Breaking All My Rules (9 page)

The coy look that she aimed at him confirmed what he suspected.
Damn,
he said to himself. She was bolder than he'd thought, and he didn't like it.

Jerome had encountered her type before: lonely suburban housewives who saw him as fresh eye candy they could have a little fun with on the side. He watched her eyes as they traveled over his smooth face, roamed across his broad chest, swirled around his bulging biceps, and ventured down to his slim waist, before finally resting on an even lower region, which she had no chance of reaching.

She was attractive, he would give her that, and he could see by the way her knee-length skirt and cotton shirt fit that she was in good physical shape. But as much as her body belied her age, the subtle streaks of gray in her stylish strawberry blond hair, the tiny crow's-feet that flanked the sides of her blue eyes, and the faint age spots dotting the tiny hand holding the lemonade were all telltale signs that she'd been intimate with Father Time. Jerome also knew that not only did she have a little age on her, but she also had a lot of experience under her belt as a woman who was used to getting what she wanted.

“You sure you don't want to taste just one sip? I promise it'll be the best you've ever had,” she purred seductively.

Jerome shook his head. “I'm good. All I need is my check.”

The woman pouted her thin lips. “Oh, come on. Just take a little sip. I know you've got to be thirsty.”

Jerome was always cool under pressure, but the brazen woman was starting to make him lose patience. He didn't like the game she was playing, so he decided to end it right then and there. “I know your husband left a few hours ago. Should I call him to get my payment? Because I really need to get going.” He reached for his phone and pulled it out of its leather holster.

The woman frowned and quickly changed her approach. “He left it with me. Why don't you come inside and I'll get it for you.”

Jerome followed her up to the back door, but once she opened it, he didn't go any farther. “I'll wait out here.”

He could tell that she was becoming frustrated, and that she wanted him to give in to her demands.

“You're perfectly welcome to come inside,” she said with a cunning smile. She paused, leaned against the doorjamb, and eyed him. “As a matter of fact, there's some other work I'd like you to do for me. A few things that need fixing with a personal touch,” she said and had the nerve to wink as she gave him a seductive smile. “I think you know what I mean and what I want. And don't worry. What you and I do will be our little secret.”

Jerome wanted to tell her that there was no way in hell they'd be sharing any kind of secret, and that he was completely uninterested. But again, he knew he had to handle this situation with a calm, level head. “Like I said, I'll wait out here. If you'd like me to do additional work for you
and
your husband, I'll be happy to come by at another time, take a look around, and then give you an estimate.”

The woman pursed her lips, threw her head back, and chuckled. “Well, I guess I'll go and get that check now.”

Chapter 8

J
erome was in his truck, headed back to his apartment with a nice-size check in his wallet. He was tired but happy because he had finished the job early and would have enough time to shower and take a quick nap before going over to Jamel's birthday party.

He turned up the volume on the radio and sang along with Al Green's “Let's Stay Together.” He knew he'd just been very lucky, dodging a deadly bullet in the form of a wealthy housewife with an appetite for trouble. She wasn't the first woman he'd worked for who had come on to him, and he knew she wouldn't be the last. Jerome hoped he wouldn't have to deal with her again, but he had a feeling she'd soon be ringing his phone with another request for work. She was just that bold. “Son of a bitch,” he said aloud. “I'm not gonna let her trip me up into some bullshit.”

Women had been both a source of strength and weakness in Jerome's life. There were many times he could point to when women had been at the center of some of his greatest highs and scariest lows. From the wonder of his son being born, to the deranged lover turned stalker who'd left him in the hospital with a near-fatal bullet wound, women had played a major role in his past and present. And although he was currently unattached and was not seeing anyone at the moment, he was ready for that situation to change.

He chuckled to himself, thinking about life's irony. At thirty-five years old, he was finally ready to settle down in a serious relationship, yet he was alone. Even though the state of his love life was by choice and no other reason, he longed for someone special who could walk with him on his new journey. He wanted a soldier by his side. A ride-or-die partner who had his back. A woman whom he could grow with and share life's sweet experiences.

Part of the example Jerome wanted to set for Jamel, in addition to being a man of his word, was to show him what a healthy, loving relationship between a man and a woman looked like. Jerome had never seen that growing up, and he knew that if he had, he would have probably been a better boyfriend to the many women he'd dated. He didn't want drama or dysfunction in his life, because he'd had enough of that with Kelisha. Their up-and-down relationship had been plagued by strife and doom from the very beginning.

Kelisha was a hotheaded, badass, round-the-way girl who popped off at the mouth without the least bit of provocation or care. Usually opposites attracted, and many times worked to balance people out, but Kelisha's loud mouth and fiery temperament had never jived with Jerome's cool, calm demeanor.

But Jerome had to acknowledge that he'd played a big part in his and Kelisha's troubled relationship. He had been unfaithful more than a few times, and he'd continued to run the streets with his boys, despite the fact that just like his mother, Kelisha had begged him not to.

He'd done many things he wasn't proud of, but he had few regrets because he knew all his decisions and their outcomes had led him to his present state, a place he was learning to appreciate more and more each day. He was ready to experience so many things, and he wanted a good woman in his life to share them with.

As Jerome thought about his ideal partner, his ride-or-die soldier, his mind returned to the woman in red. Stanford 145 was imprinted on his brain. He remembered every sensual inch of her, and especially her scent, which was soft and bold at the same time. Never had a woman impacted him so completely without even a simple hello. He didn't know her full name, where she was from, where she lived, how old she was, or even if she had a man. All he knew was that she'd made him want Monday morning to skip past Sunday so he could see her again.

“Damn, she was fine!” he said out loud, his mind taking him back to yesterday.

Being summoned for jury duty was something he had been dreading. Like most black males he knew, Jerome had a serious aversion to police officers and white men in black robes sitting in courtrooms. But when the juror notification came in the mail, he couldn't ignore it—by law.

Missing a day of work from his job of picking up smelly trash and hauling away overstuffed super cans had actually been a welcome reprieve for him. But he hadn't wanted to be stuck at court all day, either, and he'd hoped they would release him early so he could finish up a repair job for another client.

Jerome had shown up at D.C. Superior Court a half hour later than the 8:00 a.m. printed time on his summons. Being prompt wasn't one of his strong suits, and it was one of the shortcomings he was working to erase. He'd been sitting in the back of the room, bored out of his mind, when a woman spoke up, answering the court clerk's roll call. She had instantly grabbed his attention and hadn't let go. Her sweet-sounding voice and the confidence in her tone had held him in a state of intrigue.

Even though her back was facing him, Jerome knew by her crisp diction, erect posture, and sophisticated hairstyle that she was a woman of class and distinction. He wanted her to turn to the side so he could at least see her profile, but she didn't budge an inch. She simply bent her head down, concentrating on whatever she appeared to be reading in front of her.

His name had already been called, so he knew he'd get a chance to see her once the clerk finished the list, because they'd all have to step outside. He was prepared to wait patiently, but to his surprise and relief, he didn't have to. Less than thirty seconds after the thought had crossed his mind, the woman in red stood up and blew him away. He thought she was nothing less than stunning.

Jerome quickly studied her, taking in everything from the rise of her perky breasts peeking out beneath the base of her V-cut neckline, to the gentle curve of her round ass and full hips, which hugged the delicate material of her dress. He could tell she was above average in height, even without the sexy high heels she sported as she breezed by the aisle where he sat. He inhaled her sensual smell, which awakened his senses.

He watched her closely as she walked toward the back of the room, making her way outside. Her graceful stride was seductive, and her femininity appealed to his manhood. He knew she was a self-assured woman, given the fact that she'd chosen to wear a sexy bright red dress to a place as drab, conservative, and uninviting as a courthouse. That simple act let him know that she wasn't one to conform to the rules, and that maybe she was on her own journey, too.

As he slowly rose from his seat, he thought about his next move, anticipating what he would say or do if he had the opportunity to interact with her once he was in the hall. Given that he'd pegged her to be a sophisticated woman, he knew he couldn't approach her without having something interesting to say.

Jerome walked into the hall and spotted her right away. He focused in and locked eyes with her as he approached the line where she stood. The closer he got, the more he couldn't believe how nervous he felt inside, much like he had when he was eleven years old and asked a girl for his first real kiss. He became excited when he saw Stanford 145 give him a slight smile, but as soon as she'd graced him with what felt like sunshine, she turned her attention back to whatever she was reading on her phone.

He wasn't a man who was easily swayed or impressed, but the woman in red had literally left him enraptured. He wanted to say hello and grab her attention again, but somehow his mouth wouldn't cooperate with his brain. The only connection his body was able to make was the one that resulted in a hot sensation below his waist.
I can't believe this woman has me trippin' like this,
he thought.

Jerome was no stranger to beautiful women, or to the art of approaching and seducing them. He was a handsome, naturally confident man who'd possessed a certain type of magnetic sway since he was a young boy. As he'd grown into manhood, he'd delighted and indulged in the fact that women from eight to eighty couldn't get enough of him. He'd had his share of them across the board—women of varying sizes, shapes, colors, and ages. So the fact that the woman in red made him feel slightly nervous was as unsettling as it was exciting.

Relax. She's just a female,
he told himself. But deep beyond the surface of his practiced machismo, Jerome knew she wasn't just any female. There was something special and very different about Stanford 145. He knew that by the gentle look in her eyes, the soft expression that had formed at her lips when she smiled, and the way his heart beat like the ticking of a clock at the thought of her.

Once they were seated inside the courtroom, he was a little disappointed that he was a full five seats away from her. But, he reasoned, it was best. That way he could check her out in a more discreet manner.

When she crossed her long, shapely legs, revealing smooth skin and thick thighs, he felt the hot sensation return below his waist. He had to will himself mentally not to give in to the feeling or the urge to move closer to her. He took a deep breath, regained his composure, and refocused his eyes, directing them up to her face. She was a naturally beautiful woman whose dewy brown skin was flawless. Her profile was regal; her features all aligned in perfect symmetry. He knew that as fine as she was, she had to have a man.

He looked down at her left hand and didn't see any hardware on her ring finger. That observation gave him hope, but it didn't remove the fact that she might still have a man. Gazing at her, he honestly didn't see how she could not.

As Jerome continued to study her, his mind led him to a place he didn't want to go, but he had to be real with himself. Given the type of woman she appeared to be—educated, wealthy, and cultured—even if she didn't have a man, he wondered if he really stood a shot with her.

Self-reflection wasn't a new concept for him. Ever since he made the promise to clean up his life ten years ago, he'd read countless books and watched dozens of DVDs that put him on a road to self-discovery and personal understanding. But even though he was a realist, he still surprised himself with the thought that he might not measure up in a woman's eyes. He had never questioned or been insecure about his desirability to the opposite sex until that very moment.

Thanks to his good looks, natural charm, and sex appeal, Jerome had never wanted for female attention, and he'd never shied away from it, either. But now he felt unwelcome insecurity slowly invade his mind.

He examined the beautiful woman's expensive-looking handbag, sparkling diamond tennis bracelet, and the sophisticated manner in which she carried herself. Those were all signs that she had high standards and certain expectations.
She goes into a nice, cushy office every day, probably runnin' things,
he thought.
She ain't about to fool with a brothah who hauls trash and works with his hands
.

Jerome leaned back in his seat and quietly took another deep breath, inhaling her scent to inject some needed clarity into his thoughts. He had to remind himself of who he was and not who he wasn't. He wasn't the knucklehead who'd dropped out of high school his eleventh grade year. He wasn't the irresponsible player who'd run through women like springwater. He wasn't the stubborn street hustler who'd almost gotten himself killed over some rocks in a back alley. Those lowly days were long behind him. He was a new man. He was determined to get his contracting license and start his own business. He was studying late each night to earn his GED. He was a dedicated father. He was a good son. He was a loyal friend. And he, too, had high standards and expectations.

He loved a challenge, but to be with a woman like Stanford 145, he knew he had to be correct and precise in his approach.

Just as he began to believe he had a chance with her, something happened that further erased his insecurities. He glimpsed at Stanford 145 and saw that she was looking at him, too. She tried to hide the fact that she was checking him out from the corner of her eye, but he caught her red-handed.

Then, suddenly, just as she'd dropped her smile out in the hallway and turned her attention back to her phone, she moved her eyes away from his direction and concentrated on the instructions being given by the court clerk.

What's up with this woman?
he thought. She was quickly becoming a puzzle that he wanted to solve.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Jerome turned his large truck onto his crowded street in search of a parking space. Finding a place to park on a Saturday afternoon was like trying to find a doughnut at a fashion show. It was damn near impossible. After securing a spot around the corner from his building, Jerome walked up to his unit. Once he reached his door, he slipped his key into the lock and went inside his apartment.

Standing in the middle of his living room, looking around at all 650 square feet of his two-bedroom apartment, Jerome wondered what the woman in red would think of his living conditions. “I know her crib is tight,” he said to himself. But just as he'd done yesterday in court, he took a deep breath and realigned his thoughts. Right now he couldn't focus on Stanford 145, because he needed to get ready to see his son.

Jamel's party was set to start in another three hours, giving him just enough time to make a tuna sandwich, take a shower, grab a quick nap, and get dressed before heading out the door.

The thought of having a teenage son made Jerome's chest puff with pride, especially given that Jamel was growing into such a fine young man. Even though Kelisha was loud as hell and as obnoxious as a pit bull, Jerome had to give her credit; she was a good mother to their son, and her demeanor hadn't rubbed off on him. At thirteen, Jamel was more responsible and mature than some adults Jerome knew. He made good grades at the private school he attended on scholarship, he was respectful to authority figures, and he was kind to his peers. Jamel was the kid he wished he had been at that age.