Pamela Yaye - Hollington Homecoming, Volume Two

Showing admirable poise, she pushed out a breath and greeted him with a tentative smile. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“You made it.” To her utter surprise, he bent down and pecked her cheek. “I’ve been watching the door for the last fifteen minutes.”

Kyra tripped over her tongue. His voice had a soporific effect on her and she suddenly felt light-headed. Why did this keep happening to her? Around Terrence she became more self-conscious than a preteen girl buying her first training bra. Recognizing the danger of being so close, she moved her body away from his. “Traffic’s usually crazy on Friday nights, but the rain made the drive ten times worse.”

“This is your last chance to back out of the bet,” he told her. “My cousin Damon is even more competitive than I am and he suggested the loser pay the winner’s tab. Think your friends will go for it?”

“Bring it on, bucko! We’re going to mop the floor with you!” Laughing, she agreed to meet up with him after the game and crossed the room toward her friend.

“Is that Terrence Franklin?” Shaunice asked, gripping her forearm.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

“He looked mighty happy to see you.”

Kyra told her about the bet. “I’m not worried. We’ve got this, right?”

“Not if Black Barbie doesn’t show up. Where is Aimee, anyway?”

“Shaunice, I told you to quit calling her that,” Kyra scolded. “How would you feel if I made fun of you behind your back?”

“Aimee’s plastic. It fits.” She lifted her martini glass to her thin, glossy lips. “I don’t know what men see in her. She’s as fake as a blow-up doll!”

“You sound jealous.”

Her eyes thinned. “Me? Jealous? Never. I might not have dimples or three bags of human hair flowing down my back, but I’ve got it going on.” She punctuated her words with heavy sighs and excessive eye rolling. “In my opinion, she’s nothing but a fake...”

Kyra shook her head. That confirmed it. Jealous. Shaunice’s problem was and always had been that she was intimidated by anyone who was different. She was Kyra’s loudest, most aggressive friend by far. No one was exempt from her sharp tongue and critique, but she had always been a good friend to her. “How are things going at work? Still working all that crazy overtime?”

Flying high over the promotion she’d received on Monday, Shaunice chatted about her plans for the bonus. Her friend kept up a continuous stream of chatter, but Kyra’s thoughts were on Terrence. Every so often, she’d steal a glance at him and after several seconds, look away. This time, she gave herself permission to stare. Frowning, she scrutinized the women who had surrounded his table. Didn’t he have any male fans? she wondered, as another leggy blonde joined the group. Being surrounded by a troop of sinewy model types would make the average man puff out his chest, but Terrence looked bored.

Kyra heard a buzzing sound. Plopping her handbag down on her lap, she rummaged through it for her cell phone. Concealing it under the table, she flipped open the screen and quickly read the text message.

What’s your pleasure? A Cosmopolitan, or a Candy Cane Martini?

Hiding a smile, she glanced up at him. His eyes were all over her. Terrence thought the world belonged to him and arrogantly believed they could pick up where they left off. Overconfident and full of pride, he was the type of man who never gave up. The type who’d stop at nothing to win. They’d never be more than friends, but there was no harm in letting him buy her a drink, was there?

“What are you over there smiling about?” Shaunice asked, glancing over Kyra’s shoulder. “Hey, I thought we agreed not to answer our cell phones during dinner. It was your rule, remember?”

Feeling guilty, she switched her phone to vibrate and made a show of dropping it into her purse. “Happy now?”

“Very,” Shaunice said, wearing a cheeky smile, “and don’t let it happen again!”

Two waiters arrived, carrying trays of appetizers and cocktails.

“Courtesy of the Verbal Ninjas,” the server explained, placing a drink in front of each woman. “Enjoy the lemon piña coladas, ladies.”

Kyra softened. So, he did remember. Pushing an errant piece of hair off her forehead, she sent Terrence a smile of thanks. He didn’t respond. Instead, he studied her with all seriousness, as if he were putting together a hundred-piece puzzle. And maybe he was, because when it came to their relationship nothing made sense.

The bar filled up and soon every seat was taken. Kyra was on her third cocktail when the disc jockey from WTSU 95 took the microphone and greeted the crowd. Glancing around the room for Aimee, Kyra opened her cell phone and punched in her girlfriend’s number. When the call went to voice mail, she left a message.

“Let’s get this party started!” the emcee bellowed, pumping his fists. “The first team to fifty points wins!”

Allowing herself another quick glance at Terrence, she pushed away her dainty cocktail glass and sat up ruler-straight.

He mouthed, “Good luck,” took a swallow of his beer and faced the host like a diligent student awaiting instructions from his teacher. An act if she’d ever seen one. To the casual observer, Terrence was just another participant, enjoying a night of trivia, but Kyra knew this was much more than just a game. And when he answered the first three questions correctly, Kyra knew she’d been had.

* * *

“How many albums has Michael Jackson sold worldwide?”

Shaunice smacked the buzzer. “750 million.”

“Five points for the Foxy Cleopatras!” The emcee paused expectantly. “How many countries border the African country of Libya?”

A man with a nasally voice answered. “Four!”

“Wrong. The correct answer is six. Who did the Atlanta Braves beat to win the 1995 World Series?”

“The Cleveland Indians!” Terrence shouted, up out of his seat.

Kyra snorted. Of course, a sports question. Hell, everyone in the state of Georgia could get that one right.

“We’re down to the last question, and the Verbal Ninjas and Foxy Cleopatras are leading all teams with forty-five points each. Whoever answers the next question right will win a thousand big ones, y’all!”

Kyra tasted her water. If she botched the next question, she’d be cooking Terrence dinner at his house tomorrow night. What was she thinking, agreeing to such outlandish terms? He’d goaded her into the bet and she’d fallen for his trick—hook, line and sinker. It was the oldest con in the book, but she’d been too busy lusting to see what he was doing. How long could they spend together before crossing the line? Kyra would never dream of sleeping with Terrence, but she couldn’t keep pretending that she wasn’t attracted to him. Not when her heart thundered every time he walked into a room.

Leaning forward, hand poised to strike, she calmed her nerves. Losing to Terrence wasn’t an option, so she smacked the buzzer before the host even finished reading the question. “Nineteen fifty-five!” she shouted, high above the din. “Martin Luther King received his doctorate in nineteen fifty-five.”

“Correct! The winners, for the third consecutive week, are the Foxy Cleopatras!”

Shaunice cheered, whooping and hollering like the missing member of the Village People. Kyra followed her friend to the front of the restaurant and burst out laughing when Shaunice snatched the prize money out of the emcee’s hands.

They were back at their table, sharing a complimentary slice of chocolate raspberry cheesecake when Terrence sidled up to their table with two dark, equally attractive men.

“That was some game,” Terrence said, after introductions were made, “but just for the record, I knew the answer to the last question.”