Читать книгу In His Arms - Yasmin Sullivan - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Rashad sank into the leather sectional that lined the back of his brother Marcus’s law office. Rashad was the youngest of four brothers, and all were now gathered in Marcus’s office because they had planned—before Rashad knew about his class dates—to go to a Washington Redskins game. He had called to bow out, but he came to see his brothers off. Now all of the brothers—Derrick, Marcus, Keith, and Rashad himself—had arrived.

“I’m just explaining,” Rashad said. “Why I can’t go tonight. I have a class, and I’m having dinner with a classmate afterwards.”

“Is this dinner with a man or a woman?” Derrick, the oldest brother, asked.

Rashad rolled his eyes.

“It’s a woman,” Keith said. He was sitting next to Rashad and nudged Rashad’s shoulder.

“What does that prove—whether it’s a man or woman?” Marcus said.

“Just because you’re gay doesn’t make the rest of us gay,” Keith said. “We love you, bro. But this is a different story.”

“If it was just dinner,” Rashad explained, “I would reschedule, but I can’t change the date and time of my class.”

“Forget the class,” Keith said. “We want to know about the date.”

“Are you still playing,” Derrick asked, “or are you getting serious?”

Rashad was the only one of his brothers not married, including Marcus, the gay one, and it was never long before they started their ribbing and tried to get him to find the right one and “settle down.” Rashad let his head fall back and then shook it, looking at the ceiling. It was starting.

“Rashad hasn’t been serious about anyone his whole life,” Derrick said.

“Hey, I’ve always been up front about not wanting to get serious.”

“That’s to your credit,” Marcus said. “But what about getting serious for a change?”

“I’ll know when it’s time to get serious,” Rashad answered. “I’ll know when I find the right one.”

“I don’t know,” Keith said, already trying to control his laughter. “I’ve seen you out with a couple of, how shall I say, not-so-comely women.”

This exaggeration was designed to get Rashad’s gall up. They all knew that he dated lookers.

“Okay. Let me alone.” He panned his index fingers, pointing at all his brothers. “I can whip all of your behinds individually. Remember that.”

Rashad was the youngest but also by far the tallest of the four at six feet and two inches. And his brothers’ ribbing did get his gall up. He had dated only casually partly because he had in mind a model prototype of the woman he would marry, and he had not met her yet, so he had never really been serious. Actually, he resented the pressure his brothers put on him to conform, but he found that it subsided more quickly if he ignored them and didn’t let on that they were getting on his last nerve.

“It’s not that it isn’t fun to play,” Derrick said. “But there comes a time to settle down.”

Those were the words he hated. Rashad raised his palms in desperation, then let them slam down on his thighs.

“Here we go again.”

“Just trying to school you the right way, baby brother,” Marcus said, backing up Derrick.

“What we mean—”

Rashad cut off Keith. He was the last one married and the least serious of the bunch about everything except his marriage.

“No, we’re not going there today. And you, brother of mine, are the last one who should be talking about being serious.”

His other brothers cracked up, which was not quite what Rashad had intended.

“We’re not on me today,” Keith said, almost pouting. He added, “Thank heavens.”

Rashad stood as Trevor, Marcus’s partner, opened the door and came inside.

“I have to get on it,” Rashad said. “I have to make it to Old Town Alexandria from here in rush hour traffic. Hey, Trevor.” He greeted the other man with a brief hug. “You taking my place tonight?”

“Apparently so.”

Marcus got up from behind his desk and came over to them, first hugging his partner hello then clapping Rashad on the back and pulling him in for a similar hug goodbye. Derrick got up from his chair and Keith from the sectional, and both also came over to hug Rashad.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight, you guys. We don’t get together enough.”

“Hey,” Derrick said, “Thanksgiving is next month, and I think the next game is before that.”

Rashad and Keith did their thing, a brief hug and then a smacking of closed fists.

“I’ll see you all then,” Rashad said. “If not before.”

He left his brother’s firm and made it to his meter before it expired.

His brothers had riled him, but they also had him thinking. Tonight was actually something of a date (though he would never say that to his brothers), and he didn’t know if he needed to say something to Michelle about not getting too serious. It was generally the first thing out of his mouth—just so they couldn’t point fingers later—but it hadn’t even occurred to him to say anything to Michelle. But then he’d thought she was married. Now that he knew she wasn’t, he still didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to chance chasing her away.

Something about her just set him at ease with himself. Yet she wasn’t what he thought his ideal would be. He imagined a sleek, sexy, manicured professional type—a corporate lawyer in a tight-fitting skirt done up to the nines, assertive and in control but his (and only his) playmate. He’d had that fantasy since he was a teenager, hence the model types that he’d dated. But none of them had shared his interests or even his thoughts.

Michelle, on the other hand, sparked something inside him. He thought about her, waited for her email saying that she could stay late after class—which had finally come two days ago. It was the way her energy filled his car on the ride home, or the way he fantasized about her curves. She was beautiful, but not in a sleek, manufactured way. There was some fire to her, but there was also a sweetness about her, an unassuming quality.

He reached the Torpedo Factory Art Center without coming to any resolution and smiled when he saw her beat-up Ford Fiesta in the lot as he pulled in. Yes, there was something about this woman.

He didn’t know quite what it was or what to do about it, and he didn’t have time to figure it out right then, so he would let come what might.

He found her already there when he entered the classroom, and took his usual seat next to her.

“Did you still need a map to get here?”

“Don’t start with me,” she said, but then she chuckled and nodded her head. “Did you finish your homework?”

“Of course. And here I am with it, even though I’m missing a Redskins game with my brothers.”

“Redskins?”

Rashad couldn’t suppress his laughter, and other students in the class turned to look. He wanted to let them in on it, but he couldn’t stop the laughter, so he just waved them away. When he could catch his breath, he turned back to Michelle.

“You don’t know who the Redskins are?”

“I told you I don’t follow sports. But has anybody thought about this name?”

Rashad chuckled more, but he could control the volume this time.

“I’m glad I amuse you,” Michelle said. Then she put her hand on her hip and moved her head back and forth, getting real. “But this laughter at my expense has got to end.”

“I’m sorry. I am. And, yes, I’m sure that the name has been a subject of debate.”

Rashad was laughing again before he finished. After a firm look in his direction, Michelle joined in.

“Are we still on for tonight, or do you need to leave early to catch what you can of the game on television or something?”

“No, my brother-in-law got my ticket, and the game will show in reruns, so we’re on. I guess that’s the upside of missing the game. I don’t have to miss tonight with you.”

Michelle looked at him closely, perhaps judging his sincerity, but she didn’t reply. She shrugged her shoulders and mouthed the word okay.

That was enough—that and the way she looked tonight. Though she was sitting down, he could see that she didn’t have on her usual leggings or jeans. She had dressed a bit for tonight. Over what looked like a brown satin camisole, she had on a brown lace cover-up that fit close to her body and that went down to her thighs. She also had on brown palazzo pants that widened at the ankle, flaring out like a dress, and she had on low black heels. Instead of her usual sweater, a long, brown African mudcloth wrap hung on the back of her chair with her purse.

Her long hair had fresh curls at the ends, and a piece of material that matched her cover-up circled her head from her nape to her crown, ending in a neat knot above her left ear. If he was right, her face had a little extra makeup, as well, just enough so that he could see the extra care she’d taken.

It was enough to make Rashad look twice and value what he saw—a beautiful woman. He looked down at his standard white shirt and slacks and wished he’d done something else. At least he could grab his coat and tie from the car when they dropped off their portfolios.

“You look great tonight,” he whispered as the teacher walked in.

She smiled and turned to the front of the class, which was all on composition and started with a slide show. For their first drawing exercise, they had to create an arrangement with twenty abstract and unrelated objects. This focused his attention on the task at hand, even if part of his mind was waiting for it to be over.

At the end of the class, they turned in the assignments from their portfolios, and he finally got a look at Michelle standing. In low heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was.

“You must be something like five-eleven, right?”

“What?”

“Five feet eleven inches tall.”

Her brow wrinkled, but she confirmed it. “Yes, how did you know?”

“I have about three inches on you, but not when you have on heels. You look great tonight.”

“You said that before.”

“I mean it again.”

“Thank you.”

Michelle had gathered up her things and turned to him. “Where to now?”

“What do you feel like eating?”

She made a guttural sound and slumped. “I hate that question. Anything. I feel like eating anything.”

“I checked, and there’s a little bit of just about everything around King Street.”

Michelle held up her hand and waved for him to follow her. “Let’s walk and talk before it gets too late.”

“There’s a burger place off King Street. Oh, there’s a Southern place called King Street Blues. I think we can walk there from here. How about that?”

“Yes. There. Quick. Decisive. No pondering.” Michelle chuckled. “I hate that question, but thank you for asking rather than just deciding. And, yes, Southern will be fine, but not fried. I can’t gain another pound or my clothes won’t fit, and I don’t have wardrobe bucks until I pick up some extra hours at the coffeehouse over the summer.”

Rashad knew Michelle well enough to let that go. But he filed the reference under possible things to get her for Christmas.

After they stored their portfolios and supplies, they decided to head straight for the restaurant rather than linger along King Street and chance having it close on them. Michelle had on her mudcloth wrap and looked like an African queen. Rashad took her hand as they maneuvered through the groups touring the street. She was leading, and he didn’t want to lose her, but it felt good to have her hand for other reasons, too. She looked back at him and smiled, plunging them along through the crowd.

“Does this place ever quiet down?” he asked once they made it to the restaurant.

“I’ve been at Regina’s shop until midnight, and there were still people in the streets,” Michelle said.

“That’s right. I’d almost forgotten. Did we pass it?”

“Yes, but I can point it out on the way back, when we have more time.”

The restaurant was still open, and they were seated right away.

Rashad took Michelle’s hands in his while they waited for their late-night meal. He saw her get still and quiet, but she didn’t take her hands away. Instead, she smiled at him.

“I like the feel of your hands,” she said. “They’re strong.”

“Yours are soft. I like that, too.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before their dinner arrived, and Rashad had to let Michelle’s hands go for what they’d ordered. The ribs were tender, the cornbread was moist, the greens were well peppered and the cobbler was juicy. It was a real Southern meal.

“Does it compare to what you get down home?” he asked.

“Yes, it does, but no one can top my uncle’s ribs or my mother’s cornbread and cobbler. This is like home when you’re on vacation.”

“Good. I’m glad you like it.”

“What about your family traditions? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

“I have three brothers, no sisters.”

“But you said your brother-in-law got your Redskins ticket.”

“One of my brothers is gay. His partner is my brother-in-law.”

“Good for them.”

“I’m glad you’re cool with that. Thank you.”

“No thanks needed. Was your family okay when he came out?”

“Long story short—no.” Rashad chuckled. “At least not my father. But he got over it, I think. I hope so for my brother. What about you? Any siblings?”

“Nope, just me.”

“Michelle the bad girl.”

“Well, I did grow up.”

Rashad could tell there was more to that, but seeing that Michelle didn’t go on, he let it go. They talked about art for the rest of their meal. When they turned to the cobbler, the conversation changed. With the main course gone, he regained her hand, and when he caressed her fingers, hers caressed his back.

“I know it’s soon, but I really, really like you,” Rashad heard himself say. “I—I don’t know what else I planned to say. Just that, I guess.”

“I like you a great deal, too.”

“Do you date much—since your divorce, I mean?”

Michelle got quiet and still again; even the fingers that had been caressing his ceased to move.

“No, I haven’t dated at all. I’ve just been trying to re-create my life—to arrange things so that I could go back to school, work, raise my son. It doesn’t leave time for a whole lot, and I haven’t really been interested in more than that for a while.”

“Would you be interested in dating now?”

She shrugged. “It’s hard to balance everything. I’m not sure if there are enough hours in a day—or a week.”

She hadn’t gotten his real question.

“What about me? Could you see yourself dating me?”

“I think so,” she answered.

Rashad’s chest swelled, but he tried not to show it.

“What about you?” Michelle asked. “What have your relationships been like?”

Now it was Rashad’s turn to get quiet; he had to admit what he didn’t want to admit to this particular woman.

“I’ve dated a lot but nothing serious. I’ve been waiting for the right person.”

Michelle squinted her eyes and did a double take. “Nothing serious? What does that mean?”

“My relationships,” Rashad said, “have all been mutually superficial. I hate to say that, but it’s true.”

Michelle took a deep breath and looked Rashad straight in the eyes with those translucent brown pools of hers. When she finally spoke, it was slow, and he could read the disappointment in her tone.

“My life is a bit too complicated right now to have a mutually superficial relationship, Rashad. I can’t do that.”

They had finished their dessert, and she started to get up.

She turned back, looking around the restaurant. “We need the check.”

“I’ll get that, but wait.”

She had started to leave again.

“Wait. Don’t go. I’m not asking you to do that. I don’t want that with you.” This much, at least, was true. Now that he knew she wasn’t married, he was even more interested in her. He could allow himself to be interested in her.

“What do you want with me, Rashad?”

That he didn’t know.

“I don’t know. I only know that I almost kissed a married woman when I thought you were married, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you, and I’ve never talked to anyone the way I can talk to you. That’s all I know. What do you want with me?”

He had gotten hold of her hand, and he drew her back to the table.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “I guess I just know that I like spending time with you.”

Rashad couldn’t help but smile.

“But I don’t want a casual thing.”

“Deal. Let’s see where this can go, and no casual thing. Either we become friends and nothing else, or we become something real. No in-between.”

“Deal.”

They both took deep breaths as the rough patch between them fell away. Now they could relax.

He paid the tab, and, as they left the restaurant, he put his hand on the small of her back. She looked up at him and smiled.

“I like it when you touch me that way.”

“I want to touch you more,” Rashad said softly.

“Let’s not rush into things,” Michelle responded. “Let’s figure out what we want first.”

Still, he saw a shudder move through her shoulders and could tell that she was responding to his touch, his voice.

“Okay.”

They walked slowly back toward North Union Street, window-shopping along the way and stepping inside some of the stores that were still open. They paused in front of the art galleries and a couple of advertisements to talk about the pieces using their newly acquired knowledge from class.

Rashad had taken Michelle’s hand, and she took his arm as they strolled. She pointed out the mosaic and beadwork studio that belonged to her cousin’s wife, and Rashad wanted to go in—mainly to meet some of her family but also because the pieces were fabulous. Unfortunately, it was late enough that the studio was closed. They would have to come back another day.

This time, when they got to Michelle’s Ford Fiesta, Rashad took her in his arms and pressed her body against his. He expected her to hesitate after their conversation, but she lifted her arms to his neck, smiling, and tipped upward on her toes to meet his lips.

The soft pressure of her lips and the floral aroma of her perfume filled his senses, and the way her curves pressed against him made his body rigid. When they broke from the most sensual kiss he had ever had, Rashad teetered back, drunk on the moment.

“Was that as good as kissing a married woman?” Michelle asked.

“That was infinitely better,” he said and let out a long, shaky breath, his body wanting more.

Michelle gasped and looked at her watch.

“Oh, no. I’m going to be late getting my son.”

“How long do you have?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“Let’s go. You’ll be late five minutes, at most. Honk if I get too far ahead of you.”

Rashad turned toward his car, turned back to give Michelle one more brief kiss and they were off.