Chapter twenty - three Kendra
Chapter twenty-three
Kendra
“Hun, don’t forget to tell her she looked great in the Pumped Energy pics,” Debbie whispers insistently. Even annoyed, I stifle a snicker; she must not realize the phone’s on speaker.
I’ve been avoiding my dad since his last call, when he pretended to care about my job, then tried to convince me, yet again, to give Andre another chance. Andre: my lying, cheating, now engaged ex-husband. For whatever reason, my dad just won’t accept we’re over.
I’d bet money that’s why he’s calling again today. An online sleuth tracked pictures of Damon from Friday’s event back to “The Look Seen ‘Round the World”. His secret is out, and my notifications have been pinging for the last four hours straight.
It’s either that, or his quarterly call to rehash his disapproval of my career. You’d think when I made my first million, he’d get over it, but no. A respectable woman wouldn’t go around flaunting her body like that. You must’ve gotten that from your mother.
I’ve got nothing further to say on either topic. Unfortunately for me, I accidentally picked up the phone without checking on my way to meet Damon. Now I’m trapped.
“What are you going on about?” he hisses back to my stepmom. She tsks in return.
“I said she looked great in the Pumped Energy pics. She’s one of their new spokespeople.”
Debbie knowing the details of what I consider a minor endorsement deal shocks me into silence.
Unlike literally everyone else who saw the photos, she focused on me and not the man on my arm.
Maybe the warmth in my chest whenever we chat, even through my dad, isn’t irritation after all. Could it be…affection?
There’s no time to tackle that question right now. Thanks to a stalled train on the yellow line, which nearly sent me into another panic attack, I’m already late. I pick up the pace as much as I can in these Stuart Weitzman boots and tune back into my dad and stepmom’s bickering.
Not for the first time recently, I feel bad for her.
My dad can be charming when he wants to be.
He also looks closer to forty-five than his actual fifty-eight, a trait I inherited that’s already extended my career past what most models can dream of.
While that’s enough to make women fall in love with him, when the veneer finally fades, all that’s left is an angry, close-minded man who thinks ruling with an iron fist will keep all other women from leaving him.
So far, his methods have had the opposite effect.
I clear my throat to remind them I’m still waiting on the line.
“Hey Dad. I’m running late to meet someone. What did you want to talk about?” I regret my brusqueness, but it’s the only way to get his attention.
“Well,” he says, obviously offended, “Debbie wanted to say she liked the Pumped Energy pictures.” He says it as if she’s holding a gun to his head.
“And I wanted to let you know Andre came by with another box of your things yesterday. He says that’s all of it, so you can let your boyfriend know he doesn’t need to keep threatening him. ”
I bite back my retort. Andre can’t get to me anymore, so now he’s feeding lies to my family. My dad always loved him. They fished together, smoked cigars together, and together, they complained about my busy schedule and constant travel. Often. It was one of their favorite pastimes.
I have no doubt that if I were still with Andre, he’d have pressured me to retire and start popping out babies soon. My plans these days are less about babies and more about boutiques. I couldn’t be happier.
“OK,” he sighs, realizing I’m not taking the bait. “I’ll let you go. Just text me when you want to come by to pick up your stuff.”
“Will do,” I answer, then hang up before he can respond. Talking to him always tests my patience, but I can’t bring myself to go no-contact.
I look both ways before crossing the street into Saint Nicholas Park. It’s a bit of a trek, but it’s also a hidden gem with way fewer people to deal with than Central Park. We can’t be too safe with those pictures circulating…and with things between us still unresolved.
It’s too cold for a picnic, and the ground is damp from last night’s rain, but New York in the fall will always be my favorite.
It’s after the sticky armpit of summer, but before the constant gray and slush of winter.
Plus, Fat Girl Fall is a thing. I traded my usual chai for a pumpkin spice latte this morning, and we’re going to frolic in this crisp air, take in the vibrant foliage, and then make our way to The Edge Harlem, a Caribbean restaurant Denise recommended.
I approach, and Damon stands from a bench at the park’s entrance.
“Hey, beautiful,” he greets me, pulling me close to nuzzle his nose against the sensitive spot behind my ear. I shiver for reasons completely unrelated to the cold.
“Hey, beautiful back,” I answer, putting my own nose into the crook of his neck and inhaling deeply.
I read somewhere that if you’re compatible, you’ll find your partner’s pheromones irresistible.
Damon smells good. Like better than fresh-baked cinnamon rolls good.
Not that he’s my partner, though we certainly were compatible two nights ago!
I blink my eyes quickly to jerk my brain off that slippery slope before it passes the point of no return. We’re here to talk, not for a repeat of Friday night, I remind myself. Why the hell not?, my inner ho yells back.
“C’mon, Kendra. We both know you’re not out with me now for my pretty face.”
I bristle, worried he’ll talk down about himself again. I won’t let him insult one of my favorite people.
“No?” I ask carefully.
Damon sends me a sly smile.
“No way. You’re really here for my big, fat—”
I swat his shoulder.
“Damon!” I squeal, scandalized.
“Heart!” Damon finishes, laughing at my expression. “Why’d you hit me? Did you think I was going to say something else?”
I roll my eyes playfully, but don’t answer. He falls into stride beside me, a wide grin still on his face.
“I agree that you have a big, fat heart,” I say with a smirk, “but you’re also beautiful. It’s a good thing, too, considering your fashion sense is severely lacking.” I look pointedly at his shoes—the dreaded trainers.
“Hey,” he cries in mock offense. “You said this was a walking date.” He purses his lips when I have to bite back my giggle.
“I figured they were finally appropriate.” He gestures to my shoes. “Those boots weren’t made for walking.”
I scoff.
“When you’re a professional walker, all shoes are made for walking.” I do a small pirouette in my heeled boots without the slightest wobble to prove my point. Damon actually looks impressed.
“I stand corrected.”
We walk side by side, enjoying the brisk weather, a light fog casting a blanket over the colorful scenery, when Damon breaks the comfortable silence.
“I didn’t mean to call this a date,” he says, looking straight ahead and pretending interest in a red maple tree to our left. “I mean, I know we just started exploring what this is…”
He trails off, his voice small, hesitant, and I automatically take his hand, intertwining our fingers.
“I think we should clear the air,” I suggest, pausing my steps. Damon looks quizzically at the fog surrounding us, and I bump my shoulder into his with a smile. “Figuratively, I mean.”
I pull us to a nearby bench, then turn to give him my full attention.
“First, I want to apologize for the mixed messages.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No, I do,” I interrupt, unwilling to let him excuse my wishy-washiness. He’s been beyond understanding; I can at least offer accountability. I count my sins on my fingers.
“I treated you like a booty call before asking you what you wanted. I openly flirted with you, even after you said we should just be friends—”
“Which I liked!” Damon insists. I pat his hand.
“Maybe, but I still didn’t respect your boundaries,” I counter, “pushing for what I wanted when you’d made your position clear.”
When he grudgingly stays quiet, I continue.
“I used you to try to make my ex jealous—”
“Kissing you wasn’t exactly a hardship,” Damon interjects.
“And then, after we agreed Friday would be a one-time thing, I got mad at you for sticking to the terms of engagement. It wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
Damon looks down at our hands, still intertwined, the contrast of our skin tones alluring.
“Just so we’re clear,” he murmurs, “now you—”
“I like you. Like…really like you. And today is absolutely a date. As long as you want it to be,” I rush to add.
Damon’s answering smile is radiant, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Hell yeah, I want it to be,” he hoots. “I’ve wanted that since I saw you at Denise’s show.”
I laugh, and the easy feeling between us returns.
“What if,” I start tentatively, “to avoid any confusion, we kiss right now instead of waiting until the end of the date?”
Damon’s eyes widen, and he immediately leans closer, crowding into my personal space. I lick my lips nervously.
“A kiss won’t leave any room for misinterpretation,” I explain. “And then we can enjoy the rest of our first official date without the usual first-date awkwardness that comes from waiting for the kiss.”
I don’t mention my first-date jitters before our dinner in Little Italy months ago; that feels too vulnerable. I also don’t mention the butterflies that took flight in my stomach the night we met.
Damon’s face is mere centimeters from mine now; close enough to see his dark pupils spread in interest, and the excited flare of his nostrils.
“We wouldn’t want any misunderstandings,” he agrees.
And then he’s on me, hands gripping my hips tightly and pillow-soft kisses exploring my mouth in agonizing tenderness.
I part my lips to invite him in, to go deeper.
Anything to quench the fire suddenly burning inside me.
Instead, he cradles my nape in both hands, tilting my head back to expose the curve of my jaw and trailing kisses down the expanse of my neck.