Driving Heat (6 page)

Thursday morning, Cynthia bopped into the office with Pharrell’s happy tune looping inside her head. There were many reasons. She’d awakened to a message from Byron agreeing to “go on a dinner” Friday night, hit the gym for some much-needed cardio, and then walked out into a perfect seventy-five-degree California morning. There was just one more day before the weekend arrived. She expected a smooth day at work. The only potential hiccup would be if Leah failed to show up for their counseling session. Last night, it had crossed her mind to call Byron and ask for his assistance to make sure she showed up. But she quickly abandoned that idea. To do so, she decided, could definitely open the door for a conflict of interest. Part of her job with Leah was to teach independence and self-reliance, and she needed to see how well her client handled the mandated responsibility of showing up when required. As long as Leah walked into her office for their three o’clock appointment, Cynthia thought nothing else could go wrong with this day. Then she reached her office.

“Good morning, Cynthia. I have a message for you.”

Ivy’s somber mood was evident.
Where is Miss Sunshine?
“What’s going on?”

“Tracy came looking for you. She wants you to stop by her office as soon as you arrive.”

The cloud over Ivy’s desk wafted into her office. She pushed the intercom button. “Ivy, I need to see you.”

“Sure.”

Ivy hurried into Cynthia’s office, closed the door, and didn’t wait for a question. She talked fast, her Mexican accent becoming more pronounced in her excitement. “I arrived at eight-thirty and Margo was here.”

“Where?”

“At my desk, going through the folders sitting there.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” More clouds and now, the rumble of thunder.

“No.”

“She is so devious; wasn’t expecting you to get here early. What did she do when you arrived?”

“Oh, there you are, Ivy.” Said in such a perfect Bostonian/Latina accent that as peeved as Cynthia was right now, she still laughed. “‘I was looking for a client file. You delivered it on Monday and—wait! I remember . . .’ Then she rushed off, but not before I saw the red creeping up her neck. She knew she’d gotten busted.”

“What about Tracy? When did she get here?”

“I’m not sure what time she arrived.”

“Okay, Ivy. Thanks.”

“I’ll keep my eyes out for anything sneaky.”

“I appreciate it.”

After taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Cynthia reached for her coffee and left her office for the conference room. Outside, the sun blazed, its light streaming through the blinds. In the office, a storm was brewing.

 

 

Byron excused himself from being a bus passenger’s psychiatrist so he could answer his phone. Much like barber and beauty shops, one could hear some of everything while moving the masses from one place to the next. He was a good listener and had his father’s common sense, so Byron was told more than most.

After glancing at the cell phone screen attached to the dashboard, he tapped the answer button on his Bluetooth. “It’s about time you called.”

“Sorry, Uncle Byron, I just got your message.”

“Where’ve you been?”

“School!”

“Where else, and don’t lie.”

“Nowhere. I had to come home and get ready for my meeting with Cynthia.”

“Good. I’m glad you remembered.”

“Are you going to remember what you promised me when I graduate?”

“That’s not all you need to do to get a car.”

“And get into college, I know.”

“Don’t worry about that. My memory is fine. Look, I’m working. I need to jump off.”

“All right. Talk to you later.”

“Leah.”

“Uh-huh?”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Leah.”

“What?”

“I love you. Leah?”

She chuckled. “What, Uncle Byron?”

“Good-bye.”

A smile touched his lips as he ended the call. Memories of Leah, three or four years old, running and jumping in his arms. Dancing to Usher or Nelly’s “Hot in Here.”
Full of life, that girl.
Nothing but legs, hair, and a great big smile. And then her brother died. Changed everything.

“Should I take him back?”

“Huh?” Byron had pulled over to pick up passengers and now looked back at the woman who’d bared her soul. “Oh, I’m sorry, forgot what we were talking about for a minute.” He paused as several passengers got on. “I can’t tell you how to live your life. But I will say this. If a man can’t visit you in the daytime, you shouldn’t let him visit at night.”

His phone vibrated. At the next light, he looked down to see who’d called.
Cynthia?
No, the person who made him feel the exact opposite of how Cynthia did. The woman who could send his mood from fine to foul in less time than it took a streetlight to change. Byron had called her last night after being asked by a mutual friend if he was little Ricky’s father. Had she answered, he’d planned to demand that she stop spreading lies. Left alone with his own thoughts, he went back to yesteryear and that pregnancy’s timing. As much as he felt that Tanya was being untruthful, he had to admit the possibility of the worst possible outcome: that the child almost three years younger than Tyra could be his.

Later that evening, at exactly 8:15 p.m., Byron arrived at the restaurant Cynthia had suggested. Had he thought one might put a public, customer-driven establishment behind a black fence, he would have arrived sooner. The gate was locked, but after noticing a buzzer near the handle and hearing a click as the gate unlocked, he walked through a nice-sized patio area with holiday lights stringed between the trees. Tables were scattered throughout the area, many of them filled.

Inside, the place looked just as interesting. Small, quaint, colorful, and crowded. He’d often heard that if an establishment was busy, you could just about bet that the food was good. Just as the hostess greeted him, he spotted Cynthia smiling broadly from a corner booth.

“How in the world did you find this place?” Byron slid into the empty seat across from her.

“A colleague highly recommended it.”

“Took me awhile to find it and once I got here, realized I’d passed it twice.”

“I almost did the same thing. The place looked closed.”

Byron casually looked around. “It’s different.”

“It’s nice to introduce you to someplace different.”

“Is that why you’re smiling so broadly? Or will you admit it’s because you’re happy to see me.”

“I love Indian food and am excited to try this southern India variety, but I must admit there’s another reason.”

A slow smile spread across Byron’s face. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“I arrived first.”

A scowl chased the smile away. “Seriously? That’s why you searched for the most obscure, out-of-the-way place in all of LA, so you could beat me here?”

“And you’re not happy about it.” Byron’s scowl fueled her laughter. “My friend said the food here is really good! I’m just such a stickler for promptness that it’s rare when I’m not the first to arrive. I wasn’t trying to throw you off.”

“But you don’t feel bad that you did.” A sexy smile started pushing the scowl away.

From the grin on Cynthia’s face, it must have been contagious. “No, I don’t.”

“Glad I could make you happy.”

The waiter brought over menus and glasses of water. Byron picked his up and began to read.

Cynthia picked up hers, too. “Honestly, I’m always the early one. My friends used to tease me because of how much time I’d give myself to get somewhere. You’re the first person I’ve met who has the same idiosyncrasy.”

“Whatever you just said? I don’t have that! My dad taught all of us that it was always better to be early rather than late.”

“Smart dad.”

“Very.” His eyes narrowed as he scanned the menu. “How am I supposed to know what to order?”

She pointed to the column that provided English translations for the Indian dishes. “My friend recommended the Samosas or
bondas,
potato balls, for appetizers”—she scanned the menu—“and—I’m not even going to attempt the Indian pronunciations—the vegetable curry with basmati rice or the stuffed Indian bread for a main dish.”

They continued perusing the menu. Finally, Byron asked, “Where’s the meat?”

“Oh, that’s the thing. This is a vegetarian restaurant.”

Byron gave her a look. “A meal isn’t complete if it doesn’t have meat!”

“I was assured that the food is amazing and that we would leave full and satisfied. Come on. Aren’t you up for an adventure?”

Byron’s eyes narrowed as his look turned sultry. “Oh, yes. I’m definitely up for an adventure, and it involves tasting things, too. But this no-meat-can’t-pronounce-Indian whatever isn’t exactly what I have in mind.”

“Byron, we’ve already discussed this.”

“You gave your opinion, but there was no discussion. Look, I don’t need to tell you what you already know. You’re intelligent, sexy . . . but that’s not why I’m feeling you, and, yes, I’m as attracted to you as I’ve ever been to any woman in my life. I’m not going to lie. But the most beautiful part about you is your heart. You’re kind of seddity—”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can beg all you want to because I can see past that. Not enough to know the real you, but just enough to know that I want to. That’s why I asked you out. I don’t talk in circles or play games. I’m trying to get with you, see if there’s a connection. I would like to move past the cordial but guarded interactions and see where this can go. If you’re not interested, I’m a big boy. I can handle that, no problem. I can have dinner with family, go out with Tyra on father/daughter dates. I’ve got a pocketful of friends I can call to grab a bite any day of the week. That is not why I’m here with you.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

An awkward silence joined them at the table, pushed away by the waiter coming to take their order.

Byron gave the menus to the waiter. “There’s a first time for everything. I don’t think I’ve ever had a meal without meat.”

“I’m not a vegetarian, but on occasion I will go two or three days without it, give my intestines a break and clean out a bit. If you’re open to new experiences, I think you’ll enjoy this food. It’s the spices and the way they use them . . . just amazing.”

“What shut you down to new experiences?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why aren’t you dating?”

“For any number of reasons, no time, no prospects . . . LA is an interesting place to be single.”

“We can definitely agree on that. If you’re looking for a serious relationship, LA can be a trip! I’m a native and can tell you that firsthand. Kids may have never visited Hollywood, but that whole flash/baller/gangster mentality definitely infiltrated most areas in this city. Women are looking for the man who has it all—money, status, looks, house, car, everything—even if they don’t possess these qualities. These days, men are pretty much looking for that, too. What happened to just looking for someone compatible, a person you could talk to, dream with, plan a future, like my parents did? Those days are gone, replaced by a whole hell of a lot of single people looking for love.”

He watched as a myriad of emotions played across her face.

“But I have a feeling that’s not your story. A woman who looks like you, with the background to match, could get just about any man she wants. So are you one of those independent, don’t-need-a-man, never-get-married types?”

Cynthia took a sip of her drink. “I’m very open to having someone in my life and was in a relationship when I moved here two years ago to work for H.E.L.P. The position was a great opportunity for career growth, and one hard to refuse. It is a great addition to my résumé. We stuck it out for about nine months before admitting that neither of us was cut out for the long-distance relationship scenario. The breakup was mutual and we’re still friendly, a better ending than some.”

“And since then?”

“I’ve dated, but only one turned fairly serious. We were compatible, and both wanted the same things . . .”

Byron leaned back. “But . . .”

“I don’t know. There was just something about the situation that didn’t feel comfortable to me, like there was a part of his life kept separate from our life, and things about him I didn’t know. Rumor has it that there was a long-time girlfriend somewhere but . . . I never knew for sure.”

“What about your son’s father?”

“There’s a story there, too.” Cynthia eyed him for a second, as if trying to figure him out. “How is it that we always end up talking about me?”

“Probably comes from my years on the job,” Byron said with another of those delicious smiles. “Sitting in that seat day in, day out, people tell me all sorts of stories. Sometimes, more than I want to know. They talk. I listen. Plus, I’m curious. I like to know about people.”

“Well, I want to know about you.”

“I’m an open book, so that’s no problem. I’ve got women coming at me all day long, could have been some of everybody’s husband right now.” When she huffed, he hurriedly added, “I’m not saying that to be arrogant. I’m just keeping it real. Women are lonely, looking for love, attention, protection, security, fathers . . . and some are willing to do just about anything you ask to make that happen. I got caught up in that madness once and lost a lot. Not more than I gained, though, which is my daughter. So instead of multitasking several different women, I have a friend with benefits.”

“You actually shared that without embarrassment or guilt.” Cynthia couldn’t believe what he’d said.

“Why would I be either?” Byron couldn’t understand the problem.

“Does she know that’s her status?”

“Absolutely, otherwise it wouldn’t work. She and I used to work together, and became good friends. One time when we were both in between relationships . . . we added benefits. Lately, there hasn’t been anything physical going on. I think both of us are ready for something more meaningful.”

From the way he looked at her, Cynthia was definitely that.

The meal arrived and the topic shifted to the distinctive spices that made the food so tasty. Byron learned more of Cynthia’s journey from Minneapolis to LA by way of Chicago and a couple other places. Cynthia was impressed with Byron’s knowledge of LA. Still, a part of her mind stayed on the comments he made before their food arrived, about being ready for a more meaningful relationship. Her, too.

Cynthia was only able to eat half of her food. When Byron pushed back his plate, it was almost clean.

“You’ll have to thank your friend who recommended this place. Can’t believe it, but I really enjoyed a meal without meat.”

Cynthia nodded toward his plate. “I can tell.”

The waitress removed their plates and laid down a dessert menu. “Any recommendations for dessert?”

Cynthia set down her menu. “No, and for me it doesn’t matter.”

“Are you doing that bird act again? You didn’t eat dessert last time either.”

“No bird act this time. I don’t care much for sweets.”

“I probably should pass as well.” Byron patted his stomach. “Watching my figure and all, you know how that goes.”

After a bit of wrangling over who would pay for dinner, Cynthia pocketed the receipt and met Byron outside.

“Where are you parked?”

“Just down the street.”

She began walking toward her car. He fell in step beside her, switching their positions so that she was on the inside, away from the street. Once again, conversation stilled, as unspoken thoughts consumed their attention.

Her car was parked close by. “You drive a nice car,” he said, as he opened her door. “I meant to ask you last time how you liked it.”

“This is the type of car both my father and brother drive. They suggested it. I bought it.” She shrugged. “Haven’t much thought about it more than that.”

Byron heard her, and was actually interested in what she was saying. But her lips—plump, slightly parted, and bearing traces of dark red lipstick—were making it hard for him to concentrate on mere words.

“I enjoy you,” he whispered, as his head lowered to align with hers. “Thanks for your company.”

Their lips met, and it felt like clouds bumping into each other in a rainbow sky. His tongue slipped into her parted lips, even as he took a step closer, pinning her between his body and the side of the car he’d just admired. Their bodies touched. Somewhere in Cynthia’s mind there was a caution sign blinking. But she couldn’t slow down. His touch was more like a promise, an introduction, an invitation of what might be in store.

He felt himself harden and put space between them. In his mind, he ended the kiss. But his tongue had other plans. It obviously wanted to make acquaintance with her tongue, then stick around for a slow and thorough get-to-know. Her tongue must have had a similar goal the way it swirled against his, tentative at first and then, as he pulled back to hide his excitement, with more confidence, boldly making sure his tongue knew that hers was exactly where it wanted to be.

Everything about her turned him on: soft hair, fragrant skin, the way she fit him perfectly. If they got together, the lovemaking would have to go nonstop, for at least a week, before he’d have enough. His desire for her was so strong it was scary. If this kiss lasted too much longer, his burgeoning manhood would tap Cynthia’s thigh and deliver this news.

Reluctantly, he lifted his head and ended the kiss. “I’m sorry about that. Should have asked first.”

“I enjoyed it.”

Their faces were mere inches apart; lips so close that one slight move and they’d reconnect.

“Would you like another one?”

“I would, but—”

“I’ll get that.”

Cynthia had turned toward her car and made a move for the door handle. Byron opened it for her. “I probably shouldn’t.”

Byron’s eyes quickly swept over her and landed on two tell-tale protrusions from the front of her top. “You’re probably right.” She stepped into the car. He held the door. “What I just tasted was delicious, like I got dessert after all. But it only served to whet my appetite. Is there any chance I can . . . get another helping?”

Cynthia was glad to see that the moment had affected him as it had her. “Right now, there’s a very good chance.”

“So who follows whom?”

“Oh, no, it can’t be tonight. I promised the sitter I’d be home at a certain time. And it won’t be at my house. I don’t bring dates around my son.”

“What about tomorrow? Tyra is spending the weekend with her mother.”

“Let me think about it, give myself time to come to my senses.”

Byron leaned in for a last quick kiss. “Drive safely. Shoot me a text so I’ll know you made it home.”

He closed the door. She started her car and with a quick wave pulled away from the curb and into the busy Friday night traffic on Sunset Boulevard. Byron walked to his car and soon merged into traffic without a particular destination in mind. The only thing he knew was that it wouldn’t be home. With his daughter away and his body revved up, he needed a distraction. After mentally running through the family and friends list, and what he knew of their weekend plans, he decided to call his brother, Nelson, who’d soon be off from his job at LAX.

As Byron and Cynthia headed in different directions, their thoughts were the same. Both were questioning the rightness of their decision and both could not wait for tomorrow night.