Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Long as we do something newsworthy.” I shrugged. “Compel the owners’ hearts. Stan and Hoops might be persuaded. Peter. If I can swing him too, all of Guggenheim Baseball Management might listen.”
“Listen to me,” LaShawn said. “Can everyone hear me?”
“Yep. You’re on speaker. Manage.”
“I need you and the waitress—”
“Doctor,” Zuri said, cutting in, then winced. “Sorry. I …”
“Black and educated?” Lashawn said. “Honey, we’re unicorns.”
“Actually,” Zuri said, “those stats are rising … whatever.” She mumbled, “Thanks for ditching the single-mom scenario.”
“So, you are a single mother?” LaShawn asked.
“Damn.” I chuckled. “I should’ve said the single ma on the phone has elephant ears.”
“True.” LaShawn’s usual cigarette-burned voice softened. “But do you have a kid, Journey?”
“My son’s out of the question,” Zuri said.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying. So you’ll arrive this afternoon? Do dinner. Something small, intimate, in a prime location. Play up your position, Journey. Let people see you’re a doctor. Montana, are you on crutches?”
“Nah.”
“Get some.”
“Nah.”
“Arm sling?”
“Nah.”
LaShawn did her thing—grumbled for thirty seconds—then tried again. “If reporters ask, Montana, are you willing to …?”
“Yep. I’ll open my mouth. Speak.”
“See? I knew you could do it!”
Hadn’t realized all Zuri did for me.
Here I thought I’d offered her first class, a new lace front with its own zip code, and a dinner so fine it required silverware etiquette.
But when she asked Momma to hold her heart—while giving Darius one last hug—that scrambled a dude’s mind.
Made me want to be held. Not just hugged.
Held. All night long.
I shook my head fast in the Uber, leaving LAX. Dangerous thinking. That’s how a man ended up candle shopping at Bath & Body Works and discussing our color palette.
“You cold?” Zuri asked from the back seat next to me as palm trees and gray LA skies zipped by. “That boat hat—”
“Bucket hat,” I corrected for the tenth time.
“Mm-hmm. A hoodie would’ve worked.”
“Once again, I left my stash tryna …” give you time to explain to Darius. She seemed to realize I grabbed last-minute items at the airport in NOLA because she needed to prepare him. But I didn’t mean to place the blame. She had every right to make Little Dude feel comfortable. I doubted that she had ever spent more time apart from him than when he attended childcare. I shoulder-checked her softly. “Besides, nobody said nothing about that 3X wig on your head.”
She elbowed my bad rib. “Shut up. It’s only a 1X as if that’s any of your business.”
“It is. A stylist will arrive at the house”—I glanced at my watch—“any minute now. We gonna upgrade you to a human hair wig and—”
“House? And how do you know about human hair?”
I side-eyed her. “I’m Black. My momma’s Black. If I ever settle, my wife will be—”
“Full of good melanin, I get it.” Her eyes rolled. “Hello, the house? Won’t we be staying at a hotel … in two individual rooms?”
I sighed as the car rolled to a stop in front of my 10,472-square-foot mansion. “I assume you won’t take me up on my offer to share my bed? That good ole Southern hospitality doesn’t disappear since we’re no longer in NOLA, bébé.”
“Aw, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Big Country.” Her voice dripped with more sugar than the Karo syrup in my restaurant’s kitchen. She gave my chest a soft pat. “But no, we won’t be sharing a bed.”
Zuri slipped out of the door with the driver’s help.
“Damn, what did my momma do to you, bébé?” I whispered into the empty sedan.
Had Momma said something this morning? Or was it them boys from the restaurant? Man, she couldn’t be afraid.
Though I’d give anything to know, I still felt sorry for someone else.
Me. Under any other circumstance, I’d never feel sorry for myself. We’d chilled at my place. A whole ass week. Any day now, I’d expected Zuri to tiptoe into my bed after Darius fell asleep. Or enjoy the kitchen counter with me. I’d never invited a woman home, here or in NOLA. With every conquest, I treated LA like an away game. Would’ve been nice to christen the kitchen with someone genuine.
Zuri was … special.
“Momma,” I whispered into the empty Uber and shook my head, “you out here being petty and ruining lives from a thousand miles away.”
An hour later, the stylist pulled a little red scrap off the rack. Zuri turned my living room into an HBCU stomp the yard as she entered. Tug, stomp. Pull, march.
And her real hair? Wild and free, the Sisterlocks covered more skin than that so-called dress. Bodycon, huh? Three straps of red fabric. One held onto her chest for dear life. A line connected it to another strip, clinging to her hips like it paid rent.
I was here for it. Every single second while seated on a ten-thousand-dollar gray couch. Arms spread wide, I soaked it all in.