“It’s the Hunter,” she calls back. I stop mid-step. That wasn’t Fatima’s voice. It sounded like her…but it couldn’t be. “Dina?” I ask, rounding the corner slowly. I’m surprised she’s here. I thought we’d come to a tacit agreement to keep our distance from each other. I was disappointed and relieved when she wasn’t at my party tonight and had resigned myself to not seeing her again before I left.
“Oh, hey, Tyson,” she drawls and gives a wave like it’s perfectly normal for her to be in my house.
I cross my arms over my chest and raise a skeptical brow at her far too casual hello. “What are you doing here?”
She swallows audibly and tightens her belt around her waist. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d come to say goodbye since you were clearly not going to.”
Annoyed, I narrow my eyes and frown at her. “You didn’t come to my going away party, and you haven’t spoken to me in three months. I figured that was goodbye.”
Her shoulders stiffen, and that stubborn chin of hers tilts up. “I thought you weren’t speaking to me, and I had a lot going on.”
“Well, so did I. And like you said, it was better we didn’t do anything we’d regret.”
“I thought we were friends. I read about your new job in a corporate announcement. You didn’t say a word.”
“I didn’t think you would care. I thought you’d be glad I was going, in fact.”
She stares at me in surprise. Opens her mouth and then closes it again. “Tyson, come on. Really?” she finally says, exasperation marring her smooth brow.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself. Remi chewed my ear off Christmas morning about what he’d almost walked in on. But he didn’t need to. The complete loss of control I showed out on that porch shook me.
I was attracted to her, yes. But I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep. And I knew that sober, sagacious Dina would know that I wasn’t the man who could give her the fairy tale she wanted.
I run my eyes over her. She’s wearing a raincoat on a very warm and dry March evening. I hate that I’m not going to get to find out whether she’s wearing anything underneath it or not. “It doesn’t matter now. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
She flinches like I slapped her and drops her eyes to the ground. “I shouldn’t have come.” Her voice trembles, and something in my chest twists painfully.
The only thing harder than the work it takes to reach the goals I set are the things I’ve had to give up along the way. I can’t afford to fuck this opportunity up, and it’s not fair to Dina to ask her for something I can’t give her in return.
She wipes her hands over her cheeks and sniffles.
“Don’t cry. I don’t want to make you sad.”
Her gaze snaps up to meet mine, and her eyes glitter with indignation. “Alcohol makes me cry. I’m not sad.”
“You’re such a bad liar, Dina.”
“And you’re a little too good at it, Tyson.”
I cup her face, and her cheeks are hot underneath my cool palms. I stroke her cheekbones with the pads of my thumbs, and her eyes close on a sigh that I recognize as a sound of the same relief I feel.
It’s been so long since I touched her. She’s so soft, and I want her so much.
Against my better judgment and pulled by forces I can’t control, I run the tip of my nose down the slope of hers. “Let me give you something you can feel the truth of,” I whisper.
Her exhaled breath kisses my lips right before my mouth covers hers.
She opens for me, and her hands grasp either side of my waist as she starts to kiss me back.
Her soft, pliant lips taste of delicious things I’ll never get tired of—sweet, heat, opportunity, desire, ambition.
Her tongue teases mine, my lips suck, my teeth tug, and for a few frantic, fevered moments I let myself imagine this could be different. But that only makes the dread and regret I’m feeling about what I have to do even more acute.
I break our kiss and step away. “We shouldn’t do that again. It’s for your own good. I promise.”
Her eyes narrow in disgust, and she looks me up and down. “Oh, for God’s sake stop acting like this is to spare me. I’m a grownup, Tyson. I’m not wearing rose colored glasses. It’s fine if you don’t want me or you’re not ready. But don’t insult me with this patronizing you know best bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit. And it is best.”
One corner of her mouth tips down in a disdainful frown. “You don’t know what’s best for me. You’re trying to protect yourself from whatever you think is going to happen if you admit you want more than your job. Which is fine. But you should be honest with me.”
She hits the bullseye and strips me to the bone with that too close to home truth. I’ve said too much. She sees too much. She makes me weak in ways I can’t afford to be. The throb in my chest grows stronger every second she stands here. A lifetime of practice makes it easy to build a wall around it. All I need to do is to recall that conversation I overheard. She feels this way now, but one day, she’ll get tired of playing second fiddle and leave. This has to stop here.
I step away from her and walk to the door. “I tried honesty that night. I told you it wasn’t a good idea. I tried keeping my distance. And yet here you are. You should learn to take no for an answer. And I think you should go.” Each word is a brick of lies in that wall I’m building. And by the time I reach the door, my nerves are settled again, and I turn to face her.
Her jaw has dropped, and her eyes bulge with affront as she stalks toward me. “As if. You can pretend you feel nothing. But take it from me, you’ll be sorry you didn’t at least try. I hope your job and Paris and all the random strangers you’d rather have sex with than me make you happy, you jerk.” She casts me one long, searing look and then walks out of my life.
I’m sitting in the middle of my bare living room, stewing in annoyance and regret when Fatima walks back in almost an hour later.
“I had to drive all the way to the Frenchy’s near TSU to get this. You’re lucky I didn’t eat it all on my way back.” She waves the fragrant plastic bag full of the famous Frenchy’s fried chicken. I don’t have to the heart to tell her I’m not interested in eating anymore. She walks into the living room and looks around the apartment. “She left?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“So…you and her?”
“Don’t ask.”
When she doesn’t say anything and doesn’t move, I look up. She’s watching me with a look of wonder on her face.
“What?” I snap irritably and get to my feet.
“Are you in love with the Hunter chick?”
I give her a warning look. “Her name is Dina. I’m not in love with her, and I’m trusting that her visit will stay between us.”
She lowers her eyes to the ground, and I am instantly sorry for my tone and my words. Fatima has been with me since I started at Wilde, and she’s the only person on my staff I’m taking with me to Paris. I trust her, and I like her. But she’s already seen and heard more than I’m comfortable with. I keep work and personal separate.