The Unexpected Affair Read online

  “Good to meet you,” she said.

  “Pleasure’s mine.” His smile was handsome. “Let’s take a look at that dent.”

  He followed her outside to her car.

  “Here it is.” She pointed at her vehicle.

  “Ouch,” he said. “But it’s not so bad. Won’t take me long to knock that out.”

  “Good. I appreciate it.”

  “No problem. Lane is my best friend,” he told her. “And he insisted that I take good care of you.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Yes, but he didn’t mention that you were so beautiful and had a sexy accent. Where are you from?”

  “Bahamas.”

  “Nice,” said Melvin. “Now, if you’ll just have a seat in the customer waiting area, I’ll get you squared away.”

  “Actually, my girlfriend just pulled up. We’re going to run out for a bit, and I’ll just come back in a little while.”

  Melvin squinted to get a better look at Kenya as she pulled into the parking lot. “She look like you?” He smiled.

  “She’s engaged.” Whitney smiled and began to walk out of the shop.

  “Engaged, but not married, right?” he called as she walked away.

  “They’re just about there.” Whitney laughed, giving Melvin a wave as she exited. She hopped into the passenger’s seat of Kenya’s sedan.

  Kenya lowered the volume on the Rihanna song she was blasting. “Who’s the nosy guy?”

  “Melvin.” Whitney wrapped the seat belt around her. “Lane’s friend.”

  “Oh, Lane.” Kenya grinned. “Now you’re on a first-name basis.”

  “What? His name is Lane. You want me to keep calling him the guy whose truck I plunged into?”

  “I guess not.” Kenya gave her a side-eye. “Now, where around here can we go for that drink? I don’t know anything about this neighborhood.”

  “Right,” said Whitney, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll just check Yelp.”

  “Okay.”

  “It says there’s a bar just around the corner. They have great reviews and even have a happy hour,” said Whitney. “Make a left here at the corner.”

  * * *

  They stepped into the quaint bar, snagged a small table in the corner of the dimly lit room. Soulful music played casually, and some people swayed to it, while others engaged in loud conversations. Whitney ordered her signature rum and pineapple juice, while Kenya sipped on a glass of Merlot.

  “Can we have an order of the hot wings, too?” Whitney asked the half-naked server.

  “Sure,” said the young woman. “You want mild or hot?”

  “What do you think?” she asked Kenya.

  “I’m not eating any hot wings. Girl, I’ve got to fit all of this into that wedding dress in a few weeks.”

  Kenya was always watching her weight. Always on some diet or taking a supplement for this or that. And since getting engaged, she’d been on a mission to maintain her weight at her current size because she was not buying another dress.

  “I’ll take the hot ones,” said Whitney, and as soon as the server walked away, she leaned toward Kenya to talk over the music. “A few hot wings never hurt anybody.”

  “I’m not like you, with your perfect figure that you never have to work for!”

  “Oh, I work for it. But I cheat sometimes,” said Whitney. “I hit the gym, too.”

  “When, Whit?” asked Kenya. “When was the last time you were committed to a workout?”

  “Last night.”

  “But before that, how long?”

  “It had been...” Whitney thought for a moment, took a sip of her drink. “Okay, it had been a while. But I’m back now. I’m sore right now, but I’m back.”

  “Why do you bother?” asked Kenya. “Look at you. You’ve got it in all the right places.”

  Whitney’s five-foot-four physique was coveted by many. Her 152 pounds seemed to fall in all the right places. In her mind, though, she needed work. She needed her butt lifted and her stomach flatter.

  “So do you. You just need to tone a bit,” said Whitney. She knew that weight had been a long-standing and touchy subject for Kenya, so she changed the subject. “I found the perfect shoes for my dress.”

  “Really? Where?”

  “DSW.” Whitney pulled her cell phone out, sorted through her photos and showed Kenya. “Look at these beauties.”

  “Oh, they are beautiful!” Kenya grabbed the phone. “I need to send this to all of the bridesmaids.”

  Whitney snatched her phone back. Her Bahamian accent was stronger at times. “No, honey. I’m the maid of honor. My dress and shoes will be different.”

  “You’re right,” Kenya resolved. “It’s just that these women are dragging their feet. I don’t even think that Tasha has gone to get fitted for her dress!”

  “She will.” Whitney laughed. “You know she’s late for everything. She’ll be late for her own funeral.”

  “Why can’t she ever be on time?” Kenya took a sip of her wine and made room on the table for the piping-hot wings that the server placed on the table. “Thanks, honey. Can we get some extra napkins, please?”

  The server walked away, but not before rolling her eyes at Kenya.

  “Did she just roll her damn eyes at me?” Kenya asked.

  Whitney chuckled. “I think she did.”

  “See, that’s why I don’t come over here.”

  “It’s okay.” Whitney was already tearing into a hot wing and licking sauce from her fingertips. “Some of the best places have the worst customer service. Try these wings, girl. You’ll forget all about what’s-her-name.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t see it.” Kenya grabbed a wing, her pinkie finger in the air.

  Whitney shook her head and grabbed another wing.

  * * *

  Just as they pulled up at the body shop, Melvin was pulling Whitney’s car out of the bay.

  “You’re all set.” He stepped out of the car, grinned and dangled the keys in the air.

  “Thank you.” Whitney gave him a smile and grabbed her keys. She took a long look at her bumper. It was like new. “Looks good!”

  “Damn right!” he boasted. “Now, tell my friend Lane that I took good care of you.”

  “I certainly will.” She walked around to the side of her car. Melvin opened the door for her and she sank into the driver’s seat. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He slammed her door shut.

  She drove off, found a track on her playlist and smiled as the music resonated through the car.

  Chapter 4

  Lane relaxed on the sofa and flipped back and forth between two football games. Why they had to air them at the same time was beyond him. He had bets riding on both of them. He wasn’t a gambler in the traditional sense, he’d convinced himself. He just dabbled a bit. He didn’t need the money. In fact, he’d made a nice salary driving his cement truck for the past seventeen years. Betting on sports was just a pastime. He could quit at any time.

  He yelled at the television, a plate of food on the coffee table in front of him. He sipped on a cold bottle of Budweiser, leaned back on the pillow and pushed the comforter aside. The sofa doubled as a bed for him because that’s where he slept most nights. It had been weeks since he’d slept in his bed. He worked insane hours, and usually he’d fall asleep in front of the television before the last quarter of any game. He was the epitome of a bachelor, and his relationships had struggled in the past. His long hours left minimal time for dating.

  Besides working long hours, he hadn’t found a woman worth the work of dating long-term. He usually found something wrong with her. Too clingy, too self-centered, too fat, too skinny, low self-esteem—all were reasons to
break things off before anyone got serious. His divorce had left him gun-shy, and he wasn’t sure that he’d let anyone else in after that. Love was painful, and he didn’t have time to be hurt again.

  His phone buzzed and he looked at the text message.

  Just left Melvin’s shop. Thanks for everything!

  “Whitney,” he whispered. A smile swept across his face, and he couldn’t wipe it away.

  He replied, Yrr welcome.

  He wanted to say more but didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Didn’t want her to think that he was interested in anything more than making sure her car was taken care of. He placed the phone on the coffee table and stuffed a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

  I hope you have a nice night, she texted back.

  You too, he replied, and then waited for the notification that she had texted him again.

  He waited. Grabbed the phone and typed, Are you free Friday night?

  What was he doing? Friday night was his night to fall asleep in front of the television again. He didn’t need to make appointments that he had no intentions of keeping. He hit the send key anyway.

  Free for what? she asked.

  Idk. Dinner?

  “I don’t know?” he whispered. “Dammit!”

  He didn’t even have a game plan. He’d approached her without a plan. And on top of that, he wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to take her out. It was just something that had slipped out, an impulsive act on his part.

  Sure, she texted.

  Had she said yes? He sat up straight on the sofa, stuck his chest out. He was cocky now.

  Cool, he typed.

  Where would he take her? She was undoubtedly a wine-sipping fancy-dinner-spot type of woman. He was a sports-bar type of guy. That was a good enough reason not to follow through with this crazy idea. He leaned against the back of the sofa, considered how he could get out of this date that he’d just made on impulse. How had he even gotten here? They were as different as night and day. And he wasn’t up for anyone trying to change him. Nope. He’d been there, done that with the last woman, Erica. She’d tried her best to change him. Buying him these corny outfits and insisting that he wear them to the cocktail parties and office dinners that he’d been forced to tag along on. She hated when he watched the game or hung out with the guys from work. Wanted him to spend every waking hour with her. He was relieved when she finally disappeared from his life.

  I know a nice sports bar in the Arts District. The Cowboys are playing that night. Not that I’m a fan of the Cowboys, but I enjoy a good football game, she texted.

  He smiled when he read the text. “Damn,” he whispered.

  Well, who are you a fan of? he asked.

  Broncos. I don’t know why. I grew up watching soccer myself, but I just like the team. You?

  Kansas City Chiefs. After my hometown, Saint Louis, lost the Rams to LA, I went with the next best team.

  The Chiefs? The next best?

  He laughed aloud and then dialed her phone number. Forget the texting. He needed to set her straight! She was laughing on the other end of the phone.

  “You think that’s funny, huh?” he asked.

  “Did I push your buttons?” she asked, still laughing.

  “What do you have against the Chiefs?”

  “I’m not saying that they’re crap overall. Their season is pretty good this year.”

  “They’re doing great this season!”

  “You’re right. And they do have Andy Reid.”

  “What you know about football?”

  “I know a lot,” she said. “Now, are we meeting at the sports bar on Friday night or what?”

  “Send me the info and I’ll meet you there,” he said. He tried to remain calm. Friday wouldn’t get here soon enough, he thought.

  “Good!” she exclaimed. “I’ll see you then.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’d love to talk to you more about the Chiefs, but I have an early morning with twelve kindergartners. I need my beauty sleep.”

  “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep. It seems to be working pretty good.” He chuckled.

  “I’ll see you on Friday.” Her voice smiled.

  “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  He held the phone long after she’d hung up. He took his plate into the kitchen and washed the few dishes that were in the sink. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and decided that he’d turn in for the night, as well. Three o’clock in the morning usually came knocking a lot sooner than he was ever ready for.

  * * *

  Lane pulled his Ford F-150 into the parking lot. Sat there for a moment and gathered his thoughts. It was early, and though he’d done these hours for many years, he still needed a moment each morning. He listened to the ending of the song on his playlist before finally shutting the engine off. Made his way across the gravel to the office and punched the time clock. He made his way over to his cement truck, hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He smiled at the rumble of it. He hopped out and then did an inspection of his truck. Priscilla, he called her. He and Priscilla had been together for many years. He’d been with Priscilla longer than his ex-wife.

  When he heard the sound of a notification on his phone, he pulled it out of his pocket.

  Don’t forget about LJ’s game, the text read.

  Helena had a bad habit of reminding him of things he already knew. Two games. He’d had to work late a couple of times and missed two games, and she hadn’t let him forget it.

  I’ll be there, he typed.

  And don’t forget he needs new sneakers, she added.

  Got them already.

  He was becoming more irritated by the moment. He didn’t need her reminding him of things he already knew. He wasn’t her husband anymore. In fact, she had new a husband now. She needed to tend to what’s-his-name and stay out of his affairs with his son. He and LJ had things under control. They talked every afternoon when he got out of school. LJ kept his father abreast of his game schedule, his grades and everything that was important to him. He’d even asked for advice about girls on occasion—a rare occasion.

  LJ was somewhat shy, laid-back. Unlike his father at that age, who was a social butterfly. He’d had no problems talking to girls in high school, and certainly not in college. Being a star running back at both schools, he was popular. There was no need for him to chase, because girls flocked to him. And he basked in the glory of it—until that one girl captured his heart. The one he married. The one who broke his heart. They were supposed to live happily ever after, but his happily-ever-after quickly changed when she walked out of his life, their son in tow. He swore that no one would ever get the chance to do that to him again. Ever.

  He placed the hard hat on his head and secured his reflective safety vest around his torso. He turned up the volume on the radio—listened to the antics of the disc jockeys on the hip-hop station, K104. He slowly pulled the cement truck out of the parking lot and headed for his first job of the day. Tried not to think about Whitney, but he couldn’t help it. She was already creeping into his thoughts, uninvited.

  Chapter 5

  She sat on the rooftop patio, at the high-top table, and sipped on a glass of water. She checked her watch. It was already seven fifteen. They’d agreed to meet at seven, and she was there at six forty-five. She was always prompt and expected nothing less from her suitors. Promptness was an item on her Man Menu. It was right up there with cleanliness. In the past, she’d have walked out and never answered her phone again. But something made her sit there and wait, even as seven thirty flashed across the big-screen television where the Cowboys had just scored a field goal.

  “Can I get you something else to drink, ma’am?” asked the blond-haired serv
er.

  “She’ll have a Heineken,” said the male voice behind her, “and one for me, too.”

  She wanted to tell him about his tardiness. Had already rehearsed the speech in her head, but when she looked at his beautiful chocolate face and he flashed that beautiful smile, everything she thought she wanted to say dissipated. He cleaned up well, and the jeans and black shirt were a nice change from his work attire. Lane kissed her cheek and took a seat across from her at the table.

  “What makes you think I wanted a beer?”

  “It’s a sports bar. The game is on...” He grinned. “I can order you something else if you’d like.”

  “What makes you think I wanted you to order for me at all?” She almost smiled. “I’m fully capable of ordering for myself.”

  “I couldn’t tell. When I walked in, you were sipping on a glass of water.” He grabbed a menu and began to look it over.

  “You were late,” she mentioned.

  “I’m sorry. My last job lasted a little later than expected. I had to rush home, shower and change.”

  “No text to say ‘I’m running late’?” she asked.

  “I’m so sorry. That was totally inconsiderate of me,” he said. “Forgive me?”

  She grabbed a menu and held it up to her face. “This time,” she said.

  “Thank you.”

  The server placed a beer in front of each of them. She looked at the green bottle and watched as Lane poured his into the chilled mug. She wasn’t a beer drinker but liked the idea of trying something new. She poured hers into the mug and took a sip. It wasn’t as bad as she’d anticipated.

  “So what are you having?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. You seem to know what I like.”

  “What do you like?”

  “I’d like for my date to be on time. And in the future, if he’s going to be late, I’d like for him to call or text and let me know.”

  “So you’re saying there will be another date. Or should I say, future dates.”

  “Let’s get through this one first.” She smiled at him.