Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
And naked in front of her.
I’d never laid my heart bare to a woman.
Hadn’t tried to.
Zuri snuck in.
The girl had me whipped.
She knew my story. Those hands had rubbed me softer than a butterball turkey. I’d told her everything. Didn’t end the conversation when she asked how I got stabbed. Nothing had been off the table but Ezekiel and my nephew. And I didn’t know a damn thing about her except for what she shared.
Half figured I was aware of her real occupation because of the old man at HC&PP. Observation told me that. Not her.
Once my silence suffocated her long enough, she’d fill it with her truth. Had to.
The next day, first class smelled of leather and the champagne I’d need to survive this flight while still prescribing Zuri the silent treatment.
I sank back, hoodie up. Jaw locked. The boardroom scene still on my mind.
For the first hour? No issues. Zuri slapped each page of the complimentary airline magazine as if begging me to remove the AirPods.
I cranked the music. Caught a headache. I flicked a glance at her from the corner of my eye, then pressed the side button to turn off my iPhone in my sweats.
With a discreet head tilt, I got the attendant’s attention.
The Latina approached with a smile.
“Y’all got Tylenol?” I whispered.
“Sir?”
“Tylenol.”
“Sir, the altitude is affecting my ears a little more than usual. My apologies.” Her glare said, Put some bass into that tone.
“Tylenol. Excedrin. Anything.” Dang. If Zuri found out I’d paused the music, she’d eat me alive. She shoulda figured out on her own that I had emotional distance issues by now. But if she knew that silence stayed on shuffle? She’d use that soft voice and them big eyes to look all innocent, knowing good and well, her ass wasn’t innocent. Nah, my headache couldn’t handle that.
Less than a minute later, the flight attendant dropped off two red and blue pills in a tiny paper cup and a bottle of water. She said, “Feel better soon!”
Damn. Keep a secret.
I tipped the pills and water back. As I capped the bottle, Zuri’s elbows dropped on my armrest. Chin in hands, she flashed me a knowing glance.
Silently, I elbowed her, then I leaned the seat into a prostrate position.
Zuri also turned to lie on her side.
Why are you doing this?
“These pillows are super soft, Montana. Could be a pastor’s robe on Easter Sunday.”
As she laughed at her own joke, I did the same silently, while I turned to face the window, rolling my eyes.
“Montana, on a scale from one to Black momma after you’ve air-conditioned the neighborhood, how mad are you?”
Not in the mood, I removed the pillow from beneath my cheek and laid it over the opposite side of my head, drowning her out.
Still heard her muffled laugh after she said, “Got the nerve to won’t say a peep, while I’m over here sitting obedient. The emotional support friend you never registered around these uppity people.”
I almost cough-laughed. Instead, I placed my forearm over the pillow, smothering my ear and half my face.
Then I felt it.
A smack.
An exceedingly soft smack of a feather pillow against my external obliques.
I turned around, pulled my hood down, grabbed my pillow, and smacked her back. Hit me, and I hit you back. Too bad, though. While that hip had cushion, what I’d rather smack didn’t face me.
I folded my arms, crisp and professional. “Stop.”
Her bottom lip poked out. All bitable. Dammit, my bone was jabbing below the belt. She murmured, “I’m being funny … you have to forgive me.”
I rubbed my beard as if I were meditating. But my thoughts were already running laps. Me? Overthink? This was too much! “Okay. Tell me who you were talking to on that hush-hush call last night?”
zuri
. . .
Yesterday, I’d opened a door he kept padlocked, chained, and boarded.
I’d spoken his story out loud. On top of that drama? He didn’t appreciate my cryptic response about last night’s call.
We swapped a wordless flight for a long, wordless drive to the Babineaux land. As the sun fell, it colored the horizon purple and blue.
My heart thudded in my throat as I glanced at the moss-draped cypress and live oaks near his estate. Montana took a bridge over the Bogue Falaya River, its water darker with the oncoming night. The Louisiana air was heavy—moist, green—and I tasted the river.
Miss Virginia’s creole cottage sat close, not big enough for a man like Montana. Nor was it big enough to cage the heart thudding in my chest.
The car slowed at his mom’s house, not going up the hill past the stables. I’d expected that. Dang. Didn’t feel good. And I didn’t have the right to jump onto the hood, arms crossed, stamping my foot, while yelling, “No … Gimme one more night with you. I just wanna cuddle, though. But you’ll love every second.” Bonus points if I moaned softly at the end, just to add desperate-femme-fatale vibes.