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  I pursed my lips. “Listen here, Ms. Nightingale. I know how to roll up on a brother. But somehow I feel like my roll and yours are two different things. Where did you say we were going?” I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for my answer. Renee can come up with some wild-ass schemes.

  At the door she turned. “To a b-ball court. Got invited to watch a game.” She opened my front door and stepped outside. “I’ll call you ’round noon. Dress accordingly—the court’s kinda up in the hood.” She shut the door and made tracks to her car.

  I hopped forward, ran to the door, and whipped it open. I caught her fumbling for her keys, thereby foiling her smooth exit. “Excuse me, Miss Thing, did I hear you say we’re going to the hood? And can you tell me why?”

  “Jewellen Rose Capwell,” she scolded with one foot in her new Lexus SUV, “you can’t be afraid of your own people.” She shut the door, turned on the ignition, and whipped out of the driveway.

  “Oh, sure I can,” I said aloud before closing and locking the door. I walked to the back of my safe little house and turned on my safe little alarm.

  As I cleaned away the debris from dinner, I shook my head repeatedly. The hood. Color me snobbish, but I was always scared as hell of the hood. Hey, color me wimpy too. I grew up in Far North Dallas. The farther north the better.

  I went to private school with two other blacks in the entire school; that meant in grades K through 12, there was a total of three. After my parents’ divorce, I went to public school in one of the richest, whitest suburbs in the city. I thought a fistfight by the bike racks after school was gang violence. Caught a couple kissing under the stairway and I thought that was indiscriminate premarital sex. What did I know? You grow up and realize that the news doesn’t tell the whole story, that the Northside was not without crime of its own. I also realized that guns belonged to folks of all color. Nonetheless, I always felt more in my comfort zone north of downtown.

  Probably stems from an experience I had when I was sixteen. Just hanging out at a football game on the Southside with some friends. Next thing we know, someone rolls up to do a drive-by and we’re literally sprinting for our lives. Spent an hour and a half hiding between a Dumpster and a parked car before we got the all clear. For weeks afterward, I was terrified that one of the shooters had seen my face and was hunting me down. Melodramatic, yes, but also terrifying. Since then, it took a major event and arm-twisting to get me south of downtown.

  Don’t get me wrong, I hang with “my own people.” I like the music, can speak the lingo, rock the attitude, the whole nine. I can go to a Metallica concert Friday and a 50 Cent concert Saturday and never confuse the two. I watched reruns of Friends and Girlfriends. I had a lot of black friends but quite a few white ones too. I was equal opportunity.

  Even dated one white boy for a little minute until I realized that my natural inclinations simply attracted me to tall Nubian princes, as Renee would say. So what if I met a great white guy and fell madly in love, I wouldn’t be with him? Not sure, it would be a decision. Not that any of this matters; it had been so long since I met a male of any color that attracted me, I’d forgotten what it feels like. Apparently it was time I got out and saw what was out there ... again.

  I went upstairs, entered the bathroom, and began pulling out all the various paraphernalia I’d need to resurrect this hair and face before morning. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I turned around to look for my intensive conditioner and almond-peppermint mask.

  Pausing, I took stock of what I saw. Medium complexion, somewhere between butterscotch and caramel if I was forced to narrow down the color. Features set in an oval-shaped face that has too often been called “cute.” Large brown eyes with lashes that appreciated a volumizing mascara. Button nose and medium-lipped mouth that was a little wider than I would like. Shoulder-length chestnut brown hair parted sensibly on the side. It was currently in need of a trim and a conditioning rinse. Usually curled under and tucked practically behind my ears, which were pierced once and usually adorned with a simple hoop or a diamond stud.

  I turned to the side and shifted my shoulders back to see how the silhouette was holding up—5’7” on a tall day. Size 8 from the waist down, 10 across the chest. I inherited my grandmother’s body—small bones, top heavy, narrow waist, no hips or ass to speak of, thighs that required weekly aerobic maintenance atop admittedly great calves and size 7 feet. Speaking of feet, it couldn’t hurt to touch up the toenail polish and do a quickie manicure.

  It was entirely possible that I had let a few things slide during my dating hiatus. How did I let Renee sucker me into this mess? I had about ten hours to turn myself from Hilda the hausfrau to Fiona the fly girl. It ain’t gonna be easy.

  2

  Let the Games Begin

  Renee—Friday, May 18, 8:45 p.m.

  I was gonna fix that girl up whether she liked it or not. It was just pitiful the way she sat up in that house just whiling away her life. And she had so much to offer a man! Jewel was a cute girl. She just bought herself a perfect starter home. A three-bedroom, two-bath, two-story, Mediterranean-style in gray stucco with a semi-circular driveway. Classy with a little flavor—described Jewel to a T. She owned her own business, a temp agency that just got recognized as one of Dallas’s most promising new small businesses by the Small Business Association. I talked her into letting that old Chevy Cavalier go, and she was now rolling the new Lexus coupe. To top it off, she loved cooking and did her own gardening too. I came by and watched her plant the gardenia bushes and crepe myrtle in the front lawn. She actually enjoyed all that domestic shit. I believed in writing a check to have someone come and do those things for me.

  But that’s my homegirl. She was gonna make somebody a good little wife. Hell, ain’t none of us getting any younger. If anyone had told me ten years ago that I’d still be single at thirty, I’d have laughed and called them crazy. Who was crazy and laughing now?

  My cell phone rang, and I hit the hands-free Bluetooth button on the dashboard. “This is Renee,” I said in my softest, I’m-here-for-you-baby voice. Turned up my R. Kelly jam a touch so I could influx a little musical ambiance. Atmosphere was so important!

  “Renee, it’s Gregory.” Damn right it was ... Mr. Greg with a rich baritone that sent a shiver down my spine. My current fresh fish, trying to hook him for real, doncha know?

  “Hello, Gregory.” My tone was welcoming but not overeager. Gotta play a brother a little, you feeling me? Especially his kind. The kind that wanted me to call him Gregory while his boys called him “G.” Daddy was a lawyer; Mama was a CPA. He grew up in private schools, graduated from a big public college for the “exposure,” then went on to Ivy League for the MBA. Raised in the burbs and planned to settle there soon. The kind of guy Jewellen’s parents probably invited over for pool parties and shit like that.

  Pool parties were not a realistic part of my upbringing. We were more concerned with paying to keep the water on, not swimming around in it with twenty of our bestest friends. Private school was a place rich people on TV went to. My daddy was the quintessential rolling stone, and my mom was a receptionist on a good day. What she gave me were life lessons and a will to do whatever it took to not live like that ... ever again. So I made the grades, won the scholarship, got the education, and maneuvered my way into this career. All I was missing was the long-term brother to fill in the last few blanks. Yes, I knew exactly how to play to get a Gregory kind of guy.

  He was the kind who expected me to be impressed by all that he was, is, and will be. This was a man who knew he was a catch and wanted you to act like you knew it too. So I acted like I didn’t realize he was a cut above any disposable Buppie. I never did the expected. Hell, I knew what he was and where he was going. That was cream of the crop and straight to the top, and damn skippy, I’d like to be along for the ride. Yes, I had a great job and a great future of my own, but do you really think I wanted to work seventy-hour weeks for the next thirty years of my life? Hell no! I had b
een searching for a Gregory for a good long time. Someone I could pool my resources with for the next few years, traveling and getting a nice house and some stocks here, an IRA there. Then, after I had the two kids, he’d say, “Honey, why don’t you stay home with the kids for a few years?” BINGO! That’s what I was talking about. After the kids hit high school age, I would open up a little fashion-consulting business. About ten years after that, Gregory would be ready to retire and we’d travel for a few more years before settling down to live out our twilight years around family and friends, involving ourselves more and more with church activities and our grandkids. Oh yeah, I knew exactly who Gregory was and exactly how to play him, and that was as cool as the other side of a six-hundred-thread-count pillow.

  “So tell me,” he damn near growled in that rich, sexy way brothers had of talking when they were on the prowl, “are we still on for tonight?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Gregory. What did you have in mind?” Like I didn’t know. When a brother made a date for any time after 10:00 p.m., what the hell was that but a booty call? I smiled and tapped the brake as a gray-haired lady cut me off on the tollway.

  “Renee—” he made my name sound like a hot, wet kiss on a cold winter night—“I just thought I’d come by and spend a little time with you.” Ah, the deliberately vague ploy.

  “That sounds nice,” I purred, noticing as I whizzed past the woman that she was shooting me the finger. “I guess we could watch a movie or something.”

  “Um-hmm, or something,” he repeated like I was a fool. He had a plan, and I had one too. Mine involved cinema. His ... didn’t take much to figure out.

  “Okay, I’m about to pass Blockbuster. What would you like to see?” How I loved to call a bluff.

  “Oh well, listen, baby—you don’t have to go through all that trouble. Let’s just find something to watch on cable.” I had to hand it to him, the brother was smooth.

  “I don’t know.” I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. “Cable’s kinda iffy. If there’s nothing on, I’d hate for you to sit there bored.”

  “Are you doubting your ability to keep me entertained?”

  Ouch! Brother was smart too. Time to change tactics. My voice went silky. “I’m sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with some way to pass the time—don’t you think?” Dangled the promise out there, let him think what he wanted.

  “I never doubted it.” Ah, there it was ... the smug, satisfied voice of a man who thought he had reeled in the catch of the day.

  I had no intention of being Gregory’s damn catch of the day or freak of the week. If he wanted this fish, he was going to have to reel slowly—I planned to stay caught for life. No way was he getting by with a hot and sloppy affair. Pulling up to the security gate of my apartment complex, I flashed my access card across the beam and waited for the gate to open. Behind me, I noticed a black BMW that looked familiar.

  “Is that you behind me?” I stared at the phone. Modern technology played with my timing—with a brother calling me cell to cell, how was a woman to prepare for that? I should have checked the caller ID.

  “Yeah, incredible timing, hmm?” There was that catch-of-the-day tone again.

  For one second, I struggled to recall whether I was playing him or whether he was playing me. Then I thought about it. Hey, he was chasing me, but I would be the one catching him.

  “Um-hmm, incredible.” I shot through the gates. “Follow me up.” I hung up the phone and pulled in front of my building. I never looked back, just climbed out of the car and headed up the steps. I heard him behind me and put a little more wiggle in my walk. That confident, I-know-I-look-good walk. Purple knit shirt, fitted black jeans, tight stiletto peep-toe heels—fly. I smirked, knowing what kind of view he was getting. Ass Almighty, as my mama would say. Ass Almighty and Thighs Everlasting in tight black denim. I reached the third floor and glanced back. Yep, his eyes were on the ass.

  I opened the door, turned off the alarm, and flicked on the lights. As always, I spent a minute looking around to make sure everything was still in its proper place. Peaches jumped off the sofa and slunk over to her bed and lay back down. If I may say so, my joint was live. The entire place was done in black leather with ebony and pastel accents. I had a pretty good collection of African figurines on my mantel and in a display case by the far wall. Bold abstracts, African artifacts, and tropical plants completed the look. The place was two bedrooms, two baths, and perfect.

  Gregory had come to pick me up before but had never come inside. He was standing in the doorway, trying not to take inventory. Did I mention that Greggy’s in banking? So he couldn’t help thinking in dollars and cents ... my kinda man. While he was scoping out the place, I was scoping him. About six feet even, milk chocolate, bowlegged, long-legged, and lean. He moved like a cowboy, a kind of smooth-flowing action with an economy of motion. Does that make sense? Whatever, the boy looked damned fine to me. Close-cropped afro, preppy glasses, and all. The buppie look was in full effect tonight—light green long-sleeved polo, straight-leg button flys (could I get an Amen, all praises to Levi Strauss), woven leather belt, Cole Haan loafers, no socks. Umm, umm, good.

  “Why doncha take the tour while I make some popcorn?”

  “Thanks.” He threw me that much-obliged-ma’am grin that I was fairly sure had melted many a heart through the years. Hell, I thought mine even skipped a beat or two. He patted Peaches on the head as he passed and went into my spare room first. It was sort of a catchall: a computer, an exercise bike, a small pullout sofa, and a sewing machine I hadn’t touched in years. As I heard him go farther down the hallway toward the master suite, I held my breath and waited.

  “Holy shit,” I heard him say, and I released my breath on a laugh. He’d seen the bed.

  He came back out to the kitchen with what I’d have to call a predatory gleam in his eye. “That’s some bed you got there.”

  I smiled. That bed was a study in decadence. It was king size and made of heavy ebony wood, canopy style with sheer silk drapings in peach, black, and purple. The bed was elevated, so you had to jump or take the steps. The comforter and sheets were rich peach and black satin. Pillows of all sizes in a million colors created a plush mountain at the head of the bed. “You like?” I asked, very tongue in cheek.

  “I certainly think I will,” he replied solemnly. “Tell me, what possessed you to create such a wonder?” He stepped a little closer while he waited for my answer.

  “Well, I think the bed is the most important piece of furniture in the house. Did you know that a third of a person’s life is spent in bed?”

  “Is that right? All that time in bed? How very interesting.”

  Something in his tone compelled me to look up and meet his eyes. His deep brown eyes were framed with long, almost girlish lashes. Damn. Pure, unadulterated sizzle—I have always been a sucker for sizzle. I could feel that electric live wire of sexual awareness flashing from him to me and back again. I didn’t know how long I stood there staring at him while my body temperature elevated.

  Forcibly, I took a breath and started talking to myself in my head. Buck up, Renee. Don’t give in or you’ll blow it. Look at the big picture! I dropped my eyes back to the popcorn. “Sleeping, that is. You want this au naturel or with butter?” There, my voice sounded normal. I was in control. Now, if he would back up a step, I could breathe again.

  “Butter it up—the slicker the better.” Need I describe the inflection, the tone of his comment?

  Now, what was a girl to say to that? A smart one says nothing. My mama didn’t raise no fools. “Why don’t you settle in on the sofa and start flipping channels? I’ll only be a second.” I smiled my best hostess smile and turned to the refrigerator. It was a full minute before I heard him move away and was able to get all systems back to normal again.

  He was good at this game. A smoldering glance here, a caressing tone there, innuendos running amuck, and all the while, my raging hormones were playing snap-crackle-and-pop with
my nerve endings.

  Okay now, Renee, you’ve doctored this popcorn as much as you can. Get it together and get in there!

  I tossed a couple Cokes on the tray with the popcorn bowl and some napkins, took a deep breath, and headed out to the living room. There he was. He sat comfortably on my sofa, like he belonged there, the remote control in his hand, his eyes following my every move.

  I placed the tray on the sofa table and sat down a substantial but not prudish distance away from him. “Hope Coke’s okay?” I gestured toward the tray.

  “Fine, thanks.” He picked up a can, popped the top and took a sip before speaking again. “Like you said, there is not a lot to choose from”—he inclined his head toward the TV—“but there’s an old Clint Eastwood coming on if you like his movies.”

  I started to smile, at ease for the first time since he entered my apartment. “Yeah, I like Clint. Which one is it?”

  “The Outlaw Josey Wales.”

  He smiled; I smiled back. Harmony reigned. I picked up the popcorn and inched a little closer to him. “Let’s see it.”

  Believe me, I was surprised. We were actually enjoying just watching the movie. We were having intelligent conversation and laughing together. He had a funny way of finding an obscure moment in the film and making it hilarious. During a commercial, he took the empty cans and bowl to the kitchen. Yes, the boy voluntarily did a domestic thing, a novelty among the men I’d dated before. We laughed about Peaches, the world’s laziest dog, who hadn’t moved the entire night.

  By the time the movie wrapped, I was curled up by his side with his arm draping lightly around me. I was relaxed and secure. It was nice to spend some time with a guy and not have to plot, plan, and wonder what he really means every time he says something. All that gets exhausting. I allowed myself to relax and enjoy the time off.

  My relaxed state ended abruptly when he clicked off the TV, hoisted me onto his lap, and laid those sexy lips against mine all within a one-minute time span.