Page 85 of Steps

“The hell is his problem?” she asks, turning tome.

Acting nonchalant, I shrug. “Beats me.”

We have breakfast together the following morningbefore Daniel leaves for a meeting with a client. Alison skips eating and goesfor a jog instead. Varen’s still giving me jealous glances.

“Mom, are you going to be here all day?” I ask,finishing my pancake.

She nods. “Mostly. Marie’s stopping by to go overdetails.”

“Cool. Can I borrow your car?”

Varen’s head flies up from his waffles, foreheadcreased. “I can drive you. It’s no problem.”

“That’s fine.” I give him a sly smile. “I’d ratherdrive myself, but thank you.” Steering my eyes back to Mom, I ask, “Is itokay?”

“Sure. What do you have planned for today?” Shewatches me over her coffee mug as she drinks.

I look at Varen briefly as I answer, “MeetingKenya before she goes to work later.”

He appears confused now.

She beams at me. “All right. Have fun.”

“Thanks.” I carry my plate to the sink and walk tothe entryway, grabbing her keys before stepping outside.

Mom’s car is parked on the driveway behindAlison’s. I’m not surprised to see Varen coming out of the house. He marchesacross the lawn to me.

“Are you seriously going out for coffee withanother guy? Right in my face?”

I giggle. “Varen, I’m not meeting August. I didn’tlie to my mom; I’m really going to see my best friend.”

His shoulders relax. He laughs short. “You werefucking with me?”

“Yep. Told August I couldn’t meet him.”

Varen narrows his gaze on me. “For messing with myemotions, you’re going to get it from me.”

“Ooh.” I bite my lip at the animal-like lust inhis eyes. “Well, until next time, Mr. Kirby.”

He growls. “Next time. Get it nice and ready forme, Ms. Anderson.” Then he ambles back inside the house.

I get in the car and breathe a shaky breath,rattled by the heat between my legs.Damn. It’s been six days since welast had sex. Perhaps I should have let him ravish me in that guy’s bed at thegraduation party.

Life can be so unfair. Kenya’s mom used to be agreat middle school teacher, now she has trouble remembering her kids and herhusband.

“Hey, girl.” Kenya waves me inside the apartment.

Tracy stops me at the door, alarmed. “Wait a sec,who-who are you? Why are you here?”

I touch my heart. “It’s me, Latoya.”

Kenya’s younger brothers stop playing video gamesand look over from the couch, innocent faces peppered with worry.

“She’s my friend.” Kenya rubs her arm. “Momma,don’t you remember Toya?”

Tracy screws up her face at me. “Latoya…” Sherifles her curls and shakes her head. “Sorry. I’m going to lie down.” Shemarches off to her bedroom.

Since learning of her condition, I haven’t treatedKenya’s mom any different. She’s still the woman who let me sleepover and gaveme homecooked meals when Mom worked late, and Gran was in the hospital.

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