I grinned, reminiscing on his retaliation—tugging me against his chest.
Warm hands clasped my shoulders from behind. His scent wrapped around me, curling in places that belonged to me alone. Sandalwood. Cedar. Testosterone.
“I agree.” Montana’s voice rasped near my ear. “It’s all about the hype around these parts.”
The guy’s phone clattered onto the linen table. “You- you’re Montana Babineaux!”
While Mr. Future-Best-Friend launched into a bromance moment, I exhaled into Montana’s touch. As he pulled away to sign an autograph, the warm feeling dissolved into a frigid morning mist. Cold and achy, I darted into the kitchen.
Seconds later, the door swung open. Of course. Montana strolled inside. The staff glanced between us, then hustled faster. They sensed something would boil over that had nothing to do with gumbo.
“Aren’t you avoiding me?” I blurted. Awkward Black Girl strikes again.
“That what you want, Journey?”
Ugh. Why couldn’t he call me Z—because you’re living a lie, dummy.And why ask what I wanted?
Oh… it clicked.
I’d never learned to be approachable. In the ER, bodies kept coming. Some broken. Others had flatlined in the ambulance. Before that? Foster care. Different homes, multiple personalities, which ranged from stingy to every shade of selfishness in between. I learned to avoid people. My game of avoidance backfired when Edwin slid in with his smooth lies. Now, here I was. Trying to unlearn thirty years of … me.
I glanced up at Montana, his personal phone call on my mind. My tone softened. “Can we talk?”
His eyes, the deepest brown, rich as chicory coffee, locked onto mine, suspicious.
“Montana, I heard your phone call … I wasn’t eavesdropping.” The words tumbled out, and my stomach dropped. Damn, I’d never be asked to host a TED Talk.
“You used that line when I spent the night,bébé.” Montana’s chuckle held a sting—sweet on top, bitter underneath.
A beat of silence echoed through the chrome kitchen as workers paused.
Ah, I see. That face—all grin and mischief—lured women in. Butbring up anything with substance? Feelings? Conflict? Man folded like cheap laundry. Now my knuckles itched, begging for some action. I wanted to slug that damn face.
Instead, my voice became the moan he never heardthatnight. “Yesss, I did, didn’t I?” My fingers plunged into his beard as if I were about to kiss him. Instead of snatching it with one hand and bashing him with the other, I brought him down just enough that his lips hovered over mine. “Then you kept texting me. You begged me to come through. Montana, you didn’t last long enough for me to even drive to the Motel 6 down the street, let alone to your hideaway.” I assumed all arrogant celebrities had a mansion tucked away somewhere. I bit my lip—an action that was pure danger to the male species. “Sorry, I couldn’tcomefor you too.”
What he did next, though? Fireworks. Those white teeth flashed in another easy smile. And his laugh pretty much settled the score. But I knew the next step for anyone in my position. Our hearts got trapped in an emotional timeshare, and those things created cat women!
Okay, strategy:
One.
Two.
Three.
BREAK EYE CONTACT.
Do it now, Zuri!
Damn, I couldn’t.
That hypnotic face had me stuck. And my fingers plunged into his beard, soft and good in my palms. He leaned in close. Heat rolled off him, settling along my skin. My pulse did its own praise dance while my brain screamed,Serve tables!
Eyes hooded, his gaze dragged slow over me like his imagination could strip me naked. “Journey, you need that same release. Stop lying to yourself,bébé.Let your hair down.” He brushed a knuckle over my Diana Ross wig with a maddening little smirk.
I patted all that sexy-good beard then let go, kissing my teeth. “Hard pass.”
Montana walked out like being an ass didn’t cost him a thing.
