Page 16 of Tender Offer
Through a shudder, my breasts tingled against the fabric of my blouse. The mint in his breath mixed with the cold air skated across my cheeks and down to my lips. His gaze implored me to stay, and his mouth inched closer to seal itself with mine.
Every memory of the months we shared thawed until the reminder of how he left me shouted with flashing lights.
Preston might think our reunion means we owe it to each other to see where things go, but I know better. This isn’t somerom-com where a bouncy musical number plays while we kiss to the applause of random strangers who believe in happily ever afters. This is real life. The sequel is rarely better than the original, and I won’t chance finding out if that’s true for us.
I make my way to a customer service agent and resist the urge to steal another peek at the man from my past who made an unwanted cameo in my present. Bad things happen when you don’t heed the signs. Preston’s presence raises too many questions.
“Of course he owns the hotel,” I mumble to myself as I search my purse for my wallet.
“I’m sorry, miss?” The agent studies me with a look that asks why I’m talking to myself.
“Hi,” I say with a half smile and approach the counter. “My flight to New York leaves in a few hours. I’d like to get on an earlier one if possible.”
If Preston is still outside, there’s no stopping him or his charm from suffocating this entire airport. He’s already suffocating as it is. Those model qualities he inherited aged like wine.
You wouldn’t.
Lingering around this airport might get me two federal cases: one for indecent exposure, and the other for murder.
“We have a flight to JFK in forty—”
“Yes!” I mistakenly toss her my library card along with my driver’s license.Keep your mind on his sins and not the sanctuary between his legs.“I’ll take it, thank you.”
“Aht! Play where it’s safe, Regine!” Kojo’sLiving Singlenickname hits me as he swats my hand away with metal chopsticks I now regret buying.
It’s rare for him to get mad, which would make his hostile glare funny if my knuckles weren’t on fire.
“Dramatic much? It’s one bite. Please?” I chuckle at his glower and ease back to my side of the sofa with a wound in tow.
“Unless we’re swapping bodily fluids, you know better than to play on my plate. I told you to order your own, and did you listen? Consider this your consequence.”
Kojo moves in slow motion, taking his time in lifting the food he refuses to share to his mouth. His tongue peeks out right before his lips wrap around cooked dough. The sharp blades of his hazelnut cheekbones dance in recessed lighting with each exaggerated chew.
He knows he looks good in all his Kofi Siriboe glory. No one is immune to his aura. I, too, would fall victim to that buttery smile if I didn’t consider him my brother…or a prick in cashmere at the moment.
He has one more time to fondle his fried chicken and waffles dumpling before I kick him out.
The tease left Atlanta in advance of fashion week. In a few weeks, New York will come to life with couture and innovation. My friend will be a part of that magic with a show for Rustin, his fashion label. After a set design walk-through, he swung by my place with takeout from my favorite Taiwanese spot in the East Village.
I guess I’ll play nice since Kojo brought me dumplings and hired me as a stylist for his show. He doesn’t need one, but we’ve been working together since life connected our paths in France years ago.
“Weren’t you supposed to get in later tonight?” Kojo toes off the black house slippers I keep for his visits and tucks his feet under himself.
“Changed flights,” I confess to the perfectly waxed brow that’s now lifted at me. “Did I interrupt one of your dates?” The flavors of my pork and chive dumplings skip across my taste buds.
He shakes his head. “You have me for three more hours. How was your trip?”
I shrug off the inquiry and reach for my wine on the mirrored tray that rests atop the velvet ottoman.
My apartment is a haven of peace in shades of emerald. I fell in love with it years ago and pulled all my money together to afford the five-thousand-a-month rent. A one-bedroom unit is more than enough for me. It gets tight when my niece stays here instead of her dorm where she belongs, but I can’t picture myself living anywhere else.
I have wall-to-wall views of Hell’s Kitchen, an in-unit washer and dryer, and a parking space I never use. The building underwent a major renovation, and now it has all the amenities I need to save on unnecessary memberships, like the gym.
Every picture frame and decorative accent in my home tells the story of where I’ve been. I’ve come a long way since Breaux Bridge.
“I believe I asked you a question.”
“It was fine,” I say, my focus still on the Bordeaux in front of me.
