Distraction (Finding Me #1) (2 page)

The next day at work, I don’t see Tremaine at all which means that my da
y has already started out wrong, not to mention I spilled coffee on my favorite white blouse. So much for trying to be cute...and I dressed especially nice just in case I ran into him again.

Bummer...

To add to my angst, Corey was being overly sensitive this morning, telling me how he didn’t deserve to be yelled at and hung up on yesterday evening when he called to tell me about his last minute plans – talking about how he’d never hang up on me...blah, blah, blah. I could rattle off a ton of things I didn’t deserve – like the fact that he puts himself and his needs before the needs of his family and only comes to bed at a decent hour when he wants to have sex. Yeah, that’s romantic...

- - -

Towards the end of my work day, I’m so exhausted, I feel like I’ve been beaten. I’m sore, my legs hurt, my eyes are droopy and my booty feels like a seat cushion is permanently glued to it from sitting for so long. Who says white collar jobs are easier? I digress.

When the clo
ck strikes 4:55 p.m., I began packing up my things and as I walk down the hall, I see Tremaine. My heart starts to race like he has some sort of hold on me. I don’t even care about the stain on my blouse any longer. I’m just so thrilled to see him.

When I look at him, I can’t look away
. He’s tall, I would guess about six-three, has those brilliant light brown eyes and a bald head that suits him well. His lanky body is well hidden under his clothes, but I can tell that the man is in shape. He looks like he might even play sports. Basketball or football even. His voice I remember being deep and strong. He’s dressed nice too – has on a pair of khakis and a preppy sweater – looked like he just walked off an Ivy League school campus.

I secretly admire and appreciate him for dressing so well, because while society emphasizes how
glamorous a woman should look – with false eyelashes, Botox injected lips, weaves, wigs, fake nails, tons of makeup and red bottom shoes – not much stock is placed on how a man should look or dress, so when I see a man who takes the time to dress nice, I appreciate it.

I wish Corey would dress better. The only time he dresses nice is when we’re going out of town. If we were heading out to a movie or to dinner, he’d wear some dirty jeans, a shirt with some stupid tag phrase on it, socks and flip flops.
I remember our conversation once when we were getting ready to head out and try out a new restaurant:

“Oh crap, you’re dressed up,” Corey said, watching as I emerged from the bathroom.

I’d just finished putting on some makeup, eye shadow that matched my blouse and fluffed my hair in place just right.

“I’m not dressed up. It’s just a blouse, a pair of jeans and some wedges,” I responded. I had on gold bangles that matched my long necklace and hoop earrings. A few rings and the right makeup did the rest.

He smacked his lips in disappointment. “Now I’m gon’ have to go change clothes.”

You should change clothes. You look like a bum. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I was just trippin’ over the fact that, instead of complimenting me on how nice I looked,
all he did was complain about how he had to change his clothes because he thought I was too dressed up.

- - -

As Tremaine gets closer to me, I’m thinking of things to say. I’m not good at having small talk with a man – hadn’t done it in nine years. Then I begin to panic. What if he doesn’t speak? What if he expects me to speak first? What is the protocol for situations such as this? Should I wave? Or should I just keep walking like I don’t see him? What if he keeps walking like he doesn’t see me?

“Hey Kendra.”

Guess I got my answer...all that panic for nothing. “Hi,” I say.

“No coffee today?”

“Had a cup this morning. See...it’s all over my blouse.”

He
smiles. “Must’ve missed you in the break room this morning.”

Ah, so he was looking for me, too.

“I got here early,” I tell him. “Had to finish some stuff from yesterday.” That, of course, is not the
real
reason I got here early. This job sucks and I could care less about meeting deadlines or anything my supervisor asks me to do. I got here early because I was so anxious to see him again. He didn’t need to know all that, though.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you...
” he says. “A few of us are getting together after work on Friday. You wanna join us?”

While I let the sound of his sexy voice fully infiltrate my mind, I think about this for a moment. What should I do?
How many is a few? Where were they going? Would there be as equal amount of women there as men? Is Tremaine expecting an answer right now? What would Corey say about the whole thing? Then I remembered Corey’s Monday night after-work function. If he could go and kick it with his promotion-grabbing co-workers, why can’t I hang out with a few peeps from work?

So looking at Tremaine, I say,
“That’s possible. Where are you guys meeting up?”

He gives me the name of the bar and says, “
We usually hang out, have drinks, play pool, shoot darts, that sort of thing.”

“S
ounds like fun.”

“Cool,” he says.
“Hope you can make it.”

I hope I can, too.

After wishing him a good evening, I head on to the elevator, giddy with excitement. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.

C
orey didn’t have to work today, so when I get home around my usual time of 6:30 p.m., he’s sitting in his underwear with a ginormous bag of Doritos next to him watching Cops. Upon further inspection, I see chip crumbs intermingled with his chest hair as he gives me a look, trying to figure out why I haven’t greeted him with a hug and a kiss.

Uh, no
.

First off, the living room looks like Hurricane Katrina has been all up and through this joint. Second, his lips are rocking a thin layer of nacho cheese like it’s a new
ChapStick.

I continue on to Brandon’s room, hug him and once I get out of my work clothes, I go to the kitchen to cook Brandon some macaroni and cheese.

“Hey, babe...what’s for dinner,” I hear Corey ask.

Mind you, this fool has been home all day and he’s waiting for me to cook him dinner.

“I’m just making Brandon some macaroni,” I tell him.

“So what are we going to eat then?”

“Looks like you’ve already eaten,” I say, then silently laugh.

While Brandon is eating his macaroni, I fix myself a turkey sandwich and sit down with him to eat. He proceeds to tell me about school, proving to me that he can count from one to thirty now, all by himself.
I smile and thank God that my son takes after me.

After Brandon has been sleep now for a couple of hours, I know it’s my turn to get some shut-eye because I can barely keep my eyes open. So I shower, then get in bed and as soon as Corey hears the bedroom TV go silent, he tips in the room and slides up under the covers, trying
to spoon me with his crusty, sand paper feet touching mine. I simply turned over which ticks him off.

“Wow,” he says.

I’m not even facing him and I smell his nacho cheese breath.

“I don’t even get a hug or a kiss?”
he asks.

I roll my eyes and it takes everything inside of me to put my arms around this man to hug him. To kiss him. I give him a small peck on the lips and he tries to push his puckered lips against mine once more. I manage to pull away from him.

“That’s all I get?” he asks.

“That’s all you’re gettin’ tonight. I’m tired.”

He sighs, gets out of bed and goes back to the living room to watch the Cops marathon.

Ah, n
ow I can sleep in peace.

He’ll eventually fall asleep on the couch and I have the entire bed to myself once again tonight.
I’m
not
a sex toy. I’m a woman and I need more than a rub on the back to feel special. I want a man to come to bed because he wants to come to bed – not specifically for sex but because he loves me and wants to be with me – wants to wrap up the day and tell me that he loves me. That’s not too much to ask, right?

Friday night, I
find myself walking into an unfamiliar bar. I’ve never been to this place. Actually, I haven’t been to a bar since before I got married. I’m only in my early thirties, so the blaring hip hop music doesn’t bother me. It’s the fact that I’m here with a bunch of single women who are stalking the place like sharks encircling their next meal – in their case, men. While I
feel
like I’ve been single for the last three years, I’m not, and I don’t want to present myself as if I am. So as a reminder, I twirl my little wedding band and look for Tremaine and the rest of my fellow coworkers who are supposed to be somewhere in this place.

I feel myself getting flustered when I have yet to find
Tremaine or anyone else for that matter. I rarely know people from work, mostly because I choose not to talk to anybody. I’m not, nor have I ever been, a social butterfly. It’s not my thing. I open up to people once I get to know them, which is why I can’t believe I agreed to come to this bar in the first place.

What am I doing here?

I don’t see anyone who looks familiar so I turn around to leave and out of nowhere, there’s Tremaine standing behind me. He has a smirk on his face, looks sneaky and I wonder if he’d been watching me panic this entire time, getting a kick out of seeing the natural blush adorn my cheeks.

“There you are,” I say. “I was about to leave.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t see anyone.”

“Well, I’m here. Let’s go grab some seats,” he says.

As
I follow him to the bar counter, I’m checking him out from head to toe. He has on a pair of dark wash jeans, a glistening white pair of Nikes and an army green Polo. He smells as incredible as he looks, and I don’t know what kind of panty-dropping cologne he has on, but it sure is dangerous.

We take a seat on a couple of bar
stools and he looks at me and smiles.

“What?” I ask, because he’s studying me.

“Nothing.”

“You look like you want to tell me something. What is it?”

He hesitates for a moment then says, “You have the sexiest pair of lips I’ve ever seen on a woman.”

Talk about embarrassing...I can actually feel my cheeks turning redder than a brake light at night.
“Thanks,” I say then took away.

“You look very nice, Kendra.”

I smile, thank him again then ask, “So where’s everyone else?”

“There is no one else,” he tells me, then smiles a wicked, sexy smile.
He continues, “I told you that there would be more people here because had I asked you to come solo with me, I knew you would refuse.”

“Hmm...
I see,” I tell him. But for some reason, I’m not disappointed by his deception. I’m more flattered than anything. Still, I don’t want him to think that I’m stupid. I know the games men play. So I say, “You do all the women at work like this?”

“Nope. Just you.”

“Why me?”

He glares at me for a moment and I feel like I said something to upset him. But he takes that fear away when he asks, “Have you ever met someone, a stranger, and for some reason that’s completely unexplainable, you feel a strong connection to that person?”

Jeez. That’s the way I feel with him.

“Um, yeah
. I’ve felt that before,” I say.

“Well, that’s
how I feel about you, Kendra, so I wanted to explore it to see if anything was there or if this is just a fluke.”

It’s not a fluke. It’s not!

I wanted to scream it, but then I twirled my wedding band, reminding myself that I had a husband at home. Yes, he got on my last nerve, but scruffy, unkempt and all, he was still the man I chose to marry all those years ago. So I suck in a breath and say, “Well, I’m flattered. I really am, but I’m a married woman.”

“Yeah...I noticed the band on your finger. Your husband doesn’t lo
ve you enough to put a rock on it?”

“I have a rock, but it needs to be fixed.”

Tremaine grins.

“Why are you laughing?”

“It’s just that if you were my woman, I would make sure you had a rock big enough for the whole world to see, that unmistakably identifies you as
my
woman – that lets other men know that you are off limits. There would be no misunderstanding about whether or not you were married. I can hardly see that band on your finger...didn’t see it in the elevator when we initially met, and the only reason I see it now is because you’re sitting right beside me.”

Ouch
.

T
hat hurt for one reason – I told my husband a year ago that I either wanted my ring fixed, or wanted a new one. He didn’t even respond to me when I said it because the man never liked spending money on me. He spent money on himself, buying stupid little gadgets that he didn’t even need – a Bluetooth speaker, an MP3 ink pen, a watch radio and a portable cell phone charger. So summoning the nerve not to get upset about it now, I respond to Tremaine, “It’s cool. I’m not sweatin’ it.

“But I didn’t invite you hear to talk about that.”

“Okay, so why
did
you invite me here?”

“I told you...I feel a connection with you that I want to explore. And I realize you’re married and all, but it must not be that good of a marriage because you’re still here, sitting with me.”

Double ouch!

He had me. He was absolutely right. If things were
good in my marriage, there’s no way I would still be in this place after being lured here by a guy I hardly knew. I would’ve been gone as soon as he told me no one else was coming – that it was just me and him for the night.

A look at him for a moment, trying to determine his motives. He was hard to read and at times would appear completely emotionless, but a few things I picked up on was that he was
forthcoming and cocky, not necessarily bad qualities in a man. I kinda liked it. It was a refreshing change from drab and depressed. I actually found his company enjoyable. Did I have butterflies? Yes! Was I attracted to him? You better know it! Was I playing with fire? Like an arsonist plays with matches. Let me tell you why.

In the
mental state I’m in now, I’m vulnerable. I can admit it. I haven’t had sex with Corey in a month. I just wasn’t feeling the same ol’ same ol’ positions and ten minutes of heavy panting (from him) and me just lying there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for it to be over. Sex was mediocre at best, routine and felt more like an obligation than something two people in love shared. There was no romance. No nothing. This little time at the bar with Tremaine this evening was the most excitement I’ve had in years.

“What are you thinking about, Kendra?”

“Nothing,” I say. “So what’s your story?”

He grins again. He knows I’
m trying to change the subject.

“Well, I’m single, been that way for
a few years...was in a relationship with a woman who I thought I had a future with and she didn’t work out.”

“Why
not?”

“She was boring, lazy, had no ambition and most of all, she lacked passion.”

Weird
. Everything that I thought was wrong with Corey, he found wrong with his ex. Could that be a coincidence?

“Why was she boring?”

“She didn’t like to try new things.”

“Like what?”

“For instance, I wanted to go sky diving. She said she would, then when it came time to go, she wasn’t with it. Why is your husband boring?”

Dang it!
He tossed the baton back over to me, but now he was putting words in my mouth because, even though I may have thought it, I never came out of my mouth and said that my husband was boring. So I say, “I didn’t say my husband was boring.”

“
You don’t have to say it. I can sense it through you,” he replies. “So tell me. Why?”

“Well, it’s no
t as much boredom as it is self-centeredness. My husband forgets that he’s a married man most of the time. It’s like when I have to do something, I think about the needs of the family first. When he has to do something, he thinks of himself above all else.”

“I see how that could become a nuisance.”

The bartender brought us a couple of drinks.

“I ordered these before you got here
,” Tremaine said. “...chose a daiquiri for you...figured you’d like something fruity.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking a sip. Then I start to think like a wife – a guilty wife. What if Corey walked in this
bar and saw me having drinks with Tremaine? What would he do?

Then a gain, m
aybe if he did catch me in the act, that would make him realize how frustrated I am with our marriage and how much I need to feel special and wanted – not taken advantage of. This could be a wake-up call for him...

“How long have you been married?” Tremaine asks after he takes a swig of beer.

“Nine years.”

“That’s a long time.”

“Yep.” I say, twirling my index finger in the whip cream that tops my daiquiri. It was even longer for me because I have to live it everyday. When times were good, they were good. When they were bad, I wanted out.

“How long have you been single?”

“Three years.”

“That’s a long time, but I’m sure you’ve had plenty of dates.”

“Nah. I’m not much of a dater.”

I laughed. “Yeah, right. The same way you lured me here, I’m sure you’ve lured plenty of women to your bedroom.”

He gives me a hard stare and asks, “Why would you think that?”

M
y body temperature begins to rise again and soars through the roof of this place...

“Well, you’re good-looking...I’m sure you don’t have a problem meeting women. Your eyes are like precious
gems and you dress nice. I know women must hit on you all the time. As a matter of fact, I’ve seen several women in here checking you out.”

He turns up the beer bottle to his mouth again, taking a deep swallow. He didn’t bother to respond to me so I follow up with, “I know you’re enjoying your time being a bachelor.”

“I was...until I met you.”

“Wow.
I walked right into that one...”

“Nah, listen, Kendra...
before you think I’m spittin’ game because I’m not. I just feel something between us and I know you feel it too. I know you do. I can’t be alone on this...”

“What if I did?”

“Then I think we should do something about it.”

I furrow my browse and give him a look. I know he’s not suggesting what I
think
he’s suggesting. “And just what do you propose we do about it?”

“Next weekend, I’m
going to be at a bed and breakfast near Lake Norman. A friend of mine is getting married and I’m his best man. I want you to come with me.”

I laugh
, and even though I know my giggles are irritating him by the look on his face, I can’t hold it in. Did this man really ask me to go away with him? There’s no way.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks me.

“Because you’re funny. I can’t go away with you. No way.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, I don’t know you that well. We work for the same company, yes, but—”

“You know me enough. Besides, it’s not until next weekend, so we can spend the work week getting to know each other over lunch. We take the same lunch hour?”

I frown.
How does he know we take the same lunch hour? I never see him during lunch.

Ignoring him, I say,
“Second, what makes you think I would just run away with you like we live in some, Dawson’s Creek fantasy world?”

He smirks. “I didn’t say
run
away with me. I said come with me...for the weekend. Tell your boring husband it’s a business trip.”

I shake my head and stand up from the barstool. I’d heard enough. Even though I was in
uncharted territory, on the verge of wanting and finding something new, desiring passion and excitement in my life, once it presented itself, I folded. I couldn’t allow myself to take the bait.

“Thanks for the drink, Tremaine, but I think it’s time for me to go.”

I high tail it out of that bar, and borderline running to my car like a damsel trying to get out of distress, I hear Tremaine calling me.

“
Kendra...Kendra...hey, wait up a minute,” he says, coming for me, his voice rushed yet still strong.

He caught up with me in a few strides
, which confirmed for me that he was indeed the athletic type, and that he really wanted to catch me before I was able to jump into my car.

Somehow, he s
pun me around like I was a toy, grabbed me and pulled me into his arms. Holding my head steady between his strong hands, he kissed me, pushing his tongue deep into my mouth, aiming for my throat, licking, sucking and pulling on my lips like I was the appetizer after his beer.