Mr. Mysterious In Black (3 page)

Tevin was unacceptable, ineligible, absolutely
not
the son-in-law that Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell would approve of. He was, quintessentially, the kind of man all women should steer clear of. Tevin Trouble was what I called him. Trouble with a capital T. But I can’t lie, though, I adored the curly-haired, Hispanic hombre as a brother as he loved me like a sister. At just over six feet he was athletically built with a unique Spanish swagger to him. He had a large heart-designed tattoo with massive wings on his arm that had all three of our names etched in it.

“Just imagine, you own a house with five bathrooms,” I slurred, wagging a lazy finger at Tevin. “And you,” I slurred to Kelsy, “have enough money to buy one with twice as much bathrooms. Yet, in this apartment that I
rent
and
share
a bathroom, you dwell in it more than I do.” I closed my eyes and flopped back in the recliner. “I should just let y’all pay my rent when Brenda gets back from New York. Lizards.”

“We just wish you’d actually
let
us pay the flippin’ rent and stop playing Miss Pride,” Tevin snapped, his words all curled up with that Hispanic accent.

Ignored him I did.

“Come on, Sadie. You’re stressing yourself out over things we can help you with easily. Nothing’s wrong with accepting help from others sometimes,” Kelsy joined in, her voice laden with compassion.

“I don’t want your money. Neither do I want your pity. Didn’t you guys just say you were leaving?”

“Stubborn as always,” Tevin said, wagging his head. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go.”

Their steps neared me and then I felt their kisses on my cheeks. “G’night, pony. See ya in da’ morrow,” Kelsy whispered.

The soft click of the door seconds later confirmed that they were gone. Unsteadily, I got up from the recliner and headed to my bedroom, tossing myself onto the bed without undressing.

Oh shoot…

It didn’t matter how stoned I was, there was one thing I had to do before I met up with sleep. I reached over to the nightstand, retrieved my old, tattered bible and opened to where it was bookmarked. The words were blurred due to the heaviness of sleep in my eyes, but I strained and read the highlighted words in Proverbs that I’d been reading every night for the past six years:

Oh God, I beg two favors from you; let me have them before I die.

First, help me never to tell a lie.

Second, give me neither poverty nor riches.

Give me just enough to satisfy my needs.

As the last of the words slurred from my lips, my eyes instantly grew heavier and sleep overpowered.

B
rilliant sunrays came bursting through my bedroom windows, coercing me from my sleep. My eyes opened in reluctance and an instantaneous headache pounced upon me.

Hangover.

Today would be a weighty, mood-swinging day, I could tell. Rising from my slumber, I dragged myself to the bathroom.

My hideous reflection stared back at me in the mirror, cognac irises surrounded by lashes as long as palm tree leaves. My heart-shaped face was all mascara-blotched and lipstick-smeared. And my twenty-six inches of chocolate brown ripples were tangled in knots. Death resembled me.

Deciding on a long, hot shower, I denuded myself and hopped beneath the steaming shower. Tensed muscles soon relaxed as hot water sprayed over my body. Scorching, I liked it that way. Sometimes I think I have an addiction to pain. It’s distracting.

Tossing my head back, I let the water beat on my face, stinging my sensitive skin.

Lord, what was to become of me now?
I. Am. Such. A mess.

That tragic and unexpected news I received last night still had me horrifically shocked. Though, I couldn’t understand why it was a ‘shock’ when I’d known it was bound to happen sooner or later. A mere month after breaking up with
him
. A mere month. And now he was gone.

It was the work of a divine intervention that I’d timely mustered up the courage and left him. For sure, as soon as I realized that I was a mess on my own, I would’ve gone back to him. As I always did.

When Tevin had brought me the news last night about
him
, my ex-boyfriend Cali D, being murdered in his house, I’d slipped into momentary shock. As much as I was sick and tired of the selfish, insensitive bastard, learning that the life of someone you’ve spent so much of your time with had just been taken with such brutality as if it had no value, does indeed summon forth tears. Cali D was never the ideal man. But he was there for me at a time when I was lost. Yes, once upon a time I was twenty times more lost than I am now. Believe it.

What if I’d never broken up with him? It was a ritual for him to stay in on Tuesdays and watch boxing matches on television. And I knew, implicitly, that I would’ve been there with him, sprawled on his fluffy white carpet in his TV room watching boxing matches, and the assailants would have killed us both.
I
could have been dead.

I shuddered.

The thought was frightening. It was sad that he had to go that way. I didn’t love him, no, but he was what I knew for six years. Rough, tough, hardcore love. Drugs, guns, cynicism and disloyalty.

Cali D had been my shoulder, my refuge, and an oasis in the desert since
that time
I could no longer plague myself with thoughts about—thanks to my retrograde amnesia. I was heartbroken, vulnerable and weak, and Cali D was a timely distraction. But I’ve never loved him. Never wanted to share my heart with anyone. So because Cali D was easy
not
to love, I’d stayed with him. Many a times I’d left him when he became overwhelming and possessive, but I’d always go back, for the fear of starting over; or worse yet, meeting someone and falling in love with them. I didn’t want to love. There was some unknown force that wouldn’t allow me to. So staying with Cali D seemed safe. Safe only where my heart was concerned, but not my life.

The thought that my blood, along with his, could’ve painted that white carpet red, was shivering. I hated my life, yes, but I didn’t want to die, no. “Thank you, God,” I whispered under the cascading hot shower, “for getting me out of there in time.”

That’s why I’d drunk myself into oblivion last night. I was so shocked, desolate, despaired, timorous. In a myriad of emotions I was entwined, and the alcohol was comforting. It’d afforded temporary solace.

After showering and spending over thirty minutes of blowing-drying and struggling to school my overly long and unruly curls, I began rummaging through my closet of self-made apparels.

I smiled with pride for a moment.

At least I was good for something. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than sketching my own fashion, shopping for fabrics—when I could afford such luxury—sitting behind my mother’s old machine and creating my own designs. It was my vice.

A dress that I’d made last winter, intended for this season, caught my eye: a pale green, squared-neck, flared, spring dress. I grabbed it from the hanger and donned it along with my light yellow loafers. Then girlishly puckered my lips as I turned from side to side checking myself out in the mirror. I looked very…Spring.

My overt predilection for colors was beknownst to all. I couldn’t help it. Besides, my mood was not in its brightest today, so my apparels might as well be. To complete my outfit, I grabbed my large Givenchy handbag, black with yellow straps.

After snatching up everything I needed, I left the apartment, stuck my earplugs into my ears and selected Pink’s song,
Crystal Ball,
on my iPod. Apt for my crappy life right now. There were a million cracks in my crystal ball. I wrestled my emergent feeling of depression into submission as I commenced my promenade to Starbucks under the warmness of the early March sunlight.

Seating myself in a corner at Starbucks, I took a sip of my espresso, closed my eyes in appreciation and hummed. Upon checking the time on my cell phone I noted it was 9:25am. Ten o’clock would be appropriate enough to visit Miss De’Lacy. That gave me a few minutes to catch up on this Laura Kinsale novel I’d been trying to complete for about two weeks now. I withdrew my paperback of
Flowers from the Storm
from my handbag and began reading. Despite his impediment, I was utterly in love with the hero Christian Langland. But was overly disgusted and annoyed with the heroine, Maddie.

“Wouldst thou likest…” I mocked at the pages.

A stifled chuckle sounded above, startling me, which prompted me to look up, and there I met warm brown eyes peering down at me. A tall, ashy-blond haired man, who was rather very handsome, by the way, was hovering over me, his mouth twisted in a grin suppression.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” I echoed. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, you can. By allowing my presence at your table so I can enjoy my coffee. I’m in a rather somber mood today and need me some company.”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid my mood mirrors yours. I couldn’t possibly bring cheer to anyone at the moment. And unlike you, I’m desiring no one’s company. Not even my own.”

“Already we have one thing in common. That’s got to be a sign.” His smile was charming and his voice soothingly melodic. Clad in a charcoal jacket suit with a crisp white shirt and shiny black shoes, he resembled every bit a confident businessman. He looked…expensive.

“My mother told me never to talk to strangers,” I quipped, bringing my book up to my face as a sign of dismissal.

It was ineffective.

He chuckled and took the vacant seat opposite me. “My mother told me the same thing. That’s two things we have in common so far.”

“You’re annoying me,” I said petulantly.

He nodded towards the book in my hand. “More than the character you were mocking in that book?”

His question elicited an involuntary giggle from me. Oh hell no, I don’t think anyone could be as annoying as Maddie.

“Yes,” I lied.

With a bright smile, he fixated his stare on me, causing me to shift uncomfortably. “You are very beautiful. Quite radiant.” His brows crinkled in a frowned at that, and something unfathomable flitted across his face. I didn’t acknowledge his compliment.

He was obviously as determined on sitting here as I was determined to ignore him. As long as he remained quiet, we’d be good. Bringing my book back up to my face, I resumed reading.
‘Christian went out on the battlements when he wanted to be alone…’

The handsome brown-eyed man was quiet and seemed to be lost in thought. Despite his earlier proclamation of being in a somber mood, it was paradoxical to his cheery demeanor, then. Now, he wasn’t looking somber per se, but something was definitely a bother to him. Not that I cared. I lowered my peeking eyes and continued nosing my pages.

“I’m Devon,” I heard him say after a while.

My eyes peered over the top of my paperback. “Oh,” was all I replied.

“Do you have a name?”

Irritated, I slammed my book shut and was about to say something peppery, when I noticed that his expression was different from what was it was earlier. He was no longer amused or thoughtful, but earnest and, if I wasn’t mistaking, desirous.

Staring back at him, I blushed a little. No, I wasn’t attracted to him, but that look was…

“Sadie,” I answered. “My name is Sadie.”

“Sadie,” he whispered my name absentmindedly, lost in thought again. What’s going on with him? Freaked, I checked my cell phone for the time and noticed I’d stayed past planned time. It was 10:10am.

Stuffing my book, iPod and cell phone back into my bag, I swung it over my shoulder and started to leave. My movements seemed to have dragged Devon from his reveries.

“Sadie, hold up.”

On a heavy sigh, I halted and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Your beauty and your presence are ethereal. I didn’t expect—” he stopped short and his brows furrowed. “I’d like to see you again sometime.”

What did he expect me to do, swoon at his words and say:
‘Oh, anytime, Devon. Anything.’
?

I snorted. Countless men have met women in coffee shops and repeated that line, I’m sure. Wagging my head, I turned and walked off.

He jogged to my side. “Please, Sadie. Can I have your number?”

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll give you mine.”

“Sure.” There was no hesitation, because I knew that I would
not
be calling. My hand shot out, waiting.

He frowned at my non-hesitant acquiescence. Running his hand along the sides of his jacket, he shrugged. “I have no pen or cards on me now. Let me put it in your cell phone.” He stared at me in scrutiny. Oh God, the man just wouldn’t give up.

Sighing, I reached into my handbag for my cell phone and handed it to him. He entered his number, then returned my phone and narrowed his eyes. “Can I trust that you’ll call me?” “Yeah. Whatever,” I muttered and strode off.

“It was nice meeting you, Sadie,” he called after me.

The feeling is unilateral, Devon.