She had even spent a night out after her art class with almost no notice. And that was what was really on Michelle’s mind, keeping her awake.
She kept replaying the moment when it had seemed that Rashad wanted to kiss her, and she kept wondering about his reaction when she’d told him that she wasn’t married. It was clearly news to him, but he hadn’t come back to kiss her. Perhaps he didn’t want her if she was actually within reach. Or maybe he hadn’t been about to kiss her and was just being polite to let her get over her embarrassment. But then he had asked her out the next week, or was that only to continue their friendship from class?
Deep down, she wanted him to be interested, and that’s what scared her.
It was funny to think that after being divorced for two and a half years, the prospect of a date would perplex her, but it did. Was next week a date?
Michelle fell asleep wondering what the following Wednesday would bring but determined to let it be whatever it turned out to be. In her mind, life was looking up. She could at least imagine having a date, and she was finally getting her life in order after the merry-go-round marriage she’d had.
Don’t forget to check with Mrs. Miller and email Rashad. That was her last coherent thought before she nodded off, and her dreams were tinged with possibility.
Chapter 4
Rashad sank into the leather sectional that lined the back of his brother Marcus’s law office. Rashad was the youngest of four brothers, and all were now gathered in Marcus’s office because they had planned—before Rashad knew about his class dates—to go to a Washington Redskins game. He had called to bow out, but he came to see his brothers off. Now all of the brothers—Derrick, Marcus, Keith, and Rashad himself—had arrived.
“I’m just explaining,” Rashad said. “Why I can’t go tonight. I have a class, and I’m having dinner with a classmate afterwards.”
“Is this dinner with a man or a woman?” Derrick, the oldest brother, asked.
Rashad rolled his eyes.
“It’s a woman,” Keith said. He was sitting next to Rashad and nudged Rashad’s shoulder.
“What does that prove—whether it’s a man or woman?” Marcus said.
“Just because you’re gay doesn’t make the rest of us gay,” Keith said. “We love you, bro. But this is a different story.”
“If it was just dinner,” Rashad explained, “I would reschedule, but I can’t change the date and time of my class.”
“Forget the class,” Keith said. “We want to know about the date.”
“Are you still playing,” Derrick asked, “or are you getting serious?”
Rashad was the only one of his brothers not married, including Marcus, the gay one, and it was never long before they started their ribbing and tried to get him to find the right one and “settle down.” Rashad let his head fall back and then shook it, looking at the ceiling. It was starting.
“Rashad hasn’t been serious about anyone his whole life,” Derrick said.
“Hey, I’ve always been up front about not wanting to get serious.”
“That’s to your credit,” Marcus said. “But what about getting serious for a change?”
“I’ll know when it’s time to get serious,” Rashad answered. “I’ll know when I find the right one.”
“I don’t know,” Keith said, already trying to control his laughter. “I’ve seen you out with a couple of, how shall I say, not-so-comely women.”
This exaggeration was designed to get Rashad’s gall up. They all knew that he dated lookers.
“Okay. Let me alone.” He panned his index fingers, pointing at all his brothers. “I can whip all of your behinds individually. Remember that.”
Rashad was the youngest but also by far the tallest of the four at six feet and two inches. And his brothers’ ribbing did get his gall up. He had dated only casually partly because he had in mind a model prototype of the woman he would marry, and he had not met her yet, so he had never really been serious. Actually, he resented the pressure his brothers put on him to conform, but he found that it subsided more quickly if he ignored them and didn’t let on that they were getting on his last nerve.
“It’s not that it isn’t fun to play,” Derrick said. “But there comes a time to settle down.”
Those were the words he hated. Rashad raised his palms in desperation, then let them slam down on his thighs.
“Here we go again.”
“Just trying to school you the right way, baby brother,” Marcus said, backing up Derrick.
“What we mean—”
Rashad cut off Keith. He was the last one married and the least serious of the bunch about everything except his marriage.
“No, we’re not going there today. And you, brother of mine, are the last one who should be talking about being serious.”
His other brothers cracked up, which was not quite what Rashad had intended.
“We’re not on me today,” Keith said, almost pouting. He added, “Thank heavens.”
Rashad stood as Trevor, Marcus’s partner, opened the door and came inside.
“I have to get on it,” Rashad said. “I have to make it to Old Town Alexandria from here in rush hour traffic. Hey, Trevor.” He greeted the other man with a brief hug. “You taking my place tonight?”
“Apparently so.”
Marcus got up from behind his desk and came over to them, first hugging his partner hello then clapping Rashad on the back and pulling him in for a similar hug goodbye. Derrick got up from his chair and Keith from the sectional, and both also came over to hug Rashad.
“I’m sorry I can’t make it tonight, you guys. We don’t get together enough.”
“Hey,” Derrick said, “Thanksgiving is next month, and I think the next game is before that.”
Rashad and Keith did their thing, a brief hug and then a smacking of closed fists.
“I’ll see you all then,” Rashad said. “If not before.”
He left his brother’s firm and made it to his meter before it expired.
His brothers had riled him, but they also had him thinking. Tonight was actually something of a date (though he would never say that to his brothers), and he didn’t know if he needed to say something to Michelle about not getting too serious. It was generally the first thing out of his mouth—just so they couldn’t point fingers later—but it hadn’t even occurred to him to say anything to Michelle. But then he’d thought she was married. Now that he knew she wasn’t, he still didn’t want to say anything. He didn’t want to chance chasing her away.
Something about her just set him at ease with himself. Yet she wasn’t what he thought his ideal would be. He imagined a sleek, sexy, manicured professional type—a corporate lawyer in a tight-fitting skirt done up to the nines, assertive and in control but his (and only his) playmate. He’d had that fantasy since he was a teenager, hence the model types that he’d dated. But none of them had shared his interests