be with a quality woman, someone with poise and class and substance, he had to start making better choices. “I’ll call a tow truck for you. What’s the make and model of your car?”
A delicate hand touched his forearm. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush, so let me spell this out for you.” She leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Change my flat, and I’ll thank you in the backseat of your car.”
“I have a girlfriend,” he lied, wishing that it were true.
A coy, mysterious look came over her face. “I’m not greedy.” Her smile displayed every tooth. “I don’t mind sharing.”
“Still not interested.”
“Not interested?” Her bottom lip curled. “Are you blind? Look at me. I’ve been in Playboy magazine twice and hooked up with Lil Wayne last month. I’m the hottest….”
Terrence slid into his car.
“Hey, what about my tire?” she yelled, bending down and knocking on his window. “You’re not going to leave me stranded, are you?”
To silence her, he depressed the power-window button and said, “Wave down park security. They’ll help you.”
“But I want you,” she cooed, propping her chest up on the window sill. “Come on, Flash, help me out.”
A man in tattered sweats stopped at a rusted blue car. He was wide and chubby and his stomach lapped over his Chicago Bulls basketball team T-shirt. The guy didn’t look strong enough to bench five pounds, but Terrence wasn’t looking for a workout partner. He needed to get this girl off his back before she caused a scene. “Hey, you!”
The guy looked up, and recognition flashed in his eyes. “You’re Terrence Franklin! Holy crap. Dude, I’m like your biggest fan ever!”
“Do me a favor,” he began, motioning to LaTisha with his index finger, “change her flat. She’ll show you where her car is parked.” Terrence didn’t wait for an answer. Starting the engine, he whipped the Ferrari into reverse and tore out of the parking lot.
Terrence stopped at the intersection of Twelfth and Piedmont. What a trip. Didn’t these women ever quit? If they weren’t pushing up on him in the mall, they were leaving lewd messages on his MySpace website page or waving him down at the gas station. In retrospect, LaTisha had been tame compared to the other groupies he’d encountered over the years. At least she hadn’t flashed him or hopped into his car and refused to get out.
Picking his cell phone off the passenger seat, he glanced down at the screen, hoping he’d received a text message from his favorite intern. There wasn’t one, but he smiled to himself anyways. A believer in fate, not luck, he knew his chance meeting with Nikki Wakefield two weeks ago at the Dallas Airport wasn’t just another coincidence.
“You’re my boyfriend’s favorite running back!” she’d said after he scrawled his signature on her boarding pass. “He’s going to be stoked when he sees this.”
When Terrence saw the familiar logo plastered across her white backpack, he broke into a smile. “You go to Hollington College?”
“Yeah, I’m a senior.”
“Do you know who Kyra Dixon is?” he asked, nervous energy flowing through him. “She works in the public relations department.”
Nikki blew a bubble with her gum and popped it. “Of course, I know who she is. Kyra’s been my faculty adviser for years.”
“What did you say your name was again?” They’d boarded that noon flight to Atlanta and by the time the plane touched down, he knew how Kyra took her coffee, where she liked to shop and what her favorite radio station was.
He’d been at home, reviewing an endorsement contract, when he’d received Nikki’s text message. It hadn’t been easy getting to Centennial Park during rush hour, but he wanted to see Kyra and he’d decided a long time ago to give their friendship his all. Ten more minutes on the I-95 and he would have missed her, but as fate would have it, they’d run into each other out on the trail.
As he thought back over their talk, he wondered if he was going about this thing with Kyra all wrong. He had tender memories of their relationship, but every time he referred to the past, she’d quickly change the subject. Calling off their engagement had been a mistake and he hated himself for hurting her. Instead of being honest about his fears for the future, he’d withdrawn. He’d ignored her calls and laid low in the weeks leading up to graduation, but he didn’t know how else to cope with his growing list of problems. Breaking up with Kyra via e-mail was a cold, classless thing to do and even now, a decade later, Terrence was still ashamed about what he’d done. Regardless of what Kyra said, what he’d done wasn’t cool. The indiscretions of his youth were a sore spot for him, and he’d always planned to make it up to her. They had to create new memories together, and what better way than over dinner tonight?
Following the flow of traffic, he remembered the touch of sadness behind her smile. Did Kyra truly believe he’d forgotten all about her? He had often thought about contacting her, but didn’t know what he’d say if she answered his call. It had been years since his last serious relationship and every time he thought about his future, Kyra came to mind. It was more than just her smile or her sexy walk. Deeply compassionate, she had a sense of community about her and lived to help others. Not like his ex-girlfriend, Lourdes Spendoza. She’d had no trouble blowing his money, but the minute he got hurt, she’d packed her designer bags and hit the road.
Should he call her now or wait until he got back home? What if she had plans with her…Terrence couldn’t even bring himself to say the word. He was the right man for Kyra—the only man for Kyra—and he was going to prove it.
His cell phone chirped, and he knew instantly the message was from Nikki. The light turned red, and he stepped on the brake. The scent of fresh bread carried on the breeze and through the driver side window. His stomach grumbled, but he was too busy reading Nikki’s message to think about tea and crumpets. Turning down the music, he sat back in his seat and read the message out loud.
On Friday nights Kyra and her friends go to The Tavern to play trivia. Starts at 8 p.m. Don’t wear jerseys or boots when you’re out with her. Kyra hates the thug look, so dress real casual.
Terrence scratched his head. He didn’t know squat about trivia, but his cousins, Neal and Damon, had been honor roll students back in university. If anyone could win at trivia, it was those two. Coping a cool, self-assured grin, he threw his sports car into drive and dialed Neal’s home number.
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