As we were paying for our food, my phone vibrated against the table again.
Jeremiah White: WYD?
“Why did you roll your eyes like that?” Kenya asked me.
I shook my head. “I told this man that I don’t entertain WYD messages, yet”—I held up my phone— “here he goes.”
“Which one is that?” Nikki asked.
“Jeremiah,” I answered, sitting my phone back down on the table and signing my receipt.
“And Jeremiah is…?” Milan wondered.
“Oh, that’s right… you weren’t at dinner last week,” Kia realized. “Jeremiah is the fun one. Cameron is the intelligent one.”
“Cameron is the hot one,” Nikki chimed in.
“They are both good-looking,” I informed them as I rose from my chair. “And Kia is right. Jeremiah is fun and sweet.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Nikki wondered, standing up and grabbing her bag.
“That’s all he is.” I shrugged. “Fun and sweet.”
Kenya put her hands to her chest. “Fun and sweet is nice.”
“Fun and sweet is not enough,” I replied. “I need more than that. But I keep the men around who offer the things that I need.”
“My cousin’s commitment to the single life is legendary,” Milan quipped. “Just letting good men slip through her fingers. She always joked that she was going to be the cool aunt who never settled down and”—she gestured to me— “here she is!”
I tilted my head and gave her a look. “Ever since you got that big rock on your finger, you have been pushing for me to get in a relationship. I’m starting to think that you’re jealous of us singles.”
“Jealous of us singles?” Nikki sputtered as we exited the restaurant. “The single life sucks! Zola is an anomaly. The rest of us aren’t waist deep in dick.”
“Waist deep in dick,” I snickered. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Oh, God,” Kenya groaned in amusement. “What happens when you meet the man who has everything you’re looking for?”
“To be clear, you think everything I’m looking for is just in one man and not spread across three men?” I joked, making the girls laugh. With a sigh, I lifted my shoulders. “When that day comes, I’ll figure something out. I’ve built my career around being single and it’s been a really good life. I can’t see myself giving that up any time soon.”
We stood outside and talked for about fifteen minutes before finally saying goodbye. When I got home, I didn’t have a lot of rest and relaxation time before I started getting ready for my date. I decided to wear a formfitting black jumpsuit with the red and black snakeskin stiletto heels. My hair was pinned up into a faux-hawk. I grabbed my denim jacket and headed out the door.
Darius and Ciara were arguing on their front porch, but as soon as they spotted me walking out the door, they stopped. Instead of throwing out snarky remarks, Darius was unusually quiet. Shaking my head, I smiled as I climbed in my car and closed the door. As I pulled out of the parking spot, I saw them arguing again. Revving my engine, I made my way to meet Dr. Jordan Lewis at the conference center.
I strolled toward the entrance. But in a sea of academics who were dressed to hear an esteemed colleague, I knew I stood out.
“As always, you look incredible,” Jordan stated from behind me.
Smiling, I turned to face him. “Well hello, Dr. Lewis,” I returned.
He offered me his arm. “Are you ready for your mind to be blown?”
“Yes, sexy professor,” I flirted, taking his arm. “Blow. My. Mind.”
He chuckled under his breath. “If you give me the chance, I certainly will.”
A smile played on my lips as I let him lead me to our seats.
“I really like spending time with you,” he whispered just before the lights dimmed.
“And I like spending time with you, too,” I murmured.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen…” the host of the psychology conference welcomed us.
Jordan put his arm around me, and I settled in.
Three hours later, we were strolling out of the conference center engaged in the nonstop conversation we had been having since it ended.
“…and that’s why Maslow’s hierarchy of needs should be the basis of how we address our societal issues.”
He smiled, and turned his head slightly, showing off his dimples. When our eyes met again, he uttered, “The more you speak, the more attracted to you I am.”
“Well if you get me started talking about Maslow, you’re going to be in love with me.”
He pulled me flush into his body. “I have no doubt about that,” he murmured before brushing his lips against mine.
His lips moved over mine slowly before settling in and picking up the pace. His hands roamed down my back, stopping just above my ass. He deepened the kiss and when his tongue met mine, I felt him hard against me. There was undeniable longing and desire in his kiss.
“Would you like to continue this conversation at my place?” he whispered between kisses.
I pulled back fractionally and waited until he opened his eyes. “Not tonight,” I told him before planting another kiss against his lips. “I should go home.”
He let out a deep breath. “You make it hard, but you’re worth the wait.” Taking a step back, he adjusted himself. “You’re definitely worth the wait.”
He walked me to my car. He tried to hold my hand, but I lifted his hand and subsequently his arm and wrapped it around my shoulder. It was a concession for not knowing why I wasn’t ready to see what his dick was talking about.
He opened my car door for me and planted one more soft and sexy kiss on me. “I can’t wait to see you again,” he uttered before backing away. “Goodnight, Zola.”
“Goodnight, Jordan.”
Starting my engine, I couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. It was hot. His lips were soft. His technique was on-point. His touch was tender. And he was the official replacement of the open spot that Cam left. But I always trusted my gut and for some reason, I just wasn’t there yet.
Rule Number Three: When you know, you know.
And with Dr. Jordan Lewis, I didn’t know.
I grabbed my phone out of my bag just as it started ringing.
“Hello?” I answered with a smile.
“I remembered what I was going to ask you,” Jordan recalled.
“And what was that?” I asked, pulling out of the parking spot.
“There’s some rumors going around campus. Do you happen to know who or what V is?”
I knew what he was talking about, but I had no information. The mystery surrounding the not-so-secret secret society on Hamilton University’s campus had swirled around long before I was a student and remained a mystery long after I’d graduated.
“I have no idea. My friends and I assumed it was named after a man with a V name. Like a Vernon or Vincent with deep pockets.” I shrugged. “But I don’t know.”
“Oh okay. One of my students wrote a psychological profile of remaining anonymous and referenced V several times.”
“Ohhhhh,” I intoned. “That sounds interesting.”