Page 54 of Zimyra

Nykendy says, “Or, maybe you’re telling yourself something is up so you can avoid him.”

“How can I avoid him, Kendy? He works for me, and he’s actively pursuing me.”

“He’s pursuing you?” Alyssa says, waggling her brows. “Nykendy, she didn’t tell us that earlier.”

“She sure didn’t. Now, we’re getting the real scoop.”

I can only shake my head. I level with them and say, “Well, he is. He claims he’s this carefree bachelor who doesn’t like to be tied down, so why is he wanting to spend so much time with me? That was him texting me, talking about heneededsome time with me today. I can’t figure this guy out. What is his angle?”

Alyssa says, “Girl, men are hunters. He sees you as prey, obviously. But, listen—if he’s already telling you he ain’t no good, don’t even bother.”

“I second that,” Nykendy chimes in. “I had one of those—wish I hadn’t wasted my time.”

“Timeout—he didn’t exactly say he was no good.”

“Then what kind of vibe are you getting from him?” Alyssa questions.

“He’s a very confident man—very sure of himself. He goes for what he wants, but how does a man like that end up doing maintenance work for a living?”

They both shrug.

I laugh and say, “Y’all done got married and don’t understand anything I’m going through.”

“No, I get it,” Alyssa says. “My advice would be to just feel him out and see what he’s about. It can’t hurt to look, right?”

I consume the rest of my drink and think about it. Does a woman have to acquiesce when she knows she’s being pursued? Or should there be a constant undercurrent of power that she maintains before deciding to allow the man to get close without him getting shocked? I’m—I—I’m not prepared for any of this. It wasn’t in my plans. My life was fine the way it was and now –him. But I’m no fool. It takes more than charm and good looks to convince me of anything. I look for a man with substance. One who values family. One with ethics and morals. When it’s time for me to find said man, I’m still going to give him a hard time, too, because that’s what I do. I know my value, and I added tax a long time ago.

CHAPTER 16

It’s her eyes.No, her lips. Her body, perhaps. Everything is toned and in shape. She barely has a waist. Her breasts are the perfect size for her frame, and her backside is plump and round like she stays in the gym doing squats, but I imagine she was just blessed that way.

Whatever the case, I cannot pinpoint one specific thing that makes Zimyra special. It’s her overall being that has me captivated. It’s also the fact that she seems blissfully unaware of how breathtakingly beautiful she is. Like she has no idea that men stare at her. When I was with her at The Promenade, she caught looks from just about every man who walked by. Maybe she’s used to it.

Even after all of her wonderful physical attributes, her qualities add to that beauty. She’s smart and friendly. She cares about people, and she’s a hard worker, like me. If, and that’s a bigif, I was interested in marriage, she’s the only woman I’ve encountered in my thirty-six years that I would consider being locked in with. That’s saying a lot because I’m not the kind of man who sits around thinking about stuff like this. It’s really irking me that I’m doing it now.

As soon as the clock strikes five, I pick up my cell phone and call her. She doesn’t answer and while that’s usually a nonfactor for me, I find myself agitated by it. I immediately question where she is and what she’s doing like it’s any of my business. Like I have some stake in her life and need to know her every move.

Everything in me wants to immediately dial her number again, but I’m not that guy. I slide the phone into my front pocket and walk to the kitchen in search of food. I was forced to go grocery shopping earlier today because there are times I don’t like leaving the house – especially when I’m being lazy. Today is one of those lazy days, one I deserve since I’m back on maintenance duties tomorrow.

I take out a pack of ham and cheese slices, and take some bread from the pantry. Then I prepare a simple sandwich. I don’t cook, but I know how to put something between bread. According to my mother, as long as I can do that much, I won’t starve. That was one of her college tips for me.

Back at home, I have cooks, people who wash my cars, a housekeeper, a personal assistant, and an executive assistant. I’m busy chasing paper – I don’t have time to do anything out of the scope of that.

However, while I’m here in Columbia, I’m doing it all – well most of it. I was able to outsource my laundry, but as far as food is concerned, it’s restaurants and the lil’ something I’m able to whip up on days like today.

I grab a bag of chips – asking myself why I bought them in the first place. I usually don’t eat so recklessly. But, one bag won’t hurt. I’ll burn it off later.

My phone rings.

I take it from my pocket to see that it’s Boss Lady calling. I answer, “You stood me up.”

Her laughter tickles my ears. It’s a sound I’ve grown to crave.

“I did not stand you up. I called you right back.”

“And what was so important that you couldn’t take my call?”

“My mother.”

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