Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
~NAZ~
Damn.
I didn’t get to see Takira blossom from the girl I met in high school into the gorgeous, confident woman standing in front of me. Thanks to social media and my nagging curiosity, I got to see some things from a distance. I kept loose tabs on Cliff. None of what happened was my fault, but he clearly laid blame at my feet. I sometimes looked for ways I might help, might be able to intervene with some opportunity that would get him back on track, but he snorted and shot up all his chances. You can’t save an addict from himself. Ultimately, he has to do that, but every time Cliff occurred to me, so did his sister.
“Naz,” Takira says, blinking up at me in surprise. “Hey.”
“I was looking for you earlier. Thought you might be hiding from me.”
“Hiding?” She twists her lips into a grimace. “Not unless chilling by the pool is considered hiding.”
“So you weren’t about to leave without saying goodbye?”
She glances down, her smile chagrined. “Well, maybe I was about to do that.”
Mascaraed lashes paint shadows on her cheeks. Her makeup is flawless—vibrant blue and green and purple eye shadow, fuchsia-colored lips, dark, dramatic brows winging over her bright eyes. A strapless body suit lovingly molds every breakneck curve and bold line. Her shoulders, a rich shade of mahogany, gleam under the warm overhead light in the hall. Her arms look strong, but soft and rounded. A small diamond “T” dangles from a gold chain linked around the slim column of her neck and rests in the shallow well at the base of her throat.
My assessment of her is leisurely and thorough. I’m taking my time and taking in every detail down to her backless high heels and the nude color painted on her toes. I’ve never been a foot man, but she could convert me to any part of her body with just a crook of her finger. She’s obviously a woman who invests in herself, who takes care of herself. As a man who makes a living taking care of my body, I appreciate this. Any man who wins a woman like Takira would be blessed.
“Damn, Naz,” Takira huffs out a laugh. “You always this bold with it? You don’t be trying to hide your interest, do you?”
“I’m rarely this interested.”
Her dark eyes snap up to mine, searching for the truth I know is there.
“I gotta go,” she says, not addressing my last comment.
“Could I get your number? You live in LA now, right? Maybe we could?—”
“I don’t think so.” She slides her eyes to a point over my shoulder. “That’s probably not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I think you know.”
We stare at each other, stewing in the shared memory, not only of the night we bared our hopes to each other but of the night that followed. The night that changed everything for me and for Cliff.
A couple stumbles down the hall, kissing and not really paying attention. They bump into me and pull apart to study us.
“Sorry.” The woman giggles, her blue eyes a little glassy. I recognize her as one of the models from today’s show.
“You finished in there?” The guy nods to the bathroom where Takira stands in the door.
“Oh.” Takira steps out of the way, clearing their path. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Thanks,” the model says, grabbing her partner’s hand and dragging him inside, slamming and locking the door behind them.
“I think that’s my cue to go,” Takira says, turning to head up the hall.
I grasp her wrist, being careful with the strong, slim bones captured between my fingers. She looks from that point of contact between us up to my face.
“Five minutes,” I say.
She blows out a long sigh, her expression resigned, and nods. “Five.”
A few people wander into the hall to wait for the bathroom. Judging by the grunts and pants coming through that door, they might be waiting a minute. I don’t miss the speculative glances some send my way. You don’t catch me chasing nobody . A monk I’m not, but you won’t find me trending. I keep a low profile. So me standing in the hall practically petitioning a woman for five minutes of her time… I don’t need folks in my business like that.
Not releasing Takira’s wrist, I lead her farther down the hall and to a flight of stairs. I glance over my shoulder to meet the question in her eyes.
“Just a little privacy,” I tell her. “There’s a place downstairs.”
After a small pause, she nods and allows me to continue. The stairwell empties into the billiard room. I was down here with Kenan and some of the guys earlier playing pool, but they all went to find their girls. Lucky for me, the room is now empty. I lean against the pool table, and she works her wrist free from my loosened grip. Putting some space between us, she hops up onto the edge of the table beside me and kicks her shoes off.
“Sorry,” she says, smiling ruefully and wiggling her toes. “Had to. Been on my feet all day.”
“You have pretty feet.”
I bite my tongue because judging by the half-amused look she angles at me, that was not a normal thing I should have said in this moment. Somehow I’ve reverted to the awkward kid I was at eighteen.
“Thank you.” She yields a grin and leans back on the heels of her palms. “Your five minutes start now.”
If I only get five minutes, I’m diving in.
“I called you,” I tell her. “After the game, I mean.”
“You did?” she asks with a frown.
“Yeah. I didn’t have your cell, so I called your house.” I huff out a self-deprecating laugh. “I guess I thought even after what happened at the game with Cliff, there might still be a chance for us to hang out. Get to know each other.”
“I didn’t know you called,” she says softly.
“Yeah. The first time, Cliff answered.” I chuckle without any real humor. “You can imagine how that went.”
“His anger with you was unjustified.” She looks at me squarely. “You didn’t punch that coach. Cliff did, and it cost him everything. Well, it cost him a chance at division-one ball. The bad decisions he made after that—the drugs—they cost him everything else.”
“I knew he had a temper. We all knew, but I never expected him to lose it like that.”
With thirty seconds left in the first half of the biggest game of his life, Cliff Mosely punched our opponent’s coach so hard he fell to his knees. He was black-balled on every list after that. No coach, no college would touch him.
“It was a bad call by the ref,” Takira admits dryly. “But no foul, no call is worth your future. Cliff didn’t have to go HAM on that ref, and he didn’t have to punch that coach in the face.”
She bites her lip, flicking a glance to me beside her, propped against the pool table.
“You were ready for the moment, Naz,” she says. “I don’t even think Coach Lipton knew you could play the way you did when he subbed you after halftime.”
“Real talk, I didn’t know I could play like that.”
I shove my hands in my pockets, uncomfortable with the contrast between how my career soared after that high school championship and how everything soured for her brother. “If you remember, I had actually been talking to the coach from my old high school to see if I might get some looks for football. I didn’t think I’d proven myself enough in basketball to get any real college consideration.”
“When Cliff got thrown out and you had to step up, you did. Big time.”
I had a triple double and played more aggressively than I ever had. Cliff was such a hot prospect the game was being televised. So everyone and their grandma saw Cliff punch that coach. The scouts who had come out to see Cliff saw me instead, playing the game of my life. The offers that should have gone to him came to me. They saw me step in for him and play like my life depended on it. Considering how Mama’s hospital bills had piled up, maybe my life—and hers— had depended on it.
“I was happy for you,” Takira says, reaching over to take my hand and give it a squeeze. “I knew what that opportunity meant for you and your family. I knew you’d make the most of it.”
And I did.
When a few offers for division-one colleges rolled in, I chose a full ride at the school with the best business program.
“You know,” I say, stroking my thumb over the smooth skin of her hand, “even once I got to State, I didn’t ever expect to start. I thought I’d ride the bench for four years and get my degree paid for. That’s all I really wanted at first.”
“But you got there and did what you always seem to do. You learned, you got better, you never gave up, and it landed you not only in the League, but with a championship. While Cliff…” She looks away and bites her lip. “Well, he gave up really badly. You didn’t punch that coach. You didn’t force my brother to turn to drugs when all he had worked for dried up. You didn’t ruin his life, but he needed someone other than himself to blame.”
“So he blamed me,” I finish for her. “When I called the week after the game, he was furious and told me to stay away from you.”
“He told me the same thing.” She shrugs. “You and I only had one conversation, so when you didn’t call?—”
“Except I did. Twice. The second time your mother said she thought it best I not call again. Not for Cliff.” I hold her stare. “And not for you.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised. The punch was on every sports channel. Reporters were in our front yard. Colleges that had made offers withdrew them immediately.” She shakes her head and sighs. “If they weren’t talking about how bad Cliff had screwed up, they were talking about how you stepped up.”
“I’m sorry.”
I’m not sorry for anything I did , but for how things went so badly for him.
“Talking with you, going out with you— anything with you right after it happened,” she says, “would have felt like a betrayal to Cliff.”
“I get it. You had to focus on your family.” I shrug. “To be honest, so did I. My mom was only getting worse, and the bills weren’t going anywhere. I had to make the most of that opportunity for her and my sisters.”
“Which is exactly where your focus should have been. I mean, yeah, you and I had a great conversation on that roof and?—”
“We did more than talk,” I remind her with a wry smile.
She had said I was the first to make her come. That should count for something .
Her eyes snap to mine, a slow smile kissing her lips. “True, and it was…great. It really was, but he’s my brother, and he was at his lowest point. Going out with you would have been salt in the wound.”
“I get that,” I say, nodding. “I wish things could have been different, but I get it.”
“You’re a trigger for him. When you got drafted into the League, he was so bitter. He went on one of his worst trips that week. And when you won your ring…” She shakes her head and closes her eyes. “It was bad. When they did that stupid documentary, he was so upset, we almost lost him.”
“What do you mean?” I ask with a quick frown.
“He overdosed,” she says, her voice hushed, her eyes haunted. “He flatlined, and they revived him. It almost killed Mama, too.”
Hearing that, I’m horrified. I know it’s not my fault, but guilt saws my insides nonetheless. I push away from the table and move to face her, standing in front of her still seated on the table’s edge. “I had no idea.”
“He’s lost everything, Naz. He has two kids with a good woman, but she left when he spiraled again. She had just been through too much. She’s with another guy now, and Cliff is finally getting access to the kids again. He’s piecing things back together.”
“I reached out a few times in the past, but he was never receptive.” I take both her hands in mine. “But if there’s anything I can ever do to help, let me know.”
“Maybe give up on this idea of us going out,” she says softly, half-hopefully.
“We shouldn’t have to.” I tighten my grip on her fingers and shake my head, holding her eyes with mine. “I get why then it was bad timing, but maybe now…it could be right.”
She sucks her teeth but makes no move to pull her hands away. “It’s not worth the drama it’ll cause if Cliff finds out.”
“Not worth it to who?” I ask, stepping closer, filling the small space between her knees. With one finger, I lift her chin, caressing the tiny indentation bisecting the delicate surface. “I’d like to at least see if it could be worth it to me.”
Even now, this close, the pull between us is strong, vital. I lean forward, never dropping her eyes from mine, giving her plenty of time to pull away, to push me away, if she chooses.
She doesn’t choose.
The shorter the distance between our lips, the closer I get, the shorter her breaths come, shallow pants that lift her breasts and coast past her full lips. I’m so close now, we exchange a ragged sigh, my mouth hovering over hers.
“I’mma kiss you now,” I whisper. “Unless you tell me not to.”
Her silence stretches between us, and her lashes drop to cover the emotions swimming in her eyes—curiosity, lust, need.
Guilt.
I press a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, nibble at the full curve of her bottom lip, lick the delicately drawn bow at the top. She gasps, her mouth opening the smallest bit. I take immediate advantage, licking into her, seeking and finding the sweet, slick interior. She moans, and I suck on her tongue, at first gentle, and then incited by the whimpers slipping from her throat, harder.
I cup her face between my hands, thumbing the smooth skin of her cheeks. The cadence of the kiss changes, intensifies as our movements become more hurried, more desperate. I slide my palms down her neck, over her shoulders and back.
“You feel good,” I mutter against her lips.
I kiss across her cheek and behind her ear, drawing in the clean scent tucked into the cove for me there. “You smell good.”
I trail kisses down her throat, taking the satiny skin between my lips and nipping lightly with my teeth. “You taste good.”
She arches her neck back, offering herself to me.
“I’d like to spend some time with you,” I whisper in her ear. “The date we never got before.”
She stiffens, pulling back and closing her eyes, her lips still swollen from my bites and kisses. “Naz, I can’t.”
“Takira, don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.” Shaking her head, she hops off the table, pushes past me, and grabs her shoes, hooking the heels over one hand. “I’m choosing my brother.”
She walks away swiftly, but it takes no time to catch her. With legs as long as mine, one of my steps equals two of hers. I take her by the elbow at the base of the stairs, turning her to face me.
“That’s not the real choice, Takira. Not me or him. It’s just you and me. He’s a grown man who’s experienced incredible disappointment and made a lot of mistakes. I sympathize with that, but he can’t expect you to pay for them. That’s not fair.”
“It doesn’t make sense, his anger at you,” she says, tugging her elbow free. “His grudge against you isn’t fair, but you’re a trigger for him, and he almost died. Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you say he’s been clean for a long time and has a new job.”
“Exactly, and I don’t want jeopardize that because you’re an itch I never got to scratch.”
“Oh, we’re gonna scratch, Kira.”
My words come out soft and certain in a way she may not recognize, but I do. It’s the tone I’ve heard from myself when I want something badly, I’ll do whatever it takes to get it. I willed myself to reach beyond my skill the night I subbed for Cliff. I pushed myself all through college so I would shine hidden among brighter, better talents. It’s what I required of myself to go from a second-round draft pick to an all-star who, against all odds, won a ring in the League when most never do.
At my words, low and determined, she pauses, one bare foot on the step, and considers me over her shoulder. She doesn’t want me? Fine. But she didn’t kiss me like a woman who didn’t want me back.
Whatever she sees in my eyes, it makes worry knit her fine brows together, and she runs, taking the steps quickly to the next floor before I can warn her that I will chase.
I let her go for now. Over the years, I’ve learned when to pursue and when to fall back, biding my time and playing the long game. Twelve years is a very long game. It was one kiss. One conversation. That I could walk away from. I did. But the kiss we just had? The attraction simmering between us… that is worth exploring. This isn’t about then. It’s about now .
I follow more slowly, and as expected, there’s no sign of Takira when I reach the foyer. I glance through the front door someone is holding open and see her standing outside. I watch her for a few moments before an Uber pulls up and she leaves. I’ll figure out my next step later. There’s a pattern in my life. Yes, I’m always ready, prepared when the moment comes, but opportunities have a habit of presenting themselves to me. I’m just the guy who recognizes when they come and knows how to make the most of them. Pundits have often drawn parallels between my career and guys like Tom Brady, who, as a sixth-round draft pick, was the back-up quarterback. When the starter Drew Bledsoe was injured, Brady had to step in. Seven Superbowl rings later, the rest, as they say, is history. Preparation meeting opportunity. Discipline making up for deficits. That’s always been my calling card, too.
I wander outside, grinning when I see my friends lounging by the pool. Lotus is perched on Kenan’s knee. Iris and August are stretched out, entwined on a lounge chair, holding hands.
“You guys are sickeningly sweet,” I say in mock disgust, flopping into an empty chair at the table beside Kenan and Lotus.
“How will you survive all this disgusting sweetness on our bae-cation?” Lotus asks, biting Kenan’s ear and waggling her brows at me.
“Oh, you mean the geriatric cruise.” I chuckle. “Also known as Kenan’s fortieth birthday party?”
“You don’t want a free two-week ride on a yacht in the Mediterranean?” Kenan grumbles, tucking his chin into the curve of Lotus’s neck. “Stay your ass at home.”
“Yeah, Naz,” August says, standing and walking over from the lounge chair. “It’ll be all couples, and we know how awkward that could be for you since you haven’t had a meaningful relationship in, oh…ever.”
“He has a very meaningful relationship,” Kenan deadpans, “with his trainer.”
“Stop teasing him,” Iris chides, joining us at the table. “It’s not his fault he has commitment issues.”
“I do not have commitment issues.” I laugh, leaning the chair back on two legs.
“He just hasn’t found the right person,” Lotus says, narrowing her eyes in that way she has that makes you feel like she’s peeled your skin back and found something interesting. “Though he was all up in Takira’s personal space today.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look over the infinity pool, not meeting the curious eyes of my friends. “Tell me more about this cruise we’re going on. Who’s coming?”
“Well, the four of us, obviously. And there’s…” Lotus counts on her fingers silently. “Six couples.”
“And you.” August grins.
“You could always bring a plus one,” Lotus says.
“I don’t have a…” The rest of my denial gets lost in a jumble of thoughts as a brilliant plan emerges. One that formulates as yet another opportunity presents itself.
“So, Lotus,” I say, tossing her a devious grin. “Does she have to know she’s my plus one?”