Driving Heat (7 page)

“Mom, why do I have to go over to Bobby’s house?”

Cynthia sighed inwardly as she placed cinnamon raisin bagels into the toaster. Even before she’d announced the plan, she knew an inquisition would follow. It was a shame that her schedule was so routine and going out on a Saturday night was so rare it was a cause for twenty questions.

“Do you not want to go, Jayden? I thought you and Bobby were good friends.”

“We are, but . . .”

“But what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just different, that’s all.”

“These are almost ready, Jay. Get the butter and jelly out of the refrigerator and put it on the table.”

Cynthia wouldn’t pass herself off as a cook for any reason and was almost shamed by what a huge role dining out played in what Jayden ate. Since she passed up fast-food drive-through opportunities in favor of healthier eat-in choices, a car note could be paid with her monthly restaurant bill.

But on Saturday mornings, she pulled out her limited breakfast recipe repertoire and made breakfast for her son. So after pouring them both a glass of apple juice, she divided the egg, turkey sausage, and cheese omelet that had been kept warm in the oven, placed it and a scoop of fresh fruit mix onto their plates, and joined him at the dining room table.

Jayden clumsily added a generous amount of grape jelly to the butter he’d already spread on his bagel and took a large bite. “Mom,” he began around the mouthful of food.

“No, we do not talk with our mouths full of food. How many times do I have to remind you of that?”

Jayden kicked his legs and bounced around as he finished the bite, softly humming some unknown melody.

Cynthia began eating, deciding to chill out on the etiquette tips, and refrained from demanding he not only chew with his mouth closed but be still as well. When her brother, Jeff, was Jayden’s age, he did the very same thing. When she was Jayden’s age, her mother did the same thing to her—critique and instruct every gesture and movement. She’d hated it and even now was self-conscious as a result. She watched as he reached for a grape with his fingers, and remembered her aversion to Byron licking his in public.
We are not in public, baby. Enjoy your food.

The last of the bite was probably still traveling down his throat when Jayden began speaking. “Why am I going over to Bobby’s?”

“Because I’m meeting a friend for dinner.”

“You just did that last night.”

“That is correct.”

“And you’re going to do the same thing again? Sounds boring.”

“For you, it probably would be.”

“If you’re just going out to eat, then why can’t Tanishia just come over again? She’s fun. We play video games and sometimes she beats me, even though she’s a girl!”

Cynthia frowned. “What makes you think being a girl has anything to do with winning and losing?”

“Come on, Mom. You guys are weak.”

“Oh, really, according to whom?”

Jayden shrugged. “Everybody.”

“While sometimes physically stronger, women are just as capable as men in getting jobs done. Don’t I do a good job taking care of you?”

“Yeah.” He offered a slight smile and speared another chunk of omelet.

But she’d seen it. The look of hurt that flashed in his eyes before pulling out a grin to cover it. When he first started school, the question came often. “Why doesn’t my dad live in the house?” These days, he rarely mentioned it. But clearly the pain was there.

“Are you thinking about your dad?”

“I try not to. He obviously doesn’t think about me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Uh-huh. ’Cause if he did, he’d come see me. I have my own cell phone and he doesn’t even call.”

There was no pretty answer to this ugly truth and no discussing the equally regretful reason why Jayden had never met his father. On the other hand, Cynthia’s world revolved around this little boy. Even single, raising him was a joy. But she’d give anything to go back in time and change the sperm donor. Amazing how one short month could so irrevocably change one’s life and affect many others. Her parents, brother, godmother, and one of her mother’s good friends had all felt scandalized when she announced her pregnancy. When the identity of the father was revealed, leaving no doubt that marriage was off the table, her cloak of heady accomplishments was replaced by a tattered shawl of shame. Mortified, and banished to upstate New York to have her child in secret, she’d danced with the idea of ending it all. The only reason she didn’t was sitting at the table, picking up pieces of fruit with his fingers.

“While I’m clearing the table and cleaning things up, why don’t you call your uncle Jeff? I forgot to pass on that he’d asked about you. It might have something to do with just the two of you hanging out . . .”

The light she so loved returned to his eyes. “Yes! I’ll go get my phone!”

“Don’t run up the stairs!”

Smiling, Cynthia sent Jeff a text to give him a heads-up on this little white lie.
My brother is great, but Jay needs a male role model who lives close by.
When Byron’s face instantly appeared in her mind, she was not as much surprised as she was doubtful if that could ever happen.

Thanks to running errands, doing laundry, and a spontaneous movie date with her son, the day passed quickly. While dropping him off for his play date, Byron had called with a plan for their evening, the beginning of which he said was a surprise. That’s why instead of meeting him at the venue, she was now on her way to his house so they could ride together. “Once I’ve got you trapped in my car,” he said after she’d agreed to the arrangement, “we’ll no longer be going on a dinner, baby. We’ll be on a date.”

He’s silly.
And so was the smile on her face if she’d looked in the mirror. The thought of being with him made her happy and scared, too.
Why can’t somebody like him be in the body of a man that my parents would like and approve?
“Don’t get crazy, Cyn,” she warned herself.
A week or two, maybe a month at the most, and this secret tryst to scratch your itch will be behind you.

“What a wonderful idea, Byron. This was awesome.”

“You enjoyed the music?”

“The music, the food, the ambiance . . . everything.”

“You left out one of the most important components of what made it special.”

“What?”

“The man who was sitting beside you, baby, the
company.
”

She gave him a look. “Yes, the company, too.” She looked around at the throng of people chatting and enjoying the perfect California night as they strolled from the venue. “I can’t believe this is my first time at the Hollywood Bowl. The sound is amazing. I’ve been missing out.”

“That exceptional sound is because Janelle Monáe was performing, not to mention Earth, Wind & Fire. They could play in a barn and sound like that.”

“That’s probably true. Very smart how convenient they make it to dine there, too. Now I know why you were quizzing me on meal choices earlier, so that our dinner could be preordered. Nice touch.”

“Well, you know . . .” Byron began an exaggerated pimp strut.

“Oh, no. Please stop.” Cynthia’s face warmed in embarrassment, but she couldn’t help laughing at his funny ways. The guys she’d dated had all been so concerned with decorum and perception. She couldn’t imagine one of them acting silly behind closed doors, let alone on a public street.

“To continue the positive impression you’re forming about me—”

“And here I thought we might get through the evening without assumptions.”

Byron stopped. “Are you not impressed?”

“If I weren’t, that’s not information I’d share with you. That would sound ungrateful, and be impolite.”

They reached a stoplight. A couple stood beside them as all waited for the walk signal. Byron tapped the man on his shoulder. Both the man and his petite brunette companion turned Byron’s way.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but could I ask your lady a question? I need a second opinion, preferably from a woman.”

Looking at the woman, he said, “That’s up to my wife, not me!”

“You can ask, doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer.” The woman, who looked around the same age as Byron’s mom, also seemed the type to say exactly what she meant.

He placed an arm across Cynthia’s shoulders. “Take a look at this lovely woman here. Look at her face. Do you think she’s impressed with me?”

Said face was being partially hidden by a hand. “I can’t believe this,” she mumbled.

“Well, let me see you, honey.”

Cynthia looked up. “We’re sorry to bother you.”

“No bother at all. Oh, my, yes.” The lady looked from Cynthia to Byron and back again. “She’s very impressed.” Wink. “And with good reason.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The light changed and once across the street the stranger couple waved as they turned right while Byron and Cynthia kept straight.

“You are truly mental, one of a kind.”

“What?”

“Stopping complete strangers and asking advice, hello! Is there anything that you wouldn’t do?”

“Not much.”

They continued conversing, easily shifting from one topic to another. They arrived at the car and got in. As Byron reached to start it up, Cynthia touched his arm. “The concert was your surprise for me. Now, I have one for you.”

“What’s that?”

“A reservation at the Luxe, on Sunset Boulevard.”

“A hotel?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why’d you do that? I told you Tyra would be gone for the weekend.”

“I know but . . . I’ve been wanting to stay there for a while. This gave me the perfect opportunity.”

Byron eyed her for a second or two and shrugged as he started the car and merged into traffic. “I guess it’s fine if you want to spend your money to sleep in a bed when you could do the same thing for free. Where on Sunset?”

Cynthia gave him the address. He turned on the car stereo. Neo soul music replaced the sounds of silence. Byron wondered about the real reason she didn’t want to stay at his house and Cynthia hoped he wouldn’t guess. Halfway to the hotel, Byron reached over and grasped Cynthia’s hand. She looked at him and smiled. It appeared they’d both decided to let it be what it was, relax and enjoy the moment. It was the first time they’d ridden together, the first time he’d reached over to hold her hand. Yet for both of them it felt like a move that had been made endless times, the most natural thing in the world.

They reached the hotel, left the car with the valet, and went inside. Cynthia walked confidently toward the front desk as if she belonged there. Byron followed at a slightly slower pace, checking out the surroundings. The understated, soothing shades of tan, brown, and ivory beneath subtle lighting blended effortlessly, creating an ambiance that was simple yet elegant.

Not that Byron had stayed at either of these motels lately. In fact, as he joined Cynthia at the counter, he was trying to remember the last time he rented a room, or taken a vacation for that matter.

“Here are your room keys, Ms. Hall. Enjoy your stay at the Luxe.”

“We will, thank you.”

She turned toward the elevator, Byron at her side. “For someone who hasn’t been here, you seem to know your way around.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You headed straight for these elevators, didn’t look around at all.”

Cynthia mentally chastised herself for the slipup. Byron was super observant. She’d have to be careful or be forced to admit that one look at the dirty socks on the floor and food-stained dishes on the coffee table of his messy living room had made her flinch at what she assumed was the state of the sheets on his bed. While not a walking ad for OCD, Cynthia came close enough for jazz.

They reached the room, where Byron continued to admire the swanky décor. “Check this out . . . sitting area, workspace, four-poster bed . . .” He walked to the window.

“They must have given me a complimentary upgrade. I didn’t reserve a suite.”

“This room is sweet all right, so I thank whoever hooked us up.” He turned from the window and walked to where Cynthia sat on the bed, removing her heels. “And thank you.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You didn’t have to do it, and I’m definitely not used to anything this fancy. But it’s nice.”

She kissed him on the lips. “You’re welcome.”

“So . . . are we officially on a date?”

“Ha! Yes, Byron.” He smiled big. “We’re not dating! But this is a date.”

“That’s good enough for now.” He hugged her, and in doing so noticed a mini-fridge. “They’ve got a mini-fridge in here. I should have stopped and got some wine for us.”

“There’s probably some already in there.”

Byron went over to investigate. “What’s anybody going to do with these little bottles?” He held one up, a dubious expression on his face.

Cynthia laughed. “When you see the price of it, you’ll really frown.”

“What, the stuff in here doesn’t come with the price of the room?”

“Please, you know better than that.”

Byron picked up the refreshment menu. He whistled. “Dang!” Then he pulled out a second bottle and reached over for the two wineglasses on the table above the fridge. “Who cares about money? It’s time to live large!” Raising a brow, he quickly added, “You are paying for this, right?”

Cynthia burst out laughing, his desired response.

He opened the bottles and poured their drinks. “Okay, since this is a special night, we need to toast. What should it be to?”

Cynthia thought for a moment. “I don’t know. You go first.”

“Shoot, that’s easy for me and I’m going to keep it real.” He held up his glass. “Here’s to me getting some of that good stuff!” Her mouth dropped open. “Hey, it’s been a minute for a brother. It’s not just the state of California that’s been in a drought. It’s some of its citizens, too, you feel me? Because I’ve been needing rain for a while . . .”

Having longed for dictation, Cynthia couldn’t help but agree. “Officials have called it a state of emergency.”

“. . . bring a thunderstorm, hell, a damn tsunami up in this muh-fuh!”

“Muffuh? What’s that?”

“Really? You don’t know?” She shook her head. “I guess not, the way you mispronounced it. Muh. Fuh.” Her confused expression didn’t change. “It’s a polite way to say Em Eff. Dang, girl, you need to hang with me, ride my bus, and spend some time in the hood!”

They sipped their wine. “Maybe I’ll do that.”

“Good.” He stood, set his glass on the nightstand, and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Now, can I spend a little time where I want to?”

“Where’s that?”

“I’ll show you. But you can’t go with me until you take off your clothes. All of them,” he said over his shoulder, walking to the bathroom in nothing but his boxers. “When I come back in here . . . I want you in the bed buck naked.”