Kizzie’s wasn’t much of a diner, at least not anymore. It used to be a cool hangout back in the day. A place where people from his parents’ generation came to eat a meat and two vegetables swimming in bacon fat. He remembered being at the table with his mother and father while they discussed deals, kids, and adult topics with their friends, sitting across from each other on the torn seats of the booths while Motown classics serenaded them on the jukebox.
When business slowed, the owner revamped, removing the jukebox and giving the interior an update. The changes attracted a younger crowd—people in Montez’s age group. During the day, the restaurant still served comfort food, but bacon had been switched out for turkey. There was a plethora of low-fat and low-calorie options and as many vegan entrees as there were meat-based ones.
Montez shook his head, taking a sip of his beer and wishing things hadn’t changed as much as they did. The place definitely needed an update, but he missed the food and the jukebox.
So why am I here? he asked himself.
He’d come by hoping to hook up. That was another thing about Kizzie’s. It had become known for people who wanted no-strings relationships. Perfect, since a relationship was the last thing he wanted. He was too busy partying and going clubbing on the weekend with the many women he met who wanted the same—no-strings sex.
He had no desire to get his feelings tangled up in a woman. All he cared about was having a good time, but there was not a good time to be had here tonight. Not one woman had piqued his interest, and he wasn’t that picky. Something was wrong. He was off. He’d noticed the change recently and could only assume it was related to hitting thirty-five earlier this year.
Lately, random bedroom romps had been lackluster and missing…something. He couldn’t quite put his finger on the problem, but something had changed.
“Man, I hope I’m not turning into Stacy,” he muttered.
His older sister had jumped into marriage at a young age. At thirty-seven, she’d already been married fifteen years, and though as the COO she ran the operations of their family business, she always made time for her kids and husband. Whether it was supporting her spouse when he received an award at work or attending her kids’ recitals or their soccer games. Stacy had settled into married life and wore it like a coat that had become more comfortable through repeated wear.
He turned around and called over the bartender.
“Another one?” the guy asked. He wore a black vest and no shirt, showing off his muscular build.
“Nah, Ima head out. How much do I owe you?”
The bartender disappeared and returned with a slip of paper showing the full amount. Montez dropped a twenty on the bar and slid it across the glossy black surface. “Keep the change,” he said, pocketing his wallet.
“Hey man, thanks.”
He drained the last of his beer, and with one final look at the young and sexy crowd bobbing their heads and swaying their hips to the music, he headed toward the exit.
Outside, the heat hit him in the face, and he wrinkled his nose against the typical humid Georgia weather. As he strolled toward his car in the parking lot, a woman dressed in black, wide-legged pants and an electric blue sleeveless top walked toward the entrance. Her long hair was brushed back from her face and left to fall down her back in a straight line. She wore minimal makeup, but her smooth, cocoa-dark skin didn’t need it.
Dark eyes slid toward him, and she smiled briefly as they passed each other. “How is it in there?”
Damn. Her voice gave him chills. Husky and smooth, the kind of voice that introduced the top R&B hits during late-night shows on the radio.
“Not bad,” he said, pausing and turning to look at her.
She glanced over her shoulder, also pausing. Her black hair shimmered under the parking lot lights. Cut blunt at the ends, as if she’d recently been to the salon, it fell between her shoulder blades. Her eyes—man, her eyes were mesmerizing. Dark brown with long, thick lashes and very inviting.
Nice figure too. She had meat on her bones, with shapely hips and a nice-looking ass in those pants. Surprisingly, his body stirred for the first time that night.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
“Yes,” Montez replied.
She pouted, lips covered in dark chocolate lipstick that made them look sexy and moist. Her gaze swept him from head to toe, and she murmured something. Had he heard her correctly? It sounded like she said, “That’s too bad.”
The stranger continued her stride toward the diner, her shapely hips doing that swinging pendulum thing women did that made his knees weak.
Montez didn’t move, even after she’d entered the building and the door closed behind her. Female attention wasn’t unusual for him, but most women didn’t shoot their shot so openly. They tended to be more subtle, but there was nothing subtle about that exchange.
He walked slowly toward his SUV near the back of the lot, his mind centered on the woman he just passed. She was his type. Tall, thick, sexy, and not a lick of shyness in her.
Montez popped the locks on his dark gray Lincoln Navigator. Instead of getting in, he cast a glance at Kizzie’s door. He’d bet last month’s salary that she smelled great too.
A slow smile crossed his face. Only one way to find out.
Montez hit the key fob and locked his vehicle. Then he followed her inside.
