Authors: Cydney Michele; Rax Lutishia; Grant Lovely
Crush (5 page)
6
Rich Boy
Jayla grew quieter the closer they got to Jason’s house. By the time they walked up the stone steps and he opened the front door she was just standing there with her mouth open.
“Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore,” Jason heard Jayla mutter as they entered his town house.
He knew his home made a statement. He’d planned it that way. After his failed marriage, he wanted a home that was traditional, not trendy. One that would look good today and twenty years from now. It was a three-story restored home built in 1910. The color scheme was very traditional in gold, navy blue, and tan. The first level housed an open kitchen as well as the formal living and dining areas. The bedrooms were on the second floor. And the third floor, where Jason spent most of his time, held the office, media room, bar area, and a flight of stairs leading to a rooftop deck. There was a tiny side yard and an attached two-car garage. The entire house screamed understated elegance and casual wealth.
“Did you say something?” Jason asked, just to see if she’d say it again.
“How many of those coffeehouses did you say you owned?” she asked, looking around.
“Twelve, but I have interests in a few other businesses.” Jason thought it best to downplay the scope of his holdings; Jayla seemed overwhelmed enough by his success.
Walking up the stairway to reach the bedroom, she stopped dead on the landing. “Is this an original Jacob Lawrence?” She goggled at a painting, referring to the renowned African-American Harlem Renaissance artist.
Jason shrugged. “My father bought it for me at auction when I graduated from business school.”
She nodded. “I see . . . and your father is a . . . ?”
“Dentist, retired now. Plays a lot of golf.”
“Golf?”
“Yes, golf. You whack a little white ball toward a hole in the ground, perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
“Ah, you’ve got jokes. Just reflecting for a moment. I doubt my dad even knows where the closest golf course is.”
“Your dad’s not a sports enthusiast?”
“He’s not much of anything.”
Jason turned on the landing to study her face. She looked tense. “Touchy subject?”
“The touchiest.”
“So we’ll move on. Come on in to my room. There’s another gift from my father here before you freak out. It’s a Hepplewhite side table.”
“How many cavities paid for this?” Jayla wondered out loud.
“I can ask him if you’d like,” Jason teased.
Her gaze met his and her face relaxed into a smile as he intended. “I don’t think that will be necessary.” She walked into the middle of the room and turned in a circle. Jason’s room was a man’s room, no doubt. Massively heavy furniture in dark wood accented with shades of blue and tan. A monstrously large TV took up one wall. A sitting area with buttery leather seating filled one corner. “You know that half of my condo could fit into your bedroom alone. And is that a wine fridge, player?”
Jason rolled his eyes and came up behind her to wrap his arms around her waist. “It’s a beverage fridge that sometimes houses wine but usually holds bottled water. By the way, Ms. Jayla, I am not a player. You are about ten years too late for my doggish days.”
“Interesting.”
“You doubt?”
“You were ready to do me on the coffee counter the first night we met!”
“Not until you sent out the ‘come get some’ vibe. I was in there minding my own business and you came striding in. You ate me up with your eyes and fairly scorched my pants off, woman. You should know that you have a very expressive face.”
Jayla threw her head back and laughed. “My face was saying all that?”
“Girl, you know you were beaming ready, willing, and able signals my way. Admit it.”
She turned in his arms. “I might have been thinking it but I didn’t make a move.”
“Neither did I. I’m a gentleman, ma’am.”
“We’ll see about that. Let’s get you a change of clothes, rich boy.”
“Oh, it’s like that?”
“It is most certainly like that.”
“Hmm, well, I have to take a quick shower. Maybe you should come in with me and soothe my hurt feelings?”
Her voice was husky when she answered. “Well, we can’t have those feelings hurt.”
Jason took her hand and led her toward the master bathroom. “We really can’t. I’m sensitive.”
“Sensitive, gentleman, not a player. Cooks, loves Mexican food, wealthy. Excellent in bed, not married or gay, makes a perfect mocha. What’s wrong with you?”
Jason started to laugh until he realized she was serious. “Does something have to be?”
She nodded seriously. “Something always is.”
“Well, I’m not perfect, but I’m not a bad guy. Kinda like you.”
“Me, what do you know about me?”
“Coffee drinker, owns her own place, ambitious, and career focused. Burned before but not bitter about it, plays her cards close to the vest. Lady on the outside, freaky on the inside, loves her grandma, and knows her sports. And you have good girl/good woman written all over you.”
Jayla was impressed, but tried not to show it. “Do I, now? Well, let’s see what I can do to show you how bad I can be right quick, sir.”
“Do your worst.”
“I do love a challenge.”
7
To Grandmother’s House We Go
Due to obvious reasons, it took far longer than expected to “change Jason’s clothes.” It was well into the afternoon when we climbed into Jason’s Mercedes Hybrid SUV. I had been peppering him with questions about his childhood for the last fifteen minutes.
“So you grew up in Oak Park and went to Fenwick?” I said incredulously as we rode in a car that cost about four-fifths of my salary . . . and I was very well paid. Oak Park was a neighborhood known for an extremely high median income. Fenwick was a private school.
He glanced over at me. “I’m a child of privilege from a two-parent household. I know I was blessed and treasured and loved. But I’m not obnoxious about it. I take it this was not your childhood?”
“Ha!” I laughed shortly and without humor. “I grew up in Englewood and went to public high school. One day when I was five, my mother dropped me off to visit my grandmother and just never came back. My father visited at Christmas and on my birthday. My mother on Thankgiving and Easter. So no, I was neither privileged nor treasured.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Okay, I was treasured. Ethel Joy, also known as Sassy, thinks I hang the sun in the morning and the moon at night.”
He smiled. “Ethel Joy. I like it.”
“She’s my rock. She made so many sacrifices to make sure I got out of Englewood and got my degree.”
“Where did you go?”
“Duke.”
“Ah, southern Ivy League. Did you like it?”
“I loved it.”
“Graduate school?”
“I was going to go to Northwestern but Ethel Joy was diagnosed with lupus and I had to make some money.”
“Wow.” He shook his head in amazement.
“Wow?”
“You’re a special person. I knew that.”
“I didn’t do anything that anyone else wouldn’t have done.”
He sent me an odd look. “You’d be surprised.”
“Anyway, so no advanced degree and I’ve been too busy just getting to the next place to go back.”
“It’s funny. I went to Columbia, then Northwestern. If our lives were different, we could’ve met each other ten years ago.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have given me the time of day. I’ll bet you were the big man on campus.”
Jason smiled wryly. “I might have been a little popular, but believe me, you would’ve caught my eye.”
“I was the studious, oversized-cardigan, glasses-on, hair-in-a-ponytail type.”
He shrugged. “It’s not how you look, babe. It’s that spirit. It calls out to me.”
I was stunned speechless. There he went again, saying the perfect damn thing. I stayed silent while he battled for a parking space near the farmers’ market.
We wandered through the market and stopped to sniff, sample, squeeze, and select. Shortly we had three baskets going. One for him, one for me, and one for Ethel Joy. At one stall, he attempted to pay for my vegetables and I slapped his hand away. “Oh no, moneybags. I’ve got this,” I told him. I paid and moved on to the next stall. When I looked back he was the one looking stunned. “What’s wrong with you, Richie Rich?”
“You’re just different from most women I know.”
“Because I pay for my own kale?”
“Because it never occurred to you not to pay for your own kale.”
“You’ve known some unfortunate-minded women in your day.”
“You have no idea,” Jason said in a tone.
“Uh-oh. That’s your ‘bad relationship memories’ voice.”
He smiled wryly. “We all have them. Unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately.” I sighed deeply.
“We’ll compare tragedies on the drive to Barrington. You take twenty minutes, I’ll take twenty minutes, and then we’ll set it all aside.”
Again, he stunned me with his straight on, no chaser approach. He was just without guile. I had no experience with a man who wasn’t all about the games. “You’re going to take some getting used to,” I told him as we headed back to the car.
“So start getting used to me so I can stick around a while,” he said simply while holding open the door for me. “Whole Foods next?”
I nodded without acknowledging the first half of his statement. I just didn’t know what to do with that yet.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and fastened his seat belt. “That is, if you want me to stick around?”
“I hadn’t thought beyond the weekend,” I answered honestly.
“That’s right. You’re cautious. Extra wary and cautious.”
“Never met a man who didn’t warrant some extra caution.”
He nodded slowly and started the car for the short drive to the market. “Well, that puts me in my place.”
“Jason! I didn’t mean it that way. I’m good just in the moment. I don’t need an idea of what tomorrow is going to bring. Okay?”
“Okay, if that’s what Jayla wants . . . Jayla gets the moment.”
We rode the few blocks in silence. He found a space on the third level of the parking garage and I dug in my purse for the list Ethel Joy had given me earlier in the week. It wasn’t until we got a cart and headed for the butcher’s department that I realized he hadn’t said a word. I shot him a look and found him watching me intently. I tilted my head to the side in inquiry.
“Why do I have the feeling that you’re going to break my heart?” Jason said seriously.
I was alarmed and appalled. “Oh no, not me! I’m not a heartbreaker. I’m really not.”
He mimicked my tone from a few moments ago. “I never met a woman who thought she was.”
“So just agree with me. We’re taking it as it comes—no expectations, no strings, and no heartbreak.” I said that not knowing whether or not that was even possible. But I needed him to agree.
“Let’s give it a shot.” He put out a hand to shake on it and I slid my hand into his and squeezed.
“Thank you.”
He linked our fingers and we got started.
Jason, as I should have suspected, was a brilliant shopper. He knew half of the “foodie specialists” who worked there and before long we had Ethel Joy’s list handled and an interesting assortment of foods for me packed into insulated cooler bags. When he reached for his wallet at the checkout counter, I shot him a look. He backed away with his hands up and let me handle it.
On the way out of the store, he stopped in the floral department and picked up a huge bouquet of roses, orchids, and daisies in a bright blue glass jar. “A little something for Ethel Joy.” He smiled at me.
“Oh, you’re determined to have her fall in love with you. I see you, Jason. I see you.”
At long last we were in the car headed to Barrington. Jason had keyed the address into his GPS system and put some old-school R&B on the satellite radio. “All right, we’re on our way.” He headed toward I-90.
“At this point I think there’s something I ought to know,” I said seriously, sliding on some sunglasses.
He stilled. “Well, as I said earlier—I’m disease free, straight, not married . . .”
I laughed. “Me, too; not that—your last name?”
He laughed. “Oh, Jericho.”
I barked out a laugh. “Seriously, you are not real.” I looked at him over the top of my glasses.
“I know, Jason Jericho.” He rolled his eyes.
“Sounds like a porn name.” Apropos, I thought to myself, turning to lean against the car door to watch him.
“You’re one to talk, Jayla Lake. Sounds like a comic book damsel in distress.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Oh, you’re no shrinking damsel waiting for a superhero. Damsel in distress? No. Stressed-out diva? Yes.”
Amazing how perceptive he was. “Think you know me, huh?”
“Working on it.”
“So this is the part where we swap relationship horror stories?”
“Let’s not do a historical dissertation. How about you tell me your worst, I’ll tell you my worst, and we won’t have this conversation again.”
“You go first,” I challenged him.
He took a deep breath. “Here we go . . . in less than twenty minutes. Her name was Delia and she was without a doubt the biggest mistake and regret of my life.” With that first sentence, I was hooked.
He told the terrible tale in tragic detail and my heart went out to him. And he was just as empathetic when I told the equally tumultuous story of Joseph.
Dirty laundry aired, we fell into a companionable silence for the rest of the ride, both of us thinking about what we’d just shared and heard. Like he’d said earlier, it was like we’d been involved with two sides of the same trifling coin. We’d both been through a lot to get where we were today. It made me more determined than ever to live in the moment and concentrate on one experience at a time.
Other books
Anne Barbour by A Dangerous Charade
Unspeakable Things: Sex, Lies and Revolution by Laurie Penny
Before the Frost by Henning Mankell
Dangerous Race by Dee J. Adams
Pleasant Vices by Judy Astley
Love Me Tonight by Gwynne Forster
nowhere by Hobika, Marysue
Pumped for Murder by Elaine Viets
Spiderwork by L. K. Rigel
