“But what about Hakim’s party? Maybe I should reschedule the date, since he’s my friend and invited me…” Yeah, I trail off, hearing how lame I sound. I’m embarrassed for myself.
“Really, bitch?” V drawls, smirking. “You couldn’t come up with a better excuse than that?”
“Seriously.” Shana shakes her head. “Go on the date, then swing by Hakim’s afterward and give us the dirty details. Andplease, God,” she prays, slapping her hands together and lifting her gaze toward the ceiling, “let there be the dirtiest of details.”
“Why did I agree to this again?” I groan, but their replies of “Because it’s about damn time,” and “So your coochie won’t shrivel up and fall out,” aren’t really necessary.
V and Shana have been bugging me for the past six months about starting to date again. I’ve always said, no, not ready. But then, last week, they approached me again about a friend of V’s. I would be lying if I didn’t admit that the reason I finally caved might’ve had something to do with a picture Jenika had just posted on her Instagram account of her and Knox working side-by-side. Damn near shoulder-to-shoulder. Again, that hot, emerald flame had scorched my insides, and I’d impulsively given V the go-ahead to arrange the blind date.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Now, as I try to evade V and Shana’s stony, I’m-not-taking-none-of-your-shitty-excuses stares, I have no one to blame but myself…and the pointless, ridiculous jealousy over a man that I can’t have.
“Fine.” I sigh. “Let’s do this.”
…
“Are you sure your friend will be cool with me just showing up with you?” Roman Bethea asks as he extends a hand toward me and helps me from his car.
“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Hakim’s motto might as well be ‘The more the merrier,’” I say, smiling up at my date for the evening.
I have to confess—V has wonderful taste. Roman, with his black curls, dark blue eyes, honeyed skin that reminds me of a hot sun and desert sands, and his tall, wiry but strong frame, is beautiful. I bet the man stops traffic on Michigan Avenue with his looks. Then add his perfect manners, dry humor, ability to hold his end of a lively and interesting conversation, and that sexy way of completely focusing on me even when a gorgeous woman walks past. If I didn’t know that V goes for the bad boy, ruff ‘n’ scruff types, I’d wonder why she was pawning him off on me instead of snatching him up for herself. Because yes, Roman is that wonderful.
And we have zero chemistry.
Damn it.
Even now as we head for the cement steps leading to the front door of Hakim’s Andersonville home, I’m kicking my own ass. Or my stubborn, blind hormones’ asses. V isn’t the only one who apparently has a thing for the bad boy, ruff ‘n’ scruff type.
Silently sighing, I smile up at Roman and tug on his shirt sleeve. Man, he’d even dressed up for dinner at Gibson’s, only the best steakhouse in Chicago, and a movie.
Andhe’d paid.
Fuck. There must be something seriously damaged about me. Especially since I’m bringing him to Hakim’s party to maybe find someone to make up for what isn’t happening between us.
Yes, I’ve friend-zoned him and am now playing matchmaker. Or madam. Not quite sure which one.
“C’mon.” I nod toward the house. “Knowing my friend, there’s not much food, but the booze is plentiful.” I laugh. “Though, since it’s almost eleven, even that’s debatable.”
“Lead the way,” he says.
He places a hand on my lower back as we climb the steps. I knock on the door, and seconds later, it swings open and reveals Hakim, beer in hand. Loud hip-hop and a deep, thumping bass pour out of the house behind him. I’d caution him about his neighbors, but having met them, I know they’re probably in the house, too.
“Heeeyy,” he greets me loudly, drawing out the one word into three syllables. “You know I was gonna show my ass Monday if you didn’t show up tonight.” He pulls me in for a one-arm hug, then turns to Roman. “This your boy? Not as cute as the UPS chick but, okay. What’s up?” Grinning, he hikes his chin at Roman and steps back so we can enter. “Food’s in the kitchen, drinks in the living room. Help yourself.”
I slip past him, wrapping my fingers around Roman’s hand to guide him through the surprisingly spacious three-bedroom, two-bath house. This isn’t my first visit to Hakim’s home, so I navigate through the thick tangle of people drinking, laughing, grinding together to the music, and smoking in the living and dining rooms. From past experiences, I’m sure some of it has spilled over into the bedrooms, bathrooms, and even the hall closet, which actually happened on one memorable occasion.
We maneuver our way to the table burdened with bottles containing all brands and shades of alcohol and plastic cups.
“Roman!” V’s shout comes a couple of seconds before she appears and throws her arms around her friend and smacks a kiss to his cheek. “I didn’t know Eden was bringing you by.” With her arm slung around his waist, she winks at me. “Did I do good by you, or what? Isn’t he great?”
“Uh, he needs to go to the bathroom,” Roman interrupts, voice wry. He disentangles himself from V and glances at me.
“Down the hall and second door on the left,” I direct him. “And, uh, word to the wise? Knock, then knock again before going in. Otherwise, you might be scarred for life.”
He snorts. “Got it.”
As soon as he’s swallowed up by the crowd, V cups my shoulders and gives me a little shake. “Dish, woman.”
