Love on the Run (9 page)
Authors: Zuri Day
13
Shayna pulled into Michael's driveway and parked behind the white Mercedes next to Michael's Jag. She assumed the car was Gregory's, the impressive lines of the sleek sedan befitting the image of a doctor. She wondered what it must be like to have grown up in Michael's family, full, she imagined, of life, laughter, and lots of love. How else could they all have turned out so successfully? As she eased out of the car and admired the lovely front garden on her way to the door, she wondered about the third brother Michael had mentioned, Troy. She wondered what he did for a living and whether he was as fine as Michael and Gregory. A pang of sadness washed over her as she thought about her own upbringing as the only child of a self-centered mother, a woman who even now placed her own wants and desires before that of her daughter. Then she thought of Friday night, how Michael had tended to her emotional wounds while his brother Gregory had bound her physical ones. Aside from her best friends, Britt and Tee, and her beloved grandmother, Big Mama, she hadn't much experience with people truly caring about her. There had been moments when Jarrell made her feel good, but those had too often been followed by a taunt or a dig. Even though she'd known him almost all of her life, he'd never provided her the level of care she'd felt from the Morgan brothers. When it came to the relationship with her ex-boyfriend, life had been all about him.
Shayna reached the door and rang the doorbell. Michael answered. He was not smiling. “Shayna,” he said, his face an unreadable mask. “Come on in.”
What's up with him?
Was it her or had a blast of cold from the Arctic blown into the room? She followed him down the hall into the open-concept living area that she loved so much. Expecting to see Gregory but finding the room empty, she asked, “Where's the doctor?”
Was it her or had a blast of cold from the Arctic blown into the room? She followed him down the hall into the open-concept living area that she loved so much. Expecting to see Gregory but finding the room empty, she asked, “Where's the doctor?”
“On his way.” Michael had passed through the living room to the dining room and now sat with his back to Shayna, typing on an iPad.
Shayna stood near the couch, unsure of what to do. Was this the same warm, caring person whom she'd left less than forty-eight hours ago? What had happened to sour his mood? Shayna looked at the custom-made silk-covered couch, but instead of sitting, she walked over to the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened up to the fabulously landscaped backyard. Again she was struck with the contrast between how he lived compared with her cozy but relatively simple abode. She looked at the comfy, navy-striped lounge chairs and imagined the pool parties that probably happened on the regular, with beautiful women, handsome men, tinkling glasses, and mindless chatter.
Who cares?
She tried to tell herself that Michael's life and how he lived it was of no concern to her, tried to convince herself that she had no desire to be a part of it. She turned, and was surprised to find him staring at her intently.
Who cares?
She tried to tell herself that Michael's life and how he lived it was of no concern to her, tried to convince herself that she had no desire to be a part of it. She turned, and was surprised to find him staring at her intently.
Startled, she asked, “What is it?” Michael looked at her, remained silent. Her heart began pounding, and she worked to keep her breathing calm. His silence reminded her of Beverly, how she'd stare at her then preteen daughter before lighting into her over some imagined wrong. “Michael?”
After another moment, Michael set the iPad on the table and leaned back in the chair. “Jarrell called me.”
Shayna gave herself time to collect her thoughts by walking over to the dining room where Michael sat, pulling out one of the heavy wrought-iron and cashmere-tufted chairs, and joining him at the table. On the way, she once again remembered her phone in Jarrell's hand when she came out of the bathroom. After realizing that he'd intercepted Michael's call, she deduced that he'd then deleted the evidence. Obviously, that wasn't all he'd done. He'd also gotten Michael's number. “I'm sorry,” she said at last.
Michael turned to face her. “You may believe this is not my concern, but I'm curious, Shayna. How is it that the man who attacked you two days ago was at your house today?”
“My mother, Beverly, is married to Jay's brother, Larsen.” Michael didn't even try and hide his surprise. “I know, long story. But the short of it is that she had me when she was eighteen and even though she's in her forties, she looks much younger. Larsen is thirty-two, seven years older than Jay. So”âshe shruggedâ“they hooked up.”
“Given your recent breakup, that has to be uncomfortable for you. But what does your mother being married to your ex's brother have to do with him being at your house?”
“She talked me into letting him come over.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Trust me, she has her reasons.”
“Reasons that she would want you to entertain a man who'd attacked you? How do you feel about that?”
“It doesn't matter how I feel.” Michael didn't respond, just continued staring, waiting for answers. “I was raised mostly by my grandmother; Mom was more of a friend to me. She's beautiful, men flock after her, and she always has one around.
Always.
She indirectly used me and Jay hanging out as a way to snag his brother. I guess that since he and I are now broken up, she's getting nervous.”
Always.
She indirectly used me and Jay hanging out as a way to snag his brother. I guess that since he and I are now broken up, she's getting nervous.”
Given that he had a mother like Jackie, one who would go to the fire for any one of her sons, he couldn't imagine a mother putting some nucka before her own blood. He couldn't imagine that at all. “How long have they been married?”
“Almost three years. When my grandmother died, Mom got the insurance money. She used it to help Larsen expand his limo business. I guess he figured he owed her.” Silence and then, “What did Jay say to you?”
“That y'all were still together and that your business was his.”
Shayna rolled her eyes and sighed. “I've told Jay in no uncertain terms that it's over between us. He doesn't believe me.”
“He doesn't want to believe you.”
“Yes, well, I have a track record.” When Michael remained silent, Shayna continued, her voice soft, reflective. “This isn't the first time we broke up. It's not the second. Or the third. As I've already told you, he and I have been a couple off and on ever since I was sixteen. We've known each other since we were kids. There's a lot of history there, which is why he thinks he owns me.” Shayna looked Michael in the eye. “But he doesn't.”
Michael nodded, seeming to let these words soak in before responding. “As long as you're honest with me, I can handle your ex. I just want to make sure that
you
can, not only so that we don't have to deal with some type of scandal, but also so that I can know that you're safe. He sounded quite possessive over the phone and I've already seen firsthand what he thinks about women.” A frown marred his face, but was gone so quickly that Shayna wondered if she'd simply imagined it. “I heard the explanation about your mother, but I still don't get it. Why did you let him come to your house?”
you
can, not only so that we don't have to deal with some type of scandal, but also so that I can know that you're safe. He sounded quite possessive over the phone and I've already seen firsthand what he thinks about women.” A frown marred his face, but was gone so quickly that Shayna wondered if she'd simply imagined it. “I heard the explanation about your mother, but I still don't get it. Why did you let him come to your house?”
Shayna reached out and outlined the silver centerpiece with her finger. She noted the exquisite workmanship on the casting made to resemble a bowl of fruit. Her mind jumbled as she thought to explain herself. How did one tell a secure, confident man who'd probably never doubted his worth a day in his life about someone like her? How did one explain what it felt like to always come up short in the eyes of another, how someone like Jarrell had been her lesser of two evils? How did one explain what it was like to grow up with someone like Beverly for a mother? Because if she could adequately explain it, then Michael would know why Jarrell had been in her home earlier that day.
As it was, she was saved by the bell.
Michael walked to the door and seconds later returned with Gregory just behind him. Today his brother looked more like the doctor, dressed in an olive green scrub top over faded jeans. He carried a black leather duffel bag and while his smile was pleasant enough, his mannerisms were all business.
He reached the table and set his bag down on it. “Hello, Shayna.”
“Hi, Gregory.”
“How are we feeling today?”
“I'm still pretty sore, and for some reason it feels like the bandages have gotten tighter somehow.”
“Let me wash my hands real quick and we'll have a look at it.”
Michael looked over at Shayna, slid his gaze over her body before asking, “Do you want me to leave the room while he examines you?”
Shayna shook her head. “No.” And she meant it. Even as her body began to thrum of its own volition at the mere thought of him watching her, even as she reminded herself that she wasn't the modest type, and that it was just her midsection after all.
Gregory returned from the bathroom. “Okay, Shayna. Stand up, and let me have a look.” She stood. “I'm just going to unwrap the bandages; let me know if I'm hurting you, though I'll try and be as gentle as I can.”
As Gregory slowly unwound the bandage, Shayna kept her head down, her eyes on the deft fingers removing the gauzy cloth. But she felt Michael's eyes on her. As the material was unraveled purplish bruises became evident, and the area around the cracked and bruised ribs was puffy, a definite rise against her otherwise washboard stomach. Gregory's brow furrowed with concern, and though Shayna couldn't see him, Michael's whole body was taut.
“Okay, we've got a bit of swelling going on here,” Gregory said, stating the obvious as he gingerly touched the area with the tips of his fingers. “Come on into Michael's room. I want you to lie down.” She followed him into the bedroom and heard Michael's footsteps just behind her. “Just sit down,” Gregory said to her, and when she did, he took hold of her shoulders while instructing Michael to lift her feet. “Now lie back,” he quietly commanded, holding her shoulders firmly in order to prevent undo movement of her rib cage. Gregory quietly conducted the examination, including the bruising and scratches on her jaw and neck. Michael watched as Shayna closed her eyes, giving him a chance to stare at her unabashedly. He longed to run his fingers across her flat stomach, could almost taste the chocolate of her skin. He watched the rise and fall of her breasts, felt his joystick twitch as he imagined his tongue encircling the nipple he imagined to be plump and juicy as a blackberry, but twice as sweet. One of the thoughts that he'd had regarding her came back to him and he quietly left the room.
“I'll write a prescription for some medicinal lotion to help with the swelling,” Gregory said, as he touched Shayna's shoulder. When she opened her eyes, he gestured for her to put both of her hands in his while he placed his other hand on her upper back and helped her up. “You'll also want to take a long soak, every night, in water that's quite warm but not scalding. Do that and then apply the lotion, okay?” Shayna nodded. “Let's get you wrapped up. Is there someone to help you do this once you bathe?” Again, Shayna nodded, blocking out the image of Michael that flashed into her head.
I wish,
she silently admitted, then just as quickly dismissed the thought. She was fairly certain of one thing: the manager who'd not only had to deal with a battered client winding up on his front sidewalk but also had to handle her crazy-ass boyfriend would probably not put her on the short list when it came to dating possibilities. Gregory deftly rewrapped the bandage around Shayna's rib cage. Michael was just ending a call as they reentered the living area.
I wish,
she silently admitted, then just as quickly dismissed the thought. She was fairly certain of one thing: the manager who'd not only had to deal with a battered client winding up on his front sidewalk but also had to handle her crazy-ass boyfriend would probably not put her on the short list when it came to dating possibilities. Gregory deftly rewrapped the bandage around Shayna's rib cage. Michael was just ending a call as they reentered the living area.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked, as soon as he'd placed down the phone.
“Going to the track,” Shayna answered. “I know I can't work out, but I can still talk to the coach, get pointers, and maybe use the Jacuzzi.”
“On your legs only,” Gregory interjected. “Any pressure in your rib area will be too much.”
“What time is practice over?” Michael asked. Shayna told him, and he replied, “Then why don't you join me for dinner tomorrow. There's someone I'd like you to meet.”
14
The evening was balmy as Shayna pulled her cherry red ride up to the restaurant's valet stand. She smiled as the flirty Latino opened her car door, winking as he greeted her while looking appreciatively at her bare legs, long for someone who barely topped out at five foot four. After much debate about fashion choices, Brittney had helped Shayna into a tan-colored mini, a soft, shiny jersey number with dolman sleeves. Her strappy jeweled sandals that laced up the calf not only added height to her stature but highlighted her muscled legs. She'd taken a couple aspirin before leaving the condo and with her cracked ribs tightly bandaged felt relatively okay.
Stepping into the Japanese restaurant that Michael had recommended after finding out she loved sushi, Shayna was immediately enveloped in the warmth of the room: russet wood and black leather with subdued lighting throughout and an open kitchen boasting high flames. She approached the hostess station, attended by a sultry looking Asian woman with long black hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, deep red lipstick, and a genuine smile. “Hello, and welcome to Katana,” she said. “Table for one?”
Shayna smiled. “No, I'm meeting someone.”
“Are you Ms. Washington?”
“Why . . . yes.”
The hostess smiled. “Right this way, please.” Shayna was led to an open-air patio area that overlooked the Strip. She spotted Michael right away, talking on his phone and looking fine as usual.
He stood as she and the hostess approached. “Hello,” he said once the hostess had directed her to their obvious destination. He hugged her, shoulders only, pulled out her chair, and waited until she sat down to retake his seat. It was something that Jarrell would never do, and made Shayna feel shy and a bit of a princess at the same time. “I'll be off in a second,” he said, placing his hand over a portion of the phone as he did so. Shayna took the opportunity to look around her and take in the bright lights of the big city, the beautiful people in their element with conversation and traffic noise providing a disjointed yet somehow melodious backdrop.
Michael soon ended his call. “Sorry about that,” he said, placing the phone on the table. He eyed Shayna for a moment before adding, “I think this is the first time I've seen you in a dress. You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you.”
He signaled for the waiter. “What would you like to drink?”
“Sparkling water is fine.”
Michael placed their order then, after acknowledging someone who'd spoken to him, continued. “Given your full workout schedule, it's understandable why you don't drink alcohol.”
“I was never much of an imbiber, except for the occasional glass of champagne to celebrate a big win. The last glass I had was in London.”
“No, the last glass you had was at my house.”
“Oh.” Shayna warmed at the memory. “Right.”
“The Fly Four,” Michael said, raising his water glass in reference to the 4 x 100 United States relay team who'd brought home the gold. Shayna had also brought home the gold in the 100-meter race and the silver in the 200. He knew that her coach had expected her to win every race she ran, and when the 2016 Olympic torch was lit in Brazil, Michael had the feeling that she would do just that. With his guidance and support, there would be a significant difference: the whole world would be watching her and would already know her name.
After the waiter came over, introduced himself, and took their drink orders, Shayna reached for her menu. “So,” she asked while browsing the appetizers, “who am I meeting tonight?”
“Choice McKinley-Scott,” Michael responded. “Owner and designer of Chai Fashions, out of New York.” Shayna looked up from the menu, her face a question mark. “I met her last year during Fashion Week; we've been kicking around some ideas for sportswear. I think she'll be perfect to design a look for you, something original that”â
shows off that tight, sexy, chocolate body
â“will make you stand out on the track.”
shows off that tight, sexy, chocolate body
â“will make you stand out on the track.”
“As long as it's not something too crazy,” Shayna said, looking down again at the menu and missing Michael's grin.
“Don't worry, baby,” he drawled, “anything with my name on it is class all the way. Or should I say . . . your name.”
“Me? I'm not a designer.”
“No, but you have a sense of style and, more importantly, the body to show it off. Choice will sketch out some ideas but I want you to be an integral part of the design process, to put your personality, taste, and stamp on the collection that will bare you name.”
“How did you know that I like fashion?”
“It's my job to know everything about you. And no, I haven't hired a private investigatorâjust read, watched, and procured every ounce of public information available. I read about your penchant for fashion in an interview for
LA Weekly
.”
LA Weekly
.”
“Wow, you really do your homework.”
“I look at every possible angle by which we can establish your brand. A clothing line for somebody like you is a given.”
Shayna nodded, and continued to ponder this thought as she browsed the menu. The more she learned about Michael Morgan and his thought process, the surer she was of her decision to have him rep her. He was one of the best. “What should I order, Michael?”
“If you'll allow, I'll order for the table. We'll start with the robatayakiâ”
“That's what comes on skewers, right?”
“Right. And then we'll enjoy some sushi, and finish up with a nice beef or seafood entrée. You don't even have to worry about liking whatever is set in front of you. I honestly don't think the chef could make a bad dish if he tried. Heâ” Michael's attention was captured by someone coming up behind Shayna. He smiled, stood, and soon welcomed a slim, attractive woman into his embrace. “Shayna,” he said once they'd parted, “this is . . . uh . . . Chai.”
“Hello.” And then to Michael, “I thought we were meeting Choice.”
“You are.”
“Michael Morgan,” Choice/Chai drawled.
“Dang, my bad.”
“It's okay, man. I'm sure my secret is safe with you”âshe turned to Shaynaâ“and my potential client. It's a pleasure to meet you, Shayna.” Lowering her voice, she continued. “Most people don't know that Choice and Chai are the same person. Long story. Tell you later.”
“So tonight you're . . . Chai?” Shayna didn't have to share that she thought the idea a crazy one. Her look said it all.
“Ha! Correct.” As the woman bent down to hug her, Shayna was enveloped in a divinely unique fragrance, a little musk, citrus, and floral action that was somehow sophisticated and earthy at the same time. By the end of the evening, she'd conclude it a perfect choice for the designer who wore diamonds like cubic zirconium, and even though hers was an “out there” lookâwaist-length hair (whether a wig or weave Shayna could only speculate), large tinted glasses, and a garishly loud big top over pencil thin jeansâthe comfort she displayed in her own skin gave her a sistah-girl-next-door charm. “Have you guys ordered?” she asked, hooking the strap of a large leather handbag over her chair before she sat down. “I'm starved!”
During an hour and a half of delicious dishes and great conversation, Chai showed how she'd taken the running attire ideas that she and Michael had discussed and brought them to life. The designs, though simple, were nothing like what was currently worn on the track. The material was similar to today's look, lightweight and supple, but the bottoms were in more of a boy short design while instead of a straightforward tank, the crisscrossed design of the top added a feminine flair. Shayna's eyes sparkled as she looked through the simple drawings and listened to Chai's ideas for color choices. “Something bright and sparkly,” she said, taking in Shayna's dark brown skin as she did so. “Not disco-y, you understand, but understated pizzazz, an iridescent or rainbow tone.”
“I like the idea of the flash,” Michael said, eyeing Shayna with what surely could have passed for unabashed appreciation. He finished his sake, and then continued. “Like you said, nothing gaudy, but something that complements her . . . body and skin tone.” He licked his lips, subtly, unconsciously, and caused Shayna to clench her thighs against the squiggle that went from tummy to punanny and did the happy dance. “What do you think, Shayna?”
“I think it's not going to be us who have the last word, but my coach. He'll want to make sure that the cut will not have any impact on my running abilities and he'll only allow this look for my individual races. For the relay, the girls and I have to roll with the same look.”
“Well, that can certainly be arranged,” Michael answered. “I'll give John a call and schedule a meeting. Maybe we can do something for the entire team, right, Chai?”
“Most definitely.”
“Cool.”
Chai's phone rang, and she left shortly afterward to join her husband, a big baller, shot caller in the world of architecture back east. When she parted, it was as if a barrier between Michael and Shayna had been removed. The shiver that ran down Shayna's back had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the way Michael now observed her.
“What?” she asked softly, becoming shy and unnerved under his intent perusal.
“You're beautiful, you know that?” He blinked his eyes slowly, near-black orbs framed by long, curly lashes.
“You've drank too much sake,” Shayna replied.
“Maybe,” Michael said, the warm, soothing Japanese alcohol having loosened his normally controlled tongue. “But that doesn't stop the fact that your skin is glowing in the moonlight. It looks so soft, so . . . ” He reached across the table and ran a finger down Shayna's arm.
She pulled back. “That tickles!”
Michael's phone vibrated and broke the mood. He looked down at the face, then picked it up. “Hey, man. Y'all there already?” He continued to gaze at Shayna as he listened. “All right then. I'm just finishing dinner. Give me a half hour. That was my brother,” he said, once he'd ended the call.
“Gregory?”
Michael shook his head. “My youngest brother, Troy. We're getting ready to shoot hoops for a minute.”
“You?” Shayna inquired, her look both skeptical and laced with humor. “In your condition?”
Michael signaled for the check. “You're just not used to seeing me laid-back, relaxed. I'm not drunk, not even tipsy. And even if I were, I can still make all kinds of moves.” His eyes raked over her body. “Believe that.”
And she did. As he walked her to the valet, his firm, strong hand lightly touched the small of her back, as they engaged in casual banter while awaiting her car, and later, when she'd shed her clothes and crawled between the sheets. Especially then, Michael was the self-assured, consummate lover that she'd imagined.
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