Chapter 11
Terrence
Terrence slumped back in the padded booth in the back of the art deco restaurant, his mood as dark as the lighting surrounding him. He sighed before taking a sip of chardonnay from his wineglass and checking the time on his cell phone’s screen.
It was fifteen minutes after eight. C. J. was late—again. This time for a dinner date in Adams Morgan. It was the dinner they had postponed at least twice already.
“I should’ve known this shit would happen,” he mumbled as he yanked off his leather jacket and tossed it roughly onto the seat beside him, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater.
He was in no mood to sit around waiting for C. J., not with what he had experienced today. He was still grappling with what Evan had told him, with the weighty secret he now carried. He’d hoped to find some momentary solace from all of it, to get lost in C. J.’s company and the movie they planned to see later that night. But now he was sitting alone with his torturous thoughts and all his worries.
His sister was living with a murderer. Every night she laid her head on her pillow she did it next to the man who had killed her lover. In some way, Terrence could understand Antonio’s anger. Finding out that any man had blackmailed C. J. into cheating would have enraged Terrence, too, but would he have hunted the man down and killed him in cold blood? And Terrence wasn’t as convinced as Evan that Paulette had nothing to fear from Antonio. Was a man like that capable of doing something violent to her if he got incensed again? Terrence couldn’t say for sure, and that unnerved him. It made his stomach twist into tight knots. It made him scared for his little sister.
Terrence’s phone buzzed. He glanced down at it again to see a text message flash on the screen.
“Running late, baby. Sorry! Stuck in Virginia traffic. I’m on my way,” he read.
Terrence grumbled. She was still in Virginia? There was no way she’d make it to the restaurant in the next fifteen minutes—maybe in the next half hour. They probably weren’t going to make the movie later, either, and he had even chosen the nauseating chick flick because he had known it was something she’d like.
Terrence reached for the last pumpernickel roll in the bread basket at the center of the table and peered around the restaurant. There was a crowd gathering near the bar on the other side of the room. The stools were full of loud guys and a smattering of giggling women who seemed to be sizing up one another, doing the mating rituals that singles usually did. Meanwhile, the restaurant tables were starting to fill up with other diners, mostly couples laughing and smiling over candlelight. But a few tables—like Terrence’s—were occupied by a lone patron.
His eyes settled on a middle-aged woman in a frumpy purple sweater who was leaning over a bowl of turtle soup, staring down at the glowing screen of her e-reader. She dabbed with her linen napkin at some of the soup that dribbled onto her chubby chin. She was too engrossed to look up. More of her soup dribbled onto her sweater, near her oversize bosom. She didn’t even bother to wipe that off.
Good God, Terrence thought as he lowered his bread bun from his mouth. Do I look like her?
“Can I refill your wine, sir?” a waiter asked as he walked toward the table, gesturing to Terrence’s almost empty glass. “You were having the chardonnay, right?”
Terrence shook his head and grabbed his jacket. He eased out of the booth and rose to his feet. “Nah, I’m good,” he murmured before stepping away from his table, leaving the waiter to stare at him in bewilderment.
Terrence headed to the bar. He’d be damned if he’d sit around alone waiting for C. J., looking like some sad cat lady in a sweater. That wasn’t how he rolled!
He walked to the granite bar top, tossed his jacket onto one of the few free stools, and slapped his hand on the edge of the counter, grabbing the spiky-haired bartender’s attention. “Double shot of tequila, my man.”
The bartender nodded and turned to grab a glass to fill Terrence’s order.
“Oh, is that who I think it is?” a familiar voice shouted from behind Terrence, making him turn.
He looked down to find Andre from the gym smiling up at him. Andre was decked out head to toe in a brown leather suit and matching shoes. A maroon silk ascot was at his throat. A mixed beauty with almond-shaped eyes, glowing golden skin, and plump ruby lips who had to be almost a foot taller than he was stood at his side with her arm linked through his.
“Why, it’s the epitome of manliness himself,” Andre effused, throwing back his head and dropping his hand to his chest in mock awe. “Mr. Terrence Murdoch! Be still my heart, honey!”
Terrence laughed at Andre’s theatrics. He was really starting to like this guy.
“What are you doing in town, gorgeous? I rarely run into people from Chesterton around here!” Andre said. “The small-town folks are usually too scared to come to the big city!”
“I was meeting someone for dinner, but”—Terrence paused and shrugged—“they’re running late.”
“Well, I’m glad I ran into you! I was wondering if you thought about that little offer I made you.”
Terrence sighed. “I’m still thinking about it,” he answered honestly. “It’s been a while since I’ve modeled, Andre. I’m older. I’ve put on weight since then.”
“Oh, hush up, boy! You know you’ve still got it!” He looked Terrence up and down, letting his appreciative gaze travel over him.
“I’ve had surgeries.”
“Haven’t we all?” Andre asked, batting his eyes. “We all need a little touch-up every now and then! I keep my plastic surgeon on speed dial.”
“No, I mean serious surgery. I’m not the same dude I was ten years ago . . . hell, six months ago! I just don’t know if I’m up to it again.”
“Oh, I know what’ll help convince you!” Andre winked as he unwound the woman’s arm from his and eased her toward the bar. She’d been silent during their entire conversation, watching them with an amused remoteness. “This lovely goes by the name of Aiko. She’s a client of mine, and she can tell you all the wonderful things I do for her and the wonderful money I help her make! Won’t you, sweetheart?” he asked, glancing at the beautiful woman beside him.
“Absolutely,” she replied in a throaty purr, openly staring at Terrence.
Terrence shook his head and removed his jacket from his stool. He knew where this was going. A situation like this one could land him in a lot of trouble. “Actually, Andre, I was just about to—”
“Now, Terrence, honey, don’t be rude!” Andre ordered, slapping his manicured hand on Terrence’s broad shoulder. “Offer to buy the young lady a drink and talk for a bit. Is that so hard? Meanwhile, I’ll be across the room doing some agent business. Okay?” He then fluttered his fingers and sauntered off, leaving Terrence to gaze awkwardly at the beauty in front of him.
“I’ll have a mojito,” she said, shrugging out of the denim bolero she was wearing, revealing a studded tank top that dipped so low in the front he could almost see the tops of the dark nipples that were proudly jutting through the cotton fabric of her shirt. She hopped onto the stool next to his, brushing his thigh as she did.
Terrence licked his lips as he gazed at the woman beside him, seeing something a lot more tantalizing than any of the dishes on the restaurant’s menu.
Oh, if he wasn’t in love with C. J. he would be all over this chick! But he was in love with C. J.—very much so. That meant he had to be a good boy. He released a beleaguered breath and leaned toward Aiko so that he could be heard over the bar room clamor.
“Look,” he began, clearing his throat. “I’ll order you a drink, but I have to tell you, I . . . I have a girlfriend. I’m kind of . . . uh . . . off the market, so to speak.”
She cocked an eyebrow. A wry smile crossed her lips. “Oh, really?”
He nodded. “Afraid so.”
She leaned toward his ear, filling his nose with her alluring fragrance that was a mix of musk and jasmine. “That’s not a problem, because I’ve got a girlfriend, too,” she whispered.
He shifted back and stared at her in amazement. She smirked.
“Well, if that’s the case,” he said just as the bartender sat his tequila in front of him, “a mojito for the lady!” he called out, making her throw back her head and laugh.
And for two hours, Terrence enjoyed beautiful Aiko’s company. They shared crazy modeling stories over several shots of tequila and glasses of mojito, regaling each other with tales about eccentric designers, diva supermodels, and weird photo shoots. Terrence felt like he had a new drinking buddy, but instead of a burly brother with tattoos who liked to talk about sports and cars, it was a gorgeous, five-foot-eleven model who had appeared in a few Revlon ads and had to fly to Tokyo next week for a runway show. In Aiko’s company, all thoughts of his earlier conversation with Evan about Antonio and his anger over C. J. going AWOL briefly disappeared.
“Well, damn!” Aiko exclaimed in a low voice as a cute girl with a plump ass in a tight red dress walked by them.
Aiko’s arm was thrown around Terrence’s shoulders and she leaned against him, all the while letting her lecherous gaze follow the red-dressed, curvy siren’s undulating rear end to the other side of the bar.
Terrence chuckled as he threw back his fifth shot. “I know, right?”
“I would love to sample a piece of that,” she drawled before flashing her eyes toward his. “Wanna share?”
He furrowed his brows in disbelief, making her suck her teeth.
“I know you have a girlfriend and so do I, but”—she leaned toward him—“I won’t tell if you won’t.”
He shifted his elbows off the counter and squinted, wondering if the alcohol was playing tricks with his ears. “Wait . . . I thought you weren’t into dudes!”
“I’m not! But I’ve been known to do a ménage—under the right circumstances.”
At those words, his dick perked up a little.
“What do you say?” She wiggled her brows and stuck out her pink tongue, trailing it languidly over her glossy lips. “We can head over there and chat her up? See if she’s interested? If she’s down, it could be a memorable night.”
Terrence sighed. It was tempting, so very tempting. And he was just drunk enough to be willing to do something like that. A year ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but now . . . but now . . .
“Terry?” he heard C. J. call out to him.
He turned to find his girlfriend glaring up at him with her hands on her jean-clad hips. Her eyes shifted to Aiko, who still had her arm casually draped around his shoulder.
He grinned. “Hey, baby! You finally made it!”
C. J. frowned. He realized he had slurred his greeting. Maybe he was drunker than he thought.
“Terry, I’ve been calling you and texting you for the past two hours. I’ve wandered around this restaurant at least four times looking for you! I thought you had left and gone back home!”
“You called me?” He reached down and patted his jacket pockets. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry. I think I left my phone at the . . . you know . . . our table. I was so distracted I didn’t notice.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” she murmured, sending a withering glance to Aiko.
He held up his shot glass. “I was having a few drinks here with my girl!” He affectionately slapped Aiko’s knee.
“More than a few, Terry,” Aiko said with a snort before offering her hand to C. J. for a shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, lovely,” she cooed and then gave C. J. a wink.
“Down, girl!” Terrence hopped off his bar stool. His feet were a little unsteady underneath him. He felt like he was on a gently rocking boat. “This one is already taken—and she ain’t into threesomes.”
Aiko poked out her bottom lip and pulled her hand back. “Aww, that’s a shame!”
“I know, right?” he said with a laugh.
“Let’s go, Terry!” C. J. said through clenched teeth, making his eyes widen.
“Oh, shit!” He glanced at Aiko, who was snickering. “I think I’m in trouble.”
Aiko nodded. “I think you are, too.”
He waved at Aiko over his shoulder as he trailed behind C. J., who was already stomping to the restaurant door. “Catch you later, girl!”
“You know my number!” Aiko called back.
* * *
“You know my number?” C. J. repeated while glaring out the windshield and tightening her white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “I cannot believe this shit!”
Terrence slumped down farther in the passenger seat of C. J.’s Honda Civic, adjusting the seatbelt across his chest. He was way too drunk to drive himself home and had no desire to total two Porsches in less than a year, so C. J. was driving him from the restaurant back to his condo. But it didn’t seem like it was going to be a tranquil ride. She had been seething quietly for the past twenty minutes, refusing to look at him. He guessed she was tired of staying silent.
“Here I am wandering around that damn restaurant, looking for your ass, panicked because I’m so late, and there you are sitting at the bar, getting drunk with some . . . some bitch!” she screeched.
“Whoa!” Terrence said with a laugh. “Calm down, babe!”
He had never seen C. J. this furious. He stared at her and smiled drunkenly. It was actually kind of hot.
“Don’t you tell me to calm down, dammit! I can’t believe you would do something like—”
“First of all,” he began, sitting up in his seat, “you’re the one who left my ass sitting around waiting for you again. This time it was for more than two hours.”
“No,” she said tightly, “I left you waiting for forty-five minutes! I spent the rest of that time staring at dining tables, looking for you, and standing outside calling your cell phone asking where the hell you were! I thought something was wrong, Terry! I wasn’t sure if something had happened to you or—”
“Secondly,” he continued like he hadn’t heard her, “Aiko isn’t remotely interested in me! She’d want to fuck you, not me!” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Okay, maybe she’d fuck me if she knew you were involved, but it’d have to be like a . . . I don’t know . . . a two-for-one deal.”
C. J. paused from glaring at the roadway in front of her to turn and stare at him. “Terry, what the hell are you talking about?”
“And thirdly,” he said, reaching out for her. He let his index finger trail languidly over her cheek and then along the neck and collar bone before finally skimming the swell of cleavage he could see under the roadway light. “You’re damn sexy when you’re mad, baby.”
He laughed when she fussily slapped his hand away. She stared out the windshield again.
“Just don’t say anything else to me, Terry, okay?” she ordered, gnawing the inside of her cheek. “Don’t say one goddamn thing or I’ll be tempted to murder you.”
At the mention of murder, Terrence fell silent again. His thoughts returned to his sister and Antonio, to his earlier conversation with Evan. He turned to look out the passenger side window, no longer in the mood to talk.
They arrived at his place about twenty minutes later. Terrence had to lean against C. J. as she guided him down the hall to his condo door, bearing his weight and huffing as she did it.
“Where are your keys?” she asked, shifting her purse to her other shoulder and propping him up against the hallway wall.
He shrugged. “Hell if I know!”
He watched as she groused loudly and began to dig into his jeans and leather jacket pockets, shoving her hands into them in search of his house keys.
“Damn, girl!” He chuckled. “Buy me dinner first if you’re gonna manhandle me!”
C. J. glowered up at him, not looking remotely amused. “Found them,” she muttered after yanking his keys out of his jacket pocket. She turned away from him to unlock his door.
Terrence’s gaze lowered to her delectable ass and how plump it looked in her skinny jeans, like a ripe Georgia peach. He wondered what color thong she was wearing tonight. He wondered how long it would be before he could see her in that thong. He reached out and grabbed a handful. Again, she swatted his hand away before shoving open the door.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing his arm and yanking him through the doorway. He stumbled slightly on the welcome mat. A minute later, C. J. was dragging him into his bedroom. She reached along the wall and turned on the overhead light, revealing his California king, ebony nightstand, and wardrobe. Terrence tumbled face first onto the bed and rolled onto his back.
“Sit up,” she ordered, walking toward him. “I have to take off your clothes.”
He lazily shifted upright and gave her a wicked grin. “Hell, yeah! I was hoping you would. Let’s do this,” he said as he slid his hands up her outer thighs, but she wrenched his hands away and pulled off his jacket instead.
“Stop it, Terry.”
She then reached for his jeans, undid the metal snap, and lowered the zipper. He reached out and tried to do the same to her, making her angrily take a step back from the foot of the bed. “Dammit, I said stop it! We’re not having sex tonight! You’re sloppy drunk! You are getting in that bed and you are going to sleep it off!” She reached for his pants again. “We’ll just talk about this in the morning.”
This time he shoved her hands away and glared up at her, catching her by surprise. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some fuckin’ child!”
She stilled.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Your girlfriend, the last time I checked!”
“Well, you better check again! You’d have to be around to be my damn girlfriend, wouldn’t you?”
“What does that mean?”
“What the hell do you think it means?”
The anger he had been trying to keep at bay all week, all month now came bubbling to the surface. “You’re never here! You’re too busy playing church girl in North Carolina for your daddy most of the damn time,” he sneered. “You don’t give a shit about me! Just stop pretending and admit it! So why the fuck are you here, C. J.?” he asked, making her jump back and flinch like he had struck her. “It has to be for the sex ’cuz it certainly ain’t for anything else!”
“I can’t . . . I can’t believe you would say that . . . that you would even . . .” She shook her head. “Dammit, I care about you! Me being away sometimes doesn’t change that! And I thought you cared about me too. Of course, I—”
“No, you don’t care about me,” he said, feeling the shots of tequila he had imbibed spurring him on with liquid courage. “On the long list of shit that’s important to C. J. Aston, it’s obvious I rank pretty low.”
“But this is only temporary!” she argued, looking hurt. But he wasn’t assuaged. He had finally hit a nerve with her after feeling like he hadn’t been able to get through to her for weeks. “I told you I was just doing this for my father’s campaign, to help him out. It’s not gonna last forever!”
“So you say, but how do I know you won’t make up another excuse to keep disappearing down there, huh? How do I know you won’t just . . . just hook up with somebody else in North Carolina, like your boy Shaun Clancy?”
She dropped her hands to her sides and screwed up her face. “What the hell does Shaun have to do with any of this?”
“I don’t know.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You tell me!”
She stared at him, slowly shaking her head again. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating,” she began, “but if it is what I think it is, you’re way off—and you don’t know me half as well as I thought you did.”
“Same here, baby.” His voice was cool with contempt. He reached down woozily, grabbed her fallen purse from the rug near his bed, and tossed her purse out the bedroom door so that it landed with a thump and a clang on the hallway’s Brazilian hardwood floor. “Even more of a reason why you shouldn’t be here then, right?”
She followed the path of her purse, then turned around to look at him, staring at him with so much pain in her eyes it almost made him wince. He nearly opened his mouth to take back everything he had just said, but his anger was a lot stronger than his remorse at that moment.
He had turned down an offer for a damn threesome for her! And how many other beautiful women had he rejected and outright ignored because he was in love with C. J.? Hadn’t he gone out of his way countless times to show her that he loved her, to show her that she was first in his life? Meanwhile, she couldn’t even show up to a damn dinner date on time for him. She had left him sitting alone at that table again like some asshole! He wasn’t putting up with it anymore.
“Well, fuck you, too, Terry,” she spat with tears brimming in her eyes. “Fuck you, too.”
He watched as she turned and walked out of the bedroom.
As he listened to her footsteps recede down the hall, he fell back onto his bed and turned onto his stomach. When he heard his front door slam shut, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
* * *
Terrence awoke the next morning on top of his bedsheets with a case of bad dry mouth, a horrendous headache, and the feeling that he had done something really stupid last night. He slowly pushed himself to his elbows and looked down at himself. He was still dressed from the night before. He unsteadily rose to his feet a minute later, only to rush into his bathroom and vomit whatever was left in his stomach into the toilet bowl. When the nausea finally subsided, he downed two Excedrin and stripped off his clothes. He climbed into the shower stall and turned up the water to its highest temperature, letting the scalding hot stream blast his back and shoulders. Terrence emerged from the shower almost an hour later, after the water had gone from hot to tepid. His headache wasn’t quite as bad, but he still felt awful, like a wrung-out, dirty washcloth left to dry in the open air.
He stepped onto his bathmat, wrapped a towel around his waist, wiped the fog of condensation from the bathroom mirror, and gazed at his reflection.
“Shit,” he whispered before lowering his head into his hands.
He now vividly recalled the stupid thing he had done last night. What he had said to C. J. and how he had kicked her out of his home, tossing her purse into his hall like she was some common hood rat he was trying to get rid of after a one-night stand.
“Shit!” he spat again.
Terrence knew he could be a nasty drunk, but that wasn’t the only reason why he had treated C. J. so badly. She’d hurt his feelings, so he’d hurt her in return. Frankly, she’d hurt him quite a few times in the past few weeks, but instead of just saying that he had lashed out at her, which isn’t what he had intended to do. That was the major downside about being this deep in love, something he was experiencing for the first time in his life: he felt totally vulnerable, like he was stuck in the nightmare of standing behind the lectern to make a speech and realizing, when he looked down, he was completely naked. He had no real defenses against C. J., against those times she could make him feel insecure, ignored, and outright rejected. So he had acted like a little boy and thrown a temper tantrum. He had done something he now sincerely regretted and, as a result, he may have lost her.
No, he thought, I didn’t lose her. I pushed her away.
Terrence stalked, barefoot, out of his bathroom and back into his bedroom. He grabbed his cordless off his night table and dialed her cell number, his fingers flying so fast that he wasn’t sure if he had called her or accidentally dialed someone else. He listened to it ring over and over again before her voice mail greeting clicked on.
“Hey! This is C. J.! I’m busy right now. Please leave a message after the sound of the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible. Thanks!”
“Baby,” he said, unable to keep the desperation out of his voice, “I’m so sorry for what I said . . . what I did last night. I didn’t mean any of it. I know I fucked up! Please call me back when you get this.”
He then hung up.
Terrence dressed, ate breakfast, and waited for his phone to ring, but it didn’t. Two hours later, he called her again, only to get her voice message yet again.
“C. J., please call me back!” he said to her voice mail. “I’m sorry, baby! I’ll . . . I’ll make it up to you, but just . . . just talk to me, okay?”
He then sent her a text with the same message.
But she didn’t call or text him back by that evening as he’d hoped. She didn’t call him back the next day, either, or the day after that. She never called him back.