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G
oing cold turkey had been a sucky option, but it had also been my only option. I avoided Cherise for over a week, despite the fact I was jonesing just to hear her voice. I knew better than to talk to her until I had a plan and some fucking balls firmly in place.

More than anything, I needed a break from the sex.

Something I never thought I’d think, let alone say. And no, I didn’t say it. If I had, Cherise would have blown me off like last year’s lipstick.

Instead, I talked her into dinner with just the two of us, rather than another trip to The Manor.

“So what, uh, prompted this?” she asked when we reached the restaurant, her hand on the car door. The pale yellow wraparound dress she wore clung to every curve, and with her pale blond hair piled on top of her head, she looked classy…and damned sexy.

“I wanted to do something different.” My hand on her bare back, I led her toward the restaurant’s red double doors. “That okay with you?”

“Sure, but it’s not our anniversary or anything.”

“Does it have to be a special occasion for us to do something nice?” Something on neutral ground where I could keep the situation under control.

For the first time in all the months we’d been together, we got a look, a hard cool once-over from the maitre d’. I’d been here before with another woman and he hadn’t even flinched. But then, she was mixed, like me. And the people we’d been hanging out with didn’t give a shit about what you looked like.

For all of thirty seconds, I seriously thought about taking Cherise somewhere else. Then I muttered, “Fuck it” under my breath. Cherise frowned at me, obviously confused, and I shook my head.

“We have reservations.” And my suit probably cost more than the older man’s tux.

“You okay?” she asked once our reservations were finally located and we were seated.

“Yeah.” I’d gotten looks like that my whole life, people who couldn’t pigeonhole me, fit me in a box because my hair wasn’t black and my eyes were green. And it wasn’t just white folks doin’ it.

Luckily our waitress was a lot more discreet—or just didn’t give a shit.

We’d barely gotten our entrées—pork tenderloin in a ginger sauce for her and a steak for me—when Cherise brought up the subject of the club.

“Want to stop by The Manor later?”

Hell no!
“I thought we’d go back to my place.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged, casually rolling her shoulders, but she wouldn’t look at me for the longest time. “Sure.”

I couldn’t tell if she was mad because I didn’t want to go to the club or because I’d left her behind last Sunday morning. That and the fact I’d avoided her phone calls for a week and a half hung between us, or at least it did for me. “About last Sunday…”

Cherise set her fork down and sipped at her wine, a guarded expression on her face. I got the feeling she wanted to be anywhere but here with me right now.

“I’m sorry for just up and…leaving you.”

She waved it off, but her laughter was brittle, her eyes hard. “No sweat.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No.” She shook her head, refusing to look at me again until after the waitress came and took our plates away. Then she leaned forward, her back ramrod straight as she gave me a hard assessing look. “Look, D’Angelo, I need to tell you something.”

Oh, shit. Before she could speak, the waitress reappeared to fill our wineglasses and leave the check.

“Are you sure about that dessert?” I asked Cherise. “We could split some chocolate cake?” I was stalling.

“I’m positive.”

I took a deep breath, forcing my heart to slow down. “Go on, then.”

Eyebrows arched, she glanced down at the linen tablecloth, then back up at me. “I’m leaving.”

Talk about out of left field. “Leaving?” I whispered.

The bottom fell out of my stomach, and I wished she’d said something before dinner instead of after. “Why?” I frowned, my face suddenly hot. “I…I thought…why?”

“It’s…time. It’s just time for me to move on.” She shrugged and her eyes slowly drifted around the almost empty dining room. No wonder she hadn’t been able to look at me all night.

Around us the few remaining diners continued eating, silverware clanking on plates, people laughing. I pulled my wallet from my back pocket and threw my AmEx on the tray with the check, desperate to get out of the restaurant before I caused a scene.

“
You think?”
I sighed, unable to catch my breath. “You think it’s time?”

“That’s what I do.” She said it so casually we could have been discussing how she polished someone’s nails, not the fact that she was leaving town, leaving me.

I glanced at the waitress, waiting until she was out of earshot before responding. “‘That’s what you do?’” I hissed, getting madder by the second. “Fuck ’em and leave ’em?”

“Yup.” Her pink cheeks told me she was embarrassed despite her matter-of-fact tone of voice.

I scribbled my name on the receipt and stood up. A very subdued Cherise followed suit. She was more subdued than I’d ever seen her as I led outside.

A cool breeze washed away the humidity from earlier in the day. She shivered against me as we crossed the dimly lit parking lot, both of us lost in our heads.

“You’re okay with me leaving, aren’t you?” she softly asked. As if she had doubts.

“What if I said no?” As if I could influence her decision. I kept my eyes focused on the light across the street.

I wasn’t okay at all with her leaving.

Her grip on my arm tightened and she leaned against me. “I’m sorry.”

I believed her, but I still didn’t like it. And I had the strangest feeling that, despite her insistence, she didn’t like it either.

While Cherise was in the powder room, I hustled around lighting the new candles I’d bought just for tonight. I’d gone all out, putting them on the mantle, the coffee table and end tables, even the nightstands. The screen that separated the sleeping and living area glowed, and jasmine and vanilla slowly permeated the room.

I cracked open a Riesling I knew she liked and poured us both a glass as she rejoined me.

“You do all right for an air-conditioning man,” she teased. “I always liked that about you.”

Glass in hand, she crossed the room, and I followed. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs crossed. I set my glass on the nightstand next to hers and knelt at her feet, letting my fingertips trail up the back of her calves. She hadn’t worn pantyhose, but then, she never did.

I slipped her shoes off and filled my hands with lotion from the bottle I’d left on the nightstand.

“You had all this planned…for me?”

“For us, yeah.”

Leaning closer, she ran her hand across my head and down the side of my face. It was a rare show of feeling, of tenderness, from Cherise, who wasn’t the emotional type.

“What are you doin’, D?”

“I owe you a foot massage.” I slathered her foot with her favorite lotion and worked my way over each toe, across her arch to her heel. She sighed in pleasure, her eyes slowly closing. “That feels…
heavenly
.”

“Lay back,” I whispered. I licked my lips and focused. This would probably be our last night together. I could ask her to stay. I should ask her to stay, but I wasn’t going to. It wouldn’t do any good. And the last thing I wanted was for us to fight—not tonight.

Tonight was about loving, not fighting.

Cherise didn’t seem to have the strength to argue or to take the seduction I was pulling on her away from me. She did as I instructed, her thighs pressed tightly together. I smiled. When push came to shove, she wouldn’t resist.

I stopped long enough to slip off my shirt, then went back to work. My fingers slid higher, massaging her calves until they relaxed. I gently pushed her thighs apart and moved between them so she couldn’t close them again. Now they rested against my sides, the heat of her skin scorching me, distracting me as I worked my way up the back of her calves and crept under her dress. A small moan slipped out when I pushed her legs farther apart and worked at the tender skin of her inner thighs. She begged me to take her panties off and go down on her.

Instead, I untied her dress and pushed it open. “Not yet.”

The candlelight played across her tanned skin, and her nipples puckered as a breeze strong enough to lift the sheers touched us both.

“Feel good?”

“Oh, yeah.” She said it so softly I almost didn’t hear her.

She hooked her thumbs in her thong and made to lift her legs, but my arms held her in place.

She groaned in frustration, her whole body tense under me again. “Damnit, D’Angelo, would you fuck me already?”

My fingers dug deep circles into the tops of her thighs. “No.”

Love, lust, and the thrill of being the one in charge almost made me laugh. If all I had left was one night with her, we were doing it
my
way.

“No?” She struggled to sit up on her elbows and practically shouted, “What the hell do you mean, no?”

“I won’t fuck you.” I straddled her hips with my pants still on. They rubbed, lightly against her pussy, but not where she wanted it, not where it’d do the most good, and we both knew it. She was pinned so she couldn’t arch her hips, couldn’t find the friction, the relief, I knew she wanted.

“Then what the hell are you doing?” she whispered harshly, her chest heaving. Even in the dim light she couldn’t hide her frustration.

I leaned down until we were nearly nose to nose, until I could see what looked like fear in her wide blue eyes. “Making love to you.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to catch her breath, then sighed, relaxing when I latched onto one of her nipples and gave it a long gentle suck.

“Is that okay?” I moved higher, planting soft little kisses on her chest, easing toward her neck while she watched.

“What?”

“If I make love to you,” I whispered, my lips pressed against her ear.

“If
I
say no?” she responded, using my own words from earlier.

“What are you afraid of?”

Her eyes drifted closed. “You can’t change my mind, D.”

Standing, I finished undressing. “I’m not trying to change your mind.” I was a liar. I hadn’t planned this to change her mind. I’d planned this to show her there was more to us than that damned bar and her sexual escapades. I wanted us to find a middle ground. It might be too late, but I’d take what I could get.

By the time I was done, there wasn’t an inch of her that hadn’t been licked, kissed, and touched. I buried myself deep inside her, so deep it felt like we were fused together.

She moaned, her eyes squeezed shut, and she seemed to pull herself together. I focused on her, on the feel of her lush body against every inch of me. On the legs wrapped around me, on the sweet, tight pussy contracting with every stroke. On her sighs and her nails digging into my back. I’d be damned if I’d come until she had again. She tightened her grip, her nails biting deeper into my back as she screamed and milked my cock until I couldn’t hold back either.

“I don’t want you to leave,” I panted.

She licked her lips and looked at me, and I realized just how vulnerable we both were when she spoke. “Do you really want to talk about this right now?” she asked hoarsely, as if she were fighting her own tears.

I kissed her temple, then let my lips softly drift across her cheek to her ear. The lump in my throat grew until it was so large I thought I might choke. “I can’t make you stay, but I don’t want you to leave.”

I
knew it the minute I woke up. Cherise was gone. Her side of the bed was cold. The apartment was silent, and I didn’t smell coffee. I lay staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the previous night, how I’d asked her to stay and how she’d never answered me.

After a shower and some coffee, I tried Cherise’s home number, but it had been disconnected.

I had two choices. Sit and mope like a whiny punk or make it business as usual. I chose the latter, forcing myself to get out and run my normal Saturday morning errands—laundry, the dry cleaners, groceries, then collapsed on a bar stool at the counter when I was done. My fingers rapped a tattoo against the granite countertop before I grabbed my keys, finally giving into the urge I’d been fighting all morning and heading across town to the salon.

Inside, the chemical smell brought me up short, as did the crowd of women in the reception area, waiting their turn. The admiring looks made me uncomfortable, as uncomfortable as the overwarm salon. All the barber chairs were full, the dryers were full, all the nail stations too—except Cherise’s, which looked like it’d been emptied.

Sighing, I crossed to where Aunt Glo was combing out an elaborate hairdo. “Can I talk to you?” I murmured.

The exasperated look she gave me made me almost regret coming. “Can you see how busy I am, boy?”

“I know, Aunt Glo. It won’t take a minute. I promise.”

“I’ll be right back.” Her happy cordial expression changed the minute we hit the break room. She turned to face me, grim and thin-lipped and tired-looking.

“Where’s Cherise?” I asked softly. Not that anyone would hear me over all the hairdryers and such.

“She quit…Wednesday.” Her eyes narrowed to thin slits. “Why are
you
looking for Cherise?”

“I uh…” I was still stuck back on “she quit Wednesday.” “We’ve been seeing each other,” I said, even as the bottom fell out of my stomach.

She pinned me down with a steady gaze that eventually softened. “Well, she and Vivi had World War Three up in here Wednesday afternoon.”

Nodding slowly, I wandered to the break room door and snuck a look at Vivi. Sure as shit, she was sporting a black eye and probably deserved it. “Cherise mentioned a month or so ago that they were having problems,” I confirmed with a small nod.

“This is the third or fourth time…. So, this has been going on
all
summer?
D’Angelo!
Do you know your daddy and mama have been worried sick about you? They thought you were using drugs or something!”

My face was so hot from embarrassment it was almost painful, and I couldn’t look her in the eye. “I know.”

“D’Angelo, honey, I have no right to get in your business—”

“So don’t.”

“You’re grown,” she continued after frowning at me for interrupting her, “but this nonsense you’ve been pulling with your parents is unacceptable. And besides, she’s not the settling-down kind. You need to let her go.”

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I forced myself to look her square in the eye. “I know…I better let you get back to work.”

I turned toward the door, then stopped at the sound of her voice. “If you need me, I’m here.”

“Thanks.”

Although I knew what I’d find even before I got there, I drove the few blocks to Cherise’s apartment. Nothing. I peeked through the miniblinds, my hands cupped on either side of my face to diminish the glare of the late-afternoon sun. All her shoes were missing from under the stairs. So was the photo I’d given her, her few pieces of furniture, and her lone ivy plant. Her Mustang was gone too.

I looked around the run-down little complex, trying to hone in on a Plan B when my phone rang. At the sound of my mother’s voice, guilt and resignation convinced me that maybe having dinner with Mom and Dad wasn’t such a bad idea.

It took everything I had to make it through the evening before I could escape and head home. My cell phone hadn’t rung the rest of the day, except for a call from Kevin trying to get me to go out.

When I got home, my last thought before I drifted off to sleep was that I’d have to track down Lanie. If that didn’t pan out, there wasn’t much I
could
do to find Cherise.

For the life of me, I couldn’t remember Carlotta’s last name, and information had no listing for a Lanie Daniels. It was just after eight in the morning, way too early to go to her house. Patience had never been one of my strong suits, but I didn’t have much choice. I spent the entire morning cleaning the loft.

I was in the middle of scrubbing down the bathtub when the phone rang. I rinsed my hands and ran for the bar, where I’d left my phone. “Hello.”

“Hi, sweetie pie.”

I nearly dropped the phone at the sound of Cherise’s voice. At least it sounded like Cherise’s voice. She’d never called me anything like
baby
or
honey
or…
sweetie pie.
I crossed to the couch and sank down in the cushions. “Wh-where…what?” I wasn’t even sure what to ask. “Why did you just fucking walk out?” I finally demanded. “I would have helped you move or pack or something.”

“No, you would have tried to talk me out of it.”

“Did I try to talk you out of it the other night? No. I told you I didn’t want you to leave, but I didn’t beg. I didn’t pick a fight or rant, did I?” I wanted to kick the coffee table.

“No,” she said, sounding contrite.

“What do you want?” I demanded. “You quit your job; your apartment is empty. Where are you? Fucking California?”

“Why don’t you come over? I’ll cook and we’ll talk.”

“I thought you left town.”

“I changed my mind…. Please say yes, D’Angelo…please.” She was practically begging.

What else was I going to do with an empty Sunday afternoon? “Where the hell are you?”

“Carlotta’s.”

I scrambled for a pen and wrote down the directions, promising to be there as soon as I’d cleaned up.

I hated that sucked-in feeling that crept up on me, growing with every mile that took me closer to Cherise.

I could see why she’d moved. The condo was a world away from her tiny apartment. I stood at the door, waiting for her to answer. Here on the back side of the complex, there wasn’t much to see, but the cars were nicer, the grass was neater, and I could hear kids laughing. They rode past on their bikes. It was almost too ordinary for Cherise.

She answered the door dressed in cutoff shorts and a faded tank top. Good thing I hadn’t bothered to dress up.

“Come on in,” she said, swinging the door wide so I could pass. She looked…good. Relaxed, happy even. “Hope you like roast chicken.”

I silently followed her through the living room to the kitchen. Her ratty couch looked sad on the almost-new Berber carpet, but she’d added a few more plants, and the photo I’d given her sat on the mantle with some new black candle holders.

“Table new?” I asked, indicating the black oak kitchen table.

“Carlotta sold it to me. Want a beer?”

“Got tea?” We could have been having a conversation anywhere about anything, not about the fact that she’d fallen off the face of the planet, moved, and quit without even bothering to tell me. Not that I hadn’t expected it, but her abrupt departure still stung.

She filled two glasses and joined me at the table.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I wrapped my hands around the damp glass and waited.

“I did.”

“That’s bullshit!” Frowning, I sat back in the chair and crossed my arms over my chest. “You didn’t tell me you quit your job on Wednesday or about the fight with Vivi.”

“I know…and you’re right, it is.” She looked contrite with her lower lip caught between her teeth. “I’d planned on leaving, really. I even told the girls I was leaving. They weren’t happy either,” she added with a chuckle. “I’m not very good at this.”

“Practice makes perfect.”

She nodded in agreement, then smiled. “I was all set to go. I met the girls Saturday morning, we packed up all my stuff, and then they took me to breakfast. They padlocked the truck and refused to give me the key to the lock until I agreed to sublet Carlotta’s condo.”

The thought of how furious she must have been made me laugh but didn’t make me any less unhappy with her.

“I’ve never had friends like them before. I stayed as much because of them as you. D’Angelo, you can’t change me; you do realize that?” she asked, suddenly serious.

“As often as you’ve said it, how could I not?” As often as she’d said I couldn’t change her, it’d taken me a long time to figure out she was scared of someone changing her. Of someone forcing her to be something she couldn’t or didn’t want to be. I leaned forward and propped my elbows on the table. “You are the only person who can change you, Cherise. I don’t
want
to change you, but I also don’t want to go through this shit again. All you have to do is fuckin’ talk to me.”

“So where does that leave us? Do you not want to see me anymore?”

“You gonna stick around a while?” I countered, unwilling to give in just yet.

“Did I mention I was leasing with an option to buy?”