Page 27 of Cruel Delights
Imani sighs. “I thought you couldn’t care less about what people think.”
“I don’t… usually. It’s different with my piano. I… I want to be good.”
“Youaregood, Ly. One of the best.”
“You’re my only friend. You’re obligated to say that.”
“What about Grady? How’s thatfrienddoing?”
A sound of disgust hacks out of me. “Grady and me… we’re… just friends. Not the kind of friends you’re implying. Not… not anymore.”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, grabbing the bottle of hot sauce on the table. “Said every person in a situation like yours ever. You need to cut him loose.”
“I have.”
“Then why does he keep coming around?”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve known each other since high school.”
“Girl, high school was forever ago at this point. Block his number.”
“How do you know I haven’t?”
“He told me he’s video called you. He was at the store the other day.”
Another sound of disgust sticks in my throat. I make a promise to Imani I’ll block Grady’s number for good. Honestly, with everything that’s happened over the last week and a half, I haven’t given him much thought.
Our arrangement had soured recently, and I’ve been distracted by my job situation.
Before our lunch date is up, Imani makes me promise yet again I’ll cut Grady loose. She leaves me on parting words of encouragement, reminding me to fight my stage fright and go easy on myself.
“I’ll ask DJ if he’ll have any openings at the store,” she says on her walk out. “It’d be fun to work together again.”
I stay behind and sit stirring my spoon in my half eaten chickpea curry. Where food is concerned, I have to be strategic. I need to eat for my medication, but I also need to pace my meals and stretch them as long as possible due to my financial situation. The same can be said for my meds.
Every pill counts.
As the staff wipes down tables during their afternoon lull, I’m one of the few who remain.
“Would you like to take that to go?” a waitress asks.
I take it as her hint that I’ve been here too long and need to leave. She packs up my curry into a carton and slips it into a bag. I’m so broke, I can barely afford to leave two dollars let alone a real tip.
This curry will have to last me a while. So will my meds… I skipped today’s dose. I’m so caught up in my head that I don’t see the man passing by. I step into him as he steps into me. We crash into each other in a rough collision that forces me backward and makes me lose my hold on the container of curry.
The bag slips out of my hand and then explodes on the ground. The curry sauce splatters onto me, staining my blouse, marking up my denim shorts. Some of it even gets into my mouth as my jaw drops open in surprise.
Almost none of it gets on the man.
I gape at him, wide-eyed and speechless, trying to figure out if our collision was my fault or his.
He appears just as shocked.
He’s…perfect.
A man that looks too good to be true. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a neat white button-down and slate gray slacks. His hair manages to look both tousled and combed at the same time—it’s longer, reaching his ears in waves that are naturally pushed back from his face.
His face that’s a blend of classic handsome features and stoic masculinity. Things like a strong jaw and nose, lips that are nice and full for a man, and defined cheekbones that could probably land him a modeling gig.