Decadent Dreams. A.C. Arthur
don’t even know if I want kids. Or a man for that matter.”
“Oh, you want a man,” she said. “It’s in our genes to want to get married and have kids. We’ve got a legacy to carry on. If we don’t have kids, who does it carry on to?”
Belinda was so tired of hearing about this legacy.
“The show will go on no matter what,” she said drily. “Anyway I won’t have time to think about men with this competition coming up.”
“I know. I’ve been drawing sketches all afternoon. Andre has a fever so he’s been sleeping. But I have so many ideas.”
Belinda had none. Sure, Malik thought she was thinking about the competition all day today, and she’d let him think along those lines. But it just wasn’t true. This competition was important, she knew that. But there was something else she thought was just as important. Something she feared she’d gone too long without experiencing.
Even now talking to her cousin was a distraction. Belinda had decided to make a change, one that was going to require some thought and planning. “Well, I just came home and I’m trying to take a bath. How about I call you later?”
“Sure, you go ahead. I want to work on my ideas some more. At some point all of us need to get together to figure out what our game plan is.”
Belinda nodded, knowing that would inevitably happen, no matter how much she dreaded it. “Right. You coordinate the others and I’ll be there.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know.”
“Hope Andre feels better,” Belinda said before bidding her cousin good-night and hanging up the phone.
She lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. She could get out of this tub and climb right into her bed. Sleep would be a good way to get things off her mind—if she could sleep. Most likely she’d continue to think about her life-altering decision—the one she’d made after her date with Patrick. The one where she decided to take charge of her own life. Unfortunately, once again, her life would have to wait. Tonight she had a date. Or maybe she should just call it an outing. Whatever it was, it was going to take her away from planning and contemplating. And Belinda wasn’t happy about that.
Chapter 4
“Roller-skating? Are you serious?” Belinda asked when they pulled up in front of the skating rink.
Malik had picked her up in his black Mustang—which had always struck her as too much car for his mild-mannered persona. His personality actually hadn’t matched that of the egotistical NBA players she’d heard about, either. He seemed to be different at every turn.
“What’s wrong with roller-skating?”
“Nothing,” she said with a huff. “If you’re sixteen.”
He laughed. “Grown-ups roller-skate all the time. Ever watched the Roller Derby?”
She turned to him giving her “not funny” glare. “I’m not wearing gold lamé hot pants or knee-length tube socks. Which further proves this isn’t a good idea.”
“So you have watched the Roller Derby. I would have never guessed that about you,” he told her.
Those words, while they mimicked what she’d been thinking about him, made her a little more agitated than she figured she was supposed to be on this night of relaxation. Before she could say another word, Malik had gotten out of the car and was on his way around to the passenger side. He opened the door and leaned in so that his face was about five inches away from hers—which for the record was too damned close.
“You’ll have fun. Trust me,” he said, his lips spreading into a smile. A smile that caused a tugging between her legs.
Despite her inner doubts Belinda stepped out of the car. “I’m really not dressed for this,” she said once more.
She wore True Religion leggings and four-inch gray suede platform pumps with a gray tank top that had a scooped neck that gathered and fell like a waterfall. The jeans may have worked but everything else was clearly overdressed.
“You’ll be fine,” he said, going around to the trunk and popping it open. “I bought you these since I figured you didn’t have any.”
He pulled out a brand-new pair of white roller skates with hot pink wheels and a stopper.
“You don’t know what size I wear,” she said. Of all the things men, or anyone for that matter, had given her, skates would have never crossed her mind.
He took a few steps closer to her, closing the gap between them and definitely invading her personal space. “I’ve known you for almost eight years. I know you wear a size eight pants and medium shirt because your breasts are...fantastic.”
She swallowed hard. No, it was more like a gulp.
He lifted his free hand and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “I know that your natural hair color is dark brown, your eyes are green like the sea and your favorite cartoon character is Betty Boop. Even though your father sort of gave that one away.”
“Aah, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” she replied honestly. How, why did he know all that about her?
“You say, ‘Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.’ It’s easy.”
But it wasn’t easy, or at least Belinda wasn’t finding it easy. This wasn’t a date, she told herself again. Malik was not the kind of man she dated.
Why?
She refused to answer that.
She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.”
“That’s a girl,” he said, tweaking her nose then letting his hand slip down her arm to grab hold of her hand.
* * *
Belinda did everything right. She even looked pretty when she cried. Malik remembered her great-uncle Frank’s funeral, where she’d sat in the second row right behind her parents and cried softly, a tissue in her hand as she dabbed her eyes. Her makeup had remained flawless, her body still—unlike others who were bent over making a screeching sound. And she wore jeans like no other female he’d ever met. Her smile was gorgeous, her teeth completely straight, her eyebrows elegantly arched. There was nothing out of order with Belinda. Absolutely no faults that could be seen at first sight.
But she couldn’t roller-skate worth a damn.
They had gone around the rink one complete time in the twenty minutes they’d been there. Music played loudly around them, something fast with a strong beat that had the other skaters swaying and dancing as they moved around the rink in quick succession. Malik kept them upright, his arms firmly around Belinda’s waist as he moved at a slower pace, allowing her to get used to the skates and the people whizzing past them.
“I told you this was a bad idea.”
“Nonsense, you’re getting the hang of it,” he told her. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was no longer gripping his arm as if her life depended on it. As a matter of fact, now that the song changed to something a little slower, she relaxed a bit and focused on moving her legs in the exact motion that his went. After another few minutes they developed a comfortable, albeit still slow, stroll that took them around the ring once more.
“See, you’re getting it,” he told her with a reassuring smile.
“I guess you can tell this is not something that I do often,” she said with her own nervous chuckle.
“I’d be happy to bring you back again. I’m sure you’ll just continue to improve.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Practice definitely makes perfect,” she said, this time without the chuckle.
Another circle around and