3. Malik
T he drive home usually cleared my head, but tonight I couldn’t shake her. I pulled into my driveway, looking at my glass house with all its clean lines and expensive views, and for the first time, it felt cold as hell. Empty.
Inside, I poured some Hennessy and settled into my chair, but instead of appreciating the city lights, all I could think about was Sametra.
Those eyes that still had fire in them even when everything was falling apart.
The way she looked at me with bunched eyebrows when I called her beautiful, like she couldn't figure out if I was serious or just running game.
But I was dead serious. She was stunning in a way that made me want to stare at her all day like a beautiful captivating piece of art.
She was a masterpiece. That Hershey-kissed skin, those bright eyes that made my heart skip a beat, the softness in her face when she thought I wasn't looking.
I'd lost count of how many smiles she'd pulled from me in the course of an hour, and that never happened.
Women didn't catch me off guard like that.
She already had an effect on me.
My phone buzzed and was slow to pull it out. It was probably my Mama checking in and she’d let it ring until my voicemail picked up. She was the only person who still left voicemails. I laughed about to answer when I looked at the screen, it was Moniece from work.
Damn.
“Dr. Holloway,” she purred, already working her breathy voice. I rolled my eyes because this shit was getting out of hand. She was always calling and not hearing me.
“What do you need, Ms. Parker?”
“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to grab drinks after my shift tomorrow. There’s this cute little place on the corner of Juke.”
“I’m good on that. We ain’t on that level.”
“Malik, come on. We’ve been playing this game for months. It’s not my fault we work together now. Plus, I heard you were flirting with your new patient. Not you tryna cheat and we ain’t together.”
“Moneice, it’s Dr. Holloway, that’s how you need to address me from here on out. And mixing business with pleasure ain’t my thing, I been made that clear.” I paused just long enough for her to catch the chill. “You have a good night and lose this number.”
I hung up before she could say anything else.
Just like that her voice had irritated me.
Not to mention she was acting delusional as fuck, We’d hooked up back when she was still working over at Central Side General.
She was fine, cute face, body crazy, lips even better.
but now she worked under my roof. And I’d learned the hard way that nothing dried a vibe up faster than a clingy situationship with hallway access to your office. I didn’t need those problems.
Moneice had been good for what it was. One night. Two, maybe. She was a throat goat, for sure, and there were nights, long ones, where the thought of walking into a house like this, cold and too quiet, had me considering dialing her up again.
But those nights were getting fewer.
I wasn’t pressed. I had options. Boundaries.
Rules that kept shit simple. But if I was honest a nigga was bored.
Over coming home to an empty house. No dinner cooking.
No life. Just me left to my thoughts and work.
I was tired of women trying to hook something deeper to a moment I’d already forgotten.
Tired of the repeat requests, the “Can we talk?” texts, the way they lingered like nightwalkers.
I was good on all that shit. Especially after today.
“Fucking, Sametra,” I murmured to myself. The woman had my mind completely absent. This was all heart, and a little bit of lust. I’d be honest.
My phone buzzed again. This time it was my Mama.
I smiled this time. I had news for my favorite lady.
“Hey, Mama.”
“Malik Jerome Holloway. You sound entirely too pleased with yourself for this time of night. What’s going on? How was work?”
I swirled the Hennessy, my mind drifting back to a woman with tired eyes and perfect lips who still managed to capture my attention completely.
I wanted to know more than the basics—I wanted to know everything there was to know about Sametra Andrews.
Her favorite scent, what made her laugh until her stomach hurt, the way she took her coffee, all the little details nobody else bothered to ask about. I wanted it all. I wanted her.
“The day was perfect, Ma,” I said, smirking. “Pretty sure I met my wife today.”
The silence on the other end stretched for exactly three seconds before Yolanda’s laughter came through the phone, warm and knowing.
I didn’t find shit funny but I laughed with her because I know it sounded crazy but all of a sudden I didn’t give a damn about being ridiculous, I’d be that for her on any day that ended with a y .
“Boy, what are you talking about?”
“I’m serious. Well, half serious.” I found myself smiling, something I’d been doing all day since I laid eyes on Sametra. “I had a new case come in today. Car accident. Seventeen-year-old boy, fractured femur, dislocated shoulder. Gonna need months of PT.”
“That’s rough, baby. But what’s that got to do with meeting your wife?”
“She’s his mother.” I took a sip of my drink, already smiling. “Fine as hell, got an attitude, and loves her son. The kind of woman you bring home. Mark my words I’m bringing her home.”
I thought back to walking into her room and seeing her pretty ass sleeping peacefully. Completely unaware of the night she’d had. Completely unaware that her future husband was on night guard.
She was beautiful. The kind of beauty that didn’t try— it was .
Sametra’s skin had a glow that didn’t fade, even under fluorescent lights.
Her features were bold, sculpted like somebody worked meticulously over every detail, arched brows, high cheekbones, full lips that looked like they stayed ready to tell somebody about themselves.
And would. The soft curls that framed her face were so fly and elegant.
No one had come through my side of St. Ambrose and robbed me of my attention and common sense like that.
“All that from one night?”
“One night was all it took.” My voice was lighter than I intended, almost chipper, and it shocked me. I think it shocked my mama too. I had no business looking at that boy's mama the way I was—it was reckless as hell. But she made it too damn easy to forget protocol.
My favorite part of Sametra was her eyes they pulled you in before you even realized what was happening. Brown, soft, bright. Sametra was the full package, and her job was sexy as fuck, I couldn’t lie.
A nigga ain’t never had a firefighter. And now I couldn’t stop wondering what that might be like.
All that strength, that command, that stamina, wrapped between soft and toned thighs.
She had curves in all the right places. Calves that looked like they could wrap around you and not let go.
Could suffocate a man, and he’d be thankful for it.
“Malik,” my mama yelled, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“Nah,” I murmured. I tossed the rest of my liquor back because the spots I’d touch on Sametra Jonelle Andrews would ensure she never let another.
“ Shit.”
“Huh?”
“My bad, Mama. I keep getting distracted. She’s a firefighter. Lieutenant. I don’t know. I feel like we have a connection. It’s been a while since I said that.”
“Oh, I see.”
I heard her settle into her recliner, the one I’d bought her last Christmas that she’d initially refused because it was “too much”.
“Ma, don’t do that.”
“Jerome, I’m just saying. Don’t you go mixing your professional obligations with your personal feelings. That woman needs a doctor for her boy, not another complication. And son, I love you, but you haven’t been in anything serious in years.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because the way you talking, you’re already picking wedding colors and rings over a woman you just met.
” Her voice took on that stern tone that you hated to love.
She’d used it to check me for thirty seven years.
“Son, she don’t need you adding to her plate.
Especially, for you to get bored with her like you do everything else. ”
I was quiet for a moment because she wasn’t wrong.
But she also didn’t understand. The way Sametra looked at me, fighting to hide her blushing, laughing at my corny jokes, knowing damn well they were corny.
She was curious, defiant, and vulnerable all at once.
Unsure if I was friend or foe. But the way she’d responded when I touched her shoulder, that little intake of breath she probably didn’t even realize she’d held, I caught that.
I was definitely trying to be more than a friend, never a foe.
Once you had a woman like Sametra, you held on to her.
“What if this was a sign?” I asked.
“Malik Jerome…”
“I’m serious, Ma. I’m not trying to fix her or hurt her. I’m trying to get to know her.” I took another sip. “And maybe show her what it feels like to have someone in her corner. And when something comes from that, I’m taking that too. But no pressure.”
“Lord, have mercy. You’ve got too much confidence for your own good. Always had too much dip on your chip.”
“Confidence got me this far. I can’t turn my back on my superpower now.”
“Confidence is one thing. But that woman’s been hurt, baby. And her focus should be on her son, not your big-headed tail. And if she’s the one, nothing is going to come easy unless she’s just as dizzy over you as you are over her.”
That made us both laugh. I was hoping she was. I’d seen the way her eyes lingered on my hands, heard how her voice softened when I said her name. I wanted both her and Samaj to trust me, but what I wanted from her felt a lot more personal than professional. I knew better.
“I think she might be mama. Mark my words, Sametra will be my wife.”
“Well in that case son, I’ll send a little prayer up for you. Get some sleep.”