Passion Overtime. Pamela Yaye
were?” The inflection of his voice conveyed surprise. “When I didn’t hear from you, I thought maybe you’d forgotten about me.”
I wish, she thought, remembering last night’s restless bout of sleep. Faded memories of her youth had filled her with nostalgia, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw Terrence, his mouth stretched into that cocky, lopsided grin, his arms outstretched like a compassionate lover. To distance herself from the troubling image, she asked Terrence how his day was going.
“I hope you’ve been enjoying this gorgeous weather, because it’s going to start cooling down soon.”
“Do you remember my cousins Neal and Damon?”
“Vaguely.” It was a lie, but Kyra wanted to obliterate memories of their past and lying seemed to be the only way.
“I’ve been kicking it with them. We played pool and had some sushi last night. You used to love eating new foods. Ever tried Japanese?”
“No.” Kyra stared down at the phone, the lines on her forehead bunched into a frown. Okay, now she was just being silly. What would it hurt if she admitted that she liked sushi, too? Before she could retract her words, he spoke.
“You lied to me,” Terrence said. “You’re not married. Why didn’t you say anything when I asked?”
“Because I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you.”
“Do you know what I love most about being back here?”
Kyra could hear the smile in his voice and pictured his broad grin.
“The people. Everyone’s so polite and welcoming.” He paused expectantly. “And then there’s you.”
Right, she thought, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. He couldn’t wait to return to Hollington to see me—the woman he’d dumped and humiliated. Loosening her grip on the receiver, she propped an elbow up on the desk. All Kyra wanted to do was sign Terrence and get on with her life, but he seemed bent on rekindling their friendship. That was too bad. It wasn’t going to happen.
“My evenings are free. Wide open,” he told her. “I have nothing to do but watch TV. It would be great to hang out, you know, for old times’ sake.”
Her heart accelerated. Kyra felt like she was hanging upside down on a cliff. He sounded like the old Terrence. The one she used to love, the one who made her laugh, the one who’d once licked whipped cream and fudge off her breasts.
Deleting the image and his suggestion from her mind, she sat straight up in her chair. Remembering she was the one in control of this conversation, and not Terrence, she asked if he was free tomorrow. “The Lions practice at nine o’clock and I’d like you to come and meet the team.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then.” He added, “Oh, and Ky?”
The phone slipped from her grasp, but didn’t fall. Why was he using her pet name? They weren’t friends anymore, weren’t lovers, so why was he being cute with her all of a sudden? “Yes, Terrence?”
“Don’t work too hard.”
Someone knocked on the door. “I have to go, but I’ll meet you in front of the stadium at nine o’clock sharp.”
“I’ll be there, ready and waiting.”
Kyra put down the phone. “Come in,” she called, adjusting her plum-colored suit jacket. It was probably her boss, wanting to see if she’d made any progress with Terrence yet. He’d been on her back all day, offering ideas on how to win the former NFL running back over. “Nikki, is that you under all those flowers?”
The bouquet was enormous. So big, it covered the top half of Nikki’s body. If it wasn’t for the intern’s teal high heels, Kyra wouldn’t know who was carrying it.
“This is a surprise,” she said, coming around her desk. Her office was inundated with the scent of pineapple and upon closer inspection Kyra realized it was a bouquet of fruit, not flowers. The white ceramic vase overflowed with stems of cantaloupe, guava and watermelon.
Who knew? she thought, popping a heart-shaped strawberry into her mouth. Charles must be feeling guilty about what happened at lunch, because he’d never sent her flowers before. He’d apologized, promised it wouldn’t happen again and admitted he was under extreme pressure at work. Everyone lost their cool sometimes, even sweet quiet guys like Charles Roberts.
Munching on a cube of banana-dipped chocolate, she took the miniature envelope from Nikki’s outstretched hands and ripped it open. “Looking forward to creating new memories with you,” she read aloud. “I had no idea Charles could be so romantic.”
“Mind if I have some?” Nikki asked, setting the bouquet on the desk. “I skipped breakie this morning and the pineapples smell yummy.”
Kyra nodded. “In fact, do me a favor and take it to the staff room. I’m liable to have a sugar overdose eating all this fruit.”
“I forgot your phone messages on my desk, but Terrence Franklin called earlier. You were in with Mr. Morrow and I didn’t want to disturb you.” Nikki’s face shined.
“What’s he like, Kyra? Do you think the tabloid stories about him are true?”
“Every last one,” she blurted out. Casting a glance at her wide-open door, she leaned back against the desk and gave herself five minutes to indulge in some harmless, office gossip. Nikki Wakefield, the department’s high-spirited intern, was in her final year of the business management program and saw to it that everything ran smoothly. Once a week, Kyra took the senior out to lunch and it was always a lively, hour-long affair. “He’s conceited, macho and—”
“Hella fine!” she shrieked. “Terrence Franklin is living proof that God exists. He’s the perfect male specimen, in my book.”
“All that glitters isn’t gold, Nikki.” Kyra put a hand on the intern’s shoulder. “He might seem charming, but be very, very careful around guys like that.”
Nikki’s eyes glazed over and Kyra knew she’d lost her. Trim, chesty and blessed with naturally curly hair, the management student had more admirers than a Playboy Playmate of the Year. “The man is gorgeous,” Nikki cooed, coiling a glossy curl around her index finger. “You could cover him in green slime and he’d still be fine!”
Tell me something I don’t know.
Nikki turned to leave, then spun back around and extended her right hand. “Oh, I almost forgot. Your dad called. He wants you to call him at the church.”
Nodding absently, Kyra took the message slip and shoved it into her pocket. Returning her father’s call could wait. He was always imploring her to live the Christian way and Kyra wasn’t in the mood to hear one of his midday sermons. Not when she had Terrence Franklin hot on her trail.
When Nikki departed, she picked up her pen and got down to work. The business letters weren’t going to write themselves, and Kyra knew Walter would come looking for them at the end of the day. But when she wrote the word fine instead of find for the second time, she got up from her desk and went over to the window.
Students rushed to and from the dormitories, a group of international students kicked around a soccer ball, and couples kissed under the shade of lofty willow trees. Pride filled Kyra’s heart. Few people, including her parents, understood why she’d chosen to study at a historically black college. Scholarships had poured in from other prestigious universities, but she’d turned them all down. Here, among students of every shade of brown under the sun, she’d flourished. Her sorority sisters had cheered her accomplishments, challenged her way of thinking and offered a shoulder to cry on when she needed it most.
Raised in a middle-class suburban neighborhood, Kyra had secretly longed to have friends and teachers who looked like her. She’d grown up wanting to be Debbie Allen and when she arrived at Hollington that balmy afternoon in August just days after her eighteenth birthday, she’d