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  Autumn returned to the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. She had a date with L.J. So much for keeping her distance. One minute she had plans to stay away from him, the next she had dinner plans. When it came to L.J, her feelings were about as predictable as the weather in March. Autumn knew what had swayed her. It was his honesty. And when he said, “I really like you,” her resolve had crumbled. What could be cuter than that? Autumn bypassed her cold breakfast and flitted off into the bedroom. Sure, their date was two days away, but it couldn’t hurt to put together an outfit now, could it?

  Chapter 8

  By the time Tuesday afternoon rolled around, Autumn was having mountain-size doubts about her six-o’clock date with L.J. He had called her the night before and they had had another pleasurable conversation. They had talked and joked for hours like two old friends. His aunt Fannie had even joined them on the phone to chitchat.

  They were getting along wonderfully, but Autumn still had her doubts. The circumstances surrounding their date gnawed at her. In some ways, Autumn felt as if she had been duped. She had agreed to the date during a moment of weakness. If she hadn’t been ticked off with her meddling girlfriends, she wouldn’t have agreed to dinner. Autumn was wildly attracted to L.J. and enjoyed his company immensely, but she wasn’t convinced dating him was a good idea. Her stomach was flipping and flopping and she hadn’t even seen him yet. How in the world would she make it through two hours of dinner if she was a ball of nerves just thinking about him?

  Autumn lifted the phone, but the sounds of her office made it difficult for her to hear the dial tone. She got up, shut the door on the chatter and returned to her desk. She felt horrible for canceling at the last minute, but she would feel even worse if she made a fool of herself at dinner. While she waited for L.J. to answer the call, she coached herself on what she would say. She needed to get right to the point. No small talk. Just the bare facts. Autumn prayed his voice mail would pick up. She would feel more comfortable if she could just leave a message. By the time he returned her call, she would have everything sorted out in her mind.

  L.J.’s pre-recorded voice informed her that he was unable to take her call, and Autumn sighed in relief. She identified herself and quickly got to the purpose of her phone call. “I hate to cancel on such short notice, but I’ll be working late tonight. I can’t make dinner. Sorry.” She had rushed her words at the end, her voice mimicking an auctioneer, but at least the date had been cancelled and she was free.

  Autumn replaced the receiver and slumped back into her leather swivel chair. She felt as though a five-ton bag of rocks had been lifted off her shoulders. It’s not that she didn’t like L.J.—she did—but she was more concerned with her peace of mind. Part of her felt silly for canceling. It was just a date. But that’s how things had started with Tyrell. One date had led to another and before Autumn knew what was happening, they were a couple and her mother was making wedding plans.

  L.J. wasn’t shy about his feelings, in fact he was very open about them. Just last night he’d said he was looking forward to their date, despite being a little nervous. He joked that he couldn’t stop thinking about her long enough to get anything done. Autumn was flattered that someone as handsome as L.J. found her attractive, but he was getting too close. And if she didn’t do something about it now, she could end up in over her head later. On the phone, things were perfect; he kept her laughing and their conversation flowed easily, but when they were face-to-face, Autumn’s first inclination was to run for the high hills.

  Well, there would be no running tonight. She had cancelled their date, and now she was feeling ten times better. No more worries. No more stress. Filing away all thoughts of L.J., Autumn picked up her pen and opened the Bible-thick file taking up three-quarters of her desk.

  “This is for the game,” Peter announced, his game face set in place. “Ready to get whooped up and down the court?”

  “No way you’re beating us again,” Omar shot back. “The first game was a warm-up, but we’re ready for you now. Right, Calvin?”

  Calvin stretched his arms across his chest as though he was readying himself for a yoga lesson rather than a game of basketball. He nodded in his partner’s direction, and said, “That’s right. Now we’re in it to win it.” To further prove his point, he swiped the ball out of L.J.’s hands and shot a three-pointer. The ball rattled around the rim before dropping into the basket. Calvin retrieved the ball, and dribbled it between his legs with the fluency of a professional basketball player.

  L.J. checked the time on his watch. “Let’s make this quick fellas, it’s five o’clock and—”

  “I thought we were playing the best of five? Don’t think I’m springing for beers if this is the last game,” Calvin scoffed. “Omar and I can still make a comeback, right, partner?”

  Omar flashed him a thumbs-up.

  “I don’t know what the rest of you are doing, but I’m out after this basket.”

  Calvin raised a thick, bushy eyebrow in L.J.’s direction. “Where are you rushing off to? Have a hot date?”

  “I have plans for tonight.” L.J. didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t about to tell Calvin about his date with Autumn. He couldn’t stand Pete’s older brother and the only reason he had agreed to play this afternoon was because Pete had begged him to and he didn’t want to disappoint his best friend. L.J.’s dislike for Calvin stretched back to childhood. Calvin had teased him relentlessly about his stuttering and the scars had never healed. Every time L.J. had opened his mouth to speak, Calvin had stammered, collapsed onto the floor and shaken violently like someone having an epilepsy attack. He’d thought he was hilarious, and the more the other kids laughed, the more out-of-control he got.

  Joining the wrestling team in the ninth grade had proved to be a life-changing decision for L.J. He’d soaked up the advice of his coach, stayed after school perfecting holds and ingested protein shakes like water. When he’d returned to Washington the following spring, he was four inches taller and outweighed Calvin by almost thirty pounds. The bully had never teased him again. With time and support from his teachers, L.J. grew out of his stuttering, but he had never forgotten the humiliation he had experienced at the hands of Calvin. L.J. knew it was childish to hold on to something almost fifteen years old, but Calvin had never apologized and whenever he was around the construction foreman, those painful memories engulfed him.

  “Where’re you running off to?” Calvin wiped his forehead with the underside of his T-shirt. When L.J. didn’t reply promptly, he said, “Well, if you’re leaving after this game, I’m not buying jack. The deal was the best of five games, not two. No extra games. No beer.”

  “Are we going to stand here jawing or are we going to play some ball?” L.J. held his hands up, prepared to receive the basketball.

  “Ready to get beat?” Calvin sneered.

  Calvin was a joke. A graying, pot-bellied joke. L.J. had been beating him up and down the court all afternoon, but he was still running his mouth. “Whatever you say, Pops. Check the ball.”

  Calvin chucked the ball at L.J., then he bent his knees and threw out his arms at his sides. He tried his best to stay with the younger man as he dribbled upside the court, but Calvin’s shaky thirty-nine-year-old legs couldn’t keep up. When L.J. drove to the basket, Calvin’s feet slipped out from underneath him and he landed square on his back. Omar left Peter to help cover L.J., leaving Peter wide-open. The ball whizzed by Omar’s face, landed into Peter’s hands and he laid it in the basket for an easy point.

  Chuckling heartily, L.J. and Peter exchanged high fives. Omar’s face was clouded with confusion and Calvin was spread out on the pavement like a blanket. The father of four looked like he needed a stretcher and a jolt from a defibrillator.

  L.J. felt pity for his out-of-shape opponent. He stuck out his hand, pulled Calvin to his feet, and gave him a pat on the back. “You okay, man?”

  Calvin jerked his hand away. He dusted off his basketball shorts and then shoved a long, crooked fing
er under L.J.’s nose. “We have to replay the point. You traveled and then you plowed into me. That’s an offensive foul. And you’d think Omar wanted y’all to win the game with that old sloppy, grandma-type defense. What kind of…”

  L.J. shook his head. Calvin was the worst kind of loser. It didn’t matter what game he played, or who was on his team, if he lost it was always somebody else’s fault. He never considered what he might have done to cause the loss. His teammates were the ones with the problem, and he let them know it in no uncertain terms.

  L.J. made his way over to the picnic tables. He was in no mood to hear Calvin bitch and moan. Mopping his brow, he tossed down some lukewarm Gatorade, then flopped down on one of the broken-down benches. When his breathing slowed, and his thirst was quenched, he retrieved his cell phone from his duffel bag. The second he heard Autumn’s authoritative, businesslike tone, he knew she was calling to cancel. He listened to the message twice, then erased it. L.J. tried to block out the strident voices coming from the court, but it was like being in a nightclub and complaining the music was too loud. All of the basketball courts were full, and there were more than a dozen guys sitting along the fence waiting for the opportunity to showcase their skills.

  L.J. watched Peter step between Calvin and Omar, and chuckled. It was like watching a couple of five-year-old boys on the school playground. The two seething cousins were pushing, shoving and calling each other everything from “loser” to “fathead.” When L.J. heard Calvin challenge the much younger Omar to a game of one on one, his shoulders straightened. This was going to be quite the match. Omar was no Michael Jordan, but when he got into the right shooting rhythm, he could shoot three points like one of the pros. Omar would make quick work of Calvin, and then they could call it a day.

  Peter threw his hands up in the air. “Y’all are on your own! Kill each other if you want. I don’t care. Just don’t expect to drive with me. You won’t be staining my leather seats with your blood. You can ride the bus home.” He turned his back on his brother and his cousin, who were now banging up against each other, and stalked away.

  “What’s up?” Peter asked, sneaking up on L.J. and interrupting his thoughts. “You look like you just learned that the IRS is at your house.” He finished his water in two quick gulps and pitched the empty bottle into one of the enormous green garbage bins.

  “Autumn cancelled.”

  “Tough break, man.” Peter glanced at L.J. “You know what your problem is, don’t you? You’re sweating her too hard. You call. You send long-winded e-mails. You keep asking her out. It’s too much. Way too much. I’d be careful if I were you, L.J., ’cause you’re just a lawn chair and a pair of binoculars away from being a stalker.” Peter chortled at his own joke. He plucked at his white cotton T-shirt and with a smirk said, “Take some pointers from the master and play it cool.”

  “This coming from a man who acts like a puppet whenever he’s around his fiancée?”

  “It’s all part of my strategy.”

  L.J. threw his head back and laughed. Who was Peter trying to fool? Since he’d started dating Melissa, he had lost all function of his spine and like a high-school trumpeter, he moved to each and every tick of her baton. She ran every area of his life, from what he should eat to what kind of underwear he should wear. Peter acceded to her outlandish demands and whenever L.J. ribbed him about being whipped, he shrugged it off.

  “Quit now, because Autumn’s a challenge for even the most together brother. She’s one of those strong, independent sisters who claims she doesn’t need a man. She’s sweet and all, but trust me, she won’t take any crap from anybody. You saw what she did to Tyrell at the party. I heard she brought the brother to tears.”

  “I’ll take my chances.” L.J. added, “I don’t mind a good chase.”

  Peter looked down at L.J.’s sneakers. “Well, I hope you brought another pair to run in, because you couldn’t catch a fly in those tattered and battered Reeboks.”

  “Don’t worry ’bout me, Pete. I got everything covered. Autumn canceling was just a minor setback. I already have plan B in the works.”

  The two friends brought their conversation to a pause when Calvin dribbled out to the top of the court and launched an NBA-range three-pointer. They broke up into hysterics when the ball missed the rim entirely.

  “Does Autumn know about Rachelle?” Peter asked after his laughter dried up.

  A surefire way to spoil L.J.’s mood was to mention his ex-wife’s name. His face stretched into a frown as an image of the petite, red-haired vixen came to mind. “I’m not going to spring my past on her right out the gate, but if she asks, I won’t lie.”

  “I have a strictly don’t-ask-don’t-tell policy. I don’t tell Melissa anything she doesn’t really need to know. Women are always saying they want their men to be up-front and honest, but as soon as a brother comes clean about some dirt, his lady’s pulling a Waiting to Exhale and hurling his stuff out of the house. Take my advice and keep your transgressions between you and your pastor. Don’t be conned like all the other suckers out there who were honest about their mess and then ended up sleeping in the backseat of their car in a Wal-Mart parking lot. From what I’ve seen, the truth never set anybody free.”

  “Well, if things go the way I hope they do, I’ll have to tell her about Rachelle at some point. I’ll just make sure it’s the right time.”

  Peter didn’t look convinced. “There’s never a ‘right time’ to tell a woman about your ex.”

  L.J. considered Peter’s point. He thought of all the women he had taken out since his split from Rachelle. “You know what, Pete? You’re right about that, because women start acting funny when I tell them I’ve already walked down the aisle.”

  “Walked?” Peter chuckled. He vividly recalled his childhood friend stumbling down the aisle of the dingy Garden of Love chapel. “In your case, it was a drunken stagger. Only God knows what possessed you to get hitched in Vegas, after partying all night and loaded up on booze.”

  “I have half a mind to knock you out for letting me go through with it. What kind of man stands by while his best friend makes the biggest mistake of his life?”

  Peter held his palms up. “You see these hands? They’re clean. And so is my conscience. No one told you to go off and marry her. I tried to talk you out of it, but you wouldn’t listen. You said, and I quote, ‘Rachelle makes me happy. We’re in love.’”

  “Love? Those words came out of my mouth?” L.J. couldn’t recollect saying that, but after a few glasses of Scotch, he was liable to say anything. He dropped his arms around the back of the bench as his gaze shifted to the pale-blue sky. Thin clouds stretched across its length, resembling sand dunes. The unsettled weather had alternated between clouds and rain for the better part of the day, but now the sun was shining brightly.

  “You must have misheard me, Pete. What I said was that I was madly in lust with her. Lust not love. There’s a big difference. But could you blame me? The woman has a body that could make a grown man cry and when she told me about the baby, I knew I had to do the right thing.” L.J. sighed and offered his take on the notion of happily ever after. “Whoever said marriage was a bed of roses was either high as a kite or dead drunk. It’s more like a cot of thistles and every time I turn around I’m getting pricked in the ass!”

  Peter roared, laughing until his eyes were watering. “Cut it out, L.J., you’re scaring me.” The tone of his voice turned serious. “It’s not that bad—is it?”

  “Worse. Rachelle and I didn’t even make it to the six-month mark, but it felt like we’d been married for six years.” Growing tired of discussing his marital problems, L.J. got to his feet. He shoved his towel, headband and half-empty Gatorade bottle back into his gym bag. Slipping a carrot-colored T-shirt on over his baggy sweat pants, he asked Peter for directions to Monroe Accounting.

  “It’s on Pennsylvania Avenue, next to the Chevy Chase building and a few blocks from the Old Post Office Pavilion. You can’t miss it.” Pete
r shook his head. “Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine, have it your way. But keep this up and Autumn’ll have a solid case for filing that order of protection.”

  L.J. swung his gym bag over his left shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pete, I won’t be breaking any laws tonight. I’m just going to pay my new friend a little visit.”

  Three dozen heavy-eyed accountants were seated around a mahogany conference room table, writing frantically to keep up with their boss. Everyone except Autumn. She was on autopilot and had been ever since the team meeting started an hour ago. Her hand was moving across her notepad, but not to jot down imperative notes. She was doodling. A quarter of her mind was listening to her boss and the rest of it was thinking about L.J. She wondered what his reaction had been when he heard her message. Had he been disappointed? Angry? Or had he shrugged it off and made other plans?

  Autumn glanced up from her “notes” and read the clock hanging directly above her boss. Seven thirty-six. If she hadn’t backed out of their date, they would be eating dinner now. Autumn swept her pen across her page and unconsciously wrote L.J.’s name in fine script. Next, she wrote it in bubble letters. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t hear Ms. Barstow calling her name.

  “Ms. Nicholson!”

  Autumn almost jumped out of her skin. Her head whipped up, and her pen and “notes” fell to the floor. “Yes, Ms. Barstow?”

  All eyes were on Autumn. Everyone was watching her, and more than half of her co-workers were smirking.

  “Welcome back to the real world, Ms. Nicholson.” Ms. Barstow’s tone was crisp and unfriendly. “I have been waiting for you to bring the rest of us up to speed on the preliminary summary of fiscal concerns for Morrison Manufacturing, but since you’re occupied in your flight to dreamland, I’ll ask Mr. Papakostas for the report.”