Sweet Little Lies (23 page)

I
pulled up outside the restaurant and unclenched my hands from the steering wheel. I was so nervous, I wanted to throw up. Sorry for the graphic detail, but I really did. Though I had given up my self-medicating bouts of drinking to excess, I had tossed back a small glass of Merlot to settle my nerves before leaving the house. That damn wine felt like vinegar in my clenching stomach. Other people got nervous and had cute little butterflies fluttering in their stomachs; I had the whole damn militia from
Apocalypse Now
battling it out in there.

Handing my keys to the valet driver, I took a deep breath.
Inhale in, exhale out.
I tried to remember the calming exercises I had learned at yoga, but none of that Zen crap was working for me right now.There was nothing else to do but march myself into this party and face the man and the music. Technically, this was Carey and Clarke’s engagement party. But I was the one trying to kickstart the rest of my life tonight.

Lord, what if it was too late? What if he had met another woman? What if he was in there with some other woman? What if he ignored me? What if he didn’t feel the same? What
if, what if, what if? I was making myself crazy in an attempt to stall for time.

“Grown Woman Christina, move your ass,” I whispered to myself.

I took two steps forward and stopped to steady myself on my admittedly ridiculous shoes. In Steven-speak, I had all the weapons of the arsenal out tonight. He once said he loved seeing me in green. So tonight I had on a floaty dress in sheer chiffon layers of forest and lime green. Inch-wide straps crisscrossed my shoulders and molded into cups that raised and separated the girls in a very cleavage-flattering way. Then the dress floated away, swaying around my body to fall a good two inches above my knees. My legs were lotioned to a healthy glow and my freshly pedicured feet were looking super sexy in emerald snakeskin gladiator sandals with a wicked heel. My hair was styled in a curly updo and a few long curls kissed my shoulders. I went all chocolate and bronze with the makeup.

I just thanked God that I looked better than I felt.
Okay, Christina
. I was starting to freak out the valet dudes. I had been standing there by the CLOSED FOR A PRIVATE PARTY sign talking to myself for more than a minute or two. Dear God, I
was
a chicken-shit wuss.“I’m okay,” I told them when it was clear they were growing concerned.

I tucked my little silver clutch purse under my arm and clapped my hands together like I was psyching myself up for the big game. I did a little shimmy to shake off the rest of the nerves (no, it didn’t work).“Let me go get this man.”

Two more steps forward when I heard his voice. “You gonna come for me, woman? Or are you going to stand out here talking to yourself all night?”

Looking up, I had to brace myself to keep from falling down. My knees literally went weak. He stood farther up the walkway near the entrance to the restaurant and looked amazing. Slate gray suit, purple striped tie, crisp white shirt. Dreads held back, eyes fully green and loaded with twinkle. But it
wasn’t all of that, it was him. I drank him in. He was right here, he was alone, he was smiling, and he was waiting on me. When I didn’t take a step forward, he raised a brow.“Well, Tempest?”

My nerves fell away in that instant and I smiled.“Oh, I’m coming for you.” I closed the distance in a hurry. As I neared, he held out his hand. I reached for it and linked my fingers with his. I was home.“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” He smiled gently.

“Could it be this easy?” I wondered aloud.

He snorted.“You call these past months easy?”

“But I had a speech and a whole down-on-my-knees thing prepared.”

“Hmm, that on-your-knees thing sounds promising. Why don’t you save that for a little later on?”

I flushed.“Oh! But really, I wanted to…”

“For the record, Ti-Ti, all I wanted was for you to stand beside me.Aren’t you doing that?”

“I am.”

“I mean beyond the literal sense, are you ready to stand beside me?”

“I’m ready to be what you need me to be. What you deserve.”

“All of that, huh?”

“Whatever you want.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I like the sound of you.” Just hearing his voice again made me giddy.

He kissed my forehead.“Then let’s go in and celebrate for now.”

“One thing though.” I paused.

“Conditions, right now, really?”

“Just one,” I said.“I hope you’ll agree to it.”

“You won’t know unless you ask.”

“I want to walk in there with you to celebrate their engagement only if we got next.” I held my breath.

“Whoa.Where did that come from?”

“Grown Woman Christina.”

“I think I like her.Ti-Ti, is that a proposal?”

“Is that a yes?”

Instead of answering, he leaned down and kissed me. Slowly and sweetly. Dear God, I had missed that. Stepping back, he strode through the door, pulling me behind him, and a cheer rose up from our family and friends. I hadn’t realized they were watching the entire exchange from the window. Walking to the middle of the room, Steven held up our clasped hands.“Guess what?”

“What!”

“We got next!”

The party was only going to get better from here.

1. What did you think of Christina walking away from Steven in chapter 12? Should she have given them a shot, or was it a case of right person, wrong timing?
   

2. How would you feel if one of your best friends started dating your brother?
   

3. How would you feel if one of your best friends hit on your significant other?
   

4. Discuss how past relationships (especially those that went wrong) influence your current and future relationships.
   

5. Do you think the advent of social media, smartphones, and 24/7 Internet have changed communication in relationships?
   

6. What are your thoughts about older women who date younger men? Are you Team Cougar?
   

7. How do you deal with office drama when it comes your way?
   

8. What’s the best way to ask forgiveness from a significant other?
   

9. Clearly, both Christina and Steven had trouble letting go of the past and trusting. What advice would you give to them moving forward?
   

Don’t miss Michele Grant’s
White Mocha
in

C RUSH

In stores April 2011

Turn the page for an excerpt from
White Mocha
….

“Y
ou need to do something,” my assistant, Kim, said from the doorway of my office, propping a hand on her hip.

I glanced up from the report I wasn’t really reading.“What do you mean?”

“Girl, you are dragging.”

“It’s eight o’clock at night.” I tried to justify my sluggishness.

She pursed her lips.“Um-hmm, but you looked like this at eight o’clock this morning.”

I reached back and lifted my hair off my neck, kneading the knotted muscles there. I sighed, knowing she was right. I’d been lethargic, restless, and listless for days. I hadn’t been sleeping well either.“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe I need some vitamins, a protein injection, some caffeine or something.”

She laughed.“Oh, you need a protein injection all right—how long since you and Say-It-Ain’t-So Joe broke up?” The lovely nickname she had for my ex, Joseph.

“Nine months.”

“And since then?”

I sighed again.“No one.”

“No one.” She shook her head in disgust.“Not a peck on
the cheek or a hand grazing your hind parts. Jayla, get some, already!”

I laughed.“Kim, there’s more to life than sex.”

“How would you know? You have no sex nor life to speak of.”

“That’s harsh. I’m career focused. I am woman, hear me roar.”

“Ya lonely and cranky. Fix it.”

“So you want me to just jump on the next guy I see?”

She turned to leave on her crocodile stiletto and smiled at me over her shoulder.“There’s an idea!”

“Yeah, right—that is
so
me….”

“Seriously,” she called out as she strode toward the elevator, “a little spontaneity wouldn’t kill you.”

“That’s what people say to excuse rash behavior.”

“Nothing wrong with cutting loose every once in a while. You don’t have to make it a lifestyle choice. And don’t stay here all night—you cannot snuggle up to income projections when you’re old!” Her final words caused a few of the other late-night stragglers to stick their heads out of their cubes and offices to see who she was addressing.

“Good
night,
Kim.”

“‘Night, boss.”

The thing of it was—she was right. Since Joseph and I split (okay, since I kicked his lying, cheating, wallet “borrowing” ass out), I had funneled all of my energy into my career and little else. I stopped into the coffee shop every morning (specialty mocha and zucchini muffin), I visited my grandmother once a week, I went out with friends once a month. Everything else was work related.

I had been working at a nonstop pace for months. And I was well on my way to being the youngest chief financial officer this company had ever seen. Granted, BeniCareCo was a small, independent health insurance company, but I was making my mark. As the assistant vice president of financial operations,
I was two steps away from my goal. But I was tired. Maybe the listless, restless thing was my body’s way of telling me to slow it down.

Slow down for who and for what? What was I in a rush to get home to? Most of my friends were either married or on the same crazy, cutthroat corporate merry-go-round I was. I was too restless to curl up with a book. Maybe I’d watch a movie, soak in a long bath. Irritated with myself, I closed the folder that was in front of me and turned away.

As I swiveled my chair toward the window, I looked out into the late summer night. Chicago was on the tail end of a heat wave. Downtown Chicago was full of people enjoying the balmy, breezy weather. Across the street, I saw a couple coming out of the new coffee shop on the corner. The couple looked happy and carefree, clutching each other with one hand and their coffee with the other. The sign reading JAY’S COFFEE CAFÉ bathed them in an electric blue and green light.

Suddenly I wanted what they had: their togetherness, their apparent happiness, a shared carefree moment. I sighed. You have to give to get. You have to look to find. And I hadn’t been doing much of either lately. Maybe I couldn’t get that happy-couple vibe right away, but for now I’d settle for their coffee.

I packed up my desk, sliding what I needed into my purse and laptop case. By the time I got downstairs, crossed the street, and entered the door, there were no other customers in the coffee shop. Actually, looking around—there didn’t appear to be any workers there either.

“Hello?” I called out.

“We’re closing up,” a deep voice called out from the back.

I was inexplicably disappointed. As if the promise of that carefree moment could truly be found in a cup of coffee. “Story of my life,” I said to no one in particular, and pivoted back toward the door.

“Excuse me?”The voice sounded closer.

I swiveled back around and stopped dead in my tracks. A
flash of pure heat passed through me, awakening nerve endings and receptors that had been long dormant. In front of me stood a specimen of maleness that could only be described one way: hotness. The kind of hotness that burned right through common sense and rational thought.

In the many times I had visited this coffee shop, I had never seen him. And believe me, I would have remembered. He was gorgeous in an oh-my-God-where-did-you-come-from kind of way. The kind that takes your breath away. He was a beautiful exotic blend of European and African-American descent, had a Derek Jeter kind of vibe without all the unnecessary polish. Raw, earthy, and did I say brutally hot? Light green eyes framed with thick lashes, wavy brown hair closely cropped to his head, full lips set into a square jawline currently softened with a smile. He was a solid block of a man, just at six feet tall, with the muscles of a gym regular. Flat-front khakis and a navy polo imprinted with the shop’s logo stretched easily across his frame. He had the look of what I’d call a man’s man, even while wearing a bright pink apron and clutching a purple mug decorated with green hearts.

The longer I studied him, the more he studied me. I knew what he saw: a curvy woman, busty, with hips that could politely be called generous—a true hourglass figure, no matter how hard I fought against it. I was taller than average, with caramel-colored skin, and thick wavy hair of the same color curling past my shoulders. A rounded face often referred to as cute, with wide, light brown eyes and a pouty mouth with no gloss left on it from this morning. And there we both stood, somewhat intrigued by instant chemistry, that urban legend. After thirty-three years of living, it was happening to me. That primal spark calling out from male to female and back again.

I stood staring at him as though he were the last shrimp on the buffet table and I hadn’t had fresh seafood in a while. Clearly I was deprived of far more than sleep when the mere
presence of a male made me jittery and breathless.
Get a grip, Jayla
I told myself sternly, determined to raise my eyes above his waist and act like I had some good sense.

When I finally lifted my gaze back up to his face, his eyes had gone from casually friendly to heatedly curious. It wasn’t until the drool was literally pooling at the corners of my mouth that I regained any semblance of composure.“Oh, I’m sorry, long day,” I lamely explained. “I’ll just get out of your way so you can close up.” I smiled sadly, tentatively, as I turned back toward the door.Was I so starved for male attention that I manufactured chemistry with the coffee guy?

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice deep, velvety and smooth.

I looked back.“Hey?”

“I can always make just one more.” He smiled with a flash of pearly white teeth that sent a tingle straight up my spine. “Do you mind if I make you my last customer?”

I don’t mind if you make me your concubine.
“No. No, that’s fine. I appreciate it. I’m sure you’re ready to get out of here.”

His look was pensive.“Don’t worry about it—you’re a customer.”

Right. Customer, here to buy coffee.“Well, thanks.”

“Not a problem.Will it make you uncomfortable if I lock up?”

“Not all at, do what you need to do.” I stood primly, clutching my case in front of me.

He brushed past me to lock the door and switch the OPEN sign to CLOSED. He slowly circled the store, pulling down shades and closing the drapes. It suddenly felt like a close and intimate space rather than a storefront. Walking back, he paused beside me, close enough that the scent of him wafted to me. I took a deep breath. He smelled like coffee, cinnamon, chocolate, soap, and some sort of spicy musk.“So what’ll you have?”

You, on a platter, please
… I looked up at him and saw by
the slight glint in his eyes that he heard me loud and clear, even though I hadn’t said it out loud. Okay, maybe the chemistry wasn’t so manufactured after all.“What’s your specialty?”

“White mocha.”Two words, innocent words at that, but I instantly shivered and flushed. His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened as he watched me.

“I’ll take it extra large, extra hot.” After the words left my mouth, I realized how it sounded. I was a little bit out of control.

He swallowed and blinked, as if he wasn’t sure he heard me correctly.“I beg your pardon?”

I took a step back and grabbed the last remnants of my composure.“The white mocha, extra large, extra hot. To go.”

He stepped back as well. “Oh, okay. Will that be all?” He started to move away.

I paused. What if I did what Kim suggested? What if I decided to be a little spontaneous, proposition the first guy I saw … this guy? Not ask his name, not care what his circumstances were, just ask for I wanted in this moment, for right now. I trembled a little just in contemplation.

He saw the tremble, stopped walking, and looked me over from head to toe. Those ivy green eyes clearly missed nothing, noticing my tension, my fluttering pulse, and my parted lips. Green eyes heated to laser intensity gave me a clearly appreciative look. He raised one brow, saying slowly,“Is there
anything
I can get you to go with that mocha?”

“Would you mind terribly if I had it here after all?” I said breathlessly, almost panting with anticipation and nervousness. I’ve never propositioned a barista before—okay, any stranger. What if he said no? Oh God, what if he said yes?

“The mocha?” He tilted his head and gave me a look that said
if you want it, ask for it.

“Yes, the mocha and …” I set down my purse and my laptop case and stepped to him in my black, figure-hugging sheath dress and peep-toe heels.“Listen, you don’t know anything
about me or what I’m going through, and I don’t know anything about you—”

“I do know something about you,” he interrupted, meeting me until we stood toe-to-toe. “I know you are sexy and beautiful and you like coffee. I know you don’t hook up with strange men often.”

“Ever. I don’t hook up with strange men ever,” I corrected him.“And how do you know?”

He reached down and touched the fluttering vein pulsing at the base of my neck, caressing the area in soft strokes.“Be-cause you’re nervous and unsure. It’s cute, sexy.”

Cute. Sexy. I nodded, with no clue what to say next.
Should I, shouldn’t I?
I had reengaged my brain and it was getting in the way of what the rest of me wanted.

He grinned at me.“Let me get you that coffee.”

Coffee. Yes. That is what I came in here for. I stood there and continued to argue with myself. Was I really going to make a move on some strange guy at the coffee house? I mean, really? I sighed. I was bold, but I wasn’t that bold. Tonight, the only craving I was going to assuage was for flavored, expensive caffeine. I watched while he measured beans, steamed milk, and mixed syrups in a cup. I could watch him all day and feel it was twenty-four hours spent productively. I sighed again.

He looked over at me with a look that sizzled.“So … just the coffee?” He was giving me every opportunity to make a move.

Wimpy Jayla beat Wanton Jayla down. I shrugged.“Just the coffee.”

With a final stir, he capped the beverage and handed me the cup.“Tell me what you think.”

I took a sip, my eyes slid shut, and I moaned. It was the best white mocha on the face of the planet: sweet, fragrant, hot, rich, and strong. The chocolate flavor didn’t battle the coffee; it was a heavenly marriage of taste, texture, and spice. I took another sip and enjoyed the flavor of it exploding on my tongue
and sliding down the back of my throat.“Oh my God.”When I reopened my eyes, his face had taken on a predatory gleam. “What?” I asked him.

“Your face when you drank the coffee … that was a look I’d like to see again. And again.”

I took a shaky breath and vowed to maintain some semblance of control.

“It’s okay, you know.”

“What’s okay?”

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want.”

Ha! If he only knew … “Thanks.”

“Do you work around here?”

“Across the street. Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’m just helping to close tonight. I’m usually at one of the other stores.”

I nodded. “This is the best white mocha I’ve ever had. There’s something different about it. It’s not like the others I’ve had here.”

“I added a little something extra. It’s my own private formula.”

“Is that right?”

“Indeed.”

“What would a girl have to do to get the formula?”

“What would a girl be willing to do to get it?”

I let a slow smile spread across my face. This guy was trouble. In all caps and bolded. I liked it. I took a final sip of the brew and set the cup down.“What do I owe you?”

“It’s on the house.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“Come back and see me.That’s payment enough.”

I flashed a grateful smile and gathered up my things. Nothing like stellar coffee and harmless flirting with a good-looking man to reinvigorate you. He came around the counter
to unlock the door for me. As I walked past I said,“Thanks. For everything.”

“You’re welcome.” He took a step toward me and leaned down to whisper in my ear.“Just so you know … I would’ve given you anything you asked for.”

I paused midstep and shifted toward him a little. “Anything?”

“Absolutely.”

I lifted my eyes to his and we shared a smile as though we knew far more about each other than we really did. I nodded. “Good to know.” I moved forward.