He looked at me as he got his messenger bag on and winked. “Next week then, Tom. This wasn’t much of a business meeting, but this is my favorite restaurant, and eating here is a rare treat. If you want to buy me chicken and waffles on the regular, I’m here for it. No wine though.”
I assented to his request. “No wine.”
For a moment we stood by the table. Closer than the purpose of our meeting warranted. All I wanted was to be able to kiss him. I stared at his mouth, and he leaned in just a bit, like he could feel the pull, too. We just stood there, wanting. Then the server came with the check, breaking the spell. We pulled back, both looking a little dazed, like we’d been caught off guard by the moment.
I lifted a hand again as he moved away from me.
“Take care, Camilo.”
He waved goodbye and walked out the door to Lenox Avenue. I stared after him mulling over the fact that this meeting had only increased my desire to get to know Camilo better.
But I wouldn’t rush it. I was in for the long game. Week by week we’d get to know each other, until I could tell him I wanted more with him than just business.
Camilo
I stomped out of the Metro-North station in Yonkers musing over the events of the day. The meeting with Tom would’ve beena total successifthe goal had been for me to go from solid attraction to full-on infatuation.
Every new thing I learned about him made him more human and intriguing. My heart had hurt for him when he talked about his aunt.
It was funny, with Tom, I’d imagined his money and position would put him at arm’s length, but every time I saw him, it seemed like he wanted to move closer. I knew he was trying to get personal, and if I was smart I’d put a brake on it, but who was I kidding?
I wanted him.
My plan to heed Melissa’s cautionary tale and keep things professional for as long as this project was going went completely out the window the moment I set eyes on him. Which was ridiculous because Tom was a multi-millionaire, and I was a social worker living in a studio in Harlem. This could never work; our lives were too different. That reminded me about living right by Red Rooster. Harlemwasbooming these days, but it was still not the fashionable part of town for the rich and famous. Someone with Tom’s money only lived in Harlem if he made a very intentional choice.
Dammit.
I so wanted to dismiss him as just another rich asshole, but everything about Tom so far was wreaking havoc on my plans to hate him.
I was brought back from my thoughts when I walked into my best friend Juanpa’s condo and smelled the homemade pizza he’d promised for dinner. I was trying to tug my shoes off when I noticed lit scented candles on the coffee table and smiled. He bought this place in Yonkers last spring, and he’d been surprising us with his domestic side since then.
I called out since he was nowhere in sight, “I’m putting these bottles of wine I brought down and then I’m going to go look inevery closet to see where you hid the boxes, Juan Pablo. You’re not fooling me into believing you made pizza from scratch.”
Patrice, our other best friend, was on the couch texting on his phone. He just smiled and shook his head at my teasing. Juanpa hollered from the kitchen.
“Fuck you, Camilo! You ingrate. Here I am killing myself to make you a nice meal and you start disrespecting me as soon as you walk into my crib. Did you take your shoes off, motherfucker? I don’t want you tracking your subway filth on my hardwood floors.”
He was ridiculous.
“Oh my god! You’re so fucking annoying with this floor obsession. I came on the Metro-North, thank you very much, and I’m not wearing those stupid slippers you put by the door either.” I stopped in front of the couch where Patrice was still tapping on his phone. “Patrice! Get off the damn phone. I haven’t seen you in weeks and you can’t stop sending pictures of your dick to Easton long enough to say hello.”
Patrice, as always, was completely unbothered by my ranting and finished whatever he was doing before getting up and coming to where I was to give me a double kiss and hug hello. He had his locs coiled up in a big bun today. He was wearing a Cornell sweatshirt, loose jeans, and his Malcolm X glasses on. I’d missed his face so much. I pulled him in for another hug before letting him go.
“I missed you, P.”
His usually unexpressive faced softened. “I missed you, too. I was texting Odette about tomorrow.” I smiled at the mention of his mom. He always called her by her name, never Mom; they were so formal with each other. “Are you and Dinorah still coming to her place for dinner Friday?”
I rolled my eyes at the question. He knew that was a given. My mom and Patrice’s were still very close. Odette was the only one who could get her out of the house these days.
“We’ll be there. No way am I missing the annualJoumounight.” Patrice smiled at that.
“Good. I’ll have someone to back me up when she starts getting on me about not wearing ‘proper clothes.’”
I laughed at his annoyance and shook my head. “You need to get over that. You two have been having that argument since middle school.” He just glared in answer and I shrugged. “You know I have your back, but I’m not pushing, because that soup is too fucking delicious to mess with my standing invitation.”
Patrice smirked as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. I noticed the way his eyes widened at whatever he saw and I wondered if my teasing about the dick pics was more on point than I thought. But before I could ask, he shoved his phone in his pocket without responding to whomever had messaged him.
“You know that Joumou night invitation will always be there.” I nodded, because he was right, I knew that.
