Page 10 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
“Can I join you?”
Chewing slowly and praying there were minimal crumbs on her peach-glossed lips, she raised her gaze to him.
Come through, height,was her first thought. At five nine, Vanna loved a man who was taller than she was. Dressed in gray khakis and a darker-gray button-front shirt, this guy was definitely tall—over six feet, she was sure. He had a decent, solid build, not muscular but not sloppy either.
“You need another drink to consider letting me sit with you?” he asked, and she swallowed her food.
She was just about to sayHell no, and you can take this one with yousince he wanted to get smart, but then he held up a hand and grinned.
“I’m just kidding,” he said. “You got a brotha all nervous and shit.”
He had a nice smile. The kind that was wide and full and reached his eyes, so you knew his laughter would be boisterous and genuine.
She brought her napkin up to dab at her lips, then offered him a smile in return as she set it back onto the table. “You can have a seat.”
When he was settled across from her, she got a better look at his face—handsome, in a mature Big Daddy Kane type of way. Old-school hip-hop was her jam, so she’d had several baes from that era and usually measured the looks of every guy she met against that prototype.
“I’m Tyson,” he said, and extended a hand across the table to her.
She accepted it for a shake and replied, “I’m Vanna.”
Back in college, whenever she and Jamaica would hit the clubs, they each had a play name they would give the guys they weren’t interested in. Vanna’s had been Nicole, and Jamaica’s had been Ashanti. At this big ol’ age, if she wasn’t interested in a man, she simply told him and sent him on his way.
“It’s nice to meet you, Vanna,” Tyson said. “You look amazing in that outfit.”
She was definitely down for compliments—not that she couldn’t or didn’t give them to herself often. Nice words just hit different coming from someone else.
“Thank you,” she replied. “It’s my birthday suit.”
Tyson’s eyes widened, and her cheeks warmed.
“I mean, it’s one of my birthday suits.”
He raised a brow.
Dammit.She gave him a terse smile then. “It’s one of the outfits I bought to celebrate my birthday.” There, she’d finally gotten it right. Even though she wasn’t sure why she’d tripped over the words in the first place. Men never made her nervous. Not before or after Caleb. She’d always been able to talk to guys, handle their come-on lines, and put them in their place when necessary.
To be fair, this had been a rough week, so she decided to show herself some grace.
“Oh, okay,” he said with a more relaxed look crossing his face. “I see you, then. When’s your birthday?”
“August thirty-first,” she replied. “But I plan to celebrate all month.”
“That’s what’s up.” Tyson nodded. “Hopefully I can join in the celebration.”
He was fast, but she didn’t mind. Life was short, as evidenced by why her week had been so trying. And hadn’t she come here tonight to find herself a good candidate?
“Maybe,” she said, and cut another bite of cake before putting it into her mouth.
“You always come out alone to celebrate your birthday, Vanna? Where’s your man?” Tyson had brought his drink with him. It was some type of dark liquor, which Vanna didn’t do because it hit too fast and too potently for her liking.
“You probably should’ve been wondering where my man was before you sent over this drink.” She nodded toward the mojito.
He shrugged. “Probably. But I was thinking that if you had a man, he had to be a real dumbass to let you come out looking like that by yourself.”
She finished the bite of cake. “First, I’m a grown woman who has no problem coming out by myself.” Which was straight facts. Even though she’d planned this entire month of events to be spent with her friends and loved ones, make no mistake about it, she would do each and everything alone if necessary. Vanna was comfortable in her own company. Blame that on being an only child. “Dinner, movie dates, weekend getaways, I can pay for and attend alone. And second, I’m not mad at a man who can appreciate when a woman looks good.”
“My bad,” he said, placing a hand on his chest. “You shootin’ daggers over there, but it’s cool. I get it—you’re independent.”
