Lamar scared me.
14
Being “just friends” with Lamar meant eliminating the feelings that would complicate that friendship. We genuinely clicked, so friendship with him was easy. And because he was such a gentleman, he never made the conversation sexual or even referred to our sexual encounter. If it weren’t for my feelings for him, I would’ve been able to convince myself that we had a regular friendship.
But when I started to explain to him why I’d been MIA, my throat closed up, and I lost my nerve. I wasn’t able to say anything else for a myriad of reasons, and instead of pressuring me, he sat in silence with me. After a few minutes had passed, he told me I didn’t owe him anything and we could sit on the phone for as long as I needed.
“If you need a distraction or if you want to talk about it, I’m here either way,” he told me gently.
That twenty-minute call changed everything.
We texted all week, but he didn’t call me again until Friday. Aunt Addy, Rose, and a couple of others were in the living room cutting up while Lamar and I spent two hours talking about our childhoods, our families growing up, and our passion for his project.
On Saturday evening, while my aunt had visitors, I lay across the bed and talked to Lamar about his lawyer and accountant obtaining the necessary licenses and permits. I cheered about him officially registering his business name. He was still months from an official launch, but I was so proud and wanted to celebrate him. My cheeks hurt from how hard I was smiling. With the faint sound of my aunt’s laughter in the background, it was easy to feel like everything was normal. It didn’t hit me until Sunday, when I didn’t get a call from him, that the guilt that had plagued me for weeks had faded.
But when I answered his call on Monday night, the house was quiet, and I’d been tossing and turning in bed for an hour. The light, fun energy of the weekend had been replaced with a contemplative, vulnerable silence that made it impossible for me to rest. “Hello?”
“Why are you whispering?” Lamar asked.
Covering my mouth, I let out a laugh. “My aunt went to bed early, and the TV is off, so I’m just keeping my voice down.” I reclined against the pillows on my bed. “How are you?”
“Tired. But I’m good. How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I sighed. “Tell me about your day.”
“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
A small smile pulled at my lips at the kindness in his words and the care in his voice. My eyes stung a little because I knew he was being sincere.
“Thank you,” I murmured. “Tell me about your day.”
“For preseason, it’s pretty much the same: workout, meetings, practice, game day, repeat.”
“You’re never very specific,” I pointed out.
“Neither are you,” he countered.
“What do you mean? I’ve talked to you at length about my job and the joy and pain of teaching teens.”
“Yeah, but I’m not talking about your job.”
Nerves tightened my belly. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to say next, but the way my body stiffened, I was bracing myself for it.
“You like me, and that’s why you act like this,” he said in a low, sexy tone.
I couldn’t help but giggle. “What?”
“Is that you denying you like me?”
“No, I’m not denying it,” I replied, trying to laugh it off. “I just… What does that have to do with anything?”
“Tell me something, and I’ll tell you something.”
Swallowing hard, I wondered aloud softly, “What do you want to know?”
“Everything. Whatever you want to tell me.”
I hesitated for a moment. I almost told him about Aunt Addy’s prognosis, but I couldn’t bring myself to say it. “I was married,” I blurted.
