LITMIR.BIZ

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just maybe, I have finally hit pay dirt.

      Two glasses of wine later, I’m feeling very relaxed. And headache free. Accepting this date with Trevor is probably the best thing I’ve done in a long, long time. I’m even thinking of inviting him home, depending on how things progress. This isn’t like me, but you have to understand, I haven’t had sex in ages, and the fact that I’m sitting across from an eligible man has sent my libido into overdrive.

      Trevor has been telling me about what it’s like to work as a lawyer. (Did I tell you I’m intrigued by the legal profession? Especially when it comes to fine-looking brothers who do their best to keep creeps off the streets?) I’m sipping wine and grinning like a fool, hanging on to his every word.

      “I couldn’t believe this guy. It was like, every single one of his neighbors testified to the fact that they saw him chasing the guy with a knife, heard him uttering death threats, and he totally denied it. No defense, just a straight denial. And when he fired his lawyer and proceeded to defend himself…Even the jury could hardly keep their laughter under control.”

      Trevor laughs, and I do, too. It might be interesting to see Trevor in action—in court. And I’m definitely thinking that it would be very interesting to see him in action in the bedroom.

      “Ah, well.” Trevor’s laughter subsides. “Enough about me. I want to hear all about you.”

      “Me?” I point to myself, as if there’s any question as to whom he’s referring. “Oh, there’s not much to tell. Certainly nothing as interesting as what you’ve told me.”

      Trevor tilts his head ever so slightly and says, “I seriously doubt that.”

      I draw in a deep breath to keep my erratic heart under control. “I…I guess I do have some interesting stories. Mostly from earlier in my career, when I was a field reporter.” The truth is, I have a lot of interesting stories. But I’d rather talk about me and Trevor and whether he’s doing anything later. It’s not exactly the time to bring up this suggestion, though. “What do you want to hear about? The streakers or the death threats?”

      “Death threats?”

      “Oh, yeah. I was covering a story about a feud between two business owners. One guy had a cleaning business in town for twenty years. The new guy set up shop and was stealing his customers. When I asked the new guy about his business practices, he shoved my cameraman to the ground and vowed to slit my throat.”

      “Whoa.”

      “Nothing came of it. But there have been other instances like that, and I’ve been worried more than a few times. There are some crazy people out there.”

      “What else?”

      “More stories?”

      Trevor shakes his head. “No, tell me about you. Your life.”

      My heart flutters. Okay, so he likes me. That’s good to know, because I really like him. “Well,” I begin, “I’m from Idaho.”

      “Idaho?” Trevor looks at me like I’m nuts.

      “Yep.”

      “Wow,” he says. “I didn’t know there were black folks in Idaho.” There are laugh lines around his eyes as he smiles.

      “That’s the first thing people always say, but yes, there definitely are.”

      “Atlanta’s a far way from Idaho. Why’d you move here?”

      “Because I always knew there was something bigger and better out there. Not to knock Boise, but I craved big-city life. I also wanted to go to a black college, and there aren’t any there. I applied to Spelman, got accepted, and the rest is history.”

      “Any regrets?”

      I wonder if he’s talking about my moving to Atlanta or about us. “No. No regrets.”

      “Good,” Trevor says.

      Maybe it’s the wine, but my tongue is suddenly feeling loose. I lean across the table and say, “You know, I’m really glad that Rhonda matched us up. Before this, I was pretty jaded about dating. Seems I kept meeting the same type of man—the wrong one.”

      “Same here,” Trevor says. “The wrong woman, I mean.”

      Trevor and I share a chuckle. As our laughter dies, I glance away, wondering if I should invite him home now. No, not yet. There’s no need to rush.

      So instead I ask, “When was your last relationship?” Depending on what he says, I’ll get an idea of where his head is at. If he’s hung up on someone else. As much as I want to have sex, I don’t want a one-night stand.

      “It’s been a while for me,” he answers. “Four months.”

      “That’s not so long,” I comment. I hope he’s over this woman. “Were you in love?”

      Trevor shrugs. “I thought I was, but in the end I realized I wasn’t.”

      He’s being a bit evasive. I wonder if I should be concerned. Then again, he might not want to talk about it because it was a bad breakup.

      “Ever been married?” I ask.

      “Nope. What about you?”

      “Oh yeah. But thankfully, I came to my senses.” I force a grin. I don’t want him thinking I’m bitter. “He was the wrong man, but hey, it happens.”

      I notice that Trevor’s eyes have shifted to beyond my shoulder. He seems to have tuned me out. Oh, shit. I sounded like a moron and now he’s turned off.

      But his eyes linger, and I realize he’s not avoiding me but looking at something else. Or someone else.

      I quickly glance over my shoulder and peruse the restaurant. I see a family of four, two young couples, a table with two men.

      Damn, I’m obviously being paranoid, but it’s easy to be paranoid when you’ve dated the men I have.

      When I turn back to Trevor, he is grinning at me. I have his undivided attention again.

      He reaches for the bottle of wine and pours the dregs into my glass. “I don’t know you very well, but I feel confident in saying that it’s your husband’s loss.”

      “You don’t have to convince me,” I agree.

      I see the waitress coming toward us and I finish off my wine. The evening is going better than planned and I’m not ready for it to end. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll throw caution to the wind and have a specialty coffee. I can always stay at Trevor’s place, or he at mine, and get my car in the morning.

      “Have you had a chance to check out the dessert menu?” the waitress asks.

      “I’ll have a Baileys coffee,” I tell her.

      “Nothing for me,” Trevor says, but he’s not looking at the waitress. He’s looking past her.

      Now I know I’m missing something. Trevor is definitely preoccupied. Either he’s suddenly not digging me, or there’s someone here that he knows.

      “Trevor,” I begin slowly. “Is everything okay?”

      “Sure,” he answers quickly, but his body language says he is lying. His jawline is tense, and he suddenly looks irritated.

      I’m confused. “Trevor, did I say something wrong?”

      “Why would you ask that?”

      “You seem…upset.”

      Trevor shakes his head, but his eyes wander. This time, I follow his line of sight. It lands on a well-dressed white man sitting at a table with an Asian man. The white man is staring at Trevor.

      I turn back to Trevor. “Do you know that guy? Oh, God. Don’t tell me you prosecuted him in court.”

      “I think we

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