Page 9 of The One He Desires

“The last thing you want to label this man as is a pedophile. He also wasn’t here when you and Mimi got here, but excuse my fuck up for not introducing y’all. This is my cousin and the man who keeps me from sitting down longer than I do, Sincere Kensington . . . Attorney Kensington, if you’re nasty, or whatever my girl Janet said. Cuz, this is Journee. She’s the mother of my godbaby, Milan,” Jamarion says with his cheesy grin on Milan as he tickles her stomach. Her giggles slam into my chest like a dart, further pulling me into her orbit.

What is wrong with me?

I extend my hand and offer an attempt at waving the white flag because the last thing I want is to be an enemy of this woman. “I’m sorry to meet in such a tense way. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean any harm.”

For countless seconds, Journee looks me up and down as Jamarion and Milan’s banter fades into the background. My hand rests in the air as I hold my breath while I beg with my eyes for her to release me from her offense by connecting our hands. Our eyes war as I mentally communicate all the ways I can make it up to her if she’ll forgive me. Her eyes flash with rage, then uncertainty, before settling on acceptance. When her soft hand connects with mine, I feel like a rocket as fire surges from our hands throughout my body.

“I’m sorry for jumping to conclusions. She’s my everything, and I’m a little overprotective.”

Between her words and the sound of her voice, an old-school gospel song by Andre Crouch, performed by Vickie Winans, echoes in my mind. Why this particular song? That’s anyone’s guess, but I’ll be damned if it’s not what I mentally sing along with.

The voices of a million angels could not express my gratitude . . . To God be the Glory. To God be the Glory. To Goddd be the Glorryy.

“Yeah. I understand overprotection. My father is the same way with my sisters and me, and we’re all grown,” I say, but her focus is no longer on me as her eyes rake over her daughter.

“Uh, are you okay?” Journee’s hesitant voice snaps me out of my trance as I attempt to be cool.

“I hungry, Mommy,” Milan says.

The brightest and most soul-stirring smile slides onto Journee’s lips as she shifts her focus to her daughter.

“Alright, let’s go handle that. Do you want a hot dog or a hamburger?” Journee asks Milan as she takes her from Jamarion’s arms and then walks off without another word to either of us.

I shamelessly stare in their wake as the fruity scent of her perfume entrances me with every step she takes away from us.

“If you’re gonna push up on my sis, make sure your motives are pure. Family or not, I’ll fuck you over for mishandling Journee and my god baby.” Jamarion’s words are void of humor, remorse, or hesitation as I shift my gaze from Journee and Milan back to him.

“Who said I was gonna push up on her?”

“That thirsty, cheesy, simp-like grin and the twinkles in your eyes. Remember what I said, and you won’t have to worry about my promise.” Jamarion walks away without giving me a chance to respond.

I guess I am. But who can blame me? Ms. Journee has me wondering how she’ll look later in life. She’s what the old guys call a bad mamma jamma.

My thoughts spin as I process Jamarion’s declaration because the last thing I’m worried about is his threat. My analysis is based on the fact that I’m not sure if I want to pursue Journee. Or if my schedule warrants me the capacity to try to date a single mom. It would be the first time I have done so, and I have no experience with what’s involved.

Sincere, it’s not rocket science. Dating a single mother just means considering her child as well,

my conscience says as I walk off upon seeing my sisters sitting not far away. One hostile conversation and my instant attraction to Journee doesn’t make a relationship. Nor does the tenderness I felt when engaging with Milan.

It’s been a few days, and my mind has been jammed with thoughts of Journee and little Miss Milan. I got caught up with Serenity, Sarai, and another cousin playing poker and completely missed when they left the cookout. It’s a mistake that hasn’t sat right with me ever since. Ordinarily, work is a great distraction, but even while sitting in this courtroom, an image of the two surfaces. Journee’s image has taken up residence more than Milan, as my brain has been on ways I could bring a smile to her face. While I enjoyed the fire within her, I’m curious to know how her eyes transform when happiness is at work.

“All Rise, the honorable Judge Tangy Freedman presiding,” the bailiff says, instantly bringing the courtroom to order.

At the defense table is a man whose hair is in a nappy ponytail that’s seen better days. The pea-green jumpsuit is a tighter fit than I’ve seen from most inmates, as my brows hike. The court reporter goes through the preliminaries of this case as Judge Freedman gives the defense the floor. That strikes me as odd because, usually, the prosecution speaks first.

“Your Honor, my client has been an upstanding and model inmate that I feel has learned the error of his ways,” Palmer Brant pleads.

My ears are insulted by the lie I know Palmer is telling, because none of his clients are worth lying to in front of this judge. I’m a defense attorney, and while not all of my clients are innocent, I represent a good portion of them who are. While my cousin is the only client I have who lives by street codes, my other clients are generally people who have fallen on bad times that I fight to keep from being swallowed up by the system.

“Mr. Noble, if I were to let you out of prison today, what would you do differently?” Judge Freedman probes with her stern gaze at the man who sits slouched at the defense’s table.

“I would get a regular nine-to-five and do my best to stay out of this courtroom. I understand that taking what’s not mine hasn’t been the smartest decision for me, and I’m sorry for the trouble I’ve caused those individuals. I have a kid somewhere, and I really want to be in their life.”

“Don’t try to smooth-talk me, Mr. Noble. I hear these rehearsed sob stories for nine hours a day. What makes you different?”

I smirk as I watch Judge Freedman light into the man trying his best to get on her good side. What I know from experience is that Judge Freedman is one of the hardest judges to convince if she believes that you’re trying to pull the wool over her eyes.

“My determination to right the wrong with the mother of my child makes me different. I want to be a better man for my child. But I have to get out of here to do so. I promise that you won’t see me again if you give me another chance.”