“My mother never says anything she doesn’t mean to say.”
“Okay. I live on the second floor.”
Frank followed Kenny up the staircase to his apartment. The building was old, but clean. The lingering scent of disinfectant and pine lingered in the air. A business associate who had cultivated a connection with a member of the city council told him that certain neighborhoods along the West Side were slated to undergo urban renewal. And that meant residents would be forced to relocate, many into public housing.
Kenny unlocked the door and walked in. “Mom, I’m home.”
Seconds later, a woman appeared, and it was Frank’s turn for his jaw to drop. He suddenly felt as if he’d been punched in the gut when he stared at Kenny’s mother. She looked much too young to have a teenage boy. Not only was she incredibly slender, but it was her face that held him enthralled. She was beautiful. She styled her straightened hair in a ponytail that made her look like a high school student.
She smiled and extended her hand, shattering his entrancement. “I’m Justine Russell. And thank you for seeing my son home safely.”
Frank took her hand, holding it longer than necessary before releasing it, but not before he spied the gold band on her left hand. His nephew had mentioned that Kenny’s father was dead and his mother a widow, and he wondered why she continued to wear a wedding ring.
“I’m Francis, and the pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Russell.”
“I believe we can be less formal with each other if my son is best friends with your nephew.”
“Mom, I have leftovers I’m going to put in the fridge,” Kenny said, interrupting the interaction between his mother and Frankie’s uncle.
“Okay, Kenny,” Justine said. “I’m sorry, but I’m forgetting my manners. Can I get you something to drink?” she asked Frank.
He wanted to ask if she was kidding because he’d eaten and drank his fill, but there was something about Justine that made him want to spend time with her. Frank didn’t know why he’d always found himself attracted to Black women. There had been only one time when he’d acted on it—but with disastrous results. Her parents had discovered them together, and her father had sent her miles away to keep her away from him. It had been his first and last time he’d attempted to form a relationship with a woman who wasn’t Italian.
Frank did not think of what he shared with women as relationships but liaisons. They were women he saw, slept with, and then walked away until the next time. He’d told them if they wanted marriage, then he wasn’t the marrying kind. Those who did want marriage rejected him, and those who didn’t were resigned to share a bed and enjoy the occasional gifts he gave them for Christmas and their birthdays.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll have coffee,” he said, smiling.
Justine smiled, bringing his gaze to linger on her lush mouth. “Please come into the kitchen and rest yourself.”
Frank stared at her hips in a pair of white capri pants. Justine Russell, although slender, wasn’t what he thought of as skinny. He smiled when noticing she’d tied the hem of a sleeveless white blouse at her waist, one he’d be able to span with both hands, leaving a display of skin at the small of her back. He felt a stirring in his groin, and he knew he had to sit before Justine noticed what would become an erection.
He sat down at the kitchen table and swallowed a groan.What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not some randy teenage boy who can’t control his body. And it couldn’t be Kenny’s mother, because it was just last week that I’d spent the entire weekend with a woman who was insatiable.
Frank didn’t know what it was about Kenny’s mother that had turned him on so much, and he was curious enough to find out why. He glanced around the kitchen as she filled a coffee pot with water, filled the basket with coffee grounds, and put it on the stove to brew. Everything was immaculate, from the kitchen table to the floor. Even the windows were sparkling behind a pair of white ruffled curtains.
“You don’t look old enough to have a teenage boy.” He’d spoken his thoughts aloud.
Justine gave him a sidelong glance as she reached into an overhead cabinet to take down cups and saucers. “I had Kenny at eighteen. And before you ask, I did graduate high school.”
Lines fanned out around Frank’s eyes when he smiled. “Why do you think I would ask you that?”
Justine gave Francis a direct stare. “Because that’s something I hear every time I tell folks when they ask how old I was when I became a mother.”
“Did I ask you, Justine?” he questioned, saying her name for the first time.
She shook her head at the same time she lowered her eyes. “No, you didn’t. Please forgive me for being presumptuous.”
Frank laughed, and it came out more like a chuckle. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“How do you like your coffee?”
“Black.”
Justine nodded. “Black it is. I only drink black coffee when I need to stay awake.”
“Do you work at night?” Frank asked.
“No. I have a day job, but I have a second one typing papers.And I do those at night after I make dinner and prepare what I need for the next day.”
