Fat Girl (32 page)

“Mick, what you saw on Sunday was me grieving over Papa T and feeling guilty about the way I left my foster family. I made the choice to leave, and I have to come to terms with that. You’re not responsible for my decision or for me. I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”

When I pause at the end of my ramble, Mick remains silent, but I can feel him watching me behind his opaque lenses. Then he brings a hand to my cheek and tucks the curl that has escaped the confines of my low ponytail behind my ear and lets his fingers linger there.

“Just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still feel a responsibility toward you or that I’ve stopped caring. We were good friends once, Dee. Why can’t we be that to each other again?”

Because friends don’t make your heart race as if you’ve just run a marathon when you’re in fact standing still. Because friends don’t give you an orgasm, the physical effects of which resurface every time you walk into your kitchen. “We tried that and it didn’t work.”

“I was being an ass then.” Mick cocks his head and sends me a boyish grin. “Have dinner with me. I’ll be on my best behavior. Scout’s honor.” He removes his hand from my cheek and lifts three fingers up in the Boy Scout sign.

Charmed, I almost laugh. Almost. He looks so harmless, like the rejected date who’s willing to settle for friendship. But I know Mick well enough to know there’s nothing remotely harmless about him. “You were never a Boy Scout.”

“Sure I was.”

I slant him a look. “For how long?”

“One day. Victor ribbed me so badly about the uniform I never went back. But I still took the oath.”

My lips twitch a little this time as I envision a young Mick in olive-green shorts and knee socks.

“Laugh. I know you want to.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll spare you the humiliation.”

“Then how about taking some pity on me and agreeing to dinner?”

“I doubt you need pity to wrangle up female company,” I hear myself say and want to slap a hand over my mouth.

“Should I take that as a yes?”

“No. Take that as a definite no.”

The tip of his tongue that is capable of wickedly wonderful things appears between his teeth, as if he’s considering his next move. “That’s a problem.”

“How so?”

“Taking no for an answer is not my strong point. But I know how stubborn you can be, so I guess we’ll have to duel it out.”

Mick is nearly impossible to defend against when he’s not even trying, but when he’s pulling out all the stops, he’s insanely hard to resist. Nevertheless, I make a last-ditch effort. “I’m not being stubborn. I’m being practical.”

“Then in the spirit of practicality, how about a business dinner? I’m on Dwayde’s witness list. You need to interview me. Prepare me for what’s to come at trial and make sure I’m presenting the evidence in the best light. Right?”

Oh, he’s good.
“I do,” I admit, “but I conduct interviews with witnesses in my office, not over dinner.”

“Consider the convenience. You’re here, I’m here—why wait?”

It’s crazy for me to consider it at all.

“Come on,” he cajoles, his voice husky, teasing…challenging. “What’s the harm in having dinner with me?”

Only the harm of losing my head…and my heart. No would be the smart answer. The only answer.

But Mick unfairly tempts me to turn my back on self-preservation and common sense.

“All right. A business dinner.”

I’M BLOWN AWAY THAT DEE actually takes me up on my offer. Between the exuberant fan and her thinking my intentions are based on guilt, I half expected Dee to run in the other direction. But she hasn’t. Yet. I’m not naive enough to think she won’t the minute she gets scared.

I pick up her bag and slide my hand to the dip in her lower back, enjoying the sexy curvature of her body. Even in another of her buttoned-up suits, this one a navy pinstripe, she looks soft and round in all the right places.

I steer her around the hood to the passenger’s side. On the sidewalk, despite the heavy flow of foot traffic and my disguise, some people do double takes and others stop and gawk. I can feel Dee tense up. The women I usually take out don’t mind the attention. Many do it to be photographed and tweeted about. But Dee’s not like that.

“Ignore it,” I whisper close to her ear and breathe in the scent that’s lingered in my mind since five nights ago, when she came apart in my arms. I want to make that happen again soon, but it won’t be tonight. Dinner is about helping Dwayde and spending time with Dee. Seeing her smile…earning her trust so she’ll tell me about whatever’s haunting those beautiful sad eyes. Whatever it is that she thinks I can’t fix.

I open the door and wait for Dee to settle in before heading back around and swinging into the driver’s seat. I give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry about all that.”

“How do you stand it?” she asks.

I press the keyless ignition, and the twin turbo engine roars to life. Hearing bewilderment rather than judgment pulls an honest response from me. “When I first started with the NBA, being recognized was a trip. I’d had a taste of it in college, but nothing could have prepared me for the instant stardom of pro ball. The fame and money can go to your head real quick. But after Cayo got sick, I took some stock and realized it was all just camouflage. A career in basketball was never something I wanted. I got caught up in the wrong things.” For the wrong reasons: drowning my grief over Dee in fame, drinking, and women. But I don’t tell her that. I doubt she’d believe me.

“Is that why you retired?”

“Yeah.” I check my side mirror and inch out into the crawl of traffic. “It was time. The constant high of that lifestyle had lost its attraction. I realized I wanted something more…something different, even if it was just a slice of normalcy. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not whining. I have more money than I can spend. I’ve gotten to travel the world and live a life most people can only dream of. But I can’t deny that after years of this, it would be nice to just walk down the street without going incognito or worrying if photographers are lying in wait.”

“I see,” is all she says, and I glance sideways to find her staring through the windshield, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. I have no idea what she’s thinking. That I’m a sellout? That she followed her noble ambitions while I chose money and fame? I wish I had an inkling of what was really going on behind those golden eyes. Sometimes Dee can be as easy to read as block letters. Other times, I can’t decipher the fine print.

“I hope you like Italian,” I say, filling the silence.

“I do. Where are we going?”

“Arturo’s. It’s a little way out, but worth the trip.”

“It’s not star-studded, I hope.”

“Not even close.” I laugh and edge into a faster lane. One of the best parts about having money is being able to afford the sweetest rides. I have an Aston Martin and a vintage Jag, but the Porsche is my baby, built for power and speed.

With my hand on the gearshift and Dee inches away from me, I’m reminded of our drives in my Mustang to the lake. The hours we spent talking, sharing our dreams, exploring each other’s bodies—finding all the pleasure spots. Those evenings with Dee are my happiest memories.

“So how did it go with the judge?” I ask, forcing my mind away from the past.

“Calista and I made compelling arguments in Dwayde’s favor. Which reminds me, I promised to call him.” She reaches inside her purse and pulls out her phone.

“Hi, Dwayde,” I hear her say seconds later.

With my eyes trained on the road, I listen to her side of the conversation, enjoying the smoky warmth of her voice.

“Yes. I got out of the meeting just a little while ago.”

“No, nothing was decided. It was just as I said it would be: a meeting to go over what the lawyers plan on presenting in court and to set a date.”

“Yes, I told the judge you wanted to stay with Victor and Isabelle.”

“I do think it will matter.”

“Uh-huh…November 24.”

“Visitation didn’t come up.”

“That’s likely. But let’s not borrow trouble for now. When they ask to see you again, we’ll figure out what’s best.”

Dee listens for several moments, briefly glancing over at me. She explains the next steps, going through the process of interviewing witnesses and building the best case possible. Her voice is soft and reassuring. She invites Dwayde to call her anytime and then disconnects and puts her phone away.

I stop at the red light. After discarding my cap and shades, I turn to stare at Dee. How could I ever have thought she was cold or callous? Not only is she beautiful—with those big, soulful eyes, full lips, and succulent curves—but she’s warm and caring. She has an inner light, which shines like a beacon. Everything about Dee draws me to her.

WHEN MICK LOOKS AT ME that way, I could float across water. But I’m sure many women have felt just as special under the effect of that same alluring smile. It’s an accessory to his good looks and well-practiced charm. I’d be smart to remember that.

The light turns green, forcing him to pay attention to the road, and gives me a moment to catch my breath.

“So November 24,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting a court date that soon.”

Okay. This I can do. Focus on the case, rather than on how Mick makes me feel.

“I wasn’t either. But we’re fortunate to have Rose Whittamore as our judge. She’s sharp and will weigh all the evidence fairly. That she set a court date only five weeks out says that she has Dwayde’s best interests in mind. Most of my cases take months, sometimes more than a year, to be heard.”

He whistles softly. “That’s gotta be rough on a kid.”

“It is.” I think of Gracie Maxwell and some of my other young clients sitting in limbo. “The courts are overloaded. And children, especially those who are underprivileged or in foster care, are still seen as less than. It’s a challenge some days just to get their voices heard.”

“But you’re making a difference. I admire that.” His praise sounds sincere. And I find myself once again basking in his approval, liking it a little too much.

“What about you and Papa’s Kids?” I ask. “From what I read, you’re making a difference, too.”