Chapter 6
Phil pulled into the driveway of Mya and Corey’s massive home in one of Gauthier’s newer subdivisions.
She parked behind a familiar black-and-chrome truck, and her heart rate immediately shot into the stratosphere.
It had been three weeks since she’d started working with Jamal, and her infatuation with him had only intensified.
Thoughts of the man invaded her mind on an embarrassingly frequent basis: while working at Belle Maison, as she browsed the aisles at LeBlanc’s Supermarket.
In bed.
Oh, Lord. How she thought about him in bed.
If Jamal Johnson was half as good in real life as he was in her dreams, Phil doubted she could survive a night under the sheets with him. But that would never happen, so she was not entertaining the idea. Period.
“You are so weak,” she mumbled.
Frustrated, she grabbed the spinach dip and chips she’d picked up from the grocery store and headed for the house. She could hear the raucous yells streaming in from the partially opened front door.
She stepped into the foyer, which quickly opened into a huge den.
Every piece of furniture was occupied, with all eyes glued to the football game in progress on the television mounted over the stone fireplace.
Phil instantly spotted Jamal. He was the only person not garbed in the New Orleans Saints’ colors of black and gold.
Instead, he stuck out like a sore thumb in a red-and-white Arizona Cardinals jersey.
“You made it,” Mya called from the loveseat.
Jamal looked back from his spot on the sofa and flashed a smile. Phil’s blood started pumping faster.
She mentally groaned. She really had to work on controlling her body’s reactions to him.
“I was just about to call you,” Mya said as she approached.
“Sorry I’m late.” Phil hugged her, barely getting her arms around her pregnant friend. “I had a couple of things to take care of before coming over.”
“They’re still in the first quarter,” Mya said, waving off her concern. She took the bag of chips from Phil and motioned to follow her to the kitchen. “Besides,” she continued in a teasing voice, “I know how much you were just dying to come over and watch football.”
“Been looking forward to it all week,” Phil said with exaggeratedly false brightness.
A football fan she was not. But when Mya had asked her to join them for the always highly anticipated New Orleans Saints versus Atlanta Falcons game, Phil had agreed.
It had been several weeks since she’d had a chance to hang out with her friend.
After being apart for fifteen years, Phil was trying to make up for lost time with Mya.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as Mya scooted onto a barstool and snatched a pig-in-a-blanket from a tray.
“Fat,” Mya answered. “And don’t tell me I’m not.”
Phil looked her up and down from across the bar. “I wasn’t going to. We made a pact never to lie to each other, remember?”
Mya gasped. “Thanks a lot.”
“Oh, stop it,” Phil said. “You look gorgeous, and you’ll have a cute little baby in just three months. That’s worth whatever pounds you gain.”
“I’m starting to think this baby doesn’t like me,” Mya said. “The way she kicks at night—I don’t think they’re your normal baby kicks. This little rascal has it in for me.”
Phil slid off the stool and came around the bar to rub Mya’s burgeoning belly. “Don’t call my goddaughter a rascal. She is going to be the perfect little lady, just like her auntie Phil. I already bought her a hammer with a pink rhinestone handle.”
Mya laughed. “Speaking of hammers, how are things going with the restoration, Auntie Phil?”
“Okay.” Phil shrugged.
“Just okay? Knowing Jamal, I’m expecting Belle Maison to look like something from The Jetsons. I’ll bet you’ll be able to turn the shower on from your cellphone.”
Phil rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t give him any ideas. His strawboard walls and stockpile of squiggly fluorescent light bulbs are bad enough.”
“I knew the two of you would butt heads when it came to Belle Maison.” Mya laughed again. “To be honest, I’m still surprised you sold it. I always loved that house.”
“So did I,” Phil said.
Her conscience poked at her. She and Mya didn’t keep secrets from each other.
Although Phil had learned that her friend had indeed kept a very big secret from her fifteen years ago—the fact that she’d gotten pregnant and miscarried Corey’s baby back when they were in high school—this was different.
They weren’t a couple of teenagers. But she wasn’t sure she could handle it if Mya looked at her with derision when she learned how stupid Phil had been to land herself in such a bind.
Before she could say anything, Corey came into the kitchen, with Jamal following closely behind.
“You’re missing a good game, baby,” Corey said, planting a kiss on Mya’s temple. He turned to Phil and gave her the same kiss. “What force of nature dragged you here to watch a football game?”
She nodded toward Mya. “The same one that used to drag me to the Gauthier High football games on Friday nights.”
“You don’t like football?” Jamal asked. He reached over and snagged a tortilla chip from the bowl on the bar, and his elbow brushed her arm. A shiver coursed through her body.
Okay, this was getting to be ridiculous. She’d worked side by side with the man for several weeks. Why in the hell were these goosebumps traveling along her skin from a simple brush of his elbow? It was embarrassing.
Even so, Phil couldn’t stop the rush of heat that came over her. She looked up to find a curious smile tipping up the corners of Mya’s mouth.
Oh, great. That was just what she needed. She was tempted to claim a headache and go home, but knowing Mya, she would waddle her way over to Phil’s house and hound her there.
Corey nudged Mya’s arm. “Did you tell Jamal about the email you got yesterday?” he asked.
“Oh, right!” Mya said, twisting the barstool to face Jamal. “I got an email from a church group in Alabama. They’re considering stopping in Gauthier on their tour of the African American Heritage Trail at the end of November. Think we’ll have somewhere for them to spend the night?”
Phil noticed the trace of apprehension that crossed Jamal’s face.
“Yes,” she answered before he had a chance to speak. He whipped his head around, his eyes wide with surprise. “The restoration is coming along pretty well, don’t you think?” she asked him.
Jamal nodded. “Yeah, everything is running on schedule. It’ll be open for business in time for the big tourist rush.”
“I was tempted to head there today,” Phil continued. “My time would have been better spent working over there than here watching football.”
“What do you have against football?” Jamal asked.
Phil shrugged. “Same thing I have against catch-and-release fishing and playing marbles. I don’t see a point to it.”
“Phil’s problem is that she doesn’t understand the game. At all,” Corey interjected. “I tried to explain it to her once in high school. That’s an hour of my life I’ll never get back.”
“The rules make no sense,” Phil argued. “How can you penalize someone for holding on to a player so that he can’t tackle the guy with the football? Isn’t that players’ jobs, to stop the opposing team from tackling the guy with the ball?”
“You really don’t understand football.” Jamal laughed.
“I’ve tried to learn it. It just doesn’t make sense to me.” She’d tried watching a game with Kevin once, but like Corey, he’d gotten frustrated and suggested she watch HGTV in the other room.
“I’ll teach you if you really want to learn,” Jamal said.
“Don’t do it.” Corey was shaking his head. “You don’t want that headache.”
Jamal shrugged off his friend’s concern. “I’m serious,” he said. “If you really want to learn, I’ll go over some of the basics with you.”
He looked so sincere, so genuine. Even though she had no interest whatsoever in learning more about football, Phil couldn’t stop her heart from melting just a bit from his offer.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Fumble!” someone shouted from the living room, and both Corey and Jamal took off running.
That coy grin still planted on her face, Mya emptied the store-bought spinach dip into a bowl. “Don’t make me have to ask,” she said.
“Ask what?” Phil tried for innocent.
Her best friend pointed a spoon at her. “Girl, you better start spilling. And I mean right now.”
“There’s nothing to spill,” Phil said as she climbed back onto her barstool. “I’m helping him with the house, nothing more. By the end of the day we are both tired and sweaty, and not in a good way.”
“That is such a waste. Have you taken a good look at that man?”
She slid her best friend an exasperated look. “I know how he looks, Mya. I’ve been staring at his ass for nearly a month.”
“Well, stop staring and grab it,” Mya said. “Come on. You’re both single.”
“We’re both single? That’s the best you can do?” Phil laughed. “My neighbor, Mr. Jenkins, is single. He’s a grandfather and a widower, but still single. Should I ask him out?”
“You’re both single and under the age of sixty-five,” Mya said, heavy on the annoyance. “I’m being serious. Why wouldn’t you give Jamal a chance? I’m sure the two of you have things in common.”
“Like what?”
“Like architecture,” Mya returned.
Phil nearly choked on a laugh. “Believe me, our take on architecture is definitely not something we have in common.” She held her hands up when Mya started to speak again.
“I know now that you’re back with the love of your life you’ve developed this obsession with finding me a man, but it really isn’t necessary.
I’m perfectly content with my single status.
Honestly, I have neither the time nor the energy for a relationship. ”
Mya frowned as she absently rubbed her belly. “I just want you to be happy.”
Phil gave her a cheesy, fake smile. “I’m happy. I promise.”
Mya leaned closer and whispered in a harsh breath, “The least you can do is sleep with him once so you can tell me how good he is.”