“Oh, can I meet him?”
“No, baby, he’s rabid.”
“Rabid?” Her little girl sounded alarmed. “What’s rabid?”
“He’s crazy. Sniffs his own butt.”
“Speaking of being a damn lie . . .” I muttered.
Nikki must’ve covered the phone because what she said was muted.
She got back on the line. “All right, girl, I’ve gotta go, but before I do, I’m gonna give you a dose of your own medicine and tell you the deal. Just because you’re living together doesn’t mean you have to get married or have kids anytime soon. Just enjoy this new chapter in your life and move forward one day at a time. Okay?”
I instantly felt soothed by Nikki’s words. I could do this, and it was sound advice. The very same recommendation I’d given out myself to my listeners.
As a radio host, I’ve heard my share of heartbreaking stories. There are a lot of crazies who call in. But there’s a pattern in the female callers—women who turn away good men due to their past scars. I could change, and I had to—for Cameron and for myself.
I sighed. It was heavy, yet cathartic. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.” Nikki softened her tone. “And you’re welcome.”
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“You want to and I accept. Anyway, I gotta go make the kids their lunch. Talk soon.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll text y’all after I get settled. Kiss your babies for me.”
“You’ve got it. Bye, girl.”
I ended the call and returned to my new home. The movers had neatly lined up our boxes against the walls in all the rooms. I walked to the middle of the room, sat on the floor cross-legged, and began unpacking lamps, books, and pictures. I was interior-design challenged, but even I got excited thinking about decorating my first home.
Cameron finished installing the mounts. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his tee. “Hey, what’s that?” He jerked his head toward a small, flat package near the couch.
I pushed myself from the floor and rushed to hide the gift that was meant to be a surprise for Cameron. I slid it behind another box with my foot.
“None of your business.” I gave him a sly smile, and my voice had an edge of mystery that I knew made him curious.
“We live together now. What’s mine is yours.” He’d lowered his voice an octave in the way he knew was panty-dropping. If he didn’t drop his Barry White act in 2.5 seconds, I was liable to jump him.
He tossed me a smile that melted my insides. Cameron’s gaze drifted back to the box.
“Hey! Don’t look over there.” I stretched my arms high and waved them in the air. Cameron’s gaze went from my hands to my neck, and then lower.
I dropped my arms and covered my chest. “Quit staring at my boobs.”
“I wasn’t staring at your boobs. I was staring at your heart.”
I smiled. “Yeah. I’ve been told I have some sexy ventricles.”
Cameron pointed at me. “Stop distracting me with your boobs and your brain. Tell me, what is it?”
“Okay, I’m done teasing you. You know it’s yours. Open it.” I clapped my hands. He was so going to love my gift.
Cameron stepped over tools, boxes, and bubble wrap and headed straight for me. He grabbed me by the waist and gave me a smile that tripled my heartbeat. His six-foot-four frame always made me feel small and protected.
“What?” I licked my lips and held my breath.
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m glad we’re doing this.”
His warm breath tickled my neck. I shrugged in a way that I hoped looked playful. “No big deal. The condo was getting too small anyway.” Despite my playful tone, my voice croaked and my mouth twitched. I turned away to hide my conflicted expression, which I imagined made me look like a deranged clown.
I took a big gulp of air and suppressed the urge to drop my head between my knees. My lungs shrank and I inhaled and exhaled deeply until I didn’t have to concentrate on breathing again.
His strong hands stroked my cheek and traveled leisurely to graze my bottom lip. His honey brown eyes, tinged with worry, peered into mine. “You okay?”
I closed my eyes, trying to shut off the panic, and nuzzled into the warmth of his calloused palm. He didn’t ask more questions because he knew the answer: I was freaking out. Despite it all, his hands remained steady and sure.
Cam was my giant teddy bear and had always been that way since the first day I’d met him. It was summertime and I was out at a concert with my girls—swaying my hips and sipping my drink—when something had brushed against my skin and zapped me. And it wasn’t the hot Georgia sun. The source was a sight to behold—a beautiful black god built like a linebacker with large, strong arms, a thick neck, and chestnut-brown skin that seemed like it had been perfectly baked under the sun. The crooked, cocky smile he’d given me highlighted his chiseled jaw, which was covered by an expertly cut five o’clock shadow. Despite all of this, his bright brown eyes were what had drawn me in like a moth to a torch.
Despite his tall, bulky frame, he walked over with the fluidity of a panther. He asked for my name, and when he said “Raina,” there was so much intensity to it that I knew this wasn’t just going to be one night.
I smiled at this memory and kissed his hand. Firmly rooted back in the present, I was confident that I’d made the right decision.
“I’m okay.” I breathed in deeply, this time successful in feeling calm. I reached for the package and gave it to him. “Open your gift.”
“Okay, baby.” He winked, then grinned as he quickly did away with the tape and pulled the red and black jersey out of the packaging. Cam’s smile morphed into a comical “O” expression, and his eyes bulged when he saw the Sharpie marks scrawled above his favorite football player’s number.
“How did you . . . ?” His voice was unnaturally high.
“Let’s just say Mr. Jones is a fan of my show.”
“Baby.” He reverently laid out the jersey on the sofa and pulled me close. “This,” he swiped my mouth with his tongue, “is the best gift,” he nibbled my lips and kissed me deeply, “ever. Kinda puts my gift of cigars and Scotch to shame.”
Reaching beneath his shirt, I caressed his warm skin. “How about we bust out the cigars tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. I want to get my entertainment system up and running, and I know you’re going to the attic. Go ahead and get your Murder, She Wrote on before you go to work.”
“Gah.” I thumped his chest. “Don’t remind me that I have to go in.”
Work paid the bills but taxed my soul. I didn’t want to be in radio broadcast. I was supposed to be a New York Times best-selling author by now.
Twenty-year-old Raina would be disgusted with my life. What happened to the girl who formed a Mastermind group with her friends in college? We swore to each other that we’d follow our dreams, keep each other on track.
He squeezed my shoulders. “I’m not going to lecture you right now, but you need to think about quitting that damn job. You know I have your back.”
And be a kept woman? No, thank you.