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)
“That’s why I—” My mouth clamped up. I hated this part. We were in the city for lovers. We resembled strangers who felt a spark on a plane and decided to see where it led. That spark was gone. Around us, Paris glowed while we squabbled like an old married couple. Divorce? Not an option. If I married …
Can’t be with Zuri. You don’t even know her full government, Montana. She’ll ghost you, bruh.
I watched her attack her Berthillon. One creamy bite after another. The Seine sparkled with the dying sun, while lovers walked by without a care in the world. Me? I was tryna pry the truth from a woman who guarded her past like classified intel.
My ice cream cup sweated in my palm. “You hate pistachio ice cream. Vanilla. Chocolate. Guess I can add lemon sorbet to the list of what you love.” I’m falling for you, bébé. Give me a piece of you!
Something.
She mumbled, “I moved around a lot.”
“No fam?”
Her head shook.
I nodded. “Washington is a juvenile judge. Foster youth. Probation. He had me come down and talk a couple times. Those kids”—I scratched the back of my neck—“really needed it. I mean. He’s even the foster youth judge for one of the kids who tried to rob us. Damn, just realized I—”
“Oh, they found the kids? Did you decide to press charges? And what did you realize?”
“A detective called me while we were avoiding each other in the hotel. Nah, just community service. But I just realized I was comparing Wash’s knuckleheads to you.”
She smiled softly.
“Here I go, tryna relate.” My attempt to connect with her had me out here looking like a sax player after 3 a.m.—flustered, outta tune, and wondering why I didn’t give up. “I get that Curtis and Deidre help when they can. They’re struggling with infertility—was that the real reason you left?”
Silence.
I laughed low, frustration biting. Did she leave to protect her friends from her baby daddy? Man, she had me guessing wild. “Zuri, your friend has skills. Clearly, Curtis got government clearance—or the brotha can hack. That’s the limit of his help.” My hand squeezed her thigh. “Why not ask me for help, chère?” Here I was. Still trying because every blue moon she kissed me as if I were the only man. “What are we up against?”
“We?” Zuri’s eyes snapped toward me. She choked on the word, eyes glassy. “Montana, you’re frustrated. I’m frustrated. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Let me in, girl.”
“If I gave you Darius’s dad’s name? Would you leave it alone?”
“No!” Too soon. Too honest.
“You have baseball.”
I care, damn!
“No altercations, Montana.” She glanced at the river. “That sums up your probation until April, right?”
My chest pulled. Although the Dodgers had lifted my probation, I was determined not to let our contract become the mistake of my life. “Okay. Keep that part to yourself. For now. I wanna know, though. When you’re ready.”
Her lashes lowered. “Can’t.”
“You can.”
“Later, Montana.” A smile played on those pretty lips. “The hotel staff arrived with gift bags when we headed to the elevator to come out this evening. Black-tie attire. You’re supposed to wear black tie for dinner. Let’s get ready.”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
“You said no fake date was complete without ice cream. This was enough.”
“You wanna go home?” Her brow lifted.
“The paps had a field day when we ate Jenga pieces in LA.”
Her laugh broke, warm and surprised. “They did?”
“Yep. Close-up and all. Now I posted on social media. We good for a while.”
Zuri’s laughter faded, her soft brown eyes on me. I had her where I wanted her. Mostly.
zuri
. . .
The night air nipped at my toes through my new black leather peep-toe booties. Didn’t matter. Not when the moon hung full and soft over Paris, glowing against the cobblestone, washing the ancient buildings in its glow. Definitely not when Montana’s broad frame in that dark peacoat became a permanent, protective fixture at my side. The world around me was no longer a stage for a painful slapstick, with the echo of others’ laughter after I endured every emotional blow.
Every few steps, I risked a glance. He carried himself as usual—big, calm, confident. But tonight, something was different. His head tilted back every so often as he studied old buildings with their glowing balconies and explained architecture. While I enjoyed the lesson, I relished how I didn’t stand before Big Country, the legend. Instead, my date, Montana Babineaux, gave me all his attention.
“Here we are,” he said as we approached another street. “La Goutte d’Or.”
Music spilled from cafés, and a sweet smell drifted through the air. “So, this is Black Paris?” I grinned at a woman on the corner offering to braid anyone’s hair who glanced her way.
As his arm claimed me again, and we walked over, my shoulders lowered. I could breathe again. I didn’t have to clamp my mouth to stop from blurting: I killed a man. My son’s would-be abductor.