Читать книгу Decadent Dreams - A.C. Arthur - Страница 13

Chapter 4

“Roller-skating? Are you serious?” Belinda asked when they pulled up in front of the skating rink.

Malik had picked her up in his black Mustang—which had always struck her as too much car for his mild-mannered persona. His personality actually hadn’t matched that of the egotistical NBA players she’d heard about, either. He seemed to be different at every turn.

“What’s wrong with roller-skating?”

“Nothing,” she said with a huff. “If you’re sixteen.”

He laughed. “Grown-ups roller-skate all the time. Ever watched the Roller Derby?”

She turned to him giving her “not funny” glare. “I’m not wearing gold lamé hot pants or knee-length tube socks. Which further proves this isn’t a good idea.”

“So you have watched the Roller Derby. I would have never guessed that about you,” he told her.

Those words, while they mimicked what she’d been thinking about him, made her a little more agitated than she figured she was supposed to be on this night of relaxation. Before she could say another word, Malik had gotten out of the car and was on his way around to the passenger side. He opened the door and leaned in so that his face was about five inches away from hers—which for the record was too damned close.

“You’ll have fun. Trust me,” he said, his lips spreading into a smile. A smile that caused a tugging between her legs.

Despite her inner doubts Belinda stepped out of the car. “I’m really not dressed for this,” she said once more.

She wore True Religion leggings and four-inch gray suede platform pumps with a gray tank top that had a scooped neck that gathered and fell like a waterfall. The jeans may have worked but everything else was clearly overdressed.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, going around to the trunk and popping it open. “I bought you these since I figured you didn’t have any.”

He pulled out a brand-new pair of white roller skates with hot pink wheels and a stopper.

“You don’t know what size I wear,” she said. Of all the things men, or anyone for that matter, had given her, skates would have never crossed her mind.

He took a few steps closer to her, closing the gap between them and definitely invading her personal space. “I’ve known you for almost eight years. I know you wear a size eight pants and medium shirt because your breasts are...fantastic.”

She swallowed hard. No, it was more like a gulp.

He lifted his free hand and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “I know that your natural hair color is dark brown, your eyes are green like the sea and your favorite cartoon character is Betty Boop. Even though your father sort of gave that one away.”

“Aah, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” she replied honestly. How, why did he know all that about her?

“You say, ‘Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.’ It’s easy.”

But it wasn’t easy, or at least Belinda wasn’t finding it easy. This wasn’t a date, she told herself again. Malik was not the kind of man she dated.

Why?

She refused to answer that.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.”

“That’s a girl,” he said, tweaking her nose then letting his hand slip down her arm to grab hold of her hand.

* * *

Belinda did everything right. She even looked pretty when she cried. Malik remembered her great-uncle Frank’s funeral, where she’d sat in the second row right behind her parents and cried softly, a tissue in her hand as she dabbed her eyes. Her makeup had remained flawless, her body still—unlike others who were bent over making a screeching sound. And she wore jeans like no other female he’d ever met. Her smile was gorgeous, her teeth completely straight, her eyebrows elegantly arched. There was nothing out of order with Belinda. Absolutely no faults that could be seen at first sight.

But she couldn’t roller-skate worth a damn.

They had gone around the rink one complete time in the twenty minutes they’d been there. Music played loudly around them, something fast with a strong beat that had the other skaters swaying and dancing as they moved around the rink in quick succession. Malik kept them upright, his arms firmly around Belinda’s waist as he moved at a slower pace, allowing her to get used to the skates and the people whizzing past them.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Nonsense, you’re getting the hang of it,” he told her. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was no longer gripping his arm as if her life depended on it. As a matter of fact, now that the song changed to something a little slower, she relaxed a bit and focused on moving her legs in the exact motion that his went. After another few minutes they developed a comfortable, albeit still slow, stroll that took them around the ring once more.

“See, you’re getting it,” he told her with a reassuring smile.

“I guess you can tell this is not something that I do often,” she said with her own nervous chuckle.

“I’d be happy to bring you back again. I’m sure you’ll just continue to improve.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Practice definitely makes perfect,” she said, this time without the chuckle.

Another circle around and Malik led Belinda off the floor. It took another few minutes to find an empty table where they could sit and be alone. It was Friday night and it appeared everyone had the same idea to spend it at the skating rink. He ushered her to a chair and held her elbows as she sat down.

After a chuckle she said, “Thanks.” She was still smiling.

Malik took that as a good sign. Maybe she was having a nice time with him after all. He took a seat at the table opposite her and said, “I would offer to get you a slice of pizza and soda but the food here sucks.”

“Thank you for the warning.” She looked around for a few seconds as if searching for someone she might know. Then to his surprise she sat back against the chair and drummed her fingers on the table matching the beat of the song that played.

“You know this song?” he asked with what he was sure was a startled look on his face. It was rap music and not necessarily something he pictured Belinda listening to, or daresay dancing to.

“Yes, I know this song. I happen to listen to a lot of music. While rap is not high on my favorites list, I can usually get into a Drake song here and there.”

Admittedly intrigued, Malik pressed on with the conversation. “So what other music do you enjoy listening to?”

“I like a little of this and a little of that. R&B, country, some pop and rap, but not too much.”

“Okay, so who is your favorite female singer?”

She didn’t even blink. “Whitney Houston hands down,” was her matter-of-fact reply. Her voice held a tone that said she was ready should he have the nerve to dispute that.

Instead Malik smiled and nodded. “Okay, okay, so you know good music. Now what about your favorite male singer?”

“Solo or with a group?” she asked, seemingly enjoying the conversation.

“Oh, let’s live dangerously. Give me an answer for both.”

“Solo, Luther Vandross. I have to take it back old-school again and say New Edition and Dru Hill.”

Malik couldn’t help but laugh at that. Those entertainers certainly were old-school for their age group, but still had a lot of relevance today. “So do you dance, I mean when you’re listening to all this music?”

“I’ve got rhythm, if that’s what you’re asking. And why do you ask? Do I look like I’m too stuck-up to dance?”

That question effectively sobered the moment. “You don’t strike me as the type of person to let someone else’s words get to her. Yet all day long you’ve been preoccupied over what this guy said. Why is that?”

“You’re right, this is ridiculous. I’m much stronger than that. And besides, I can easily get another man since I’m so beautiful and so perfect.”

Even through the loud music, the sarcasm in that response did not escape Malik. “For the record, that’s not what I said.”

“But I’m sure it’s what you were thinking. It’s what everyone thinks of me.”

Malik took a moment to think about what he would say next. He’d learned long ago not to act impulsively. Whether it was on the court or with a woman, the same rule applied.

Belinda added, “That’s not all there is to me, you know? I’m much more than people see or than the reputation that precedes me.”

Malik nodded, proud to hear her say those words. “I believe you. Every now and then, I’m privileged enough to see that you’re more than your reputation purports you to be.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you can see that.”

Now it was his turn to nod. “You don’t have to keep that part of you a secret. It’s okay to be who you are all the time.”

She was already shaking her head negatively. “I thought you’d been around my family long enough to know better. Obviously not if you think what you just said is true.”

“So is your family what’s stopping you from being yourself? Is that what you want me to believe?”

“There are expectations in my family for each one of us separately and for us as a whole. Because our parents aren’t as active in the bakery business as my grandmother would have liked, my cousins and I were secretly named the dream team upon our birth. Haven’t you ever wondered why all of us decided to become bakers?”

Malik resisted the urge to shrug. He had wondered, but hadn’t spent a lot of time on it. People had different dreams and those dreams led them in different directions. He should be an authority on that whole subject. “I thought it was a dream that stemmed from the natural talents passed down from Ms. Lillian,” was his reply.

“That’s what each of our biographies says. A little more eloquently, perhaps.” She lifted her elbows and rested them on the table. “But they’re just words.”

“So becoming a baker was not your dream?”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied adamantly. “I enjoy working in the bakery. I did inherit a natural talent for it and I’m very interested in the future of Lillian’s.”

“But?”

She inhaled deeply. Now, that was new. He’d never seen Belinda with what almost looked like defeat on her face.

“But nothing. It is what it is. Are we going to skate some more?”

Malik almost smiled. The calm, cool and always collected Belinda had ended the conversation. And judging by her tone, she informed him that it was not open for discussion again. He stood, taking her arm, waiting while she got her bearings. And as they rolled out onto the floor, once more her focus shifted to moving her feet correctly and holding only his hand. But for Malik, the conversation was far from over.

He had not been wrong when he’d surmised that there was much more to Belinda Drayson-Jones than met the eye. Now that he’d seemingly cracked a little of her shell, his curiosity would not let him back down. Regardless of the ramifications he might face.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the pizza place, it was a little after ten in the evening. As this was a very popular restaurant, there was still a good crowd of customers. Luckily, Malik was able to get them a booth toward the back and out of the way of most of the noise.

“So, listen. I know this might not be the fancy restaurant you’re used to dining at, but I promise you’ll love Giordano’s pizza. It’s the best in Chicago and I know you like pizza.”

“I’ve had Giordano’s before. I was born in Chicago, remember.”

“Right,” he said with a smile and they both settled in their seats, picking up the menus.

“But you’re not from here, are you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I was born in Philadelphia.”

“And you met our dear Carter in college,” she said with a slight smile.

“Carter’s a good guy,” he replied. Belinda knew he was Malik’s best friend and the closest thing he had to family in this world. That’s why Malik had moved here after his injury. There’d been no place else for him to go.

“He’s a great guy, with lots of potential,” she said. “I’m very proud of him.”

“And he’s very proud of you.”

She nodded. Nodding kept her from saying something she was sure she wouldn’t be able to take back. Something along the lines of, “I need your hands on me again.”

Belinda shifted in the seat, the faux leather making a very unpleasant sound as she did. Luckily, Malik didn’t look up from his menu or comment in any way. Still, there was something going on that Belinda wasn’t a hundred percent sure of. It had started when he’d helped her out of the car. No, before that. When he’d pulled up in front of her apartment building and stepped out of the car. All he’d needed was background music, something with bass that might be heard in a strip club. Not that she’d ever been in a strip club to hear such music.

It was the way his long, lean body had emerged from the car and the way he’d folded his arms over a chest she hadn’t realized was so toned and muscled. He wore simple jeans and a T-shirt, an outfit she saw him in daily so it shouldn’t have sparked anything different inside her. But it did. As she’d walked down the sidewalk to meet him at the car, she’d felt a tingling begin in the pit of her stomach. That tingling had only increased during their ride to the skating rink because his cologne seemed stronger than usual, more intoxicating. He’d driven with the air-conditioning on so she didn’t have the pleasure of a breeze to serve as a slight reprieve.

Then when he’d held her close so she wouldn’t fall on her face, Belinda thought she’d melt right in his arms. Instead she had to apply some type of focus because—despite popular belief—she wasn’t good at everything. Her legs hadn’t liked the fact that she’d put wheels beneath them and expected them to move around agilely. By the time they’d left the skating rink, every nerve in her body was on end and she tingled all over.

Belinda was no fool—inexperienced maybe—but not a fool when it came to the physicality of men and women. She knew the buzz of attraction the same way she knew her mother’s recipe for pineapple upside-down cake by heart. She knew it because she’d been feeling it a lot lately. Or rather, she’d been feeling the need to explore other options in the past weeks.

These feelings had precipitated her decision that her life needed to change. There was definitely something lacking in all of her achievements, a void that she was trying to figure out how to fill. For as proud as everyone was of her, Belinda wanted to break the mold they’d cast her in so badly she could scream.

“Chicago-style or thin crust?”

Belinda cleared her throat to cover up the fact she’d been thinking of something other than ordering from the menu. With her cheeks flushed from her thoughts, she closed the menu and sat back against the seat. “Chicago, of course.”

“I like shrimp.”

She nodded. “And pepperoni.”

“Ham and pineapple,” he added.

She shook her head. “No pineapple. This is dinner not dessert. I cannot do fruit and meats together.”

He laughed at that. “Right.”

The waiter came and they ordered the pizza along with a soda for her and a beer for Malik.

She couldn’t help but stare at the veins in his arm, which shot upward like taut strands of rope, fading out into the massive bulge that was his bicep. Her mouth watered and she picked up her glass of soda.

“So what do you think about the competition?” she asked after she figured she’d drank enough to either cause a brain freeze or quench her thirst. The former was much more likely since every time she looked at Malik she felt parched.