“You should come by the bar and watch me do my thing.”
“I’ll be there, but not to watch you,” she told him, with a dismissive shake of her head. “My team, the Foxy Cleopatras, are the reigning champs.”
“Well, prepare to be dethroned!”
“It’s not going to happen, Terrence. We’ve been undefeated for weeks.”
“But there’s a new sheriff in town,” he countered, “and I hate to lose.”
“I don’t know what your cousins told you, but trivia night at The Tavern isn’t for the faint of heart. The questions are hard, the competition is tough and the crowd’s wild.”
“I played in the NFL. I can handle a bunch of suits and nerds.”
“Who are you calling a nerd?” To underscore her disgust, she gave a snort of disdain. “What’s your team name?”
“The Verbal Ninjas.”
“That’s original,” she drawled.
“It doesn’t matter what we’re called. You’re going down!”
Kyra burst into uncontrollable laughter. “Keep dreaming, pretty boy! You have a better chance of being struck by lightning than beating me!”
“Wanna bet?” He slanted his head to the right, studying her, examining her, wondering how to make this deal work to his advantage. “If I win, you have to cook dinner for me tomorrow night and if I lose I’ll take care of your landscaping.”
“You?” The skepticism in her voice was palpable.
“I had my own landscaping business when I was a kid. Ten dollars a yard. It wasn’t much, but it kept me out of trouble.”
In jest she said, “I’d hate for you to ruin your sneakers.”
“Then you better bring your A game, because I play to win!” Terrence fished some bills out of his wallet and placed them on the silver billet. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, he stood and came around the table. He pulled up behind her chair and placed a hand on her shoulder. “How about that tour? I thought we could start at...”
Terrence murmured in her ear, and chills zipped down her back. Against her will, but too dumbfounded to protest, Kyra rose on wobbly, sweat-drenched legs. She commanded her feet to move, and they reluctantly obliged. With a hand fixed to the slope of her back, his touch more dizzying than a French kiss, he escorted her through the sun-drenched patio and out onto Stayler Avenue.
Known for its fine dining, designer boutiques and ten-thousand square-foot mansions, Highland Hills was home to some of the most prominent businessmen in the state. And on Friday nights, the movers and shakers in the community crammed into The Tavern for old-fashioned steaks, vintage wine and scintillating conversation.
Desperate to escape the pelting rain, Kyra yanked open the wooden door and rushed inside, almost knocking over a teenage girl with dyed blue hair. Housed in a historic bungalow, The Tavern had long been regarded as a Georgia landmark and the framed portraits hanging at the entrance paid tribute to the city’s founders. With its extended bar, and muted lighting, the century-old restaurant was the ideal place for after-work drinks or a cozy first date.
Shaking the water from her umbrella, she peered into the dining room, canvassing the area for her girlfriends. Every Friday, the women met for food, conversation and cocktails. Shaunice Berkley was a devoted mom to her preteen daughter, but she never missed an opportunity to hang out with her girls. Being an emergency room nurse was a stressful job, and Shaunice often joked that if it wasn’t for happy hour, she would have been carted off to a psych ward a long time ago.
In the same instance she found Shaunice, she spotted Terrence. As if by design, he passed right in her line of vision. Kyra stood there for a moment, weighing her options.
Should she greet Terrence or make a beeline for her table? If she ignored her girlfriend, she’d hear about it later, but it didn’t seem right dodging Terrence. After all, it was her job to entertain him while he was in town.
“Kyra! Over here!” Terrence yelled, drawing the attention of everyone in the lounge. When she didn’t move, he strode over. He smiled as if he thought he was cute. And he was. Casual, in a white polo shirt, jeans and a buckskin jacket, he looked even sexier than he had that afternoon out on the football field. Wearing thousands of dollars’ worth of bling, in a place that the upper class frequented, he stuck out like a priest at a biker bar. His crooked grin, arresting eyes, and home-boy swag made all the women in the room sit up and take notice, including her.
Remembering all the laughs they’d shared that afternoon, she tore her gaze away from his delicious mouth and waved in greeting. Terrence was an affable, easygoing guy, so why did she get flustered whenever he was around? She enjoyed his wit and his personality, and his bad-boy vibe only emphasized his appeal.
Showing admirable poise, she pushed out a breath and greeted him with a tentative smile. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“You made it.” To her utter surprise, he bent down and pecked her cheek. “I’ve been watching the door for the last fifteen minutes.”
Kyra tripped over her tongue. His voice had a soporific effect on her and she suddenly felt light-headed. Why did this keep happening to her? Around Terrence she became more self-conscious than a preteen girl buying her first training bra. Recognizing the danger of being so close, she moved her body away from his. “Traffic’s usually crazy on Friday nights, but the rain made the drive ten times worse.”
“This is your last chance to back out of the bet,” he told her. “My cousin Damon is even more competitive than I am and he suggested the loser pay the winner’s tab. Think your friends will go for it?”
“Bring it on, bucko! We’re going to mop the floor with you!” Laughing, she agreed to meet up with him after the game and crossed the room toward her friend.
“Is that Terrence Franklin?” Shaunice asked, gripping her forearm.
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“He looked mighty happy to see you.”
Kyra told her about the bet. “I’m not worried. We’ve got this, right?”
“Not if Black Barbie doesn’t show up. Where is Aimee, anyway?”
“Shaunice, I told you to quit calling her that,” Kyra scolded. “How would you feel if I made fun of you behind your back?”
“Aimee’s plastic. It fits.” She lifted her martini glass to her thin, glossy lips. “I don’t know what men see in her. She’s as fake as a blow-up doll!”
“You sound jealous.”
Her eyes thinned. “Me? Jealous? Never. I might not have dimples or three bags of human hair flowing down my back, but I’ve got it going on.” She punctuated her words with heavy sighs and excessive eye rolling. “In my opinion, she’s nothing but a fake...”
Kyra
