The Unearthing of Blackstone Page 13

  Fuck it. It happened. Move on.

  He ran his palm over his forehead, then heard footsteps approaching his table. Without looking up, he took in the moment. His nostrils flared as he recalled the familiar perfume.

  Brooklyn. She’s here.

  He slid his hand away from his brow and lifted his head to take her in as the host disappeared, leaving her standing by the table like the prize that she was. Her crimson and black clothing fit her in just the right places, the fabric caressing her rounded breasts. They were small, but he liked them all the same. He scanned her real slow as if his eyes were dripping with molasses and what was before him was oh…so…sweet. Suddenly becoming aware of himself, he got himself together before she took notice of his lustful ogling.

  “Wow…you look really nice.” He got to his feet and immediately brushed past her to pull out her seat. He glanced at her legs, taking note of her perfectly matched, strappy black and red stilettos that he was certain had come straight out of the box that very night.

  The heel isn’t worn, not in the least, and a little price sticker is peeking ever so slightly from the edge of the bottom of the shoe.

  On a primal level, it flattered him that the woman had dressed up just for him.

  She smiled in earnest and sat down, placing her silver bag in her lap, then slid her glasses farther up her nose.

  “Thank you. Sorry for being a few minutes late. I think there was an accident on —”

  “Cedar street.” He nodded as he rounded the table and reclaimed his seat. “Yeah, I saw it, but traffic wasn’t as bad yet as I am sure it is now. A small price to pay to eat at Table Fifty-Two, right?” He smiled, making her blush and smile even wider. “Glad you could make it.”

  She nodded and tapped her well-manicured finger against a glimmering empty flute, then stared blankly at her glass of water.

  “So, uh, Ace…how was your day?”

  “It was great,” he lied. If such a magazine existed, his entire week should’ve been featured in the ‘Shitty Chicago Times’, but he kept that to himself. Women didn’t want to hear crap like that, especially not on a first date. Best to play it cool and if, by chance, a date number twenty-three occurred, then you could say some shit like that, and it would be okay. “How was yours?”

  “It was pretty good, long but good. My department is working on a —”

  “May I interest you in a glass of wine, a cocktail?” a waiter asked, his dark hair slicked away from his prominent forehead.

  “Oh, yes.” Brooklyn picked up the wine menu and scanned it.

  Ace swallowed and smiled slightly as he kept his eyes glued to her.

  Brooklyn…just call her Brooklyn in your mind so that you don’t mess up and call her Lynne…Lynne is gone now, okay? At least for now. She’s Brooklyn, and don’t you forget it…

  “This um—”

  “And get whatever you want,” Ace offered coolly.

  She removed her glasses and looked at him from the corner of her eye, then focused back on the waiter.

  “I would like a glass of Napa Valley Chardonnay, please.”

  Ace casually leaned over. “Bring the entire bottle, please.”

  “Certainly, sir. Would either of you like anything else?”

  “I’m fine for now. I need a little time to look over the menu.” She gave a tender smile, placed her glasses back on and perused the appetizer list.

  The waiter nodded and walked away.

  Ace studied her. She held the menu in an unsteady grip.

  Nervous. Nice.

  He smirked as he lightly drummed the table.

  “This place is really quaint looking. I’ve never been here before.” She peered at him over her glasses and the top of the menu, her dark, beautiful eyes clear and expressive, turned up at the ends from a hidden grin.

  “I know Art Smith, the owner…”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah.” Ace smiled and casually picked up his menu. “He was a client of mine for his restaurant. He wanted some information gathered that would aid in his marketing and company morale.”

  And this is true…

  “So you have it like that, huh?” the woman teased, her tone flirtatious.

  “I don’t like to brag.” Ace poked out his chest, causing her to chuckle.

  “No wonder you could get in here on a dime.” She looked genuinely mesmerized. “Well, everything sounds so good…”

  “Pick whatever you want.”

  “Do you always say that?”

  “I said that already, didn’t I?” He pretended he didn’t recall. “Only to women that I really want to get whatever their heart desires…”

  “Smooth…” She placed the menu down, allowing him to see those pretty lips that framed a set of gorgeous, gleaming teeth.

  Ace laughed lightly and leaned back in his seat.

  “Seriously, you look really nice. You are a gorgeous woman.”

  “Thank you. You look nice as well.”

  He couldn’t take his damn eyes off of her.

  She is so damn sexy.

  “Excuse me for being so forward, and I promise you this is not a segue to get into your pants, but, you really are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, and the fact that you are intelligent, too? Whew!” He laughed and lightly patted the table, not missing the reddening of her cheeks and the shy smile spreading across her face as she looked away. “This is not a line. I’m being sincere. There’s just something about you.”

  “Well,” she put a glass of water to her lips and took a dainty sip. “Thank you, again, Ace.” Her blushing increased ten-fold.

  The waiter returned with the bottle of wine, poured some in both of their glasses and took their orders. The attendant dismissed himself and left the two alone in their own little world. Ace ran his hand over his stomach and leaned to the side, eyeing her, his brow arched in a discriminatory way.

  “What?” She arched her brow, too.

  “You like shrimp and grits, as well?”

  “I do.” She removed her neatly tri-folded napkin from the table and she spread it carefully across her lap to enjoy her appetizer.

  “Eat up and be prepared to work it off tonight.”

  Her gaze shot to his, frowning.

  “No!” He laughed and waved his hands around frantically. Now he was certain he was blushing a bit. “Not like that. I mean, for dancing later tonight.”

  “Oh!” She reddened even more. “I’m so sorry, Ace. See where my mind was? In the gutter! Guilty!” She laughed lightly.

  You have no idea how I’d love to take you to bed, Brooklyn, but I’d prefer to get to know you a bit first. Wait? Did I really just think that?! I did…

  “So, now that I’ve embarrassed myself completely,” — she smiled — “Let’s talk about something else. When I called you, you said you were at the gym. I go to the gym, too. It’s a nice stress reliever.”

  “It is. I work out almost every day, though lately I’ve been slacking a bit.”

  “Yeah, sometimes work hours cause me to as well. I did it to replace my cigarette habit.” She tapped her fingers against the table, slightly bunching the linen.

  “Oh, really?” He shook his head. “Yeah, well, if that’s a deal breaker then I need to tell you something right now, make a confession if you will.”

  “You ride tiny llamas in your back yard while dressed as Santa Klaus in August? I knew it!” She pounded the table in mock anger as he leaned far to the side, cracking up. “I always get guys like you. Bad luck runs amuck.”

  “I can see you’re about as crazy I am.” He pulled himself together. “No, as I’m sure you suspected, I was going to say I’m a smoker. I’ve cut back some, but I still smoke a lot. I like it.” He shrugged. “I know it’s a bad habit, but I’m under a lot of stress sometimes. One day I’ll quit, I just doubt it will be anytime soon.”

  She waved her hand lazily in his direction. “No need to explain. I understand all too well.”

 
; “When did you quit?” he asked as he took a sip from his wine.

  “About eight or nine months ago. I’ve lost track because I stopped caring as much. I was never addicted, though. I just enjoyed it.”

  “How many packs a day?”

  “…Packs? Um, well, I only smoked three, at the most, four a day. Sometimes it would only be one or two.”

  “Brooklyn, you are not, and never were, an official member of the smokers’ club!” He chortled, soon met with a sly grin from the woman.

  “You’ll quit when you’re ready. So…” She picked up her wine glass and took a sip as well. He could’ve sworn she batted her lashes at him, but maybe it was wishful thinking. “Where do you live?”

  “I work and play in the same area.”

  Jesus, Ace! You better hope the woman doesn’t pop up at your office and start snooping around. He couldn’t believe he’d admitted to something like that, under the circumstances—but then he stared at her again. Why wouldn’t he? If it became an issue, he’d address it later. Besides, there was still no promise he’d ever see this woman again after tonight.

  “Downtown Chicago,” he added.

  Yeah, just tell the truth on this. It’ll be okay. It looks just like any other office building… “… off of Michigan Avenue. I rent an office there, too. If I tried to work from home all the time, I think I might be too distracted. I have problems with distraction; I’ve worked hard to overcome my own brain.”

  “Really?” She gave a slight chuckle, seeming unconvinced. “Something about you seems like you’d be a focused sort of man.”

  If you only knew…

  “Yeah, but I kinda get scatterbrained when my favorite things are around me.” He ran a hand along his chin, trying to break their mutual stare but couldn’t quite turn away. “Plus, I’m dyslexic.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened in surprise. She clutched her bread a bit tighter. “That is, well, amazing.”

  Have I gone mad? No one knew that about him except his past teachers, his brothers, Lance, Eli, and his parents. It was something he’d struggled hard to overcome, and because of which he over compensated by becoming extremely detail oriented to the point of obsession. He’d have things rehearsed in his mind to such perfection, he appeared to be a naturally smooth talker. These days he hardly needed to rehearse anymore. He could simply speak clearly at a moment’s notice. Inside, however, his brain did odd things — complicated things to try and trip him up. What he liked most at that moment however was that the woman didn’t shy away from his admission. She didn’t look at him suspiciously, as though he suddenly seemed stupid or inept. He didn’t have to explain what the disorder was, or deal with the ignorant questions. She already knew what it was, and just like that, she was over it.

  “You’ve got an interesting look to you, Ace.” She tore her bread in half and glanced up at him, flirtation glimmering in her eyes.

  “Do I?” He picked up his wine glass and took a stingy mouthful, tried to savor the moment and her words.

  “Yes. I look at people for a living, well, dead people.” She smirked. “You know, faces, skulls, human remains… That is my specialty.”

  “…And what does my face say?” He tilted his head slightly to the side.

  “Well, you’re of European ancestry.”

  They both laughed.

  “Damn… are you serious?!” he teased. “What gave me away? Let me guess, the white skin? I can’t believe you dropped this bomb on me.” They both laughed again, this time a bit harder. “Seriously, I’m certain your work is fascinating and I heard about your Italian find, Brooklyn…” There it was again, the mutual stare. Sexual tension built and built and built around them until it soared high in the air, above the clouds. “It was quite impressive.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t find it, actually. I just did the research.”

  Ace shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. That takes skill. It takes brains and a level of creativity, I believe. You are filling in gaps to make a complete story.”

  Kinda like what I do for a living… Interesting.

  “So, how did you hear about my awards ceremony?”

  Ace felt the lump in his throat thickening like that hard ass bread that refused to go down. Despite the fact he was there on false pretenses, he hated being deceitful. He realized full well that this could come about…a situation that forced him to lie, and lie again and again until everything had spun out of control like a snowball rolling downhill. He shot her a glance, still working over his response in his brain, figuring it out, piecing it together. He’d been so distracted by his own excitement to see her and how well their date was going, he hadn’t even thought every angle completely through.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Now, I’m backed against a wall. My dick did this to me…got me into this situation. Now I must fix it…

  He’d done a good job skating around the truth all evening, but now she’d posed a question that required he either come clean or tell a complete and utter lie with no semblance of truth, with no entrance or exit door to a thing called reality. He’d be stuck with the shit once it trundled off his thickening tongue.

  “A colleague told me about it. She couldn’t attend, but I thought I’d stop by anyway. I was intrigued.”

  And yet, he managed a half-truth anyhow…He gave an inner sigh of relief, gave himself a high-five.

  “Oh, okay,” she said in almost a whisper as she played with the napkin on her lap. Soon their appetizers were presented, and then their main courses.

  “Smoked barbecue brisket…” He inhaled the delicious aroma. “You want some?” he offered, pointing to his plate with his fork and knife.

  “No, thank you, but it looks delicious.”

  He glanced at the elegant display of fried Southern catfish, Maitake mushrooms, buttery corn grits, sautéed okra and baked macaroni and cheese.

  If this woman isn’t Southern from the top of her damn head to the bottom of her feet, I don’t know who is. First the shrimp and grits, now this. He gave an inner smile. Just like Mom…

  “So, you brought me here because you thought this is what a black woman would want, right? This is what we like to eat…” She kept working on her plate, her voice choppy around a mouthful of food. Her expression betrayed her delight at the taste, as though she’d just gone to heaven.

  Ace stared at her, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes widened in disbelief.

  Where the hell did that come from?!

  He ran the tip of his finger apprehensively down his unused butter knife. This was one of his favorite restaurants and he came every few months, whether he had a date or not…But then, side of her mouth lifted in a smirk. The woman was pulling his damn leg with all of her might.

  “You almost had me…” He laughed, scooping a forkful of smoked turkey flavored collard greens into his mouth. The slightly salty, savory vegetable practically melted on his taste buds. He kicked out a wayward, naughty thought that had him wonder what she may taste like, too…

  Running my tongue between her legs…I bet she’d melt in my mouth, too…Ace, stop that shit, seriously. Damn, be good…

  Laughing, she took a bite of her cornbread, almost as if she could read his mind. But he sensed that bubbly nature was just her — the spirit of a woman who enjoyed simple things and moments like this. She obviously didn’t get to play often; being here with him made her feel like a child being given a new toy. He loved how she didn’t hold back her enthusiasm. If she only knew what she was doing to him…just by being her.

  “No, I’ve always wanted to come here, actually. Fancy Southern cuisine — that’s a novel idea.” She said.

  “Yeah, my mother is from the South.” Ace began. “I’m used to this sort of cooking, grew up with it. It was a bit more rustic than this, but the same premise. Even though she didn’t usually have time to cook, after awhile, she made sure our chefs knew how to make all the dishes she grew up with. Now,” he shrugged, “I’m spoiled. I expect this sort
of food all the time, so I cook it myself.”

  A nearby corner fireplace cracked and burned, the sound becoming music to his wayward thoughts. He paused, unable to curb his mounting curiosity. What a crooked, strange puzzle she was, with missing pieces he was dying to put together. She may be locked, but he was going to pick her apart until he’d gained entrance, even if it took an eternity. He’d work his way, slowly but surely, and if it took a long time, so be it…

  Damn, he wanted her…

  He’d been judging characters for far too long. He recognized what to look for, what to notice, and she embodied all that was right with the world. The only problem was, he wasn’t shopping. He hadn’t been looking for this, but here she was, ready to be taken home and unwrapped like a gift… preferably across his bed…

  “I know this may sound strange, but there’s just something about you…” He smiled at her.

  “You are, well, rather charming,” she blushed and turned away from him shyly, causing his face to warm.

  He looked casually away and placed the rim of his wine glass to his lips. When he turned back in her direction, he was hell bent on finishing his thoughts.

  “I think I like you already, Brooklyn. I really think so. You remind me of someone…”

  “Who?” She crossed her legs.

  “My mother. Trust me, that’s a good thing.”

  He wanted to see it, the twinkling, the reminiscing, the words he uttered hopefully provoking a sense of home sweet home in the recesses of her mind. Maybe the memories weren’t so sweet; maybe they were bitter like a lemon soaked in vinegar. He hadn’t said it to set her up, it was a natural choice of words, but once he uttered them he had to see if they moved her in any way, made her sway to an emotion that he just may be able to reach out and touch.

  But he was met with an expression devoid of any emotion. Stone-faced, like the statues to be found around the museum from which she worked. Should he be impressed or worried? He stored the lack of reaction in the back pocket of his mind for further evaluation at a later time.

  You’ve been running for so long, you now believe you’re good at it. I will let this go for now, Brooklyn. I just want to make you feel comfortable.