Read Heard It All Before Online
Authors: Michele Grant
Heard It All Before (8 page)
I knew. I knew he was the first guy in a long time who made me want to drool and pant just at the sound of his voice. I hadn't even gone out with this guy yet, and I already felt like I knew him.
“I know.” Honesty, I liked it. Maybe I should recommend it to Renee.
“Tell me something.” Anything.
“All right.” Was that breathless little voice mine?
“Someone gonna be pissed if I tell ya I wanna spend time with you?” Nothing like the blunt approach.
“No.”
“Ya sure?”
I frowned. “Yeah, I'm pretty positive.” Why? What's it to you? Questions I wanted to ask but was too well brought up to do so. Wouldn't I know if I had a hot and heavy romance hiding under the sofa?
“What about D?” he asked.
Who? “D?”
“Demetrius.”
Oh yeah, him. “Oh, no. We're not together.”
“Does he know that?”
Well now, damn. I answered the first question or so, but what was this? An interrogation? Well brought up or not, maybe he'd be so kind as to answer one very important question for me: “To answer your question, yeah, he knows. And if he doesn't, he should. But, player, since we're playing twenty questions, here's one for you: Does Jaquenetta know she's an
ex
-wife?”
ex
-wife?”
“Ah, that's deep. Why we have to go there?” His tone was pained.
I sat up and grinned into the phone. “Hey, if we're baring it all, let's get down to the undies and examine some labelsâwhat's the deal with you and the ex?”
“We were married, now we're not. I have partial custody and full visitation of Chase. In return, I pay child support and beyond decent alimony to Jaquenetta. I consider it a thank-you for bearing my child and divorcing me before she drove me clean out my mind. Anything else between us is a figment of her overactive imagination. Ya got any other drawers of mine you wanna see flappin' in the wind?”
See? That was what I meantâthere went almost a whole statement with no chopped upings, and he even threw the words
alimony
and
figment
in there for good measure; then he closed with the homeboy lingo. One minute he came across like Mr. Corporate America and the next I thought he was trying to get a hustle on. Yeah, I had a question or two.
alimony
and
figment
in there for good measure; then he closed with the homeboy lingo. One minute he came across like Mr. Corporate America and the next I thought he was trying to get a hustle on. Yeah, I had a question or two.
“Where'd you get your degree?”
He sounded amused. “SMU.” Hmm, Southern Methodist, the preppy mecca?
“Bachelor's or master's?” Hey, sister needs to know what she's dealing with these days.
“Both. I could fax you a résuméâdon't I sound like I done been educated, Miss Jewel?” he said with a teasing tone.
“So you're a Mustang alum, huh?” I snorted, not having a ton of respect for the most bougie campus around. Having attended the University of Texas, every other Texas school paled in comparison.
“Something wrong with the 'Stangs?”
“We whipped y'all every year.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Fighting Longhorns of Texas, baby!”
“Tired old orange and white ya talkin' 'bout? What else ya wanna ask me? I know you got a list running. You sure you don't want that fax?” He sounded amused.
“I'm trying to get beyond the Google of it all, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Ya Googled a brother?”
“Like you didn't Google
me
?”
me
?”
“True dat.”
“So, how old are you?” Damn the niceties, sister was trying to get down to the real.
He laughed. “How old are
you
?”
you
?”
“Thirty,” I answered, hating it. Seems like yesterday I was turning twenty-one.
“You're a baby, Miss Jewel.” His voice was pure silk.
“You think so, old man?”
“I got a good four years on ya.” Thirty-fourâgood, stable age for a man, if there was any such age for a man. “Okay, one last question: Who are you?”
“Huh?” He sounded confused.
“Are you a ruffneck, a professional architect, or a sexy flirt?”
He laughed. “Yes.”
Now I was confused. “Huh?”
“Well, lemme ask ya' thisâAre you a homegirl, an entrepreneur, or a sexy flirt?”
I got it now and answered accordingly. “Yes.” Damn, I liked him. I really did. He had a way about him.
“Bingo, let some folks of African American descent be multifaceted if we have to be. Obama in the White House, babeâit's all about the progressive multitasking blackness of it all. Now, you wanna go out tonight or you one of them girls got rules about how many days ahead a brother gotta call before you'll step out?”
“Not too big on the Rules, player. Whatcha got in mind?” I laid back on the couch in anticipation of his answer.
His voice was rich with inflections when he answered. “We ain't ready for what I got in mind, Miss Jewel. How 'bout if we just start out with dinner?”
I smiled. “Yeah, how about if we do that?”
“I'm turning onto your street right now.”
I jumped up from the sofa, damning modern technology and the invention of the cell phone. “What?” I ran to the window and saw a forest green Pathfinder coming up the street. SHIT! I glanced in the entryway mirror. My hair was in a raggedy ponytail, I wore no makeup, I was in bare feet, and I was wearing a ripped up T-shirt and shorts my mother told me to throw out six years ago. Too late. He was pulling into the driveway. “How'd you get my address?”
“You're not the only one with Internet search skills.” He braked to a halt. It was getting dark, and his windows were tinted, but I could tell he was turning his head to look at the house. “Nice crib.”
“Thanks. How'd you know I'd be here?” In other words, I couldn't believe he rolled up when I'm looking like who done it and why'd ya let them?
“I didn't. I was prepared to sit outside 'til ya showed up.” He searched the front windows until he found the one I was standing in front of. You could say I felt the heat of his gaze. Did that make sense or was I gushing like a fool? No need for an answerâI knew I was skying big time.
“Oh yeah?” Damn but I was eloquent this evening.
“Yeah, three and a half weeks of suggestive e-mails and phone sex with your voice mail is my limit.”
“That was phone sex?” I teased.
“Well, phone foreplay.”
“Hmm.” He gave good foreplay. I stood at the window with the phone in my hand, watching him watching me.
“Miss Jewel?”
Pardon the pun and color me sappy but his deep voice was putting me in the mind of rich maple syrup. And I was seriously contemplating becoming the buttermilk pancake on his plate. Seriously.
“Roman?”
“Ya think I can come in?”
I took one last look at myself in the mirror. Poor boy. He was going to have to take me as I was. I dragged the hem of my shorts down an inch and yanked my T-shirt back onto my shoulder. Walking to the door, I swung it open. “I don't know, can you?”
He hung up the phone, turned off the car, hopped out, and was standing in front of me in record time. He stepped around me and into the house, closing the door behind him. “I'm in.”
Yes, he sure was.
The phone hung in my limp hand, and I hoped my mouth wasn't hanging the same way. Hot damn, the boy was
fine
! Finer than I had remembered and my memory had served me well. Black jeans, black polo shirt, black tennis shoes. I loved a black man in all black clothing. All molded to that body. And those eyes! Um, the lips. Lord, the thighs. I took my time looking him up and down and back. A cat-with-the-canar y smile spread slowly across my face. Um-um good.
fine
! Finer than I had remembered and my memory had served me well. Black jeans, black polo shirt, black tennis shoes. I loved a black man in all black clothing. All molded to that body. And those eyes! Um, the lips. Lord, the thighs. I took my time looking him up and down and back. A cat-with-the-canar y smile spread slowly across my face. Um-um good.
He grinned at me and held his hands out to the side. “Ya like?” No false modesty there.
I grinned right back. “Come into my parlor.” I walked into the living room and put the phone back in its cradle. I tried to be smooth as I tugged my shorts down a little.
“You the spider, I'm the fly?” He followed me and stood in the middle of the den looking around. I was rather proud of my place. Everything was antique cherry with brushed nickel accents. My love of tropical colors showed through with hints of turquoise and raspberry. I offset it with chocolate brown for a calming base color. The artwork was mostly beach scenes and seascapes. The ceilings were high, and there were lots of windows, giving the illusion of a lot more space than I had. But, it was all mine. “I like it, Miss Jewel.” He looked me over just as intensely. “Yeah, I like what I see.”
So, he was diplomatic, along with being smart, funny, successful, and sexier than was fair. “Wanna tour?” I asked politely, already turning back and heading toward the hallway.
“You or the house?” It was the Mrs. Butterworth's voice again.
I stopped in my tracks and actually considered that pancake thing again!
Chill, Jewellen
. I knew it had been a while, but I needed to keep it together. Knowing I had never been a headlong-dive-into-the-deep-end kinda girl, I silently cautioned myself,
Why not stick a toe in to test the water and wade in the shallow end for a little bit?
I looked at him over my shoulder; he was looking at my legs. I looked down and yanked on those damn shorts again. Mom was right about tossing them. “Down, boy,” I told him, ignoring palpable chemistry in the room.
Chill, Jewellen
. I knew it had been a while, but I needed to keep it together. Knowing I had never been a headlong-dive-into-the-deep-end kinda girl, I silently cautioned myself,
Why not stick a toe in to test the water and wade in the shallow end for a little bit?
I looked at him over my shoulder; he was looking at my legs. I looked down and yanked on those damn shorts again. Mom was right about tossing them. “Down, boy,” I told him, ignoring palpable chemistry in the room.
He raised his eyes slowly to my face. There wasn't a trace of apology in his expression, and a grin played around the sides of that sexy mouth. Those eyes were the eyes of a lion, king of the jungle, lethal, predatory. He felt it too. “I'd love a tour of your home, Miss Jewel.” His innocent tone contradicted the message in those eyes.
I rolled my eyes and led the way back to the front door. I showed him the kitchen, which, thankfully, I had cleaned today. Nothing tackier than showing someone your home with dirty dishes piled up everywhere.
Downstairs was shaped like a box cut in half, with the kitchen, living room, and dining room to the left, home office, guest bed, and bath and utility room to the right. Garage, yard, small (very small) pool out back. I walked back toward the living room, showed him the staircase tucked away behind the bookcase, and led him up to the master suite, which took up the entire second floor.
“Hey, now, Miss Jewel, this is something!” Predatory gleam in full effect.
Large open room, bathroom with attached dressing area and closet. I had a heavy cherry four-poster bed on the far wall between two huge windows. A curl-up chaise was in one corner, a dresser along a wall, and a TV and two speakers connected to the downstairs stereo sat on a credenza and took up another wall. There was a balcony that ran along the back of the house. The door to the bathroom occupied the last section of wall space. Again, cherry, brushed nickel, and bright colors.
“Now, what does this room tell me about you?” he asked, walking around and peering at things. A picture of Mom and Dad on the dresser, a steamy paperback on the floor, my tacky
LOVE ME OR GET THE HELL OUT
T-shirt I slept in last night draped across the bed.
LOVE ME OR GET THE HELL OUT
T-shirt I slept in last night draped across the bed.
I picked up a shoe here, a sock there, flung the covers back in an attempt to make the bed, and looked around. “I don't know. It tells you I'm no good at housekeeping?”
“Nah, nuthin' like that. You like your space, you like music, you know how to relax, you got a sense of humor, and a streak of romance in your soul.” He was right on the money, but how did he know that from looking around my room?
I stared at him. “They teach you that in architect school?”
He smirked. “School of life, baby.” He was cocky, but I could work around that. Truth be told, I liked a man with a healthy ego. Couldn't stand the brothers you always had to be pumping up all the time; the arrogant ones just needed a stroke now and then.
“Listen, why don't you go back downstairs and put on some music while I change?” I couldn't stand around looking like this too much longer.
“Why do you need to change?”
Why do men think that as long as your privates are halfway covered, you're dressed to go anywhere? “I wouldn't hardly go out looking like this!” I yanked the ripped sleeve of my T-shirt back onto my shoulder for what seemed like the millionth time.
“Ya look fine to me, Miss Jewel. Take your hair outta that thing, throw on some shoes, and let's roll.” He truly thought it was just that simple.
I pointed at the staircase. “I think not.”
He shrugged and trotted downstairs, giving me a nice view of his rear.
I heard Ella Fitzgerald singing about blue skies as I picked out an outfit. I was surprised at his choice. The more I found out about this guy, the more I wanted to know. Suddenly in a hurry, I swished mouthwash, refreshed the deodorant, spritzed on some perfume, slapped on some lipstick and mascara, lotioned the legs, and brushed my hair out, trying to resurrect a curl or two. I tucked a teal stretch V-neck tee into a khaki miniskirt and slipped my feet into some wedge sandals. Added dangly earrings, Y-necklace, bangle bracelet. I grabbed a belt and headed downstairs. Roman was sitting on the arm of the sofa, reading my CD titles. He looked damn good sitting there. He glanced up at me as I stepped forward. There was the look. That gold-eyed what-have-we-here sweep.
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