“Like what?”
“Like you’re advertising.”
He chuckled as he approached me. “What are you talking about?” He looked down at himself. “I’m not advertising anything.”
“Saint.”
“Zola.”
“Saint.”
“Zola, what?” He stood in front of me with a huge grin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You know good and damn well that your big ass dick is on display”—I lifted my hands in surrender— “but hey, if you like it, I love it.”
He cocked his head to the side. “I can’t tell if you’re judging me or if you’re jealous…”
I pursed my lips. “Neither.”
“Or is it both?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “I’m not doing this with you, Saint.”
“The only reason I’m not doing this with you is because my stomach is growling.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”
I picked up my clothes, my bag, and my phone. “Let’s go.”
We left Birchwood Manor, and as soon as we got on the main road, he looked at me. “What’s your address?”
“Oh!” After entering the address into his GPS, I shook my head. “I forgot you’ve never been to my place as an invited guest. It feels like we’ve known each other for a while.”
“Yeah, it does. It felt like that the first time I met you.”
“Well, you’ll have to come over and spend some time as something other than an art deliveryman.”
He smirked. “I’d like that.”
I studied his profile. “Me too.”
“Are you hungry?” he wondered as he came to a stop.
“I could eat,” I said nonchalantly like my belly wasn’t yelling obscenities at me.
“I know you want to go home, and I’m fully prepared to take you home. But what would you say to having breakfast with me before I drop you off?”
I gestured to my clothes. “Where am I going in this?”
“Anywhere you want.” He glanced over at me. “You’re beautiful. In anything. In nothing. Doesn’t matter.”
I grinned. Those words hit different coming out of his mouth. “Thank you, but it’s eleven thirty. We probably won’t even get seated at the best brunch spots since we’re wearing sweats.”
“But if I find one, you’re down?”
“I’m down,” I agreed with a hint of skepticism in my voice.
He stopped at a red light and looked at me. “Do you trust me?”
“Yeah.” The answer slipped out and I realized it was the truth. He felt completely sincere to me. “I do.”
“Good.” He reached over and squeezed my thigh. “I have just the thing in mind.”
The music was playing, and the conversation was flowing until we arrived at The Ivy. We were seated in a sea full of people in their Sunday best. Undoubtedly, a few people stared.
“You know why those women were looking, right?” I asked after we placed our orders.
His forehead crumpled as he shook his head. “Who?”
“Right over there.” I pointed with my head.
He turned and looked causing the women to giggle. When he looked back at me, he shrugged. “Why would I be worried about them when I’m here with you?”
“You’re smooth. But my point is that they’re looking at you because you’re sexy as hell—obviously. But also because you’re advertising the goods.”
He let out a loud laugh. “I have on compression shorts under this. I don’t know what else you want me to do.”
“I don’t want you to do anything,” I told him, trying to keep a straight face. “You choosing to have on those sweatpants with your big ass dick on display doesn’t have anything to do with me.”
“Oh really?”
“Really,” I assured him.
“It’s your prerogative. You can do what you want to do.”
The corners of his mouth quivered with amusement. “Quoting Bobby Brown.”
“Quoting Britney Spears. Who is Bobby Brown?”
I’d never seen the color drain from a Black man’s face before and it was hilarious. “I’m just playing,” I promised him between giggles. “I’m joking. For real.”
“You are everything I want in a woman and with that one sentence, I almost walked out of here.”
“That would’ve been the deal breaker for you?”
“That would’ve been the end for me.”
We laughed like we were the only ones in the restaurant.
Our food came and it was delicious. We ate, we talked, we enjoyed each other’s company in a way that felt so right. When we got up to leave, I knew without a doubt that something special was happening between me and Saint Anderson.
“Thank you for brunch,” I said, gazing up at him.
He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand. “Thank you for this entire weekend.”
My stomach flipped.
We’d only taken a couple of steps before I froze.
I saw him before he saw me.
“Zola?”
The sound of my name on another man’s lips caused the hair on the back of my neck to stand at attention.
“Hey, Jordan,” I greeted him, trying to continue walking without stopping for a conversation.
“Hey, did you get my messages? I thought we were going to schedule a date today.”
“Oh, my phone died. But I said I’d give you a call and we’d talk about it.”
He looked at Saint and then back at me. “Well, it looks like you already made plans.” Extending his hand, he shook Saint’s. “Hey man, I’m Dr. Jordan Lewis.”
“Saint,” he returned flatly.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.
I wasn’t looking at Saint, but I could feel the tension wafting from him.
Rule Number Four: Never let your men cross paths.
“Well, give me a call later, so we can set up a date,” Jordan told me. “There’s a new psychological thriller coming to the indie theater over on Vine.” Smirking, he looked at Saint. “Take it easy, man.”
Jordan strolled off with a confidence that ordinarily would’ve been sexy, but in that moment, I didn’t know how to feel.
Taking a chance, I glanced up at Saint. Even with his thick beard, I could still see his clenched jaw.
“The Single Life with Zola Patterson,” he muttered, placing a hand on the small of my back.
I didn’t know what to say.
An apology didn’t seem appropriate and neither did an explanation.
Two days in a row? I internally groaned. Really?
He ushered me toward the door. Opening it for me, he allowed me to pass through first as we headed to his car. Without a word, he opened the car door and then walked around to his side.
“So, what’s up, Zola?” Saint asked as he pulled out of the parking spot.
I had a feeling I knew what he was talking about, but just in case, I needed clarity. “With what specifically?”
“You.”
“Is this about Jordan?”
“And the one last night.”