“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”
I’m not looking for a gentleman. I’m looking for a lover. One who sets my sheets on fire and then goes home after. One I don’t hear from again until I’m ready for him to come back to my bed. One who has no expectations about being invited to my family celebrations. That’s what I tell myself I want, but the reality is, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to handle such an arrangement.
This guy is probably about hand-holding and long walks on the beach during his annual family vacation with the kid who hates me. But now that I think about it, there are no pictures of his dead wife on his IG. There’s never any mention of his personal life at all; only workout videos and pictures of him with fans.
He stands and corners me against the wall. He doesn’t press his body into mine, but if I move away, I will have to rub against him, and he knows it. So, I do it. I rub against him, let the smell of his cologne invade my senses and feel his hard body against mine for just a fraction of time. He groans softly, and just to show him how unaffected I am, I go the other way and rub against him again.
“A few things you should know about me. As much as I love Tara, I’m not her. Don’t assume I want the same things she does. I’m not looking for a relationship, especially not with a gentleman fromanypart of the country. I’m not a wallflower,” I whisper. “I don’t need gentleness, and I can pay my own way.”
“Then I won’t be gentle,” he whispers so close to my ear that I get goosebumps. “But you should know that I’m all man, and a man pays for his lady.”
“The man part is obvious.” As if anyone would ever doubt that. He has testosterone written all over him. “Very obvious.” His smile deepens at my words. “But I will never be your lady. I’ll never be your anything.”
It would be so tempting to be with him. I’d give him one night, maybe two. Nothing but dirty, nasty sex. The kind that leaves you breathless and aching in all the right places the next day. The kind that makes every inch of you sweat and leaves you slick between your legs. The kind that breaks your bed and ruins your sheets.
He’s beautiful. Just the way I like them. Tall, lean, and hard all over. But I can tell he’s not the type of man who will walk away. And the fact that he’s friends with my sister’s man complicates it. I’d run into him, and I don’t like to run into the men I invite into my bed. They are there to serve a purpose, not to become a permanent part of my life. Besides, I’m all about the black love. I need to keep reminding myself of that.
“I’ll remind you of this conversation when we celebrate your first anniversary.”
“Normally, I find confidence attractive, but not on you. You should go. I need to prepare for my next class, and I’m sure your son will be home soon.”
“He has a nanny,” he says.
“But he needs his dad.” I speak louder than I intend to, and I turn and give him my back while I gather my thoughts. I clear my throat and take a deep breath. Colt’s relationship with his son is not my business, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to put a neglectful parent in their place. It’s something I do quite regularly in my line of work.
“Tell me how you really feel, Queen Vee. He has a swimming lesson—”
“Not my business.” Deciding to shut this down before he says too much, I turn back to face him. “You should go.”
My door bursts open. A group of teachers walk in and look around the room. Of course, word got out that he’s here. I’m surprised it took them this long to barge in. The tension in the room lifts and Colt turns into the charismatic athlete that he is. In an instant, he smiles, turns, and signs whatever’s put in front of him. Phones are taken out and selfies requested are granted.
I sigh, turn to my whiteboard, and write the questions I want to discuss for the next class as more people filter in and out of my room. I tune out the questions and laughter, but Colt’s voice, just like him, carries and is impossible to ignore. I admit, he’s charming. He’s made every woman blush and every man feel important. It’s something I noticed about him in his commercials. He has a presence that’s far more than just his pretty face.
Once the bell rings, I turn to my full classroom and say, “Okay, everyone, make room for my students.” I point to the door, and the teachers hurry out, likely to get to their own classrooms. I can only imagine the crowd if Colt doesn’t leave before the final bell rings.
“I’ll just stand in the back until class is over. You promised to eat with me.” He walks to the back wall, leans against it, and crosses his arms.
“You’ll only disrupt my class. Go wait outside.” The words are barely out of my mouth when my door opens, and my students walk through. Word must have gotten out. It’s pandemonium when they spot my uninvited guest. Any hopes I had of getting through this afternoon’s lesson are gone. The kids are going wild. Cell phones they’re not supposed to have come out. A few of them go live on social media.
Resigned, I sit at my desk and watch the scene in front of me. Five minutes. I’m going to give them five minutes before I take control of this. Colt signs autographs, takes selfies, and answers questions.
Once I’ve had enough, I clear my throat, but that doesn’t get anyone’s attention. I slam a desk drawer, and the class calms down, but barely.
“Class, come on. Settle down. We have a lesson to get through,” I say above the talk.
“It’s Colt Chastain, Ms. Taylor,” a student yells out. “We don’t care about Shakespeare right now.”
I look over at Colt while he signs a student’s notebook.
“Okay, guys. Let’s give Ms. Taylor the room. I’ll be in the back. We can hang out for a bit after class, but you do your work first.” Everyone is in their seats within seconds, and I turn to today’s lesson.
True to his word, he stands at the back, watching and listening to me the entire time while we discuss Macbeth. I do my best to put him out of my mind and focus on my students, but his eyes practically burn holes in the back of my head. Because of the disruption, the bell rings before I can get through what I had planned for today, and when the class ends, the students congregate around Colt. My door opens and other students and teachers walk in, crowding him for autographs and pictures.
“It’s been fun, guys, but I have to go. Ms. Taylor promised to eat with me.” The class cheers, and I plan all the different ways I’m going to kill him for making that public. I ignore him while I grab my things, and the crowd in my room thins out until the last person leaves.
“You ready?” he asks as if he didn’t wreck my entire afternoon. He throws an arm across my shoulders. “You want me to carry that for you?” He takes my bag and slings it over his shoulder.
NINE
