Darius jabbed him in the shoulder with the nonbusiness end of the tongs. âI know, but if you donât go wash your hands and quit breathing on my steaks, me and you are gonna fight.â
Ken, toweling the sweat from his brow, chuckled. âHeâs right, Rashad. Donât let your hot breath overcook them.â The laid-back drummer rarely spoke, but when he did, no one could predict what would come out of his mouth.
âHardy har har.â Rashad gave Darius a slap on the back before disappearing into the condo through the open French doors.
Darius shook his head. They were a crazy bunch, but that was part of their charm. âThat goes for all of you. Go wash them funky, sweaty hands before you come near my food. And put on some damn shirts while youâre at it.â The last thing he wanted was a bunch of sweaty shirtless dudes hanging around his culinary masterpiece.
While they went inside to do as theyâd been told, he moved to the round table a few feet away from the grill. There, heâd set up the side items: grilled corn on the cob, baked beans and a Caesar salad. He placed the platter of steaks in the middle and set out the matching plates and the silverware. Then he lifted the lid of the cooler on the patio floor near the railing and pulled out four ice-cold beers.
By the time the guys returned, hands clean and chests covered, he was already sitting down, looking out over the water. They joined him around the table, loaded their plates and dug in.
Later, they were still reclining in their seats as the sun began to dip on the horizon. The bands of color seemed to go on forever, until they met with the rising waves. The sound of lapping water could be heard in the silence, along with the calls of a few seagulls.
Ken drained the last of his beer. âThatâs a beautiful sight, man.â
Marco nodded, tossing his own empty bottle into the recycling bin. âSure is.â
âYep. Wish I could stay longer, but I gotta go to work in the morning.â Rashad stood up from the table, dragging his long dreadlocks into a ponytail at the base of his neck.
Darius groaned. âAw, come on, yâall. You just gonna abandon a brother like that? How can you walk away from a sunset this magnificent?â
Marco snickered. âEasy. I just think about my mortgage.â
âI work for the county, dude. I canât just not show upâmy assistant will be happy to take my job in my absence.â Rashad worked as register of deeds for Mecklenburg County.
Darius turned to Ken. âWhat about you? You work for yourself. Donât you wanna hang out here for a few more days, and enjoy the place with me?â
âI would, man, but I didnât bring my computer.â Ken offered a shrug. âNo laptop, no work.â
Marco leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. âI could be convinced to stay if you pay my mortgage.â
âIâm with Marco. Pay my bills and Iâll hang out with you as long as you want, D.â Rashad cocked a thick eyebrow, waiting for his response.
Darius looked at his watch. âUm, never mind. Yâall better get out of here.â
Chuckling, Marco got up. âYeah, I thought so. Weâll see you when you get back to Charlotte.â
âBye.â Darius watched his buddies file into the condo to get their things. A short time later, he waved to them as their vehicles pulled out of the small lot in front of his condo.
Back inside his condo, he stripped out of his T-shirt and athletic shorts to climb into a hot shower. He stood there, enjoying the multiple jets of steamy water hitting his body from all angles. Once heâd dried off, he slipped into a pair of black boxers and stretched across his bed.
He mused on when heâd go back to Charlotte and decided heâd head back in a few days. He had a pet-sitter who looked after his golden retriever, Chance, so heâd just let her know when he was coming back. He would have loved to bring Chance along on the trip, but for some reason the dog hated Marco. Every time the dog got within ten feet of Mr. Costa Rico Suave, he growled and bared his teeth. What made it particularly weird was that Chance loved Ken and Rashad, the maid, the mailman and just about any other person who came by the house. Knowing Chance wouldâve freaked the hell out if he had to be near Marco over the weekend, heâd decided to leave the dog with the sitter. But when he traveled alone to his vacation place, Chance was always by his side.
The faint sounds of the water splashing against the shore reminded him that heâd left the patio doors open. He got up to close and lock them, and to crack the kitchen windows to allow the breeze to flow in, before sprawling across the bed once again. He reached behind him and grabbed the remote from the niche in his headboard.
He turned on the fifty-inch flat-screen television occupying a wall of the bedroom and flipped through the channels. He paused at one of those dating reality shows, where some guy in a suit was offering a flower to a squealing girl in a too-tight dress, and scoffed. It wasnât that he didnât believe in true love, but he damn sure didnât believe it could be found on some corny, scripted show. He couldnât figure out why those shows were so popular, but he guessed there had to be someone, somewhere, who really thought you could find love that way.
But heâd witnessed true love as a kid, so he knew it existed. Heâd also seen what losing a true love could do to a man, when his mother had waltzed out the door, proclaiming her urge to sing was stronger than her maternal instincts. The day sheâd left him and his father to fend for themselves was a day he couldnât forget, no matter how he tried. Heâd seen his father, the man he looked up to and respected more than anyone in the world, reduced to tears that day. And even at a young age, he understood that his father was in pain, and that he never wanted to suffer that way.
Still, as he stretched out in the king-sized bed, he had to admit that it might be nice to have a beautiful woman pressed up against him. He wrapped himself up in the crisp white sheets, which was as close as he was going to get to being held tonight. Sure, there were one or two ladies he could call on to warm his bed, but they didnât really meet his requirements. A woman he would fully let into his life would have to be intelligent, independent and graceful, but most of all, sheâd have to be loyal. He required nothing less than total devotion from a woman, because he had no plans of ending up like his father; disrespected, disgraced and deserted.4
She would also have to accept the fact that he didnât have any desire to get married. To him, marriage represented nothing more than a legal contract, a piece of paper for the paperwork jockeys who worked down at the county courthouse with Rashad to sign off on. His parents had been married, but that hadnât stopped his mother from dishonoring her vows and basically spitting in his fatherâs face when she left him. Why bother going through all the trouble of signing something, having a ceremony and putting on airs? None of that meant anything without a true commitment, and as far as he was concerned, there were already enough pretenses in the world.
The buzzing of his cell phone drew him back to reality. Reaching over to where it lay on the nightstand, he picked it up and looked at the display. The caller ID said Unknown, and he wondered who would be calling him on a Sunday night. Curious, he lightly touched the screen twice, answering the call and engaging the speakerphone.
âHello?â
âDarius, is that you?â The female voice on the line sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldnât place it. Since heâd had the same cell phone number since grad school, there was really no telling who it was.
âYes, whoâs this?â He stared at the phoneâs screen.
A few moments passed in silence, as if the woman were hesitant to reveal her identity. Finally,