Every Chance I Get. AlTonya Washington
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He scanned the booth. “Am I interrupting?”
“I’m just finishing up.”
“May I have a minute?” He was already sliding into the seat across from her. “Will I see you tonight at Vic’s party?”
“Well.” Misha cleared her throat as if that would ease the pressure of her heart slamming hard and fast against her rib cage. “Since the Chronicle’s hosting the thing…”
“Mmm-hmm.” Talib studied her hands, one rubbing inside the other. “And will I see you at Jasper and Molly Faison’s couples’ thing?”
“Why’d they invite you?” Misha blurted out, even as her eyes closed in regret over the question. “I mean, you, um…you were invited, too?” She attempted to save face.
“I was just as surprised. It’s not like they know I’m seeing anyone.”
“Are you?”
“Not at the moment.” He pretended not to hear the interest shading her voice. “Not for a very long moment, actually.”
Misha didn’t bother hiding an expression which clearly stated she didn’t believe him.
“And what about you?” He focused again on his hands as he inquired. “Seeing anyone?”
“Not at the moment,” she sweetly countered.
“Ah, I see…not at this very moment.”
Misha leaned back against the booth and produced a knowing smile. “He’s a coworker. One of the writers for Riley’s section.”
“Did I ask?”
“In your way.”
“So I guess you won’t be taking him to Jasper and Molly’s?”
Heart slammed ribs again. “I may not be taking myself,” she muttered.
Talib rubbed his thumb along the table’s silver edging. “I hear they’ve got a great palace out on Long Island—it would be a shame to deprive yourself.”
“What do you want, Talib?”
“Go with me.”
For a time, she could only stare. “Why? So we can be at each other’s throats the entire time?”
Talib continued to study the silver grooves lining the table. “There’s more than one way to be at each other’s throats.”
“Oh, Talib.” Misha laughed. “What you want, you could get from anyone. Easily.” She let him see the appraisal in her eyes.
Before he could take note of it, there was a rush of women to the table, all wanting an autograph from the former footballer. Obliging to a fault, Talib smiled and agreed.
Misha went about packing her things and checking dates on her calendar while Talib handled the adoring women.
“Pray tell why you wouldn’t want to take a sure thing on a trip like this.” Misha slid a gaze toward the women who’d gotten their autographs and were moving on. Frequently, they cast looks back toward Talib.
“We need to talk,” he said.
“It still comes back to that, huh?” She knew he was referring to her breakfast outburst days earlier. “It’s still not something I want to discuss.”
“You can’t keep walking around it, love.”
“There’s no point in doing otherwise.”
“Misha—”
“All right, look, I’ll agree to go with you to this couples’ thing on the condition that we drop this. We don’t discuss it, period, take it or leave it.”
Spreading his hands, Talib accepted the terms with a smile. He rose as smoothly as he’d taken his seat, kissed Misha’s cheek and left.
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