Chapter 3
Wyndi looked sexy as hell as she climbed out of the town car I’d sent to pick her up and bring her to the private airfield.
Her thighs looked thick in ripped jeans, and her breasts bounced beneath the soft pink fabric of the T-shirt she wore under her matching hoodie.
She had pink, blinged out J’s on her feet, and her long tresses blew in the light breeze.
Even though her eyes were covered by shades, I could tell that she was looking at me as she rolled her wheeled luggage and a bag that looked as if it was carrying an oversized guitar, toward the jet.
“I feel very . . . Kimora Lee Simmons right now,” she said when she was close enough for me to hear her. “When I was a teenager, she would do all those Baby Phat ads of her getting on a private jet with her girls.”
I chuckled before wrapping her up in a hug.
“Sorry. Hey, Kaynaan. Thanks for inviting me. I’ve never been on a private jet before. LoLo told me that I needed to come just for the experience. But I’m actually excited about being at an HBCU homecoming. It’s been too long.”
“I’m glad you decided to come,” I said, taking the handles for each bag from her hands.
“Usually when I’m invited to stuff like this, I’m in and I’m out.
I don’t stick around. But this time, there’s a few events I have to show my face at.
It’ll be cool not to do it alone.” My gaze fell to her bags.
“When you said you enjoy golf, you weren’t messing around, huh?
You have your own clubs and a travel bag for your clubs.
You got a secret life as a golf professional that I don’t know about? ”
A member of the cabin crew appeared and relieved me of Wyndi’s bags so he could load them on the aircraft.
“I golf with Chicago Mahogany Women’s Golf Club.” She eyed me. “When you told me that we were gonna participate in a charity golf fundraiser for Londynville University, I neglected to get details. Let’s discuss.”
I led her up the steps of the jet and into the cabin. She was momentarily distracted by the jet’s interior. I was hoping she would be, because I was hesitant to give her all the details about the tournament.
“This is gorgeous.”
“Yeah. Grand Aviation has a fleet of twelve jets. My father is big on maintenance and rotating the inventory to always keep our fleet modern and upscale. My great grandfather started the company as a black man in Kentucky, in the 1960s. He had to be five times as good just to be equal. He believed that if he called the company ‘Grand Aviation,’ everything about it had better be grand. So, that was a thing.”
Her fingers glided across the leather of the first chair she passed. “Where should I sit?”
“Anywhere you want.”
She sat down, and I sat in the chair next to her, with the aisle separating us. “Let’s talk about what I can expect this weekend,” she told me.
I nodded slightly.
“How many people are on this golf team, and who are the people?”
It was a fair question, even though I’d been trying to avoid it. “Don’t freak out,” I cautioned, as her eyes ballooned. “You’re freaking out. I can tell. Your eyes are about to pop outta your head.”
“Is your mother on this team? Am I meeting your mother?”
I pulled a face. It was fake as hell. I hoped she didn’t see through it. “What? Nah. Nah. I wouldn’t invite you and my mother without giving you a heads up.”
“That feels like a lie, Kaynaan. Let’s not start this . . . whatever we’re doing with lies. Is your mother gonna be there or not? Tell the truth.”
“I’m telling you the truth, Brown Eyes. My mother is not on my golf team.” I took a dramatic pause. “But my father and one of my sisters are.”
She threw up her hands. “You know this is some bullshit, right? You know that, right? I oughtta get off this plane right now.”
The moment the words left her mouth, one of the members of the flight staff came down the aisle to tell us to buckle up for takeoff.
“Listen, I wasn’t trying to deceive you.
I just wanted to wait to tell you so you wouldn’t get in your head about meeting some of my family members.
Honestly, my dad and my baby sister are cool as hell.
Real talk, when you do meet my moms, not the weekend, but when you do meet her, you’ll find out that she’s the most down-to-earth person.
You don’t have to be nervous or feel self-conscious or none of that.
My family’s cool as hell. I promise, they’re gonna treat you like family. ”
“Do they know you’re bringing me?”
“Unclench your teeth, Brown Eyes. Stop being mad with me, please. They know I’m bringing somebody I’m trying to get to know.”
She huffed out a sigh.
I sighed, too. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve told you. I was wrong.”
She gasped. “What did you just say?”
“I should’ve told you?”
“Nah, the other part.”
I chuckled. “I was wrong?”
“Yeah,” she said with a grin.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“I forgive you. But don’t keep stuff from me because it’s what you think is best, Kaynaan. It really does feel deceptive . . . and sneaky. Tell me what I need to know and give me the opportunity to handle it.”
“You’re right.” I nodded. “What men think of as protection comes off as dishonesty to women. Got it. It won’t happen again.” I waited a beat before asking, “Did we just have our first fight?”
She waved me off. “Shut up.” She laughed. “Now, what else is on the agenda for this weekend, and am I meeting your mother at any point during this homecoming situation?”
“First of all, no. My mother won’t be at homecoming. She has work. Besides the golf tournament on Friday, there’s the parade and the game on Saturday morning. Saturday night, there’s the concert. The game and the concert are optional.”
She looked at me with surprise in her expression. “What? It’s homecoming. The game and the concert are most certainly not optional.”
I playfully bit my lower lip. “Shit, I like a woman who takes charge.”
“Shut up, Kaynaan.” She laughed at me.
Early the next morning, Wyndi and I connected in the kitchen of the house that I owned in my hometown.
It was a modest home—three bedrooms, three baths, with a little under two thousand square feet.
I had offered Wyndi the option of getting a hotel room near the university if she didn’t feel comfortable staying at my place. She opted to stay with me.
I’d taken the guess work out of the “what are we gonna eat” equation, by hiring a chef for the weekend.
It served two purposes. The first was that Wyndi and I wouldn’t have to worry about getting into restaurants that were filled with Londynville University alumni.
Secondly, even though I planned to enjoy homecoming, I was well aware that I was in the middle of my season.
I couldn’t get too crazy, particularly with food.
A personal chef would make sure that my meals were nutritionally sound and would appropriately meet my dietary needs.
“Good morning,” she said when she spotted me.
I quickly crossed the space toward her and pulled her into a quick hug. “Good morning. You sleep all right?”
She glanced up at me. “That mattress doesn’t owe me anything. I slept like a baby.”
I took in her clothing choice. It was a classic ensemble—a pink plaid pleated skort, and a matching pink cropped polo top. It was the fact that Wyndi had mad curves that made the outfit look way more . . . alluring than it had any business looking. “You look good.”
She took me in. “You do, too.”
“Thanks.” I wore loose-fitting green golf pants, and a matching green polo. I checked my watch. “Let’s eat right quick. My dad is a stickler for time. I’m not trying to hear his mouth.”
Wyndi and I sat down to eggs scrambled with spinach and bell peppers, and turkey sausage.
I had what I knew was a protein packed smoothie on the side.
She had a yogurt and fruit parfait. After breakfast, the two of us jumped in my truck and headed to the municipal golf course.
There were quite a few private golf courses in Londynville, but the university always opted out of those venues.
As an HBCU, Londynville University was mindful of the fact that for many years, blacks were only allowed on those greens as caddies and “do-boys.” They weren’t allowed to purchase memberships.
I appreciated the stance that the university took in not supporting those golf courses financially.
As I pulled into a parking spot, I saw my father and younger sister, Shiloh, exiting his truck. I tapped the horn lightly, catching their attention. They waited as I parked, helped Wyndi out of the truck, and then got both of our golf bags from the trunk.
My father greeted me with a one-armed hug, before I greeted my sister, pulling her into a full embrace.
“What’s good, family?” I asked, releasing my sister.
I pulled Wyndi up beside me. “Dad, Shi, this is my friend, Wyndi. Wyndi, this is my dad, Jericho Israel, and my sister, Shiloh Israel-Mumford.”
“Hello.” She offered her hand to my father, who shook it. She then offered her hand to Shi. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” my father told her. “Are you an alum of L.U.?”
She smiled. “Actually, I went to Walker University in Indianapolis. But I couldn’t turn down an HBCU homecoming, even if it wasn’t my own. And once Kaynaan told me that he’s the grand marshal of the parade, I just knew a time would be had.”
My sister laughed aloud, while my father chuckled.
“You’ve got that right,” he told her. “If there’s one thing we know how to do at the LU, it’s have a good time.”
“Wow. You guys call Londynville University the LU? I love that.”
“Girl, we call Londynville University a lot of things,” Shiloh joked.
“I heard that,” our father assured her. “Let’s go get registered and head to the practice range. I want to make some noise at this event. You know Grand Aviation sponsored a hole?”
I nodded. “Yeah, you always sponsor a hole. I sponsored one, too.”