Authors: Tiana Johnson
Anticipation
Kalinda Gregory had an hour before her boyfriend’s flight touched down in Memphis. One hour before she could hold the love of her life in her hands. Sixty minutes until he delivered her birthday present.
Until his arrival, she was going to drink.
T-minus one hour.
She swiveled her head and took in the space. It was a swanky hotel—as swanky as a hotel in Memphis could get. And the bar was decent, she thought as she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror behind the bar. Here I am in a too-tight dress and begging to be taken advantage of. All of this was for him, her boyfriend of three years.
In her mind, she had each step planned out: Have the car meet him at the baggage claim, kiss him, touch him to make sure he was real and that this dream was happening.
But she had to wait.
Kalinda spent most of her life waiting.
Waiting to get accepted into graduate school. Waiting for a job. Waiting for her advisor to finish reading her dissertation. Waiting to get her life together. Waiting for the right guy to choose her. Waiting for the right time to do anything and everything she always wished and desired.
Now, as she settled in at the hotel bar, she was waiting again.
“A drink, ma’am?” The bartender cut into her thoughts.
“Water, please.” He asked if she wanted a stronger drinker, and she declined. From the looks of the crowds at the bar, it was one of those nights where hard drinks were needed to combat the delays that accompanied coming home or waiting another night to get home. Kalinda shook her head and watched the scrolling weather images on the monitors above the bar. For the tenth time in as many minutes, she checked the delicate gold timepiece clasped to her wrist—a birthday gift from him last year. He should be here soon.
Six months ago, she moved from D.C. to a place most unlike the nation’s capital. Her boyfriend stayed at his World Bank gig and lived it up with the pictures on Facebook as proof while she lived in a place where she couldn’t find pantyhose or makeup to match her skin, a location that forced her to drive 55.6 miles to get her hair done, and in a town where men of all sorts, sizes, and colors considered her invisible. But she had a tenure-track job, a steady paycheck, and health insurance. And as an American studies Ph.D. with a less than desirable publishing record, she had to take what she could get. So she was stuck in a blue college town in a red state smack in the middle of the country.
She was seeking solace from a man who was slipping further away from her, both in literal miles and in emotional connection.
Getting laid was the most important part of this weekend, her crossing over into the thirties. She had been thinking about sex since she moved, sex with him, sex with the men cavorting across the dollar movie theater scenes, sex with the buff-bodied and dim-witted football players in her classes. But she was faithful and waiting for him, the man she knew was the one.
Maybe he wasn’t The One, the person who made everything in your life sparkle. But he was the one man she was intimate with, the one man who was perfect on paper for her.
Perfection on paper doesn’t mean squat, Kalinda’s adviser’s voice popped into her head. You can’t make babies or a home with a paper man.
Her phone buzzed, and she smiled at the name that flashed on her screen. His call came sooner than she expected, and she answered on the third ring. “Baby, you should still be in the air.”
“Kalinda,” the boyfriend sighed. “I’m not coming. I’m putting out fires. You know this issue with the Eurozone, the Greek economy, and...”
She ended the call before he could continue his self-absorbed talk about failed nation states and crumbling economic policies. It was always the same excuse. Work over fun. His life and priorities over her interests and concerns. Him over her.
A bubble of disappointment filled her chest, making breathing hard and thinking hard. He did this again.
She was stood up again in a strange city. She had checked in for a two-night stay, dumped her luggage in the room, and changed into the sexiest outfit she could assemble on her budget. All for naught.
In the middle of making plans, life happens. Her advisor always told her that. Damned if he wasn’t right once again.
The bartender’s tattooed hand plunked a napkin in front of her and then a drink. A little liquid sloshed onto the napkin and the bar, and neither of them cared enough to clean up the spill. “A shot from the gentleman.”
Kalinda hesitated. She pushed the drink across the bar—away from her, back to the bartender. “I don’t accept drinks from strangers.”
“It looks like you needed it.” A man’s voice vibrated in her ear, and those silky erotic sensations floated through her body. Had it been that long? Her body reacted to a simple, declarative statement from a man who was close to her. His voice reminded her of the European dark chocolate in the fancy wrappings she longed for but only bought on special occasions: strong, smooth, and sinful.
Kalinda shifted, her appraising glance absorbing the entire man standing next to her. A solider, she guessed from outfit he was wearing. She had to admit that he filled out the green-and-sand-colored fatigues nicely. His last name—Parker—was slapped across his chest. He wasn’t tall—if she stood up, she would barely scrape his chin, and she was 5’6” in bare feet. But his presence filled the space. He owned wherever he was. His easy smile betrayed the hard emerald-green eyes that had been a witness to too much. “Have we met?”
“Not yet.” He extended a hand as he sat on the bar stool. “Colin.”
“Kalinda,” she said, ignoring his hand. Under normal circumstances, she would have used her fake club name. Felicia. Keisha. Michelle. Easy names that could get lost in the crowd and fog of the sweat and music. Tonight in dinky hotel bar in Memphis, all bets were off. “Do you send drinks to every single woman you see at the bar?”
“Honest to God, you’re my first.”
“I popped your cherry.”
He laughed, a rich, deep sound that made her want to crawl into his lap and lean her head against his chest just to hear the sound push its way out of him and listen to his heartbeat.
Damn. This man was complicating the ruins on this night with his good looks, his good choice in drinks, and his presence.
“That was gone a long time ago.” He pushed the drink back to her. “No games, no lines. You just looked like you’ve had a hellish day.”
“Probably not like the hell you’ve seen.”
Colin shrugged, his lips holding a firm line. Talking about his job was clearly off limits. “What brings you here on a night like this?”
“Is that your best line? You might as well ask for my sign.”
“I’m rusty. Blame it on my last tour of duty. You don’t run into many pretty women where I’ve been.”
“And where was your last stop?”
“Some places I can’t talk about.”
“Not even pillow talk could get you to reveal where you went?”
As he smiled; a dimple flashed in his cheeks. “Depends on what someone’s done prior to the time for pillow talking.”
“Good head can make any man talk.” Not that she knew from limited, prior experience.
Colin nodded without saying a word. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”
“About?”
“Giving good head.”
Kalinda chuckled, twisting her hair into a knot at the base of her neck. “How do I know you aren’t lying?” she asked, pointing to his uniform.
“Who would lie about going to Afghanistan or the Arabian peninsula?”
“I dunno. Someone who’s trying to pick up women at a bar?”
He touched his ear and traced a long scar down his throat and jutting below his collar. “Battle scars. I have more if you would like to see them.”
“I think I’ve proved your point,” she countered, tossing back the shot. “Satisfied?”
“Not yet. You still have to answer my question.”
“Yes, I do give head. Average to exceptional depending on the person and the environment.”
Colin avoided her eyes, and his fingers fiddled with the bar napkin. “You didn’t answer my first question. What brings you here tonight?”
“I am, no—” Kalinda held up her hand. “I was here to pick up a guy who ditched me. Again.”
“Just a guy?”
“My boyfriend. At least he was until...” Kalinda flicked her phone’s screen and consulted the digital clock. “Twenty-six minutes ago.”
“He’s an idiot.”
Kalinda almost defended her ex-boyfriend. Then she remembered that she had no reason to defend him. He was an idiot, and she could reel off another few words that accurately pinpointed he was. “I bet you leave a trail of broken hearts in hotel bars and elevators across the country.”
“This isn’t a calculated move. I am just a friendly stranger looking for some good company.”
She remained silent.
“I was hoping this would’ve ended differently. That you would say yes to dinner. Even if I wasn’t cute enough...”
“You’re cute. You have beautiful lips.”
“I’m cute. I’m single.” Colin tilted his glass to his mouth and took a generous swig. When he put it down, he caught her staring at the drink in his hand. “Arnold Palmer. Teetotaler. I don’t drink when I’m in uniform.”
“But you bought me this,” she said, pointing to the drink now being refreshed by the bartender.
“You’re not in uniform.” He winked at her. “Let’s play trivia at the bar — if I get this question right, you have to kiss me.”
She grabbed his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Not where I wanted a kiss.”
“Why did he leave a fine woman like you alone tonight?”
“Business.” Kalinda twirled the plastic cocktail skewer between her fingers. “Something that he needed to handle at work.”
“There’s not that much work in the world. If you don’t mind, your ex-boyfriend is a goddamn fool.”
She would have taken offense twenty minutes earlier. Now it reverberated through her. “Thanks. I needed that ego stroking.”
“I am stating the facts.” Colin turned to her, and his knees brushed her as he moved. Again, that warmth and electricity pulsed through her. Her nipples stiffened, and a flush of desire wet her pussy and her panties. She crossed her legs tightly, which only exacerbated the pulse and the desire. Her eyes met his, and she saw a flicker of desire in his eyes that mirrored her own feelings.
Colin broke the charged silence. “That drink is the first thing I’ve bought since I got back to the states.”
“When did you get back?”
“Four days ago. I’m on rest and relaxation for sixty days. Headed home.”
“Home is where?” She absently stroked the curve of her knee and her thigh, enjoying his interest in her hands and her patterned hose. He couldn’t take his eyes off her fingers stroking the pattern stretching across her thigh. That’s a good sign, Kalinda.
“Chicago. And you?”
Home was the last word she would use to describe her blink-and-miss-it college town. She could say a number of places: D.C., where she got her Ph.D.; Seattle, where she graduated from high school; Detroit, where her parents lived now. But again, the easy and convenient lies failed her. “Stillwater, Oklahoma.”
“I spent some time up there. One year at OSU.”
“What made you leave?”
“Stillwater made me leave. It’s not a town for a city kid, football scholarship or not. And school wasn’t for me.”
“OSU isn’t that bad.” She felt a slight prick of school pride. Slight. “It’s close to a major city.”
“Can you honestly call Oklahoma City a metropolis?”
“I moved from D.C. What do you think?” She laughed at his knowing smile. “But it’s not that bad.”
“I didn’t leave because of the area. I can’t do the lecture-sit in class thing. I’m better with my hands.”
A tactile learner. She stole a quick glance at his large hands. No ring on his left ring finger, but that didn’t mean squat about his commitments or lack thereof. And right now, she didn’t care. She wanted to feel those hands on her naked body, cupping her breasts as he licked and stroked her nipples, inside of her coaxing her to climax by stroking that spot, grabbing her ass and hips as she rode him or when he did her from behind. If that wasn’t possible, she would take his touch through her clothes.
He broke the silence. “I’m not married.”
Kalinda rubbed her lips, thankful that she didn’t have to ask the question and regretting that she didn’t think to ask. “You didn’t have to tell me that. If you’re telling the truth,” she added hastily.
“I have nothing to hide. And you care because we know how this will end.”
A breath caught in her throat. “We do?”
“We’ll say goodnight and go to our separate rooms.”
“That’s one scenario for how this could end. I could toss this drink in your face and make a mad dash.”
“You wouldn’t make it in those shoes. I can’t see you as a professor.”
“Because I wear nice shoes?”
“My professors never looked like you. And definitely they never wore shoes like that.”
“I teach in these.” Kalinda kicked her leg up so she could admire the shoes.