Читать книгу At First Kiss - Gwyneth Bolton - Страница 11

Player, Player…

T roy eyed Jazz’s little red Mini Cooper with more than a little trepidation, and it didn’t seem like he was going to get into the car anytime soon.

Since the long-term parking garage at Logan International was more than a little cold in the middle of January and she was freezing the majority of her ample behind off, Jazz needed him to man up and get his big fine behind in the car so she could warm it up, make it home and go back to sleep. The rest she’d gotten on the plane ride from Barbados had only gotten her ready for more sleep.

“Don’t you have a real car instead of this match-box toy car? I’m a grown-ass man. I can’t fit in this little go-cart.”

Jazz rolled her eyes.

“C’dear, you and yuh won’ts and can’ts. Yuh won’t fly coach. Yuh cain’t ride in a little car. I startin’ to think yuh even more high-maintenance dan dose Black Barbie dolls yuh date. Come nuh, get in de car and let we left dis cold place!” Jazz opened the door, got in the driver’s side, popped the locks and waited for Troy to follow suit.

He glared at her and bent down to get in the car. He had to move the seat as far back as it could go and he still had to sit with his legs bent uncomfortably.

“How do you even get around in this little thing in the winter in Boston? I’m surprised it doesn’t get buried in the snowdrifts. I hope you plan on getting a real car when you move to Detroit. This little thing isn’t going to cut it.”

Jazz rubbed her dashboard. “Oh, don’t listen to the mean old man, Stud Buggie, you’re a great car and you get mommy around just fine in any kind of weather, yes you do.”

Troy winced. “Your car is named Stud Buggie?”

Her eyes widened when she realized that she had essentially named her car after Troy, since she had been calling him some version of Stud from the day she met him.

That’s odd… she thought as she shook it off.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Stud. You will always be the original Stud, at least until you start calling me Jazz.” She winked at him and he glared.

“Buckle up, Studman. Time to go home.” She pulled off and drove to her condo in what was now called the Mission Hill neighborhood.

Mission Hill had been a part of Roxbury when she was growing up. It was close enough to where she grew up to still feel like home. Her building was on Tremont Street and had a heated parking lot underneath. The neighborhood had a diverse mix of people and a vibrant business district as well. She realized that she would miss a lot about Beantown when she moved. But living there now that her mom was gone wasn’t even an option. There were just too many memories.

Once they reached her condo she started to have second thoughts about offering up her spare bedroom/office to Troy. He couldn’t get another ticket out of Boston back to Detroit until the next morning. And he insisted on staying a day or so to make sure she was okay. Since he was being so nice and everything, she didn’t think it would be right to make him stay in a hotel.

So, him staying at her place was the deal.

Heaven help her!

She glanced around her sparsely decorated condo. Her mother always teased her that her lack of decorations highlighted her intense commitment phobia. She couldn’t even commit to a picture. She had managed to find some pieces she could live with long term. She loved her big plush rust sofa. So what if she had changed coffee tables five times in five years and was thinking about getting rid of the current studio-style glass-top mahogany coffee table and matching end tables before she moved?

“Luckily my new gig is springing for movers and they’ll be coming to pack me up next weekend, or you would be navigating your way around boxes right now. If I had to pack, I would have started last month, because it would have taken me that long with all the moaning and groaning I would be doing. I can’t stand packing. We moved around from one apartment to the next entirely too much when I was a kid.”

“Really?” Troy took off his jacket and took a seat on her sofa. “I lived in the same house from the time I was born until I went away to boarding school and then college.”

“Across the street from Alicia’s folks, right. Your mom still lives there?” She kicked off her Uggs and sat down next to him.

“No, Mom sold the house a year or two after the divorce. She is hardly ever in Detroit any more. She’s a woman of the world, traveling abroad, taking cruises, lounging in Europe, Africa, everywhere. It’s like she became the person she always wanted to be when she divorced my father and that person can’t sit still. I still can’t believe they stayed married all those years only to divorce after Sonya and I finished college. That still trips me out.” His eyes got a faraway look in them and she wondered where he went when he thought about his parents’ relationship.

Jazz nibbled her lips in contemplation. “Hey, at least they managed to stay together until you guys were adults. Better that than a deadbeat for a father that you’ve never even met. Because my father opted out, my mother had to work all the time. So I felt like I never really had enough time with her.”

Whoa, what made me share that?

She stood up. “Are you hungry, Studchickawaawaa? I could order out. I’m afraid I don’t have much in the fridge. Cooking is highly overrated.”

“We’ll have to order out, because I’m not getting back in that soup can you call a car.” He shuddered.

“Oh, stop complaining. Stud Buggie got us from point A to point B. And my car is really, really cute.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, baby carriages are cute, too, but you don’t see grown-ass people riding in them.”

“Ha, ha, ha, you’re like as funny as Chris Rock. Not!” She walked into the kitchen for her folder of take-out menus. She picked up the cordless phone and noticed the flashing red light that signaled lots of messages on her answering machine. Paying extra money a month for voice mail when her phone came with a perfectly good answering machine was not her style because it took away from her Coach bag fund.

She pressed the button and took the folder to Troy. “Here, these are some of my favorite places that deliver.”

“Jazz, baby girl. What’s up? Why can’t you call a brother every now and then? It’s like that now?” The voice on the answering machine sounded familiar but she couldn’t tell and she wasn’t interested. By the time it reached the point of a guy calling to ask her why she hadn’t called him, he was already so far off her radar, nothing could warrant the time or energy to care.

She walked back over to the answering machine and pressed delete.

“Jazzy, baby, you’re breaking my heart—” Delete. She didn’t recognize that voice, either, and didn’t care.

“What’s the matter with you, girl? You can’t call nobody?” This guy affected the voice of Martin Lawrence’s infamous “Jerome, the original playa from the Himalayas” and at least got a chuckle out of her before she deleted the message.

“Jazz, why is it I had to hear from someone else that you’re moving? I mean we went out a few times, and don’t I even warrant a—” Delete.

She sighed as she half listened to the rest of the calls, making quick work of deleting them.

“Seriously, guys think just because you let them take you out a few times they have the right to blow up your phone and tie up your answering machine. I swear, when I move to Detroit, I’m going to stop being cheap and get an unlisted number. And I won’t be giving out my main number. I need a cell phone just for this.” She turned to Troy. The way he ran through the female species, he could probably understand her pain.

He was frowning.

“What’s with that look? Don’t tell me you don’t have women blowing up your phone? And I’m sure they’re calling because they gave you a little more than these guys have given me.”

“And just what have those guys given you, Jasmine?”

“Ooo, that would be none of your business, Stud Bud.” She laughed. “Seriously, if they’re calling the phone asking why I haven’t called, then they probably took me out a few times, dinner, movie, dancing, a show, nothing serious. I can usually tell after a few dates if it’s going to be worth my time. And few men are worth my time. I’m a serial dater and proud of it. I’ll date anyone a few times. And if the chemistry and connection isn’t there, don’t expect a call back. There are just too many men out there to waste time with Mr. Wrong—not that I’m looking for Mr. Right, no matter what my mother’s stupid will demands.”

She plopped down on the couch next to him.

Troy swallowed back his burning questions about all those damn messages from all those guys. Who was he to judge? His cell phone had been vibrating ever since he turned it back on when they got off of the plane, and he knew it wasn’t family making all those calls. His father was probably still pissed at him. His mother couldn’t be bothered. And his sister was probably good for about five of the phone calls. He made a mental note to call Sonya and let her know he was okay and back in the States. But he couldn’t get Jasmine’s many messages out of his mind…

He shook his head. It was not his business how many guys Jasmine had apparently enticed, entranced and evicted. He just hoped she didn’t come to Detroit running those same games. He didn’t know about Boston guys, but the brothers in Detroit didn’t play that. And he would hate to have to knock someone out because they came at her the wrong way after she jilted them.

He shook his head again. Where was all this I-must-protect-Jasmine stuff coming from?

Change the subject, that’s all, just change the subject, he thought as he cleared his throat.

“What does you finding Mr. Right have to do with your mother’s will?”

She looked stunned for a minute, as if she hadn’t even realized what she had just said. She tilted her head and just looked at him. “I so-oo didn’t want to bring that up. Can we just ignore it and move on?”

“Now I’m really curious. Don’t tell me your mother made some crazy clause in her will that you settle down and get married or something like that. That sounds like something my demanding father would do. He just threatened to take me out of his will unless I settle down. And he wants me to give up my spot as the host of our media company’s top-rated show, Detroit Live, in order to be a part of the business side of things. Can you believe that?”

“At least your dad is only making threats. Apparently, my mother managed to save $500,000 as an inheritance for me, but only if I get married in six months. And if I don’t get married in six months then the money goes to my deadbeat dad. Can you believe that?”

“What? Get out of here! Your mother has my father beat. Although I wouldn’t put it past my father to put some kind of marriage clause in his will. Mr. Divorced and never met a woman he didn’t flirt with thinks that the only way for me to prove I’ve grown up and left my wild days behind is to get hitched, put on a suit and tie every day, and sit behind a desk instead of in front of the camera. He just doesn’t get it.”

“Why do I feel like channeling the Fresh Prince and belting out ‘Parents Just Don’t Understand’?” She giggled, and it was good to see her smile.

Troy shook his head. He and Jasmine were both in the entertainment business and loved music. It always tripped him out that she thought in songs just like he did sometimes. No matter what the topic, he could think of a musical reference, and Jasmine had that same knack. But there was no need to point out any similarities between them.

“Because you’re a sarcastic brat and you’re a nut,” he offered instead, and chuckled.

“Not that I don’t feel your pain, Stud Muffin, but this was kind of about me. My own little pity party…” She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Recently deceased mother and actual horrendous marriage clause that threatens to ruin life as I know it no matter what I decide trumps nagging father any day. I’m just saying… It’s not always about you.” She laughed again.