“Yes, I did. Please don’t tell me I shocked Miss I Have No Filter.”
She closed her eyes for several seconds, and when she opened them she noticed Gage was smirking. It was apparent he was enjoying her uneasiness. “Only for the moment,” she said, unwilling to let him know he had bested her. “After all, I am a grown-ass woman.”
“You forgot to say sexy. You’re a grown-ass sexy woman who’s gotten under my skin like an itch I can’t scratch.”
Tonya wanted to tell Gage that although she was physically attracted to him, she feared if they did sleep together, he would want more than she would be willing to give him.
Removing his arm from around her shoulders, Tonya pushed back her chair. “I don’t know about you, but I need to eat.”
Gage held her arm, not permitting her to stand. “What’s the matter, Tonya? Does it bother you that I want to sleep with you?”
She stared at his hand until he dropped it. “No. We’re not kids trying to figure out should we or shouldn’t we. And if you want to know the truth, then it’s yes, I’m looking forward to sharing your bed. But for me sharing your bed doesn’t necessarily translate into sharing your life. And as long as we sleep together you will never have to concern yourself with me sleeping with another man, because I’m not emotionally able to carry on two relationships simultaneously.”
Gage’s expression was a mask of stone. “You said all of that to say what?”
“That I’m looking for being friends with benefits.”
“Is that really what you want?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
He gave her a long, penetrating stare. “Okay. Friends with benefits.”
“Do you want to shake on it?”
“No, babe. I’d rather kiss on it.”
He angled his head and brushed a light kiss over her mouth. The joining was so tender Tonya thought she had imagined it. Something deep inside her said Gage didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of the rancor she still carried because of her ex. She knew she hadn’t been kind or receptive to Darius when he wanted to see her, and because of that he had accused her of sleeping with other men. If he had blamed her for being indifferent to him she wouldn’t have been so angry. But if she was truly honest with herself, then she had to accept the responsibility for their relationship systematically going downhill.
Shifting slightly, she cradled his face and deepened the kiss. “I’m afraid,” she whispered against his lips.
Gage’s hands covered hers. “Afraid of what?”
“Although I feel more relaxed with you than I have with any other man in my life, I still believe we’re moving much too quickly. And I know I say things that may shock you because. . .”
“That’s because you feel comfortable enough to say it,” he said when her words trailed off. He smiled. “What we have isn’t that one-sided, Tonya. Most people, other than my family, don’t know that I have a son who has a substance abuse problem, and there’s no doubt if he lived here instead of Baton Rouge there would be a lot of gossip about me. Some of these sanctimonious parents would probably say there’s no way I could be a role model for their children when my own kid is strung out on drugs.”
“But you can’t live your son’s life.”
“I know that and you know that, but people tend to be very judgmental. Now back to you speaking your mind. I wouldn’t have it any other way, because my pet peeve is a woman into playing head games. I’d rather know what you’re thinking than not. So can we now drop this subject?”
Tonya felt as if a weight she had been carrying for far too long had suddenly been lifted. “Yes.”
Gage kissed her again. “Let’s get in the kitchen and fix something to eat before it’s time for dinner.”
* * *
Tonya glanced around the sunroom. Seating groupings were arranged to provide an unobstructed view of the large flat-screen. The TV was tuned to pregame festivities, but muted, so as not to drown out softly playing jazz coming from wireless speakers.
The room was spacious enough to accommodate the twenty friends and family members Hannah and St. John had invited to join them to watch the Super Bowl. Earlier in the week Tonya had emailed Hannah a shopping list of what she needed to prepare for the McNairs’ get-together, and given her training and experience she knew she had outdone herself. It was only after she finalized the menu that she felt confident in offering something different for her friend’s guests. She had chosen to create a charcuterie and cheese platter on wooden boards spanning the length of a six-foot table that had been hewn from a single tree trunk.
She came to Marigny earlier that morning to slice prosciutto, salami, and Spanish ham, and a variety of cheeses and veggies. Cherry tomatoes and heirloom tomatoes sliced in big chunks were covered with olive oil and sea salt, and marinated artichoke and pickles were presented in martini glasses. She had added sweetness to the platter with fresh figs, sliced pears, and red, black, and green grapes, and crunch with some nuts. Jars of pepper jelly and honey and sliced baguettes and bread and crackers rounded out the well-balanced cheese plate that was pleasing not only to the eye but also the palate.
“What do you think?” Tonya asked Hannah when she joined her in the sunroom.
“It’s an incredible gastronomical work of art.”
“What’s a work of art?” asked St. John as he entered the sunroom. He’d exchanged his walking shorts and t-shirt for pair of khakis. “Sweet heaven,” he said softly when he stared at the table. “It’s almost too pretty to eat.”
