Can't Stand the Heat (22 page)

And then it ended. With blissful exhaustion, she slumped back against the couch and he collapsed on top of her. His body lay limp and she closed her eyes, content with the feel of him on top of her, enveloping her in his warmth. She didn't want the moment to end.

Minutes later, Cris sat up and smiled as he gazed down at her.

“Hmm, look at that,” he mumbled. “We're still here. We made love and the world didn't implode.”

“Barely.” She grinned. “I wasn't sure if
I
was going to implode for a second there.”

“Same here, baby. You know, I bet we could even do it again and the world would still be here. Maybe even a
third
time.”

“A third time?” she asked, holding back her giggle. “A gambling man, are we?”

“When the odds are in my favor, I am.” He ran a finger along her jawline. “Are you a gambling woman, Miss Gibbons?”

She tilted her head and smiled up at him coyly. “Sometimes . . . under the right circumstances.”

“Well, I don't think you'll get any circumstances better than this.”

Then he kissed her, ending their playful banter and starting their lovemaking all over again.

C
ris awoke the next morning before Lauren on her fold-out couch, momentarily forgetting where he was. The previous night felt more like a steamy dream than reality. But he instantly regained his bearings and realized that it hadn't been a dream when he felt Lauren at his side, sleeping soundly. He shifted slightly, careful not to wake her, and gazed down at her as she slept.

Lauren had finally let down her last barrier last night and they had expressed physically the emotions that had left him fighting need and frustration for months. He knew how much of a battle it had been for her to finally let go, but he hoped she realized she didn't have to be afraid anymore. He knew she wasn't a gold digger. He trusted her completely.

Now if only she would just trust his judgment and trust
herself,
they would both be better off.

He slowly rose from the bed and walked across the living room to her bathroom. He rinsed his mouth out with mouthwash and took a quick shower, though it was a challenge. Lauren was a petite woman, so getting in and out of her tiny shower stall that was only half a foot away from her toilet and pedestal sink probably wasn't that big of a deal for her. But at six foot two with a muscular frame, Cris had to carefully negotiate the space, careful mindful not to splash water everywhere. He was starting to feel claustrophobic by the time he toweled off and opened the bathroom door.

Though he was sure he had awakened her with all the noise he had made, he was happy to see she was still slumbering blissfully. He smiled as he gazed at her, and a thought suddenly popped into his head. She had surprised him with so many meals in the past few weeks: sumptuous dinners and delectable desserts. Perhaps it was about time that he cooked a meal for her. It would be the perfect way to kick off their first morning-after together.

He slid into his boxers and walked across the room to her kitchenette to make her breakfast. He opened the fridge and rifled through the shelves before finding a carton of eggs and a loaf of whole wheat bread. The breakfast would be far from the five-star breakfasts she could make him, but he figured she would appreciate the effort. He'd have a plate waiting for her by the time she woke up.

Cris lowered the bread slices into her toaster and saw a frying pan on one of the open shelves. He began to quietly open kitchen drawers in search of a spatula, though one drawer wouldn't open on the first tug. He tugged a little harder. As he did, the drawer suddenly popped open and a series of envelopes spilled onto the kitchen floor.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Cris glanced over his shoulder to see if his mishap had woken her up. Lauren mumbled in her sleep and turned onto her belly, but she didn't awake. He relaxed and began to collect the envelopes back into a neat pile but paused when one caught his eye.

“Second notice?” he whispered, scanning the large red letters. He scanned another bill. “Final notice?”

He started to flip through the stack, examining each page. Lauren was behind on payments on several credit cards, an unsecured loan, even her phone bill. When he saw the amounts she owed, his stomach plummeted.

“What the hell . . .”

“Put them back,” a voice in his head suddenly warned. “Put them back and pretend like you never saw them. She put them there because she probably didn't want anyone to find them.”

No,
he argued silently.
She put them there because she didn't want to
face
them. That's a huge damn difference!

He couldn't believe that she was in such a dire situation financially and she hadn't said anything, she hadn't asked for help. Why would she do that?

Shame,
Cris thought. He was sure of it. Like her family, like her past, she was ashamed of her debt and trying to move on from it. But shoving it to the back of a drawer wasn't moving on. This was just sheer stupidity.

Cris gathered the rest of the bills and walked over to the sofa. He gently shook her shoulders. Lauren smacked her lips and murmured in her sleep. He shook her again. She slowly opened her eyes and gazed up at him. She gave a lazy smile as she turned over in bed.

“Mmm, good morning,” she said and then stretched and yawned contentedly. She glanced at the kitchenette and saw the pan sitting on the burner. The smell of toast was in the air.

“What are you cooking?” she asked as she slowly raised herself to her elbows. She modestly held the cotton sheet to her chest and wiped her eyes. “Need any help?”

Cris didn't answer her. Instead he tossed the pile of bills onto the empty pillow beside her, making her frown.

“What's this?” she asked.

“You tell me.”

Lauren shifted to a sitting position and picked up one of the envelopes. She squinted at the text. “Where . . . where did you get these?”

“From one of your drawers in the kitchen . . . where you left them.”

“Why were you going through my drawers?” she asked, seemingly with dismay and then with disbelief. She dropped the envelope to the mattress and glowered at him. “While I was sleeping you were digging through my things?”

“I wasn't ‘digging.' I was just—”

“You
were!
You were digging through my things and snooping on me. Don't lie, Cris! I can't believe this!” She slammed her balled fist down on the mattress. “I let a man spend the night for the first time in I don't know
how long
, and he's already going through my things! It's so typical! It's like being with James all over again! I told you that I don't like to be—”

“I was looking for a spatula for the damn eggs and I couldn't find one! So I started opening drawers and I found those bills instead!” He pointed down at the forgotten stack of opened envelopes, angry at her reaction. “Besides, don't turn this around on me! What the hell are you doing shoving fifty thousand dollars' worth of bills in the back of your kitchen drawer? Why haven't you paid them?”

She turned away from him, refusing to meet his gaze. Seeing the look of humiliation on her face, Cris could feel his anger wane. He took a step closer to her. “Are you . . . are you in some kind of trouble, Lauren?”

“That's none of your business,” she snarled as she wrapped her bedsheets tightly around her body.

“Yes!” she shouted as she climbed off the bed. “None of your business, Cris! Look, just because we had sex doesn't mean I have to answer to you! You're not my keeper!
OK?
I can take care of it myself! It's my problem! Not yours!”

Cris's concerned frown settled into a stony scowl.

“Well, if you're so capable, then why haven't you taken care of it already?”

“Because I don't have the money, obviously,” she muttered in return, gathering the bills back into a stack and walking across the living area to her small kitchen. The back of her bedsheets dragged behind her like a broken mermaid tail. She stumbled slightly before kicking some of the fabric aside.

The phone began to ring as Lauren opened the kitchen drawer. “Just let it—”

“ ‘Just let it go to voice mail.' I know! That's what you
always
say! Is it a bill collector, Lauren? Is that who keeps calling? Are
they
the reason why you never answer your phone?”

She ignored him and tossed the bills back into their drawer. She then slammed the drawer shut.

“How bad is it?” he asked as the ringing of the phone finally died. “And be honest with me. How much do you owe?”

“I told you that it's none of your business!”

“Damn it, Lauren, I
care
about you! That makes it my business! How much money do you owe?”

Her back was to him so he couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was embarrassed and hurt by his discovery. He watched as she leaned against the counter with her head down. She stood there so long in silence that he was about to ask her the question again, but he didn't have to. She finally gave her answer.

“Eighty-four thousand dollars.”

His eyes widened.

“Give or take a few hundred,” she said, turning around to face him.

He gazed at her, absolutely stunned.

“Don't look at me like that! I know I was stupid. I know it was a mistake, but I just got used to James paying for everything! Then . . . then he stopped paying and—”

“Left you holding the bag,” Cris said, finishing for her.

Lauren slowly nodded. “That . . . among other things.”

“What other things?”

He could see her hesitating again, like she was debating whether she should tell him the rest. This part had to be particularly bad based on the pained expression on her face.

“James loaned my mother money . . . and some of my sisters,” she said softly. “Now he wants all the money back unless . . . unless I go back to him. He said that's the only way he'll forgive their debts.”

“Damn it, Lauren, why didn't . . .” Cris stopped himself. He shoved down his anger. “Why didn't you tell me any of this before?” he asked more calmly seconds later.

“What was I supposed to say? ‘Sure, I'll sleep with you, and by the way I owe almost ninety thousand in credit-card bills. My ex-boyfriend is blackmailing me, too. I hope you don't mind.' ”

“You know I would have helped you! I still can help . . . if you'll let me.”

Her lips tightened. She crossed her arms over her chest and stubbornly shook her head. “No, I've told you before and I meant it: I don't want any of your money! That's what got me into all this trouble in the first place. I won't rely on a guy again! I can take care of myself! I'm capable. I
can
do it!”

“Do it with what, Lauren? You don't have eighty-four thousand! It's only going to get worse. Either you'll have to file for bankruptcy or you'll end up owing even more money!”

“That's not your problem!”

“Lauren, I'm not James. I'm not going to turn on you and hold my money over your head later. Please . . . let me help you!”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I said ‘no,' damn it! No! No!
No!”

“
Why not?
Tell me why!”

“Because you may not be James, but you are
still
a man! Don't you get it? I can't depend on you!”

Cris was struck speechless. It felt as if she had just sliced into his chest, ripping open his heart. It took a few seconds for him to recover from that one.

“That's right, I'm a man,” he said quietly. “But I'm also in love with you, and I thought you were in love with me, too. I thought we
trusted
each other! You say you're different from your sisters, but you're more like them than you think, Lauren. The same distrust they have for men, you have, too. The same walls they put up, you put up, too. No one gets let into that precious little female circle of yours. You won't accept money from me, not just because you don't need it or you're too proud to take it, but because you don't trust me.” He raised his eyebrows. “And why don't you trust me?
Because I'm a man!”

At that, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. “I think you should leave.”

He gazed at her, not saying a word. She was hurt, but he felt the ache ten times worse. He realized that the woman he had fallen in love with believed she couldn't depend on him, that it would show weakness if she did. He was offering her help and she was turning him away.

Jamal had cautioned him in the beginning about Lauren.
“I'm warning you, man! That way lies suffering and pain!”
Jamal had been right, except Cris didn't feel the pain in his wallet but in his heart.

“Fine. Have it your way.” He reached for his shirt, which had been tossed over the arm of the only chair in her living room. He quickly shoved his arms into the sleeves, not bothering to button it closed. He put on his pants, shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his socks, wallet, and car keys, and headed for the front door.

He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want to see if she was sad or angry or remorseful or indignant. He just wanted to get out of there.

He opened her apartment door.

“Cris!” he thought he heard her call after him as he shut her door behind him and stepped outside. He didn't turn back.