Page 39 of Savagely Yours
Next, I tried my brother.
It was the same thing.
But Jay was probably at basketball practice.
“All right, then. A dance break, it is. The first song, no matter what it is, is the winner. Okay?” I looked around the room at no one. “Okay, agreed.”
The first song turned out to be “Crazy in Love,” which I didn’t listen to in heavy rotation until college. Then, seeing as how my family lived in Wisconsin, and my parents were college professors, I wasn’t exposed to parties outside of my secret, one-woman bedroom “nightclub” sessions until I arrived in the DMV area.
I warmed up for my routine.
Part of my family’s roots were firmly lodged in Louisiana. Therefore, the ancestors had imbued my curves, of which I currently had plenty, with the spirit of movement.
As I moved, the stress melted from my body.
Tension evaporated from my bones.
I sang the words as if I’d spent the last decade listening to Beyoncé daily. And I danced like I was behind a locked door with a highly skilled security team on the other side, their main purpose to shield me from embarrassment rather than sudden danger.
At the end of the song, I looked back, preparing to walk away from the “camera,” only to clash gazes with Dez standing in the doorway, a brown paper bag in each hand.
I froze.
Depending upon how long he’d been standing there, he saw every “oh-oh,” every part of my attorney-turned-Atlanta stripper routine.
I spun around, breathing hard, one hand on my hip. “Hi.”
His mouth twitched. “Hey.”
“What’s that? Food?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He walked over. “I brought dinner.”
“Oh—”
“Oh.”
I smiled. “Shut up. Thanks for bringing dinner. Where’d you go?”
“The place I said I’d never return.”
“The food’s good.”
“It is, but you, Larke Tapley, have an addiction.”
Silence fell between us.
Then, he held up the bags, hummed the “Crazy in Love” opening riff, and did a little hip motion. Without thinking, I laughed and wrapped my arms around him. The soft pressure of his chin settled on top of my head. We’d never hugged before. Outside of incidental brushes, the most touching we did was when I fixed his tie or collar in the mornings. Yet, it didn’t feel weird or out of place.
“Don’t skip meals,” he gently chastised.
“I have a lot of work to do,” I countered.
“All right, so let’s eat together for all three. Consider the clock still running on my shift until I’ve seen you through dinner.”
I agreed.
It took a few minutes, but I eventually released him. Not once did he complain or try to step away.
