Chapter Three
TOOTH FAIRIES AND DOLLS
My date sucked. Yeah, Tucker pushed his buddy’s wheelchair in a marathon, but he also had an actual fetish with missing limbs, or more accurately …
the prosthetic itself. Before dessert was served, he asked how many prosthetics I owned and if I had any old ones that he could have because he just sort of “liked” them.
I considered offering to shove the one I had on up his ass, but a creepy little voice in my head warned me that he’d probably like it.
Skipped dessert.
Faked a migraine.
Paid my half of the bill because there was no way Twisted Tucker would think I owed him anything.
Drove home in a crazy zigzagging, backtracking pattern to make sure Freak Fetish wasn’t following me.
“Stiiiick …” Everson slurred from his doorway as I stuck my key in the lock.
I grinned, keeping my back to him. “You’re drunk.”
“A bit. It’s my birthday.”
“Happy birthday. How was your party?” I turned.
He tipped back an amber bottle of beer then rubbed his lips together. “It was good after your rat left.”
“Trzy is a cat. I told you that. Everyone gone?”
He nodded. Drunk Everson didn’t look at me like I wasn’t his type.
“I had a crappy date. You should invite me over for a beer.”
“Let me guess … the prick was scared of your leg.”
I liked drunk Everson’s take on things. Sober Everson needed to take a few pointers from him.
“Aw … you do like me.” Stepping in front of him, I peered up at his glassy eyes.
He shook his head. “Never said that.”
“You really did. If being scared of my leg makes my date a prick, then … you like me.”
He smirked, retreating a few steps to allow me into his apartment.
Plastic red cups, paper plates, and empty alcohol bottles dotted the premises.
Everson snagged a beer from his refrigerator. “You’re still not my type, even drunk.” He popped the top and handed me the cold bottle.
“Cool your balls, hot stuff. I’m not going to jump ya.” I took a long pull of my beer. “Tell me about your quarterback?”
Everson quirked a brow. “You tell me. You seemed to know him earlier.”
I shrugged. “We met. I wasn’t available at the time.” I was … I was available like a sofa at the end of a driveway. But … lives at risk.
“Ain’t that a bummer. He’s not available now.”
His response led to me chugging the rest of my beer.
After catching my breath and suppressing an unladylike burp, I smiled to hide my disappointment.
Seeing the man of my dreams for the first time in three years while holding Trzy was not the best time to size up my competition.
She insulted my cat and my lack of knowing who my neighbor was, but I couldn’t focus on her because … Man. Of. My. Dreams.
“Married?”
“Nah, girlfriend.”
I nodded. “Serious?”
He chuckled while collecting some of the trash on the counter. “Listen, Stick, we’re not going to braid each other’s hair and talk about this shit.”
I snatched one of the empty trash bags he set out and went to work on the living room.
“What about you?” We weren’t done talking about Cage. I just needed to work it from a different angle.
“What about me?”
“You have a girlfriend—a non-white, non-skinny one with things to grab or hold on to?”
Everson erupted into a belly laugh. “Don’t you worry about me. I get mine.”
I nodded. “Yeah … well, I get mine too.” I didn’t. Or maybe I did; I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what he meant by that. Dates? Sex? Both? “You could use some color in here. White walls. Black furniture. Are you color blind?”
“I’m not here enough to need color, and when I am here, my ass is planted on that sofa, eyes glued to the television. Why? You some type of decorator or something?”
“No. But your home is your sanctuary so—”
“The stadium is my sanctuary. This is where I sleep and fuck.”
I mouthed, “OK … Wow.”
“Tell me, Stick, how you afford to live in this place and drive the wheels you do?”
“Wheels? You’ve been spying on me?”
“I notice things, that’s all.”
“I run an amputee porn site.”
Everson stilled, looking over his shoulder, trash bag dangling from his huge hand. “You’re a freak. I knew you were a freak.” Turning back to his task, he shook his head and chuckled like he had the whole world figured out.
There was definitely a freak in the monochrome room, but it wasn’t me. Just as I opened my mouth to confess my dry humor that he seemed to miss, there was a knock at his door.
“Who’s that?”
I shrugged. “Sorry, my super powers don’t extend past my bionic leg.”
He sighed like it was somehow my fault that my road to recovery didn’t include x-ray vision.
“I think you have the wrong apartment,” Everson said to the person at his door.
I continued to clean up the mess.
“Do you speak? Is someone here with you? What’s this?”
“Please take care of her!” a woman’s voice sounded in the distance.
“Wait! What the hell? Where are you going?” Everson yelled into the hall, then he banged his fist against the door frame.
The suspense was too much to take. I peeked around his massive body. “Hi.” I smiled at the little girl.
Her brown eyes held my gaze for a moment before she tucked her chin and stared at her feet. Tight, dark curls curtained her face. Stains soiled her yellow T-shirt with a glitter rainbow, and her jeans were about two sizes too big, hanging from her tiny waist. She looked about six or seven.
Everson shook his head slowly while reading the wrinkled piece of paper in his hand. She had to be his daughter. I had my speech all planned out.
One night.
One sperm.
One forgotten condom.
One huge responsibility for the rest of his life.
I would give him the gentle version of the lecture since his glazed-over expression conveyed complete shock. He would not escape without any lecture. Men could impregnate the whole world without a damn clue. They should at very least have their dicks shrink a quarter inch for every egg fertilized.
“Well, we’ll talk tomorrow, Everson, after you get her settled in.”
The girl looked at me with big hazelnut eyes, and so did Everson. Did I say something shocking? I’d never seen a black man look so white.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Lake, by the way.” I offered my hand to the girl. She hiked her over-stuffed, red backpack onto her narrow shoulders and rested her small hand in mine.
“Shayna,” she whispered.
“Shayna.” I smiled. “That’s a beautiful name.”
She smiled back. It was faint, but I saw it.
“Good night, Miss Shayna. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
Tipping her chin down, she nodded.
“Night, Everson. Happy birthday and thanks for the beer.”
His tongue seemed to be paralyzed, jaw stuck open.
After locking my door, I tossed my purse on the counter and realized I forgot my signed crispy rice box in my car and had nothing to hump.
“Gah! You scared me!” I jumped, opening my door to Everson towering over me.
“Where you going?”
“To my car,” I answered with my hand still plastered over my heart.
“I need a favor.”
I squinted. “A favor?”
“Can you watch her in the morning while I get all this figured out?”
“You’re going to just leave her with a stranger?”
“You’re my neighbor.”
“I could be a serial killer.”
“Are you?”
“If I were, I certainly wouldn’t tell you, would I?”
Everson sighed as if my legitimate argument somehow irritated him. “I’ll take my chances. So you’ll do it?”
“Fine! But after you get back tomorrow we are having a serious conversation about condoms.”
Everson’s head jerked back, then he turned, looking at Shayna standing just inside his doorway. “She’s not …” He brought his attention back to me and lowered his voice. “She’s not my daughter. She’s my sister.”
I had no response. Didn’t see that coming.
“If you’re trying to do the math in your head, let me help you out. My mom was fourteen when she had me. I’m twenty-five. She was thirty-eight when she died last year.” His voice broke at the end. Then he cleared his throat and glanced up at the ceiling. “Just do me this favor, please.”
When he looked at me, I nodded. Still, no words came. My heart held them captive.
“Eight too early?”
I shook my head. It was way too early, but telling him that required speech, so eight it was.
The knock at my door startled me from my naked quarterback dream. I thought I set my alarm. Apparently not.
“Just a minute!” I yelled. “Give a girl a minute to put her leg on, antsy pants,” I mumbled.
“You forgot.” Everson inspected my shorts and shirt: plaid Hello Kitty.
“Yes, in less than seven hours I forgot.” I narrowed my eyes. Really? “I didn’t forget, I just didn’t get up. Good morning, Shayna.” I smiled. “Come in.”
Her eyes remained fixed to my leg, which wasn’t obvious last night under my pants.
“It does cool tricks. I’ll show you later.”
Darting her gaze to mine, she sucked in a breath like I’d caught her doing something wrong.
“I’m serious. I get paid to play with robotic legs.” I winked at her, and she smiled on a sigh.
“And not in a kinky way?” Everson quirked a brow.
I laughed. “No. Not in a kinky way. Clearly you didn’t catch my humor.”
He nodded, maybe a bit relieved, maybe disappointed. Everson Banks was a hard man to read. “So, uh … I appreciate this. I guess I owe you.”
“Yup.” I popped my lips. “You owe me a hair-braiding session while I talk about boys I like.”
He shook his head. “Still won’t make him available.”
“But he’s not married. Is he engaged?”
“No time for this, Stick.” Everson turned and headed toward the elevator.
The guy was a beast. A sexy, I’m-not-interested-in-the-girl-next-door beast, but still … a beast.
“Just answer me! Is he engaged or living with her?”
Stepping into the elevator, he turned and gave me a smirk. It was a “no” smirk. I just knew it. The man of my dreams was not officially off the market yet. I would not pursue him or try and steal him from the cat-hater. That wasn’t classy, and everyone who knew me would attest to my classiness.
OK, no one would call me classy. Who was I kidding?