more I noticed. The little wrinkles growing out of the corner of his eyes. The tiny mole beneath his right ear. The breadth of his neck. The shape of his lips.
My mouth opened.
A curse word flew out.
This was wrong.
So wrong.
His fingers gripped my waist tighter. His arm wound around my back. Shockwaves of electricity surged from his fingertips to the nerves in my body that controlled both the pleasure and the pain signals.
I cursed again.
In my mind, I was back on that rollercoaster I rode when I was fifteen. It was my first time visiting the States for vacation. My sister, Ellen, tried it with me.
The machine had crept along the rails. Up. Up. Up. Whisking me high enough to touch the heavens. To rake my fingers through puffy clouds.
This wasn’t so bad, I’d thought.
And then we plummeted.
The wind had torn through my hair, slapped my cheeks silly. My heart relocated to my throat, expanding, exploding.
Exhilaration. Terror.
Screaming. Laughter.
I was scared, but there was the sky, close enough to touch. And there were the clouds, telling me everything would be okay. And, all the while, the laws of gravity screamed that something was going terribly wrong.
Here I was again. Riding a death-trap machine called love. My heart going crazy and the laws of life screaming that I was playing with fire; that bad people started out as good folks who’d mistaken the rollercoaster as permission to touch the sky.