This Time for Real (6 page)

P
eyton stood in front of her window on Wednesday morning and wondered what had gotten into to her. Why had she asked Malik to dinner? And how could she have let him kiss her? Peyton didn't know what upset her more, the fact that she should feel guilty and didn't, or that she'd enjoyed Malik's kisses. Here it was days after their passionate encounter, and she could still feel his lips on hers. Peyton rubbed her arms to stop goose bumps from forming.

When Amber stopped by her office with Starbucks cups in hand, Peyton motioned her in. She was dying to confide in her.

“You look deep in thought. Is something wrong?” Amber inquired, handing her a caffe latte.

“Thank you.” Peyton accepted the drink. “And in answer to your question, plenty.” Peyton walked back around to her chair.

“Well, fill me in.” Amber sat down.

“I innocently asked Malik out the other night for dinner.” Peyton took a sip of her coffee.

“Your honor, notice the word ‘innocent,'” Amber said, acting as if Peyton were on the witness stand.

Peyton rolled her eyes and continued. “I asked him out to discuss Kendra's situation.”

“And?”

“We had a lovely evening,” Peyton responded. “He gave me some advice on programs for single mothers and then, like a gentleman, he escorted me home and walked me to my door. And then he kissed me.”

“How was it?” Amber asked excitedly, placing her Starbucks cup on Peyton's maple desk and leaning forward.

Peyton opened her desk drawer and handed Amber a coaster. “It was wonderful and sweet and passionate, but then I bolted.”

“Why in heavens would you do that?” Amber asked. “From the dreamy expression on your face when you described his kiss, you must have enjoyed it.”

“Because things were moving too fast,” Peyton replied. “You just don't understand, Amber.”

“Yes I do,” Amber replied. “And the first thing I know is that you need to stop thinking with your head and start feeling with your heart. Malik's a sexy guy, and he's made it clear from day one that he liked you. And it's obvious you like him, so why deny yourself? Run with it.”

“It's not that simple,” Peyton responded and turned towards the window.

“Explain it to me.”

Peyton doubted Amber would understand. For as long as she'd known her, she'd always had a different man on her arm.

“I'm waiting….”

Peyton paused before finally speaking. “I'm
afraid,
okay?” She wiped a tear way with the back of her hand.

“Oh, Peyton.” Amber jumped up and gave Peyton a hug. She was surprised that her friend, a tough-as-nails professor, feared anything. “What are you afraid of?”

“I haven't felt such a strong connection with any man since David died,” she confessed. “My attraction to Malik scares me. You see, I have only been with one man.”

“You mean sexually?” Amber asked.

“Of course I mean sexually,” Peyton responded, pulling away. “David was my first and
only
lover.” Peyton felt completely insecure in the sex department. She was a novice compared to most women these days. It's not like she and David hadn't experimented. He'd just been traditional when it came to their lovemaking. He'd always been the first to initiate sex and she'd followed his lead.

“Well, now I understand, but you shouldn't sweat it. It's like riding a bike. It all comes back to you.”

Peyton smiled. “Easier said than done.”

Amber touched Peyton's cheek. “Don't doubt yourself. You are a strong and sexy woman, Peyton. What you've endured would have broken many a person. I was one of the naysayers who thought you'd never get over David's death, but look at you, you're stronger than ever. Don't let fear hold you back, honey. Otherwise you might miss out on something really special.”

As Peyton finished her afternoon lectures, Amber's words stayed with her. Peyton just wondered if she had the courage to move forward.

 

Malik sighed as the members of the Children's Aid Network Community Advisory Board dispersed from the conference room the following afternoon. He'd been
unsuccessful in convincing them to give the Harlem center additional funds. The only good thing was that a reporter for
Manhattan Weekly
had come that morning and interviewed him. The story would run in next week's paper.

“How did it go?” Theresa asked enthusiastically, as she swung open the conference door.

“Don't ask,” Malik said, slamming the folder shut.

Maybe next year or the next, they'd said. But the center couldn't wait that long. If he had the money, he could have the place painted and the floors done in a matter of weeks. Of course, the kitchen renovation would take a little longer. And then there was the computer center. With technology constantly changing, their equipment was outdated.

“They turned you down again?” Theresa asked.

“Afraid so. But then again, it wouldn't be the first time,” Malik replied.

Several days ago, he'd sent a beautiful woman scurrying away, and he hadn't seen or heard a word from her in days. Her application had been approved and her background check came back clean, so there was no reason Peyton couldn't start volunteering immediately. Yet, the lovely professor still hadn't shown her face, and he had no one to blame but himself.

“Did something else happen?” Theresa was curious about Malik's comment.

“Nothing that I care to expound upon,” Malik replied.

Theresa thought about pressing him for more information, but she could see that he was in one of his brooding moods. She remembered he used to have them as a youngster and she'd wondered what caused them. But he'd never talked about it. Malik had a tendency to be a loner at times. “All right, if you want to talk I'm here.”

“Thanks, Theresa.”

After he finished hiring a new doctor for the clinic staff, Malik closed up shop at the center and headed over to Dante's. He was meeting the guys for drinks and some much-needed advice. No offense to Sage, but he'd hadn't asked her to come along. He did have his pride, after all. And this was man's business.

“Malik.” Dante smiled when he came in, but then, when he saw the sour expression on his friend's face, he changed course. “Don't tell me,' cause I already know. A woman's got you down?”

“How'd you know?” Malik asked.

“What's the cause of most of our troubles?”

“Women!”

“Enough said,” Dante replied, then went behind the bar and popped open a bottle of beer. He slid it across the countertop towards Malik.

“Thanks, man.”

Quentin came in several minutes later and joined them. “Hey, Malik.” Quentin sat down next to his stubborn friend. He hadn't heard from him since he'd invited Malik to lunch to meet Richard. Quentin could only assume that Malik was upset with him and had been giving him the silent treatment as he'd done a couple of months ago.

“Q,” Malik said, nodding. “What's up?”

“You tell me,” Quentin responded, rubbing his goatee. “A brother hasn't heard from you in days.”

Malik shrugged. “Now c'mon, Q. You had to know that I wouldn't accept a penny from Richard King.” Malik tipped back his bottle of beer and took a generous swig.

“So this was your way of punishing me?” Quentin sighed. Malik's temper was getting old. “I thought we'd gotten past this childishness, Malik.”

“And we have,” Malik replied, turning to Quentin. “The world does not revolve around you, Q. I do have other things on my mind.”

An O formed on Quentin's lips. He hadn't thought about that.

“This brother is down and out about that professor at NYU,” Dante offered.

“Oh, yeah.” Quentin remembered the leggy mahogany babe that had caught Malik's eye. “She was pretty hot. So what happened?”

“I screwed it up,” Malik replied and swigged his beer. “Came on too strong.”

“But you can correct that,” Quentin responded. “You know, tone down your enthusiasm.”

“You didn't see her run in the opposite direction.” Malik dragged his long, narrow fingers through his dreads.

“It's not too late,” Dante said. “Isn't she going to be volunteering at the center?”

Malik nodded.

“Well then, show her that you can take things as slow as she wants,” Dante continued, “Show her all that Malik Williams charm that we know you have.”

“I guess.”

“Not you guess, you know,” Quentin stated. “The next time Peyton Sawyer sees you, be the perfect gentleman.”

 

“Dr. Sawyer, may we come in?” Kendra asked from the doorway before class on Friday.

Peyton glanced up and saw Kendra standing with an imposing young man who she could only assume was Omar, Kendra's boyfriend and the father of her child. He was dressed in jeans and a sports jersey and wearing a baseball cap. Peyton surmised he was over six feet, and with his football player physique he could
intimidate anyone—but not her. She'd failed several young men just like him when she'd been in Cleveland, those who'd thought their athletic scholarship guaranteed them a free ride. That's until they'd come to her class and discovered they actually had to work to earn a grade.

From the scowl on his face, it was clear Omar did not want to be here, but Peyton welcomed him anyway.

“Come on in,” Peyton stood and extended her hand. “Please have a seat.”

“Omar Bishop, this is Dr. Peyton Sawyer, my professor.” Kendra smiled as they both sat across from Peyton.

Omar gave Peyton a cold stare. “And here I thought she was white.” Omar laughed to himself.

“Mr. Bishop, there
are
black professors,” Peyton responded. “And because I am a minority, I understand how important it is to get a quality education, which is what I want for Kendra.”

“That's what
you
want, Doctor,” Omar replied. “If it were up to me, Kendra here—” he roughly pulled Kendra toward him “—wouldn't work at all. She'd be content being my baby's mama. But now she's got all these ideas in her head about getting into social work.”

“They are not ideas, Omar.” Kendra pushed him away. She was extremely annoyed at his comment. “It's a career.”

“One that would be well served by Kendra volunteering at the community center,” Peyton said. “I took the liberty of pulling together some literature on the center as well as the areas she'd be exposed to when volunteering.” Peyton leaned over to hand Omar several pamphlets.

When he didn't accept them, Kendra took them. “Thank you.”

Omar clapped his hands slowly at Peyton's impas
sioned speech. “That's all well and good,
Dr. Sawyer,
but what's in this for you?” he asked, lounging back in the chair and staring back at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I said what do you get out of all this? Why are you helping Kendra? Because no one does something for nothing,” Omar stated.

“I'm helping her because I believe in her talent,” Peyton countered. “Don't you?”

“What I believe is that Kendra hardly has time for me
now,
and volunteering at some center won't help it none.” Omar rose from his chair.

“But it might help.” Peyton stood. She refused to believe that she could not get through to the young man.

“C'mon, baby.” Omar grabbed Kendra by the hand and pulled her towards the door.

“I'm sorry.” Kendra mouthed the words as she left.

Peyton threw the pen in her hand across the room, frustrated that now one of her most promising students was going to miss out on a great opportunity.

 

“Guess who's here?” Theresa poked her head inside Malik's office.

Malik shrugged. “I don't know, who?”

“Peyton Sawyer and her students. Denise arranged for them to help out in the day care and Headstart programs, as well as tutoring and homework assistance in our afterschool programs.”

“Sounds great,” Malik replied. “And what did Dr. Sawyer choose?”

“Mentoring,” Theresa replied. “She wants to encourage African-American and Latina women and help out with the college preparatory program.”

“Sounds right up her alley.”

“Sure does. You should stop by and say hello,” Theresa urged.

“Now really isn't a good time,” Malik replied.

Theresa didn't understand. “All right.” Malik had been so excited when Peyton had asked him to dinner last week, Theresa was sure they were headed in the right direction. What could have gone wrong?