20. Everly
He hadn't lied about having me all night. My legs felt like they did the one time I was crazy enough to take an advanced spin class with my aunt, and the ache between my thighs hadn't eased yet. It had been late as hell when I finally showered and slipped into the pretty nightgown that he'd bought me.
He had also planned on having me all day, I guessed, which explained why his head was currently in my lap as we sprawled across the deep, comfortable sectional at the front of his theater room. This house was something serious. Real had obviously spared no expense and the result was gorgeous. I stroked his scalp as we quietly binged "Snowfall," ridiculously full of brunch delivered from his mother's restaurant. How the hell had I gotten here? I knew I was treading on dangerous, unfamiliar ground. I wasn't looking for this kind of relationship. Eating together, sleeping together, showering together, watching TV together—there was way too much "together." In fact...
"I need to leave in a minute, Montréal Hamilton," I whispered, tracing his always crisp lineup.
"Why?" he asked, not moving.
He didn't even look at me, acted like he didn't give a damn about what I said. Audacious was a word created with this nigga in mind.
"I have plans, nosey."
"Cancel them."
I pushed out an exasperated breath at his typical bossiness. He made demands and expected them to be acted upon. I indulged that as part of the fantasy, but not today.
"I can’t," I insisted.
Real paused the show and sat up to look at me. One thick eyebrow lifted, demanding an answer. I didn’t owe him one, though, and I had to stand on that. Things were getting way too messy between us.
“We can watch a couple more episodes, then for real?—”
“Nah, cuz if it was ‘for Real,’ you’d be here, love,” he grumbled, settling back down.
I rolled my eyes but ignored his corny-ass play on words. When it was time to leave, I almost gave in to the desire to stay. But Monday was my birthday, and no one here knew that. Celebrating with Taleah at her party tonight gave me a little chance to enjoy it.
Seven hours later, I was seated at a table for the birthday girl, her sister Tayla, Kelsey, and a couple of their cousins and friends. It was obvious to me long before tonight that Liam Maxwell adored his wife. Taleah and their son were the center of his world. But I couldn't help noticing how it was reflected in this party. Liam had transformed one of the clubs they owned into a fancy little cabaret with a dance floor at the back. The rose gold and burgundy decor was stunning, helping shift the spot from a big, impersonal venue to a cozy little place with a jazz joint feel. The talent of the performers, who ranged from local to national stars, was amazing. I was vibing with one of the women’s version of “Through the Fire” when the pretty woman seated next to me—LaChelle, I believed—turned and smiled.
"So, Ms. Ev, are you a cousin? I know Taleah and Kelsey are serious about family."
“No, Taleah and I met on a job. We're both nurses. What about you?" I asked.
"I'm the cousin of a cousin, and I graduate next month in Early Childhood Education."
"Congratulations, lady! That's impressive."
She waved one diamond-dazzled hand.
"Thank you. Hell, I'm a few years late. I had to fail at a couple of things, first—being a socialite, full-time shopper, and day drinker—but I think I finally got it right," she joked.
I laughed with her, relaxing in my seat.
"It's never too late. And I don't think you failed at the shopping gig, by the way. You look gorgeous," I complimented her sincerely.
Her smile widened. “Thank you. I know you already know it, but you looking beautiful as hell yourself.”
“Oh, my God! It’s the Pretty Girls Mutual Admiration Society.”
I jumped as Kelsey’s dry voice came from behind us. I hadn’t even realized she’d stood up from the table. LaChelle and I laughed as she pretended to gag before holding up her glass of champagne.
“First of all, both of you ladies fine as fuck. Now that we’ve established that, can I just say, I ain’t no lightweight, but this damn Ace does something to me! Come back here and dance with me. Taleah over there acting in love and Kyriq ain’t fucking with me,” Kelsey continued before sipping from her champagne.
Taleah and Kelsey had seats at two tables—one with their girls and a smaller one with just them and their husbands. They wanted to socialize but they wanted to be close to the men they loved, too. I wasn’t mad at them. Taleah was sitting in Liam’s lap, whispering in his ear as he leaned forward, a possessive arm draped around her waist. Watching the intimate touches between them, I felt a pang of something—wistfulness, I guess—that I shrugged off. Chill was relaxing at the table, his eyes on Kelsey, despite her claim.
“From where I’m sitting, it looks very much like Kyriq is fuckin’ with you,” LaChelle quipped.
Kelsey shook her head. “You know how they get Henny wasted and give you that good, good dick?”
LaChelle and I nodded.
“I’m like that on champagne. He just tryna see how many glasses I have, make sure I don’t have his ass strung out all night. Bad as our kids are, he terrified of the word ‘pregnant,’ hell. One more and he knows I’m leaving him to deal with them hellions on his own,” she said before blowing her husband a kiss.
He frowned and ducked his head to avoid the imaginary kiss which just made LaChelle and me crack up even harder. The party was set up so that there was plenty of room for the artists to leave the stage and mingle with the audience, cabaret-style, which was why the dance floor was near the back, in front of the circular bar. The current singer switched to Blu Cantrell’s “Hit Em Up Style” as we stepped onto the floor. Laughing, we danced through Kelsey's extra-animated enactment of the lyrics and those of the next song. When the vocalist invited a friend onstage with her and the opening notes of “Nothing Even Matters” flowed from the speakers, I moved to leave the floor. I was surprised when my hand was pulled into a strong grasp. I looked over my shoulder and into a familiar pair of appreciative brown eyes.
“This has to be fate, beautiful. Can I get this dance and your name this time?” he asked.
I smiled at the man, the cutie from Rarity. I searched my brain… Nathan… Naeem… Lord, what was this man’s name? Turning, I glided closer to him, accepting his offer to dance. Hell, why not? He slid an arm around my waist.
“You can have both, if you’ll remind me of your name,” I said.
There was no use playing around. With all the patients I encountered, remembering every name I heard was not possible. I didn’t forget faces, though.
“Naaman,” he said, still smiling. “And you?”
“Evanie. Call me Ev.”
He nodded. “It’s nice to meet you again, Ev.”
“You, as well. But tell me something,” I began, tilting my head in my curiosity. “The birthday girl didn’t know who you were that night. How did you get an invitation?”
After what I’d been through, my suspicions were more heightened than they used to be. I waited for his answer as we slowly rocked to the male singer’s mellow cover of a D’Angelo verse.
“I’m my brother’s plus one. He’s worked with Liam and got an invite. His girl just left him, so he’s trying to get out as much as he can, not think about it. I tagged along. Glad I did.”
His smile widened, and I couldn’t help returning it. He really was a cutie in his slim-fitting Tom Ford suit and tasteful accessories.
“That’s a more logical explanation than fate, huh?” I teased.
He chuckled. “Let me have my wishful thinking, Beautiful.”
Shrugging, I waited to hear more about his thinking.
"Now that fate has reunited us, and I know your name, let me have my one last wish about you," he murmured against my ear.
I closed my eyes, enjoying the light touch of his fingertips on my back.
"What's that?" I asked.
"I was serious about changing your mind about dating."
I laughed softly as he settled me closer to him. Naaman was a good dancer, his movements smooth and rhythmic. He'd probably be good in bed. Yet despite his looks, charm, and grace, I wasn't interested in taking things any further.
"And I was serious about that not being possible," I parried.
He sighed. "You're too beautiful to put your heart on a shelf."
My lips curved. "Uh-uh, Naaman." I pressed my cheek against his chest. "Who says I have a heart?"
We danced in silence for a couple of minutes.
"I'm not going to change your mind, huh?"
His deep voice rumbled, and I felt his words against my cheek. Stepping back, I smiled at him, taking advantage of the break in the music.
"No, Suga. But you can have another dance to make u?—”
My voice stopped abruptly as an arm slid around me from behind.
"Nah, he good. Right, Naaman?"
Real's voice swept over me, awash in a chill and hardness I'd only ever heard him use with Aaqil. His arm was a steel band holding me against him, even as my hands still grasped Naaman. I watched as Naaman's eyes blazed, a tiny muscle ticking in his jaw. But all he said was, "Right."
My arms dropped, and I frowned, wondering what dynamic I was missing. Naaman gave me a half smile.
"Think about what I said," he spoke over the new song.
Then, he walked off. I tapped Real's arm, not wanting to cause any more of a scene than we had. He let go enough for me to turn around, and I scowled up at him, discounting the way he looked in his bespoke suit, the luxurious fabric hugging his solid, ripped frame. Ignoring his scent, warm and masculine, woodsy with hints of spice and a dark citrus, was harder. I cleared my throat as he peered down at me, his eyes unreadable.
"Real... what are you doing here?"
My voice was thicker than I expected. His effect on me was... well... unreal.
"Dance with me, love."
His voice was soft, but it was clearly a demand. He pulled me into him, and our bodies meshed seamlessly, familiarity ensuring that they fit the way they had so many times before. Desire sparked inside me, twisting low and hot in my stomach. I swayed with him, the woman's voice wrapping us in a sensual haze. I recognized the old hit one of my aunts loved, an Atlantic Starr joint called "Secret Lovers." A wry smile lifted my lips.
"This fits," I said.
Real's gaze heated, his hands tightening on me.
"I know you wanna keep me a secret, Ev. I just can't figure out why," he mused.
I let the lyrics enfold us, unsure how he didn’t see the truth in them.
As soon as I looked at you, it would show on my face,
Then they'll know that we've been loving each other,
They can never know... oh no, we can't leave a trace...
"What we do is no one's business, Real. Now, when I left you, you were taking a break and about to binge some police drama. So, how'd you end up here?"
He smiled down at me as his big hands massaged my waist.
"After I realized that I wouldn't be enjoying your company tonight, I ran across a note from my PA from a few weeks ago, reminding me that we hadn't RSVPed. I called to ask if it was too late."
My mouth pursed in disbelief as he gave me his most innocent look. I didn't believe that story, but why didn't I believe it? Real had no reason to lie... it wasn’t like he would have followed me here. That wasn't the kind of relationship we had. I had to?—
My brain froze as his lips pressed against mine. Automatically, I opened for him, and he gave me a brief, hungry kiss. His tongue teased against mine before withdrawing suddenly. I looked up at him, wondering what the hell that was about.
"Stop all that damn thinking," he demanded.
"Real—”
My eyes made a quick sweep of the room. I was always conscious of appearances whereas Montréal Hamilton didn't seem to give a damn. I knew the right image was everything. It shared a message that words couldn't. What had Real just shared with the eyes watching us?
"What?”
His voice broke my reverie. He was scowling at me, a look that had me grilling him back.
"Stop looking at me crazy," I snapped.
"Then, don't start no shit, love. Let a nigga just vibe with you, damn."
He held me close through another song, the smooth brush of his lips against the shell of my ear as he leaned in to hum, sparking a low throb between my thighs. My body yielded to his, melting into him. Real looked and smelled delectable, and I didn't want to resist him. My pussy had no sense of self-preservation. This man had her sore, and still, she craved him. I had to get her back under control.
"You drove here?" he finally asked me.
"Mm-hmm."
"I'ma follow you home."
He nuzzled my cheek and finally let me go. I started to argue but decided the middle of the dance floor wasn't the best place to do that. Shaking my head, I started back to my table. He escorted me there, and I ignored the knowing looks from my table mates. Moving to pull my chair back, Real stopped as LaChelle popped up from her seat and spoke to him. He gave her a dry smile.
"What's up, Chelle?"
"It's good to see you," she said, running a hand down his chest in a way that was clearly possessive.
I barely stopped my eye roll. This was why I preferred keeping my business, my business. She was a perfectly nice chick, and now she felt we were in some imaginary competition. Real looked at her hand, and she dropped it, but not the conversation.
"I didn't know you danced."
He shrugged in the face of her too-bright smile. "Never came up."
"Maybe Ev brought it out of you. No one can ever say you don't like them beautiful." Her words sounded friendly, but the suddenly speculative look in her eyes let me know they really weren't. "Is she your new?—”
"Nah. It’s not like that with her.”
The speed at which he interrupted caught even me off-guard. Damn, hadn’t he just been talking about not keeping secrets? I laughed softly and grabbed my little bag from the table, ignoring the sensation in the center of my chest that felt too familiar. Real grabbed my arm gently as I headed toward the restrooms.
“Where you going?” he asked.
My eyes moved from him to LaChelle, then back.
“Don’t be rude, Montréal. Finish your conversation,” I responded, smiling.
My head was high as I sauntered off. Hell, I even managed to put a little extra switch into what I knew was a sexy walk. I was glad the architect designed this building with individual bathrooms instead of opting for the huge ones with stalls. As soon as I reached my destination, I locked myself in and pressed my back against the door, sucking in much-needed, deep breaths.
That bastard . I allowed myself the one outraged thought and a full minute to feel the anger and hurt that flowed through me unexpectedly. To think that, for a minute, I had almost let myself believe that he somehow followed me here. I walked to the sink and turned on the cold water, letting it flow over the rapidly beating pulse in my wrists. I caught a glimpse of a hint of red along my cheekbones. Yeah, I needed to cool down, remember what this whole situation with Real was about. Closing my eyes, I did one of the mindful breathing exercises Epiphany taught me. Once I felt together, I let out one last exhale, turned off the faucet, and dried my hands. I pressed cool fingers against my cheeks, then lifted my little bag from the table. Pulling out my phone, I made a quick call.
"Yes, you still have time to make it home before your birthday," was the answer I received.
I couldn't help smiling.
"I'm not coming home before my birthday, Emory."
She sighed. "What you want, then? Ain't you supposed to be out there celebrating with your new friends that you'd rather be with on your birthday?"
No one could try to guilt trip me like my sister, but I didn't have time tonight.
"Where's your husband, crazy girl?"
Her teasing immediately stopped. "He's right here. You okay?"
“I—”
Before I could reassure her, he was on the phone, all business.
"Sister-in-law, what's up? You all right?"
"Nothing, I promise. I just..." I cleared my throat and tried again. "I think I need to come a little earlier, get away from here," I explained.
"You just tell me when."
After promising to call him with more details tomorrow, I made my exit. The closer I got to the party floor, the more I acknowledged that my mood had changed. My pre-birthday turn-up would have to wait. All I wanted now were my favorite pajamas, some popcorn, and a book that would let me escape the painful thoughts of Montréal Hamilton trying to break through in my brain.