Читать книгу Her Kind of Man - Pamela Yaye - Страница 9

Kenyon glanced up from his menu, just in time to see Ms. Stevens exit the ladies’ room. He couldn’t believe this dainty woman with the pretty eyes and sensuous mouth was his nephew’s teacher. Her sun-kissed complexion paid tribute to her Caribbean roots, her cute, gumdrop nose gave her a youthful look and her curvaceous figure only added to her appeal. Everything about her from her shy smile to her tiny waist came together perfectly in a petite, compact package.

Hot damn! he thought, as he settled back into his chair. Kenyon must have spoken out loud because the plump-faced waitress strolling by stopped abruptly.

“Welcome to the Barbecue Kitchen. I’m Christine, but my friends call me Sunny.” She tapped her pencil on her notepad, her smile growing wider by the second. “Can I interest you in something to drink?”

“I’ll have a beer.”

“Great. I’ll be right back.”

Kenyon returned his attention to Ms. Stevens. He had never had a teacher that fine. Despite her low-key appearance and the air of timidity surrounding her, she was stunning. Her hair was pulled back, her makeup simple and her jewelry tasteful. The navy, slim-fitted cardigan, straight black skirt and sensible, round-toe shoes fit the bill for a first-grade teacher, but Kenyon had a feeling beneath all those stuffy clothes was one very sexy woman.

It wasn’t just her beauty he was drawn to. There was an innocence about her that appealed to him. “Here, let me.” Kenyon stood, pulled out her chair and waited until she was comfortable before returning to his seat.

“Thank you.” Makayla picked up the menu.

“See anything you like?”

“The spinach salad looks good.”

“Salad? You’ve got to be hungrier than that.” Kenyon helped himself to a roll from the wicker basket. “Don’t be shy. Order anything you’d like. It’s on me.”

Makayla downed her water in two quick gulps. “I’m not that hungry. I, uh, had a big lunch.”

An amused expression clouded Kenyon’s face. A big lunch? It was eight-thirty. Unless she’d eaten a buffet with all the trimmings, she was probably starving. Beckoning the happy-go-lucky waitress back over to their table, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

While Kenyon placed their orders, Makayla secretly watched him. This was all too much to take in. She was having dinner with her first crush. The only guy she ever loved. Or, thought she loved. At thirty-three, Kenyon was a husband and a father. How had that happened? Back in high school, Makayla had never pictured him the marrying type. Passing him in the congested halls of Lincoln High, surrounded by a bevy of perky cheerleaders, she had been convinced the all-star athlete would end up a life-long bachelor with children sprinkled all across the east coast.

“How is Terrance doing?” Kenyon asked once the waitress departed.

“Mr. Blake—”

“Call me Kenyon. The only person who goes by Mr. Blake is my pops.”

“Okay.” It took Makayla several seconds to organize her words. Labeling Terrance a nuisance would undoubtedly get their conversation off on the wrong foot and she needed Kenyon’s support to turn things around. “Terrance is a strong student. He excels in math and science, he’s reading at grade level and he has a vivid imagination. However, his behavior has been—” After searching for the right word and coming up empty, she said, “—less than desirable.”

His shoulders rocked with laughter.

“Did I say something funny?”

“Instead of trying to be tactful, why don’t you come right out and say he’s acting like one of Bebe’s kids?” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I’m not Veronika, Ms. Stevens. You don’t have to sugarcoat things for me. Be straight up.”

“All right. Terrance is doing well academically but his actions give me cause for concern.”

Kenyon suspected he would have any easier time extracting her wallet from her purse than getting a straight answer. “Which means?”

“He’s aggressive, defiant, disrespectful and—”

His face showed disapproval, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Yesterday I had to sit him out of gym because he kicked one of his female classmates. When I asked him to apologize he said he didn’t have to because I wasn’t his mother. There have even been a few occasions when he has thrown things in class. Sure, they’re small items, like crayons or marbles, but that doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

The expression on Kenyon’s face was serious. “He’s been having the same problems at home, but Veronika insists it’s normal kid stuff. The last couple years have been tough on all of us, but I think Terrance has been hit the hardest.”

“I asked Mrs. Blake if there was anything wrong at home but she said everything was fine.”

“Veronika doesn’t like to talk about it.”

The waitress arrived with their orders and hung around the table until Kenyon told her they didn’t need anything else.

Alone with their thoughts, they ate in silence for several minutes.

“Do you want me to order some more?” Kenyon asked, noting the depleted plate of nacho chips and Buffalo wings.

Flushed, Makayla wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “No, thanks. I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Tell me about yourself, Ms. Stevens.”

“But we’re here to discuss Terrance.”

Kenyon grinned. “When I get home, I’ll get a switch from off a tree and give his butt the lashing it deserves. Problem solved.”

Makayla laughed, low and soft, her shoulders shaking lightly.

“I’ll have a talk with Terrance first thing in the morning. We have a great relationship and more times than not, he’ll listen to me rather than his mother. Veronika spoils him and he knows how to win her over.”

“Thank you. I think things will get better if we’re all on the same page.”

Kenyon pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card. “Feel free to call me anytime. I travel a lot but I’m reachable on my cell no matter where I am.”

“Hopefully I won’t have to call.” Makayla took the card and slipped it into her purse.

“I don’t even know your name,” Kenyon said. His eyes lingered on her lips. Like the rest of her, they were soft, moist and incredibly sensuous.

“My name?”

“You do have a first name, don’t you?”

The question triggered the memory of the first time they spoke. More than fifteen years had passed, but their conversation was still fresh in her mind. It was a balmy spring afternoon in senior year. Makayla was lounging under a tree, listening to Salt-N-Pepa, munching on a bag of potato chips. She felt a shadow fall across her face and opened her eyes. Lucas Shaw was towering over her, his thin, chapped lips moving at a rapid pace. Makayla couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the sinister expression on his face told her it wasn’t good. She slowly pulled off her headset. “Yes?”

Lucas kicked the side of her leg. “Beat it, moo-moo. We need to use this tree for an end zone and your fat ass is in the way.”

Hot tears burned her eyes as she gathered her things. Ever since Makayla wiped out in the cafeteria, Lucas had made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell.

Makayla was running across the field when she heard Lucas holler behind her, “Come on, QB, we’re ready to play.” She looked up just in time to see Kenyon and his girlfriend-of-the-month trot down the steps. After a long, sloppy kiss, the two love birds parted ways.

“What’s the hurry?” Kenyon asked. “You’re running like Freddy Krueger is chasing you!”

Makayla didn’t realize she was holding her breath until he waved a hand in her face. “Hello? Anybody home?”

Suddenly deaf and mute, Makayla blinked rapidly. The sun was blinding her eyes, so she arched a hand over her head. She had had a crush on him from the first day of high school, much like the rest of the girls in the freshman class. In a navy-blue football jacket, a white T-shirt and blue jeans, Kenyon looked like the poster boy for the U.S. Marines. His low top fade was neatly cut and his eyes, which twinkled whenever he was talking to a member of the opposite sex, were concealed by dark sunglasses. He was carrying his two most beloved items: a football and a camera.

“I’m Kenyon. I sit behind you in Mr. Ivanovich’s class. What’s your name again?” When she hesitated he said, “You do have a name, don’t you?”

“M-M-Makayla Stevens,” she said, finding her voice.

“You’re the smartest girl in our class and I couldn’t pass math if I had a cheat sheet. I bombed the last pop quiz while you got a perfect score.” His voice was tinged with sadness. “My pops said if I don’t pull up my grades, I’m off the football team. Can you tutor me? I can pay you ten bucks a week. Sound fair?”

Makayla spoke in a whisper. “Y-you don’t have to pay me. I’ll tutor you for free.”

“No, my dad says if you want something done right you have to pay for it.”

Lucas yelled across the field, “QB! Why are you talkin’ to fat ass? Hurry up, man, we’re waitin’ on you.”

Kenyon smiled down at her. “Can you meet me tomorrow in the library? Say twelve-fifteen?”

Too excited to speak, Makayla simply nodded in response.

Flashing those pearly whites again he said, “Thanks, Makayla.” With a smile and a wink, he sprinted across the field toward his friends.

For the rest of the semester, Makayla had been in her glory. Three days a week, she worked with Kenyon to complete his assignments and helped him prepare for the final exam. They chatted over lunch when they finished studying. Rather, Kenyon talked and Makayla listened. He shared his dream of one day playing football and taking care of his mom and stepdad. He never asked Makayla about herself and she didn’t volunteer any information. Unfortunately for her, Kenyon aced the next three tests and as quickly as their friendship had begun, it was over.

The sound of Kenyon’s voice jarred Makayla out of her daydream.

“I’m still waiting for that name,” he teased.

Makayla doubted Kenyon would remember her if she told him her full name, but it was better to be on the safe side. “Everyone calls me Kay,” she told him. It was only a fraction of a lie, she reasoned, ignoring the jab from her conscience. It grated on her nerves when people shortened her name but tonight, Kay would suit her just fine.

“How long have you been teaching?”

“Ten years. I graduated from Bryn Mawr College in ’96 and I’ve been at Springs Park Elementary ever since.”

“You went to Bryn Mawr?” he asked, his fork suspended in midair. “The all-girls school?”

“Yes.”

“For four years?”

“Yes. Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because most of the women I’ve met from there are—are—” Kenyon’s voice trailed off into silence.

“They’re all butch, bra-burning feminists, right?”

He shrugged. “Pretty much.”

“Bryn Mawr College is an exceptional school with high standards and top academic programs.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Her lips were a tight line. “I’m not offended.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. You’re entitled to your opinion.”

Kenyon studied her face for a few seconds, then said, “Let me just go on the record as saying you’re the finest woman I’ve ever met from Bryn Mawr College.”

Her anger vanished and her lips relaxed into a smile. As far as Makayla was concerned, the compliment was better than the Prize Patrol showing up on her doorstep any day. Makayla felt a twinge of guilt. This was wrong, very, very wrong. Flirting with a married man was asking for bad karma. To divert the conversation away from herself, she asked Kenyon about his career. “You mentioned earlier that you’re a freelance photographer. How did you get into the business?”

“I’ve always loved photography, so when I busted my knee and my football scholarship fell through, I decided to get my associate degree. After graduation, I traveled across Europe, Asia and Africa building up my portfolio. When I returned to the States, I settled in New York. I was lucky enough to work with some of the biggest names in the industry.”

“It must have been hard being away from your family.”

“It was.”

“Do you travel a lot?”

“Too much,” he admitted, his eyes probing her face. “But I plan to be around a lot more. Terrance needs me now. I set my own schedule, which gives me the freedom to choose which jobs I take. I turn down any gig that’s going to keep me away from home longer than a week.”

Not much had changed since high school. Makayla still loved hearing Kenyon talk. She had more questions, but the waitress returned to collect their plates. Since neither one of them wanted dessert, Kenyon asked for the check.

“I had a good time,” he confessed.

It didn’t seem right agreeing with him, so Makayla smiled politely.

“Maybe we can get together once I get back from Fiji. We could catch a movie, or go for drinks. Dave Chappelle is doing a set at the Big Dog Comedy Club the last Saturday of the month. Interested?”

Caught off guard by his question, she took a few seconds to collect her thoughts. He didn’t even ask if I have a boyfriend. Is my single status that obvious? Makayla tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Beneath her straitlaced, university-educated facade lurked a very lonely woman. Sure, she had friends and an active social life, but Makayla yearned to find her soul mate. That one special guy who would love her unconditionally. “I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Why not? I won’t tell if you don’t,” he joked. “I can be discreet. Nobody has to know we’re kicking it.”

Is he suggesting we have an affair? Her feelings bubbled over like a pot of boiling water. Makayla hit him with an icy stare. Kenyon had been making passes at her all night and she was sick of it. He must think he’s something special! she thought, struggling to maintain her composure. Flirting was one thing but now he was crossing the line. He may be having problems in his relationship but he was still legally married and that meant he was off limits. “How can you be so insensitive? Terrance is broken up over what’s going on at home and your wife isn’t faring much better. I suggest you spend more time getting your family back together and less time hitting on me.”

Kenyon smirked. “My wife?”

“Yes, your wife.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, the humor heavy in his voice.

“No, you don’t understand.” Makayla threw down her napkin. “Your son is acting out because of problems at home and you’d rather play the field than attend to his needs. That’s despicable!”

“But Veronika and I—”

“Save it.” Makayla pushed back her chair, tossed down enough money to cover her share of the bill and grabbed her coat.

“Wait! It’s not what you think.”

“Womanizing jerk,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

“Veronika and I aren’t married!”

“Whatever.” Makayla turned and marched through the restaurant without breaking her stride.