Page 43 of Rules Of Engagement: St. Louis
“Work,” I said automatically.
Elijah laughed. “Don’t you think we know you better than that?”
“Then tell me, genius, what am a I thinking about?”
“A woman.”
I peered at him. “How do you figure?”
“That’s the face you’ve got.”
“I don’t have a ‘thinking about a woman’ face.”
“You absolutely do,” Ron chimed in. “Same face I get when I’m trying to figure out how to apologize for something I probably shouldn’t have done in the first place.”
All three of them were staring at me now with amused expressions. I took a long sip of Brandy, buying time I didn’t really need. These men knew me too well to believe whatever deflection I might offer.
“There’s someone,” I said. “But then, there’s not.”
Their brows furrowed, but Xander’s rose. It must’ve hit him then that my incessant checking had to do with Naomi. But hehad no idea the emphasis on my want for her, now that I had gotten a full taste.
“It’s not up for discussion, but if and when it is, I’ll be the first to let you fellas know.”
They glanced at each other then back at me.
“I’ll let you get away with that for now. Especially since we’ve got something to celebrate.”
“Yeaaaaah boy!” Xander said, coming back into the conversation. He whistled and servers approached us with Remy Martin Cognac Louis XIII and four short glasses surrounding it.
I laughed and nodded.
“You didn’t think we forgot did you,” Elijah asked.
“Maybe.” I winked and took the offered drink.
“Congratulations, Son,” Ron said. “You keep kicking ass. We love you very much.”
“Hear! Hear!” Xander and Elijah cheered.
We clinked glasses and drank as dishes were placed around us.
“From the kitchen,” a server said as she sat plates down on the table and strutted off.
“This must’ve come from Aunt Bernice,” Elijah said.
“It did.” And as my eyes fell over the soul food, my mouth watered. I had nothing left to say but a quick prayer before I dug in.
Chapter
Nine
NAOMI
The automatic doorsat Schnucks slid open with a whoosh, and I grabbed a shopping cart from the line of silver baskets. Saturday afternoon grocery shopping wasn’t my favorite activity, but my refrigerator had reached that sad state where condiments outnumbered actual food three to one.
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the list I’d made earlier. Salmon for tomorrow’s dinner. Greek yogurt. That olive oil I’d been craving. Nothing exciting.
The produce section was always so cold I froze whenever I needed to pick a mix of fresh herbs and ripe fruit. I was examining a pile of round oranges when I heard a toddler in full meltdown mode.
