Chapter 5
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 Fletcher 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.”