Chapter Sixteen
Kwame
Rug Pull
If I don’t leave for the Sackey’s now, I’ll be late.
I pace outside my front door and grapple with what to do.
I’m not sure I can sit through another meal and pretend I’m good with the way things are. But what if it’s too soon.
I call Titus.
“I’m going to tell her how I feel,” I announce as soon as he answers his phone.
“Oh boy.” I can picture his eye roll and his posture relaxing as if he knows he better get comfortable cause he’s going to be here a while. “This is the woman who ran away when you kissed her, friend zoned you, and currently uses you as a therapist?”
I groan and cover my face at his dirty summary of my circumstance “Shit take. She likes to talk. I like to listen. And she didn’t friend zone me. It was mutual.” Only because I had no choice.
“Okay, then. What’s changed?”
“Time.” I respond without having to think about it. “I’ve spent enough of it with her to know I like her. That I can trust her. I think she feels the same way.”
“So why is she holding you at arm’s length?”
“She just got out of a situation. She was deep in her ‘choose the bear’ era when we met. I don’t think she’s there anymore. If I tell her how I feel, I think she’ll admit she feels it, too.” Saying it aloud makes me smile, makes my chest feel lighter.
“I think you’re a hopeless romantic looking for a happy ending.”
I tut my dissent. “Should I be looking for a miserable one?”
“No. But does it make sense to chase something that’s running from you?”
“Running from me?” I chuckle and stop pacing.
“No, she literally ran from you the night you met.”
“Yeah but look how we keep finding each other.” I’m glad I called him, having to fight my corner has only made me more sure.
I sit on the step outside my front door and look up at a bough of leaves that frames the wide arch. I see why my mother loved this house.
“You know, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel like DC could be more than a pit stop. She makes me think about standing still. I love her family, too.”
He laughs. “Oh boy. Never thought I’d see the day you’d actually want to stop and enjoy the view.”
“Well, I guess I found one that’s finally made me want to.”
“Then tell her how you feel. If you’re right, you’ve got nothing but upside. If you’re wrong, worst-case scenario is you’ll have your Sundays free again.”
The thought makes my stomach sink. Sundays have become the oasis in the desert of my week. Nothing about Sin and me feels hard. Timing hasn’t been right. But “us”? That’s been easy from that first night at The Salamander.
He sighs. “You know I hate adding air to your already overly inflated ego…”
“That is pure projection,” I say under my breath..
“But you’re a very attractive guy. In a purely objective way.”
I frown. “This doesn’t sound like the buildup to a compliment.”
He ignores me. “And you’re a good listener. But…” he adds with emphasis.
“Ah, I was right,” I mutter.
He continues to speak over me. “But you don’t share as much because I think you’re afraid to lose the people you have so you don’t let them get too close. So, despite how nice the surface is, sometimes what’s beneath isn’t as easy to digest.”
“Wow, please don’t pull your punches.”
“I know why you are the way you are. You grew up with parents who navigated the world by hiding. I mean, maybe they don’t like rich people? I know we’re used to people wanting to get close because of money but maybe she’s the opposite. Billionaires aren’t the heroes they used to be.”
“She doesn’t know about my money. Or who my dad is.” I think, if I’m honest, that’s what’s stopped me from making a move for the last few weeks.
“Wait. How can these people be your friends and not know who your family is?”
I blow out a breath. “I left when I was eighteen and I haven’t lived as Palmer again until this last year. Why would I just blurt out my father’s name and net worth when it’s literally never come up? They knew my mother by her maiden name. They think it’s my last name, too.”
“So, they’ve never asked whose Rolls that is? Or how you live in one of the biggest houses in Georgetown?”
“They have never been to my place and I ride my bike over.”
“So, outright deception then?”
My hackles rise. “No. Of course not. I ride my bike everywhere I go. I live in that house because my mother left it to me. I have that car because he bought it for me. They’re not mine. And you know that.”
He sighs. “You’re getting defensive because I’m right. You don’t want them to know. Why? You think they’ll ask you for money?”
“No, come on, T. They’re good people. I just…they treat me like I’m normal,” I admit.
“They don’t know you’ve got a yacht parked in the Indian Ocean. Or that you’re flying around on private planes.”
“Again, not mine.”
“I hate to break it to you but it is. And that’s okay,” he adds when I start to pushback. “I have to go in a minute, but I just want to say this. I know this is how your parents operated, and you see where it got them.”
“Yeah, with everything and nothing.”
“They were extreme, but they had their reasons. Just like you do for not coming clean straight away.”
“I don’t want things to change.”
“You can’t control that. But if her knowing you have money changes things, won’t you be glad you know what she’s really like?”
“You’re right.” I grab my helmet from the hook beside my door and walk out to get on my bike.
“I always am.”
“In your dreams. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up and assess the sky for signs of rain. The sky is clear but for a few errant white wisps, and I hop on my trusty old Schwinn and coast down my driveway. I normally love the five-mile ride to the Sackey’s in Arlington.
This afternoon, my stomach roils. I should have skipped that smoked salmon and egg sandwich from Tatte after my run this morning.
Or maybe it’s the thought that this could be my last Sunday performing what’s become a bit of a ritual.
I normally walk my bike up M Street until I get to Dean and Deluca’s where I often stop to pick up something for dessert and then ride rest of the way.
Today, M Street is packed with tourists and locals out in force to take advantage of the beautiful, almost perfect, summer day.
The sidewalk is crowded so I hop on my bike and join the vehicle traffic that trudges up M Street at a snail’s pace and think about what I’m going to say when I get to their house.
I keep reminding myself that it won’t be the end of the world if she says no. It’ll just feel like it for a while.
Every Sunday, she drops her lush ass into the seat next to mine at her parents’ dining room table and the rest of the world disappears.
After we share an amazing meal, the two of us break off from the group, find a quiet corner, and catch up.
I get a firsthand exclusive on everything she’s got rolling around in that incredible mind of hers.
She asks for advice about work. She gives pretty good advice herself.
Only when I ask for it. My life is full of people who have an opinion on what I should be doing.
It’s nice to meet someone who sees that I’m capable of managing things pretty well on my own.
We’re different in the way the two sides of the same coin are. Every Sunday, I discover something else I have in common with her. Where I am regimented, cautious, and believe in practical, well-reasoned wisdom, Sin is chaotic, audacious, and dangerously clever.
I’m not sure I’ve met anyone with as much mental horsepower as her.
There’s no denying the chemistry between us.
It’s true that I’m a lifelong admirer of small-breasted, round-hipped, brown-skinned women who play hard to get and are stronger than they look.
It’s a specific, but bountiful demographic.
But my attraction to Sin has moved so far beyond the physical and denying it has turned me into a ravening beast.
If we don’t fit, I’ll move on.
I’ll have to stop coming to Sunday dinners for a while. It makes my stomach hurt to contemplate it. But there’s no way I could sit next to her wanting her like this and knowing for certain she doesn’t want me.
Like I conjured her, headlights land on me as she pulls into the driveway.
I swallow my nerves, slide my helmet off, and prop my bicycle up.
I wave and wait for her to climb out of her car.
She looks good enough to eat and is dressed in a pair of tiny denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt.
Aside from the generous display of her sexy-ass legs, it should be an unremarkable outfit.
But she’s got a gold chain belt cinched around her waist that makes it look like high fashion.
But then, Sin could elevate a sackcloth.
“Hey you,” she walks over grinning and rises up on her toes to give me a hug. She’s soft and smells sweet.
It takes all of my strength not to palm her ass and hold her still when she pulls away.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asks.
“I like your belt,” I say with a nod at it, not answering her question as honestly as I can.
She puts a hand to her waist and narrows her eyes up at me in suspicion. “Are you making fun of me?”
I shake my head in wonder and fall into step with her as she heads for the front door. “Why is it so hard to pay you a compliment?”
She shrugs and digs in her purse. “I don’t know,” she says without looking up. “I’ve been like that. Compliments are as comfortable as an itchy ass.”
I bark in surprised laughter. “Why do you know what an itchy ass feels like?”
“Oh please.” She gives me a side-eye as she slips her key into the lock and wrestles with the notoriously sticky deadbolt.
“Don’t act like you’ve never not wiped as well as you should have and—ugh.
This door.” She shoves it with her shoulder and her hair sways in front of me.
I catch the scent of something sweet. I lean in a fraction and take a deep breath just as she’s rearing back. Our bodies collide.
She yelps in surprise and whips around to glare at me.
“Why were you standing so close to me?” she snaps.