Chapter 18
Antonio
Miriam is going on a date with Kieran “to discuss the position.”
Why couldn’t he answer any questions in the office, in broad daylight and with a respectable distance between them? You don’t need linen tablecloths and three types of forks if you handled your business the first time.
I’ve dined with women after work. The only negotiations that came from that were if there were any preexisting conditions to consider and how many toys they wanted to play with before the main event.
Men like Kieran, who fish for pussy at their job, are walking red flags. Creating a business with a life partner is one thing, but asking for a date before an interview is over?
Fuck that.
“Just tell her that she has entrées at home,” I say to myself from Miriam’s front porch. “It’s cold, and she doesn’t see well in the dark to be driving.”
Want him to come here?
“To hell with all of that.”
Aged wood on the other side of better days groans under my Timbs.
The porch light is on for Miriam and her neighbors to witness me pacing the small area.
They probably think I’m a robber who’s contemplating a life sentence in an all-black sweatsuit.
I came straight from practice, unable to answer why I felt the need to drive over instead of letting Miriam enjoy her fake work dinner in peace.
I can’t let her do anything. I’m not trying to control her life. I’m just looking out as a friend who’s thought with his dick more than I care to admit.
Oh hey, you’re home. Small world.
Where did you expect her to be? In the sewer?
I was just in the neighborhood—
The practice field is twenty minutes in the other direction.
Did you get that call about extended warranties?
I scrub a hand over my face and stifle a groan. There is no reason to be over here before her date.
Why don’t you tell her the truth?
That the idea of her going out with this guy, or any other, itches my ass to no end? It shouldn’t, we’re friends, but it does. I have no—
I dive over the banister at the laughter behind the front door. The plastic trash can and recycling bins soften my landing, but they bang against the house. A dog barks a few doors down. I freeze, which isn’t hard to do in this weather, and shut my eyes.
The door opens.
I right the bins and tippy-toe run to the back of Miriam’s house. The back door swings open, and before I have time to react, a dark figure leaps off the steps and tackles me to the ground. I land on a pile of snow with a thud.
“What the—” My words are muffled by a lotioned hand covering my mouth. I push it away. “Please tell me that’s a gun digging into my hip.”
“With bullets just for your stupid ass, sneaking around my sister’s house. What are you doing?”
It’s hard to answer Marcela when the weight of her breasts is smothering my windpipe.
When I tap her hip, she lifts off of me and all but drags me to my feet by my hoodie.
Unlike her sister, Marcela and I are similar in height.
She’s got a Coke bottle figure with extra curves.
Not that I’m looking at her like that. It’s just hard to miss thighs like hers and what I assume are E cups jutting out like a shield she’s not afraid to wield.
The only ass I care about is Miriam’s. To keep it in the house and away from potentially dangerous future colleagues.
“Hey, hey!” I back up at her shoves. Each one lands in the center of my chest. “Ow, stop!” I rub what will surely be a bruise tomorrow. “I had a hard practice—hey!” I turn my shoulder to dodge another direct blow.
Marcela’s hands anchor on her hips. “Are you in the habit of snooping around Miriam’s house?” If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume she came to fight. She’s wearing sweats, a tee, and…are those combat boots?
“What?”
“Oh, you can’t hear now?” The inflection in her voice rises. “You’re about to be acquainted with some real Buffalo steel in a minute.” She reaches for her waistband.
I drop to my knees and raise my hands. Call me what you want. I’m not leaving here with bullet holes or in a body bag.
“Please don’t shoot! I saw she was home. I was in the neighborhood, and I had questions about extended warranties.”
Idiot.
My answer appears to do the trick. Marcela’s hands fly to her knees. I assume she’s choking until she lets out a wheeze followed by a loud snort.
“You should see your face,” she cackles.
“Yeah? You try getting tackled to the ground and nearly pistol-whipped.” It’s a blessing I didn’t pee myself.
Her laughter is the same silent strain as Miriam’s.
“Boy, ain’t nobody shooting you. My gun is in my purse upstairs.
This is a stapler.” She raises it and cracks up louder at my deadpan expression.
“I heard your simple ass talking to yourself on the porch. Miriam was doing the same thing before she left.”
“She’s gone?” I frown.
Marcela nods. “Left a little after you knocked over her bins being a creep.”
“I’m not a creep. I have a good reason for being here.”
What am I doing here?
I’ve never shown up to a woman’s house, and I sure as hell never dove into trash bins. Miriam is smarter than I’ll ever be. She can take care of herself and make her own decisions. But I drove over without a second thought. It just felt right to be here.
Marcela shakes her head. “No answer?”
“I just…”
“Care more about my sister than you like to let on?”
Do I care for Miriam? A hundred percent. It’s not a stretch to say I love her. Being in love with her is a different story. I never loved any woman I was with or saw myself wanting. Miriam is different. But me, in love?
“The Boathouse.”
“Huh?”
Marcela chuckles. “She’s meeting him at The Boathouse. While you’re thinking about extended warranties, maybe you should swing by for something to eat?”
“This steak is juicy. Try some.”
“Nah, I’m good.” Kendrick pushes Quincy’s fork out of his face and laughs. “I ain’t never seen a filet over a bed of French fries.”
“Don’t knock it ’til you try it, big bro. I have everything I need for our mission on this plate.” He shovels a broccoli floret into his mouth. “That’s what we’re doing, Cap? Spying on your friend?”
“I’m not spying,” I tell Quincy for the second time. “I heard she’d be here, and the food sounded good.”
Kendrick cuts his eyes at me over a plate of Bolognese. “Yeah, okay. Go over there and let her know you’re here.” I stay silent. “Exactly.”
After getting caught at Miriam’s house, I ran home to shower. Marcela suggested The Boathouse for dinner, and I figured why not?
I invited Kendrick and Quincy in the event she saw me and asked what I was doing here. In my defense, she never told me the restaurant where she’s having her “work discussion.” I’m a safe distance away in case she needs me.
“Scoot over. I barely have elbow room.” Quincy attempts to push me and Kendrick away with his forearms. He’s sandwiched between us, and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do at this small table. We look like we left a JCPenney catalog shoot in variations of jeans and long-sleeve tees.
“You got a problem with my thighs touching yours?” I rub my denim against his and laugh.
“It’s all fun and games now, but wait until their knees touch.” Quincy nods at Miriam’s table. Her hands are in her lap. Dickhead’s legs are spread in a tired tan suit like some damn mating ritual. “You gonna crash out?”
“No.” I stab my swordfish into rice.
To Dickhead’s credit, this is a nice setup. The Boathouse has nautical vibes and wall-to-wall views of Lake Erie. Off-white wood beams hang high against a navy room with dark wood floors and dim-ass lighting.
The perfect ambiance for a fucking date.
I glance at Miriam. It’s hard to tell if she’s enjoying herself, but judging by her date’s inability to shut up, my guess is no. Her shoulders slump slightly, and her focus is on the plate of salad she pushes around.
The outfit she wore is very her. An off-the-shoulder sweater and black leggings isn’t a popular choice for an upscale restaurant, but you won’t hear me complaining about the material hugging her thighs, waist, and that ass that spills over her seat.
She’s comfortable as herself and doesn’t feel the need to conform to a specific standard.
To her, practicality matters above all else.
It’s one of the many things I admire about her.
She’s a natural beauty who wears little to no makeup. Her mocha skin glows without it. So does the smile touching her plump lips, but that isn’t visible tonight.
“This jazz band is a vibe, low-key,” Kendrick says, snatching my thoughts from my friend to the quartet in the corner. “We might need to come back next week.”
“After an ice bath,” Quincy groans. “Coach Titan really hates us with those sprints after a scrimmage.”
I laugh at the scrum-half who’s rubbing the collar on his polo and make a mental note to buy another ice bath for the house. “Gotta get that stamina up, Baby Q. Endurance is key.”
The coaches are putting us through it. We face Houston in their house in a few weeks, and we are coming with that heat.
They knocked us out of the playoffs last season, and they’ll be a force with the two trades they picked up.
We need to come out of the gate strong, especially after the news Coach Washington dropped about Mancini.
My phone dances across the table.
“Look at that goofy grin,” I vaguely hear Kendrick say, too focused on the message preview.
Miriam
Hey, did you eat already?
“Is she texting him from her date?” Quincy asks.
“Stay out of grown folks’ business,” I counter.
I could eat. Dinner not going as planned?
Miriam
You could say that. I’m trying not to be rude and fall asleep.
I roll my lips.
Want me to help you fake an emergency?
Miriam
What?
Her brows fold. Kieran is too caught up in talking to notice that she not only checked out of the conversation, but is texting another man.
Play along.
“Let’s go.” I stand and motion for Kendrick and Quincy to come with me. My phone is already to my ear.
“Hello?” Miriam’s voice is cautious.
“Pretend I’m your sister and I busted my ass on some ice.” I nod to the server for the check and point to the host station.
“Oh no,” she says, convincing absolutely no one. “Are you okay?”
“Not with that fake concern. I could be in the hospital with a dookie bruise that wraps around my butt.”
She snorts but catches herself. “Sounds like you need medical attention. Should I come to you?”
I sign my credit card slip and wink at the older woman behind the host stand. “How about I come to you? I can get dropped off. Text me your location.”
Kendrick snickers behind me. “Lying ass.”
“Okay. See you in ten?”
“Works for me. See you soon, Doe.” I hang up and meet three sets of eyes.
Kendrick’s are wild with mischief.
Quincy’s are amused.
The gray-haired woman I winked at has hearts in hers.
“Can you two drive yourself home?” I toss Kendrick my keys as Miriam sends a text with The Boathouse’s address.
“Like we got a choice,” he chuckles. “Come on, Baby Q. Let’s hit up a drive-thru.”
“Not too much junk so close to the season,” I call after them.
“Yes, Papa Smurf,” they groan in unison.
They dip out while I jog off to the end of the street to wait for Miriam.
Wingman to the rescue.