Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145746 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
She’s quiet, swallowing. Picking up her fork and putting it down again. Fidgeting.
“At first I thought I was overacting, but now, I’m worried.” I reach across the table to take her hand. “Is there something wrong? Are you okay?”
She looks from my hand gripping hers to my face, and back and forth again, like she’s checking to make sure she’s seeing right.
“You’re worried about me?” she asks, stretching the question out like it might not be true.
“I am now, yeah.” I get up and go around to her side, coaxing her out of the chair, sitting down and then settling her back on my lap. “Tell me.”
“I…” She sets her hand on my shoulder and then cups my jaw. “Thank you for being concerned, but it’s nothing. I just… there was a guy I worked with years ago who told Canon some shit about me.”
“What?” I snap. “Who?”
“Down, boy.” She laughs, but it’s indulgent. Her eyes fill with the affection that has somehow, since we started shooting Dessi, become the norm between us again. “He told Canon I was a flake because I didn’t deliver some work for him.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.” I rub her back and wait for her to elaborate.
“He wasn’t lying,” she admits wryly. “I messed up and missed his deadline. It was… it was a bad time for me.”
A tough season. A bad time.
“Was it—”
“Can we talk about something else?” she cuts in, her eyes begging me to change the subject. Even though I want to keep digging and probing until the picture is clearer, I let it go.
“Okay, but listen for a sec.” I tilt her chin up so she has to look at me. “I know we’re keeping this casual.”
“And open.” She bites her bottom lips and smiles. “I remember.”
“Are you seeing anyone else?”
What the hell was I thinking asking that? It’s none of my business, but apparently there are no stops between my brain and my mouth now.
“Sorry.” I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Forget I asked. I don’t—”
“No.” Now she’s the one lifting my chin until I’m looking at her. “I’m not seeing anyone else.”
“You can,” I say, even though the knot in my chest loosens at her assurance. “I know this isn’t… I know what this is. You can see other people if you want.”
“So can you.”
The thought that for the last two weeks, I’ve gotten to have Verity Hill, to sleep in her bed, to wake up beside her once the sun’s up—but would think twice about anyone else is ludicrous. I don’t want to examine that too closely because what does that say about me? That I could be with someone else, but she’s the only one I want?
Still.
She leans in to kiss me sweetly, chastely, and mumbles against my lips. “Well, now that we’ve established yet again that we can both do whatever we want, do you want to finish dinner?”
“Yeah.” I shift, gripping her hips and turning her to straddle me.
“This doesn’t feel like dinner conversation,” she says, rolling over me, getting my dick—always at half-mast as soon as she enters any room—even harder.
I laugh, feeling lighter, even though some sixth sense tells me there is more to the conversation with Canon than what she shared. I don’t believe she’s lying to me and that’s enough for now.
“Looks like we’re not gonna finish eating,” she whispers, feathering kisses over my jaw and neck. “But I’m not complaining.”
I stand, lifting under her thighs and walking down the hall to her bedroom.
“Then neither am I.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Dessi
EXTERIOR – CAFÉ SOCIETY, GREENWICH VILLAGE – NIGHT 1939
Camera zooms in from wide shot of a bustling New York City street, and a modest redbrick building, to a close-up of the awning above the club door that reads
CAFÉ SOCIETY.
A doorman wearing a tattered top hat and gloves with no fingertips ushers Dessi, Cal, and Tilda inside. They sit at one of the small tables covered in a simple white tablecloth near the middle of the crowded club. The walls are muraled with caricatures of everything from celebrities, to poodles and images of life in New York. A large piano is set in the center of the room.
DESSI
You really think she’ll be here?
CAL
She’s supposed to be. That’s what I heard.
TILDA (LOOKING AROUND AT THE CROWD, EYEING THE GROUP OF WHITE PEOPLE AT THE NEIGHBORING TABLE)
If this ain’t something else. White folks sitting with Negroes. Close enough to touch.
CAL
This is the first desegregated nightclub in the country.
DESSI
Can’t believe I’m seeing it.
CAL
Wait’ll we get to Europe.
DESSI
Who woulda thunk, huh? Me singing in Paris? And London? And all them places? Mama near ’bout fell over when I told her. I can’t believe it.
Tilda rolls her eyes.
CAL
Well, you better believe it. We’re leaving soon! And you’re the main attraction.
TILDA
Where’s the booze in this place? I need a drink.