“The chef’s planning a special menu for the weekend, and I remembered how much you like Hawaiian pizza.” She takes our glasses and promises to return with water.
“You see this, darlin’?” I point at the pizza. “This right here seals the deal. There are only two types of people in this world. The type who loves pineapple on pizza, and the type who doesn’t. We’re on the same team.” I pick up a slice and put it to her lips. Maybe it’s because she’s had three drinks, but she eats from me and moans. It smells so good, I eat two slices, knowing I’ll pay for it at the gym tomorrow.
“You misunderstood what I said before.” I revert to our previous topic that she mistakenly took for me suggesting we would have a threesome. We certainly will not.
“Misunderstood what? You know what? I don’t care. Stop talking.”
“You, me, and Evan are going out for breakfast in the mornin’. Unless you’d prefer we eat at home. Whatever you want. I’m flexible that way, but I’m not much of a cook, so you’ll have to do it. I let the housekeeper and chef have the weekends off unless I’m havin’ a party.” She sighs and rolls her eyes, not offering me a rebuttal. Her dessert is brought out, and she eats the entire thing without offering me a bite. When Tilly delivers the check, Vickie pulls out a credit card to give to her, but I hand mine over first. Vickie offers no argument. A crowd of people walk in and see me. They approach, and I take pictures and sign autographs. While I stand between two older women, I watch from the corner of my eye as Vickie gets up from the table. I sign another autograph and run back in time to sign the check and leave a huge tip.
I catch up with her just as she’s pulling her briefcase out of my car. Dante stands next to her, holding the door open. She pulls out her phone and opens the Uber app. I take the phone from her and gesture for her to get inside the car. A large crowd starts to approach, and I see the look of defeat on her face. She sighs and climbs inside the car. I only take a few pictures before I join her in the back seat.
“My phone, please.” She holds out her hand, and I put it in her palm. “Dante, do you need my address?”
“Already have it, ma’am,” Dante says.
She crosses her arms and looks out the window, doing her best to ignore me. I sit back while Dante drives us the short ride to her house. I have to get home after Evan’s swim lesson, and we’re supposed to host Vincent for a sleepover.
“Evan’s spending the night at his maternal grandmother’s tomorrow. I have a game on Sunday and will be away for five days after that.”
She finally looks over at me. I can tell she’s talking herself out of saying something. She opens and closes her mouth three times until she finally speaks.
“Does your mother look after Evan while you’re gone?” Her tone is almost accusatory.
“Well, I have no family here.” I raise both hands when she continues to stare at me. “I have a nanny who stays overnight when I’m away, but we FaceTime every night I’m gone.”
She looks into my eyes until she finally nods, as if my words aren’t acceptable, but will do for now. All too soon, we reach her building. It’s three-stories, and according to Ethan, John Taylor gifted each of his kids with a condo when they graduated college. It turns out he owns property, both residential and commercial, throughout Harlem, refusing to sell when the neighborhood started to gentrify.
She thanks Dante for the ride, and I follow her inside to her door.
“I’ll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow ,” I tell her. This isn’t the type of question you ask a woman like her.
“No, Colt. I don’t like the publicity. You have a child who needs all your free time and attention, and you and I would be like oil and water. I drink, I cuss, I make my own decisions, and I have no intention of stopping any of those things.”
She opens the door and I follow her inside. It’s a very big apartment, likely having three bedrooms and two baths. The space is immaculate. There’s not a thing out of place, and it’s decorated in earth tones, but with splashes of color everywhere. There are fuzzy yellow throw pillows and blankets on her tan couch. The walls are lined with family photos, and there are fresh flowers in the living room. The kitchen has pristine white cabinets and marble countertops.
She puts her purse and bag down and turns to me.
“What about this?” I ask her.
She rifles through mail on the kitchen island, doing her best to ignore my presence. I stand as close to her without touching as possible and wait for her to face me.
“What about what?”
I take her by the elbow and spin her around, lower my face and take her lips with mine. Hers are soft, and she tastes as sweet as the peppermints she keeps in her purse. I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her closer. She’s probably the shortest woman I’ve been with in years. My wife was six feet tall, and the last woman I dated was the same height.
I bend down, and she surprises me when she gets on her toes. Soft hands cradle the back of my neck. She tastes of alcohol, something I’m not used to, but it tastes delicious on her. I sweep her tongue with mine and she does the same.
She moans in my mouth and presses her body against mine. As quickly as the kiss started, it ends, and she takes several steps away. She stumbles, and I quickly approach and grab her hips to hold her steady.
“Okay, champion. You’ve proven your point. I have papers to grade, and your son needs you. I’m sure you have practice or whatever it is that you do to prepare for a game.”
I step closer to her, but she walks away. I follow her to the fridge where she pulls out a bottle of water. “I usually eat whole wheat pasta with chicken breast and veggies, but I don’t have a game tonight. You want to come home with me?” Her head snaps up, and her lips curl into a smile. She shakes her head and waves me away. “You can grade your papers there, and my chef will make you whatever you want.”
She takes slow measured steps in my direction. I take an exaggerated step back and do my best to appear afraid when all I want to do is laugh. When there’s just a sliver of space between us, she points a finger at my face.
“Do you just bring random women home? Do I need to remind you that you have a small child and that he doesn’t need a turnstile of women—”
“Whoa!” I wrap her index finger in my much larger hand. “Every time you open your mouth, you make me like you more.” I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it. “I do not do that. It’s been a little over a year since I’ve tried to date anyone.”
