“I was curious about your décor,” I snapped.
“Good way to find out is knock on the door and say, ‘Hey,Darius, got a second to show me your crib?’”
“Hey, Darius,” I said sarcastically.“Got a second to showme your crib?”
He threw an arm out for me to precede him.
The ground was cold, not frozen (even though my legs wereclose to that), the trek to the side of the house had to be on my toes so myheels didn’t sink in, as did the trek to the front door.
We finally made his walk, and I breathed a sigh of relief Ihadn’t made an even bigger fool of myself.
Once I hit the top of his steps, I stood aside so he couldopen the door.
He did but held back so I could go first.
When I did, moving through the entryway and into the livingroom, I really wished I had better sleuthing skills and upper body strengthbecause I was blindsided by his fabulous décor.
I saw a boxy, creamy-beige couch with creamy-beige tosspillows with odd width black stripes running through them.Two square,low-sitting, black leather armchairs, and the leather looked soft and inviting.A massive fern on a stand.Interesting-based lamps.And a coffee table thatlooked like it was a slab shorn off a huge, gorgeous piece of wood, the topfinished to a high shine.
There was a built-in low cabinet on the back wall on whichwas an African mask on a stand in the corner and an expensive-looking stereowith turntable in the middle.Over these was a triptych in blues and grays witha shock of white and some inlaid finished wood.
Last, there were stacks of hardback books everywhere.
“Meet your inspection?”Darius asked.
“It’s very…stylish,” I murmured my understatement.
“Yeah, Liam thinks it’s the shit,” he murmured in return.
I was sure he did.
I tried to decorate in gender neutral, but I’d pretty muchfailed (it was impossible, what could I say?I’d explained the dress I waswearing—I was all girl), and Liam had no choice but to live with it.
“Wanna see where he sleeps?”Darius offered.“He’s got thewhole lower level.”
Every cell in my body which held the mother gene (which wasevery cell in my body) screamed,Oh God, NOOOOOOOOO!at the idea of mysixteen, nearly seventeen-year-old, who started casually dating last year, andnow had his own car, having a whole level to himself.
I sounded choked when I asked, “Does it have its own door tothe outside?”
“Yeah.It was oncereno’edto bean apartment.But he comes in the back, from the garage, like me, into the mainhouse, and goes down the stairs.”
I cleared my throat since it was clogged with all the wordsI needed to say about our son with his own ingress and egress on a level of ahouse his father didn’t occupy.
“You need some water to hydrate since you’reburnin’ up so much fluidtryin’not to tell me I gotta keep a closer eye on our boy who’s a teenager andprobably pretty much lives for getting in pretty girls’ panties?”he asked.
I retched.
Darius burst out laughing.
I froze, staring at him.
I didn’t think I’d seen him laugh like that in seventeen(nearly eighteen) years.
When his humor died (though, not entirely, his eyes werestill sparkling with it), he said, “One good thing aboutbein’in the business I used to be in, Malia, not much gets by me.You don’t survivelong in that world with peopledoin’ shit you don’twant them to do around you.Kinda like how I knew you were sitting in your car,psyching yourself up to come to my door and ask me to have a look at where yourson spends every other week.”
I was surprised.
“I…that’s not why I’m here,” I told him.
