Games of the Heart. Pamela Yaye
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cynical youth center director. Interesting.”
Marshall frowned. “How did you know I run a center? I didn’t mention that when you were over the other day.”
“Khari told me,” she lied, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue. “All this talk about honesty makes me want to confess.”
“To what?”
“We’ve met before.”
His eyes bulged. “We have?”
“Last week my boss took me to the basketball game at Westchester Academy. I was starving, so I decided to buy myself a snack, but when I put my money in the vending machine…”
Marshall stared at her lips. They were full and moist and looked softer than a Georgia peach. She had a beauty mark above her lips, Bambilike eyes, and her breath smelled sweet.
“I shouldn’t have been so bitchy, but I was running on three hours of sleep and one measly cup of coffee. I just wanted to apologize for acting so childish.”
The sheer intensity of her smile almost knocked him off his stool. Changing the channel in his mind, he fought to remember what they’d been talking about. Women complained that men didn’t listen and here was another shining example. Normally he was focused, attentive, alert. In his line of work he had to be. Let your guard down and you could lose your life. But something about this woman left his brain scattering like a pack of marbles. “Ah, sure, okay. No problem.”
“When I looked over my shoulder and saw you standing there, glowering at me, I had memories of my high school principal, Mr. McCaffery.” Shuddering, she closed her eyes as if haunted by his image. “The man was old, mean, and hated kids, especially me.”
“We met at my son’s basketball game?” Marshall asked, finally gathering himself. “You were the psycho—” he cleared his throat “—I mean, the nuisance beating up the vending machine?”
Her smile fell. “Yeah, it was me.”
“You?” His eyes glazed with doubt. “That’s impossible.”
Pretending to be angry, she accused him of being distracted by one of the young, female servers. “I just finished telling you my side of the story. Weren’t you listening?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where my mind was.” He did, but admitting he had been fantasizing about her would scare her off. Unconvinced she was the culprit, he examined her face closely. She didn’t look like the woman he had butted heads with, but she could have been. “No way that was you! She had bangs. That much I know for sure. She kept blowing them out of her eyes.”
“What can I say? I’m a chameleon,” she said, crossing her legs. “I’d go crazy if I had the same hairstyle longer than a month, so I change it whenever the mood strikes.”
“Your hair was different when you were at the house yesterday. It was shorter, darker, right?”
“Yeah, I had it done this morning.” She touched the nape of her neck. “Like it?”
“Love it.”
Their eyes met. Stroking his jaw, he noted the vibrancy of her skin and the sensuous width of her smile. Silky-smooth layers cascaded over her shoulders, softening the bold, eye-catching shade. How come he hadn’t noticed her nose ring? Or her striking bone structure? If he had spent less time admiring her luscious backside and more time making eye contact, he wouldn’t look like Bozo the Clown now.
“Let me take you out for dinner. Or you could just join me and the guys tonight.”
Sage took a sip of her cocktail, mulling over his invitation. One-on-one, Marshall Grant was putty in her hands, but would he be as sincere around his army buddies? One woman sitting at a table with four men did not make for a pleasant evening. They’d be tripping over themselves trying to impress her, while all she was to be alone with Marshall. Not liking her chances at four-to-one, she politely declined. “I already ate,” she lied, motioning to the empty plate on the bar. Sage didn’t know who it belonged to, but she was glad the prop was there. “Maybe next time.”
If Marshall was disappointed, his face didn’t show it. “No problem, but we should definitely get together sometime.”
“It’s twenty below outside,” she said, coyly. “Where are you going to take me?”
“Slide me your number and you’ll find out.”
The bartender produced a ballpoint pen. “There you go,” he said cheerfully, resting it on the counter. “Just holler if you need anything else.”
Seconds later, Sage handed Marshall a napkin covered in her scrawled handwriting. “Happy now?”
“Very.” He took the napkin from her outstretched hand. His touch, though slight, stirred the fire within her. And when he leaned over and whispered a few scintillating words in her ear, her heart bounced up in her throat. “Be sure to call,” she said casually, though it sounded like an order.
“It was nice seeing you again, Sage. And I will.”
Not ready for him to go, she put a hand on his forearm. “Thanks for the drink. And I’ll try to remember what you said about…orgasms.”
His mouth stretched into a scrumptious grin. “You do that.” A wink, then he stood and strode away.
Chapter 4
“What do you mean he won’t set a wedding date?” Sage asked, wedging the cell phone between her ear and shoulder. Needing to exercise, but unfamiliar with the city, she had decided to drive down to Westchester Academy and jog on the outdoor track. The hotel gym was temporarily closed for renovations, and she couldn’t afford to miss a third consecutive workout.
“Tangela, you guys have been engaged for two years. How much more time does Warrick need?” Sage put her keys into her pocket and walked briskly toward the field. The wind was fierce, but the sun was strong and bright. A minute into her jog and she’d be nice and warm.
“You’re preaching to the choir, Sage. I’ve had this conversation with Warrick so many times, I’m starting to argue with him in my sleep!”
Sage laughed. Despite the circumstances, her best friend still had jokes. Sage had known Tangela Howard ever since she showed up on their foster mom’s doorstep fifteen years ago, clutching a stuffed elephant and a bag of dirty clothes. Exiled to the basement, the girls had regaled themselves by dressing up in Ms. Claxton’s nurse uniforms and imitating her thick Trinidadian accent. In a matter of weeks, they had joined forces against the hot-tempered woman, and even after all these years, they were still tighter than a new pair of pumps.
“What’s the hold up now? Last year he postponed the wedding because of his father’s stroke. That’s understandable, but I thought you said his dad’s been up and running for months.”
“That was then. Now he said he’s too busy expanding his company to think about planning some wedding,” she explained.
Dumbstruck, Sage closed her gaping mouth. “‘Some wedding’?” she choked out. “What does he mean he doesn’t have time to plan some wedding? It’s his wedding—to the woman he loves.”
“I know. Can you believe he said that? I cook, clean and even massage his crusty feet, and now he’s telling me he doesn’t have time to get married!”
Stretching on the track, Sage shook her head. How had her adventurous, free-spirited friend become a kept woman begging a man to marry her? Sage had never considered marrying any of her ex-boyfriends. But then again, no one had ever asked. Waking up to the same man for the next forty years sounded as exciting as an early-morning root canal. No way. Marriage wasn’t for everyone, and Sage was smart enough to know it wasn’t right for her. All she needed was a foot rub, Usher on blast, and some toe-curling sex. Send her on her way with an orgasm and a smile and she was happier than Pamela Anderson in a bridal boutique. “Tangela,