Like Slow Sweet Molasses (19 page)

“Angela?”
Chance unholstered his weapon, removed the clip and ejected the bullet in the
chamber. He reached for her hand to lay it in her palm after once more checking
to make sure it was empty. “It’s good to be afraid of guns, especially, when
you’re unfamiliar with how to handle them.”

“It’s
so heavy…and cold.”

“And
deadly, Angela.” He waited for this to sink in. “It’s a complex job that I
have. One that dictates expert marksmanship with different caliber weapons. One
that dictates my being strapped at all times. Can you deal with that?”

“I
don’t know,” she admitted. “This is all new to me.”

“What
is?” He wanted clarity. “Us or the fact I carry a gun.”

“Is
there
an us
?”

He
pondered her question. “I was hoping we were on the path to
an us
.”

“I’m
stepping out of my comfort zone here, Chance. Don’t make me regret wanting to
get to know you by succumbing on the job.”

He
laid all the components on the table.

“Then—you’re
giving us a chance?”

“I’m
saying I’d like to get to know you better. I’m saying I want to be able to
trust you and this infatuation completely. I’m saying…I like you—” Angela put
herself on the line, “gi-normously.”

Chance
grinned.

“I
liked you first,” he bragged, his hands playing with her agile fingers. “I
immediately liked what I saw the moment my eyes fell on you at the precinct. I
liked the audacity shown on behalf of someone you didn’t know. I liked the way
you put yourself out for others.” He kissed her palms. “Presently, I like what
I’ve come to know about you.”

“Let’s
move slowly…start with dating, perhaps?”

“Dating
it is. Tomorrow’s Saints game is a sellout. We’re gathering at Pops’ for a game
party. Want to go?”

“I
don’t think we’re ready for that much attention.”

“You—scared?”
 
He teased.

“This
is serious, Chance. You’re asking me to place myself under the microscope too
soon.” He laughed that hearty laugh she’d only heard a time or two.

“They’re
just people, Angela. We’ll have a good time. I promise.” Chance separated
himself in preparation to return to the lower floor. “You can trust me.” He
pecked her lips and was gone.

Angela
occupied her time delving into Chance’s personal areas: like his well-lighted
reading nook and his music alcove. She rifled through his hardbound books
discovering his affinity for mystery and sci-fi. His eclectic music ran the
gamut of classics: classic country, classic jazz, classic R&B and classic
soul. The topper was he played his special collection on his classic reel to
reel tape recorder. She had to laugh. That was a throwback to her childhood and
technology from her parents’ era.

Angela’s
spurt back to the kitchen had her drooling over the jelly sandwich and milk she
planned to enjoy while scanning one of his books. She fingered his organized
shelves of novels between bites until one blurb jumped out at her. It was about
a black down-on-his luck PI who stumbled onto a politically connected suicide he
sensed was actually murder. Of course, there were less than stellar characters
thwarting his every move. The one main ingredient he lacked—proof.

“Sounds
interesting,” she muttered.

She
made herself comfy in his overstuffed armchair to begin her reading. Every now
and again, she picked up on Chance’s muffled voice as it filtered upstairs. The
tone was one she didn’t recognize. A hunch of her drooped shoulders and she
went back to her book. Before long, the words on the pages became less clear
forcing her to reread sentences previously read. Her eyes batted ferociously as
she fought to remain clearheaded and lucid before finally surrendering like in
a drug induced slumber.

Chance,
meanwhile, wrapped up his conversation unhappy with the outcome. He hopped up
the stairs silencing his steps when he spotted her curled in his chair fast
asleep. Tipping the remainder of the way, he dropped to a squat to watch the
rise and fall of her chest. She shuddered as if on cue while a tear slid from
the corner of her eye. He caught the drop of moisture on his finger rolling it
around on the tips.

A
flagrant need to hold Angela close cropped up—one he had to doggedly fight. He
opted instead to continue on to his bedroom for a change of clothing. His
expertise had him rushing to gear up for the night crawlers were out in full
force putting forth a great effort to rule the darkness. Chance’s frame of mind
was entirely different when he stepped back in the common area. His main
objective now was getting Angela home minus the upset his excursion would cause
her if she became aware of his intent.

“Angela,
it’s time to go.”

She
awoke slowly to find him perched on the arm of her chair. “I was reading,” she
said, stretching with a yawn.

Enamored
with the soft light in her sleepy eyes that settled on him, Chance sucked in a
cleansing breath. “Take it with you.”

“You’ve
got to go to work?”

“Sure
do.” Chance raised her to a sitting position.

“Will
you face danger?”

There
was no need in lying to her.

“Yes.”

Angela’s
foot slipped into her shoe with his assistance.

“Will
you have someone to watch your back?” He proceeded to work the shoe on her
other foot. Her action stayed his movements as she cradled both of his cheeks
to search his eyes. It was obvious to her Chance shielded his thoughts not
allowing her to penetrate his vaulted expression.

“We
work in teams, Angela. I won’t be alone.”

This
was an alien situation for her—to see someone she cared about going off and
putting themselves in harm’s way all for the greater good. Chance pulled her to
her feet and she fell right into his arms. “Be careful.”

His
answer materialized in the form of a sensuous kiss to her soft and alluring
lips. She surprised him by ringing his waist in a clutch he interpreted as a
step closer to them becoming an item. They left the loft in a concerted
fashion, each more aware of their attraction than ever before

They
arrived at Chance’s foster parents’ home on the Westbank approximately an hour
before game time, after seeing his aunt off with her Saints and Sinners Social
Club members. Angela and Chance would enjoy the sporting event miles from the
Superdome. Mrs. Thatcher would cheer her team on in person from the fifty-yard
line as a longtime holder of Saints season tickets. She never waffled in her
support she’d told Angela. And Angela believed her.

Angela
thrived in Chance’s care while on his motorcycle. Even though the temperature
rose to the mid-seventies, the chill factor was noticeably lower on the back of
the bike. The wind whipped her cheeks a rosy hue by the time they rolled into
the driveway already crammed with vehicles.

“We’re
here so quickly?” she asked, the tension cording her body coming through in her
voice.

“It
won’t be that bad, Angela. You’ll see,” he assured.

Chance
dismounted removing his helmet before assisting her with hers—the one he
purchased just for her. Party noises rocked the airwaves as thumping music met
them in the front yard. He noticed how she scanned the street in both
directions looking as if she sought a means of escape. Chance also couldn’t
help noticing how lovely she looked even with uncertainty clouding her eyes.
The thought she’d make a dash for it prompted him to hold her hand.

“I
thought this was a small family affair,” she complained softly, zeroing in on
the woman coming their way from down the street, juggling a casserole dish and
two toddlers. “You didn’t tell me I needed to prepare a dish.”

She
was about to stroke out and Chance realized this.

“Relax,
Angel.” He stroked her with words. “I’ve taken care of our part. All I wanted
you to do was bring your sweet self.”

“He-e-y,
Brock.”

All
the honey on that greeting caused Chance and Angela’s heads to swivel
simultaneously. Chance tensed.

She
continued, “Long time, no see.”

“Hey,
Toya. It’s been awhile. How’ve you been?”

“How
do I look?” She did a saucy little gyrating turn to the bass line drumming in
the air, emphasizing her voluptuous figure poured into an animal print outfit,
dragging her children around with her.

Angela
waited silently to hear how Chance would handle their first flirty attack.

“You
haven’t changed—that’s for sure.”

She
preened even more.

“Toya,
this is Angela. My special someone.” Her hand squeezed his in gratitude.

“Nice
meeting you, Toya.” Angela wrenched her hand from Chance’s extending it to Toya
who seemed to have lost some of her spunk after Chance’s introduction.

“Yeah,
you, too.” She made no effort to reciprocate and twisted on towards the house.

Angela
tapped Chance’s bicep to get his attention noting what she thought was a
flinch. Her eyes captured his but she saw none of the pain she could have sworn
he felt at her touch. “I do believe you have an admirer.”

“She’s
a friendly person.” Angela gave him a
yeah—right
look.

They
attacked the walk to the rear of the house hand in hand. People swarmed the
back yard in the different stages of indulging a good time. Children pounced on
the inflated animal contraption almost folding it in at the top. Some adults
sat at card tables playing spades while others trounced to victory with the
game of dominoes. And still, there were others animatedly talking and laughing
up a storm with those in charge of manning the burners.

“Hello,
the yard,” Chance called to anyone within earshot.

“Brock,
get over here, boy, and give me a hug.”

“Hi,
Gram.” He gave the tall, regal woman a mega-hug that lifted her clean off the
ground to her delight. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“You
know Gram had to show these youngsters how to dress and fry the turkeys or
they’d never get it right,” she boasted.

He
laughed and set her down where she turned inquisitive eyes on Angela.

“Who’s
this pretty thing?”

“Gram,
this is Angela.” He had to drag Angela closer. “Angel, this is Mrs. Gladys
Robinson, Pops’ mother.”

Mrs.
Robinson spoke before Angela could get a word in. “She’s bashful, Brock. That’s
something you don’t see a lot of these days.” She dissected everything about
Angela. “I like her already.”

Angela
received Chance’s tentative elbow tag and found her tongue even as she began to
wonder if her make-up dissolved into a greasy mess or her hair popped out of
the comb clip by the way the matriarch processed her. Nervously, she smoothed
at the hair framing her face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Robinson.”

“My
God,” she said to Chance. “She’s so polite.”

Chance
knew no one else dared approach the trio until signaled by Gram she’d finished
her inspection.

“You
look like you could use some meat on those bones, child.”

Chance
sang a warning. “Gra-am.”

“I
am a little hungry.” That was the truth for she’d not eaten since the snack at
Chance’s last night and her memory failed as to when before that.

Mrs.
Robinson threw Chance a not-so-secret wink as she took possession of Angela’s
hands. “You’re very talented,” she observed while gently rubbing at Angela’s
fingertips with her weathered hands. “These are your livelihood. But, they’re
also your source for divining truths from myths.”

“You
read palms, Mrs. Robinson?”

“No,
Angel.” She used the name she heard Chance use moments ago. “Just people.”

Chance
relinquished his hands at her insistence to permit her to flip his palms down
then back up. He grinned into her face happily enduring her inspection. What
caught him off guard was the joining of Angela’s left hand and his coupled by
hers like she blessed their association. The ritual ended with a crowning
finger tap to the backs of their hands.