What She Deserves

After finishing her meal, she left a generous tip before waving and leaving for the short walk back to her place. She was halfway home when she saw Rashad exiting a yellow Porsche illegally parked at the curb. A sports car, flashy like him. He used to own a red one, and when she pointed out that type of vehicle didn’t seem like a financially prudent purchase, he said everyone needed to have a toy, and it brought him pleasure. He more than made up for the indulgence by being smart about other investments of his money.

Her footsteps slowed, and when his gaze landed on her face, her heart stuttered. Somehow, she remained in motion, on autopilot rather than with any real sense of what she was doing.

Rashad strolled toward her, the epitome of big-dick energy, and he never looked more so than when he was dressed casually, like now. He wore a pair of gray sweatpants and a dark blue Henley that showed off his defined chest and arms. His sexy, swaggerlicious stride turned heads, and his mannerisms conveyed he was not only good in bed, he could make you forget all others while you wept tears of ecstasy. She knew because it had happened to her.

“Mind if I walk with you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He fell into step beside her anyway, undeterred by her frosty reception.

“What are you doing here?” Layla asked, keeping her eyes on the sidewalk in front of them.

“I knew I’d find you this morning. You’re a creature of habit, and I see nothing’s changed. I thought about joining you for breakfast, but I know how much you like your Saturday morning ritual, so I decided to wait until you finished eating.”

“How nice of you,” Layla said sarcastically.

“You still having a large coffee, a blueberry muffin, and a whole wheat bagel with cream cheese, smoked salmon, and dill?”

Layla came to an abrupt stop. She really needed to change up her choices. Next week for sure. “What’s the point of reciting what I like to eat, Rashad?”

“You’re the same, Layla. Nothing’s changed—except your phone number.”

“You finally called.”

“Yes. Last night you didn’t mention that your number had changed.”

“If you’d cared to call before, you would have known that,” she pointed out.

Rashad nodded. “Fair enough. Can we start over?”

Crossing her arms, Layla asked, “Start what over, exactly?”

“The conversation from last night.”

“I thought I made myself clear that I’m not interested in pursuing another relationship or whatever it is you’re interested in.”

“I’m interested in friendship,” he said.

“Oh, right. You want to be friends,” Layla said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

She started moving again, walking faster this time to escape him and this conversation she didn’t want to have. His long legs easily kept stride with hers, exerting little effort, as if he were out for a leisurely stroll.

“You sound like you don’t believe me,” Rashad said.

“That’s because I don’t. You’re only interested in one thing.”

“How exactly did you come to that conclusion?”

Layla side-eyed him. “Past experience is the best indicator of future performance.”

Rashad grabbed her arm, and the warmth of his fingers seared her skin through the lightweight jacket. She wanted to yank away, but couldn’t. He was touching her again, like last night. The memory of his fingers around her wrist was as vivid as the fingers wrapped around her arm right now.

“And you don’t miss it?” he asked.

“Miss what?”

Rashad backed her against the brick wall of a building, not caring they were in the middle of the street with the occasional pedestrian walking by.

Eyes boring into hers, his voice dropped. “You know what.”

Layla’s belly quivered, denial burning on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t speak the lie. Of course she missed it, them. The way they used to be together.

Rashad’s lovemaking skills were unmatched, and they used to damn near burn up the bed when they made love. She could never get enough of him, and whenever they went too long without seeing each other, she ached until she could see him, touch him, press her body against his.

Instead of answering, she tilted her chin higher. “Is that why you came here? To see if I missed it?”

“I came here to see you, but I am curious about that part.” His nostrils flared for a split second before he shook his head and let out a deep breath. “Shit. Let’s try again. Contrary to what you believe, I do care. So tell me, how have you been, Layla?”

She dropped her gaze and had a sudden urge to burst into tears. She shook off his hand. How could such a simple question make her feel so weepy? How could he so easily break down her tough girl act and make her feel vulnerable and helpless with a few words of interest?

“Fine,” she replied. She lifted her gaze again, and he continued to stare at her with concern in his eyes.

“And your family?”

“Fine. How about you?”

“Been better. Miss my friend. Miss my lover.”

“Don’t.”

“Why?”

“Because…”

He waited.

“Because a clean break is what I wanted.”

“I know, and you got that clean break, right? You lied and pretended you were moving to D.C.”

Layla opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but he briefly lifted a finger to quiet her.

“Don’t deny it. We both know it’s true.”

She fell silent and gazed at a couple across the street. The man had his arm around the woman, and they were laughing as they walked and talked. They looked so happy. That used to be her and Rashad, before he asked to downgrade their relationship.

“I understand why you did it. Because we were intense, and if we kept in touch, you’d give in to me again.”

“You’re overestimating your appeal.”

“That’s not what the little pulse right here says.” He lifted a finger to her neck, and she slapped away his hand.

“You have a very high opinion of yourself.”

“But am I right?”

With a heated glower, she refused to admit her weakness for him. “Believe it or not, you can’t get everything you want, Rashad.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Since when?”