Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
From across the room, I could pretend I was prepared.
Standing in front of Imani Bennett killed that shit quick.
Before I opened my mouth, my head ran the whole path that had put me there. Maybe because memory was safer than starting with her face. Maybe because pride liked to act useful when a man’s heartbeat got too loud.
I had walked into Royal House less than an hour earlier wondering if she was already inside.
That was irritating. Mostly because I had spent the ride over pretending I wasn’t wondering shit.
Malcolm’s text had been sitting in my head since the plane landed.
Heard Bennett might be at Crown.
Might.
A small word doing entirely too much work.
My barber had squeezed me in that morning because trying to get a Crown Weekend appointment after Thursday was an act of faith.
I had showered, shaved, put on a charcoal suit that fit the way it was supposed to fit, slid my watch on, checked the mirror once, and told myself this was just another alumni reception. Show my face. Shake hands. Let AWU feel appreciated. Let the donors see I still knew how to be gracious.
Then get back to my suite at The Nocturne, the historic Black hotel that had been putting AWU alumni up and hosting Crown Weekend events longer than I'd been alive, before the night started asking for more than I felt like giving.
The front steps were full when I arrived.
Laughter spilled through the open doors, and somebody inside had enough sense to keep the music where it belonged, low enough for conversation and strong enough to make the room feel good.
Royal House looked exactly how Crown Weekend was supposed to look.
Black people dressed like life had been good to them and, in several cases, like they needed witnesses.
Good fabric. Better jewelry. Old stories.
New money. Alumni hugging hard enough to wrinkle suits they had spent too much on.
I made it ten feet before the first person called my name.
“Dre!”
“Jones.”
“Man, look at you.”
“Mmm, you still a fine muthafucka, Dre.”
That one came from an older alum with a short silver cut, red lipstick, and a husband standing beside her who looked amused instead of threatened.
I laughed, kissed her cheek when she offered it, and kept moving.
A couple handshakes. Two shoulder clasps.
One older brother with donor money, a smooth bald head, a fraternity pin on his lapel, and church shoes so shiny I could see myself in them wanted to ask me about a mixed-use project in East Liberty like we weren’t standing in a room with an open bar and women dressed like temptation in jewel tones.
I handled it.
That was part of coming back here and doing well.
Folks knew your face. Knew your people. Knew what you were building.
Pittsburgh could get intimate like that.
AWU alumni were worse. Everybody in that room either knew you, knew of you, or knew somebody who swore they remembered exactly what kind of trouble you used to be on campus.
A waiter came by with bourbon, and I waved it off. Another tray came through with cranberry tonic, and I took that instead.
Football had given me a lot, including a deep respect for not getting sloppy in public.
Too many cameras. Too many people waiting on a man to get a little loose so they could build a story out of it.
I liked a drink same as anybody, but not enough to give half a room full of alumni, donors, and people with phones a version of me I hadn’t approved first.
“Boy.”
I turned, and Malcolm came striding toward me in a black velvet blazer, dressed like he had every intention of being seen from the parking lot.
Tall and broad through the shoulders, with smooth peanut-butter brown skin, a close beard, and the same troublemaking grin he’d had since freshman year, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Yeah,” he said. “You thought you was gon’ come in here humble tonight.”
“I am humble.”
“Mmmmm.” He took a sip of his drink. “Sure.”
Tee came up a few seconds later in a dark navy suit that looked expensive without needing to announce itself. He hugged me once and leaned back.
“You good?”
I knew what he meant.
That was why I liked Tee. He could ask one question and still leave a man somewhere private to stand while answering it.
“Yeah,” I said.
Tee watched my face for half a second longer than I liked, then nodded once.
Malcolm, of course, had no interest in subtlety.
“You all right tonight?”
I looked at him over the rim of my glass. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Malcolm grinned. “Man, please.”
“What?”
“You been watching that door since we got here.”
“I have not.”
Tee took a drink and suddenly became real interested in whatever was happening across the room.
Malcolm looked me over slowly. “Jaw tight. Shoulders all stiff. Every time somebody in a dress comes through that door, your eyes go over there first.”
“You studying me now?”
“Hard not to. Big-ass nigga standing over here looking like a panther waiting on something to wander into the wrong part of the jungle.”
Tee coughed into his glass.
I looked at him.
“Don’t involve me,” he said.
Malcolm’s grin widened. “I already knew Bennett had you fucked up when you hit me with that from who? before I finished sending the damn text. This right here is confirmation.”
“Camille told you she was coming. That’s all you know.”
“Mmhmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He adjusted his jacket, entirely too pleased with himself. “Just wondering how long you plan to stand here pretending you not waiting on that woman.”
I took another drink because hitting him inside Royal House would have been bad alumni etiquette.
“I’m not waiting on anybody.”
Malcolm laughed outright. “Aight.”
“Fuck you.”
“See? Jaw got tighter.”
Tee finally laughed.
I looked away from both of them before Malcolm got too much from my face.
The room moved around us in perfume, expensive shoes over wood floors, old nicknames, line brothers greeting each other with handshakes that had survived twenty years, and people slipping right back into versions of themselves AWU still remembered.
Malcolm watched me for another second.
“Panther,” he muttered.
“Man, shut the fuck up.”
Tee laughed into his drink.
“I’m done,” Malcolm said, which meant absolutely nothing.
Thankfully, Tee shifted the conversation toward easier shit. Friday’s tailgate sponsorship. Somebody’s divorce. Somebody’s new baby. Which alumni still dressed like they were nineteen and needed somebody who loved them to say so.
I joined in when I had something to say. Shook hands when people came over. Laughed when Tee started telling a story he had already improved at least thirty percent since the last time I heard it.
I was good.
Until the door opened again.
My eyes went there before I could stop them.
Malcolm made a low sound beside me.
I didn’t even look at him.
“Say one fucking word.”
“Didn’t say shit.”
He didn’t have to.
Then Milan Carr appeared at my elbow like she had been waiting on the angle.
“Dre.”
Milan had always been beautiful in a way that took upkeep and knew it did.
Everything about her looked placed, from the sleek hair to the glow on her deep-brown shoulders to a black dress that knew exactly where to stop.
She smiled up at me like getting a man’s attention had never required much effort.
“You took your time,” she said, fingertips brushing the sleeve of my jacket. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“I’ve been here all of ten minutes.”
“And somehow you already look like you own the room.”
I tipped my head. “You trying to flatter me, Milan?”
She smiled, slow and pretty, then licked her lips. “Maybe.”
I lifted my glass and took a sip.
“I appreciate the compliment. We both know that’s all it’ll be for me.”
Because me and Milan both knew she had been trying to get my dick for years.
Back on the Yard, she had made it plain enough that if I ever slipped with Imani, she wouldn’t have minded stepping right into the opening.
I never gave her one. Eight years, football fame, money, and enough women willing to make themselves available had apparently convinced Milan the answer might have changed.
It hadn’t.
She shrugged. “Things change. Maybe you should too.”
Before I could answer, Malcolm stepped between us with the timing of a man who lived to save me and make sure I hated him for it.
“Milan Carr,” he said, grinning. “Still bad as hell, I see.”
She laughed and hugged him.
Malcolm looked over her shoulder at me.
Panther, his face said.
I gave him a look that promised consequences and moved farther into the room.
Women like Milan hadn’t gotten under my skin in years.
Football had introduced me to too many versions of that energy for me to confuse attention with interest. Women who smiled like they wanted conversation when they wanted access.
Women who got familiar fast because they knew my name, my money, my history, and treated proximity like permission.
Milan was smoother than most.
But I knew what it was.
And she damn sure wasn’t the reason I couldn’t settle.
I had spent most of my life learning patience.
You couldn’t play running back by seeing the hole you wanted and charging into it because you were tired of waiting.
Sometimes the line needed another beat. Sometimes the linebacker had to commit first. You trusted the blocks, kept your feet under you, and let the play show you where it wanted to go.
Hit it too soon and you ran straight into trouble.
Wait too long and the opening closed.
I knew the difference.
At least on a football field.
Royal House was testing the shit out of me.
I only did the grown alumni part of Crown Weekend now.
The donor events. Private receptions. Rooms where the checks got bigger, the bourbon got better, and nobody had to yell over a DJ unless they wanted to.
I didn’t need the student chaos anymore.
Didn’t need to stand in the middle of campus pretending it didn’t do something to me to see boys wearing my old number like it still belonged to a dream and not a body that had already paid for it.
Still, every year, I came.
And every year, some part of me looked for Imani Bennett.
She never showed.
Which meant I knew damn well what Malcolm was seeing tonight.
Every time the door opened, some part of my body checked before my pride could stop it.
Malcolm and Tee got pulled into a conversation with a former offensive lineman who now owned half the food trucks in Allegheny County, and Milan found her way back to my side within five minutes. She touched my arm while asking about Friday’s gala.
I answered.
Probably.
Most of my attention had already moved past her.
I could feel time dragging now. Ten minutes had become fifteen. Fifteen felt disrespectful. I checked the door again, caught myself doing it, and turned back toward Milan before Malcolm could look over and start smiling.
Patience.
Let the play develop.
If Imani was coming, she would come.
And if she didn’t—
A laugh moved through the room.
My body knew it before my mind caught up.
I turned.
There she was.
For one second, everything in me stopped acting right.
Royal-purple silk. Braids down the middle of her back. Gold at her ears. Diamonds at her wrist. Deep-brown skin catching the light with a soft shimmer that made her look expensive before I even got to the jewelry.
Imani had always known how to walk into a room and make the room understand.
My gaze moved before I could stop it. The dress hugged her waist, then fell over the swell of her hips, ass, and thighs in a way that made my hand tighten at my side.
My body reacted fast.
Hard.
Eight years apparently hadn’t taught my dick patience worth a damn.
Milan was still talking beside me.
I didn’t hear a word.
There was the opening.
Every instinct I had told me to move.
The younger version of me probably would have. Straight across the room before I knew what I wanted to say, trusting want to carry the rest.
I was thirty now.
I had learned what happened when a man confused urgency with readiness.
So I stayed where I was for another few seconds.
Let Imani greet somebody. Watched Camille lean toward her. Watched a man I didn’t recognize hug her and made my jaw lock before common sense reminded me people were allowed to know my ex-girlfriend.
Malcolm appeared beside me again.
“Oh, shit.”
“Don’t.”
“I ain’t say nothing.”
“Your face loud.”
“Your whole body loud, nigga.”
Tee looked over, followed my line of sight, and gave a low whistle.
“Damn.”
I handed Malcolm my glass.
He took it and looked at me. “For real?”
“Hold this.”
“Panther done spotted the gazelle.”
I turned my head slowly.
“Call that woman a gazelle again and I’m beating your ass.”
Tee choked on his drink.
Malcolm laughed. “See? Emotional already.”
“Move.”
“I’m not in your way.”
“You about to be.”
He stepped aside, still laughing.
I took my time crossing the room.
A few hands reached for mine. Somebody called my name. One older alum touched my shoulder and started telling me something about Friday night. I stopped long enough to answer because my mama had not raised me to act like everybody else disappeared because one woman walked into a room.
Even if that was exactly what it felt like.
I gave people enough not to be disrespectful, then kept moving.
Toward her.
I had waited eight years.
Another thirty seconds wasn’t going to kill me.
Probably.
From across the room, I had thought I was ready. Up close, readiness became a generous description.
Her lips were glossy. Soft. Pretty enough to make a bad decision feel reasonable.
Gold hoops brushed beneath her braids, and diamonds moved at her wrist every time her fingers shifted around the stem of her champagne glass.
The silk left enough of her back bare to remind me of things my hand still knew, even after all this time.
Then her perfume reached me.
Sweet. Expensive. Imani.
My chest tightened.
She had always known a good scent could make a man lean in before he gave himself permission.
Her eyes lifted to mine. Pretty brown eyes.
The kind a man remembered even after years of insisting memory and want were two different things.
I had an apology in me. A real one. One I had carried longer than I wanted to admit. But the first thing that hit me was want.
Strong. Immediate. Inconvenient as hell.
I stopped in front of Imani Bennett with eight years between us and every instinct I had telling me to hit the opening before it disappeared.
Football had taught me better.
See the field.
Trust the timing.
Don’t force what isn’t there.
So I breathed through my nose, let my shoulders loosen, and made myself look like a man who had not spent the last twenty minutes stalking the entrance like Malcolm’s big-ass panther.
Then I opened my mouth and prayed my first words didn’t tell on me.