Decadent Dreams

“We’re not the only staff members that work here. Besides, I’m not talking about keeping you out overnight. We’re just going to go out for a few hours and have a little fun.”

“I don’t need you to show me how to have fun,” she said defiantly.

“I didn’t say I was going to show you. I said we’ll have some fun. Meaning both of us. Stop analyzing it to death. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“What if I say no?”

“You can. I’m not desperate either, you know. I won’t beg to take you out,” Malik said in that casual tone

of his.

Why did that hurt her feelings? She didn’t care if Malik didn’t want to take her out. Why should she?

Rolling her shoulders, Belinda took a deep breath. This was silly. Malik was like family—even though his wide smile and infectious laugh often did things to her that neither Carter’s nor Drake’s ever had. Spending an evening with him wouldn’t be that big of a deal. She’d done it before when they’d worked late nights, or at family dinners. There was no reason to expect that tonight would be any different. And yes, she could use a reprieve.

Earlier this week when she’d gone out with Patrick Masterson of Masterson Wholesale Foods, she hadn’t been relaxed at all. And by the end of the evening she’d been ready to wrap her hands around Patrick’s scrawny little neck and squeeze until the shrill sound of his voice stopped completely. He was an annoying, self-centered man who thought the sun rose and set on him. And he had the audacity to call her stuck-up because she’d declined a third date.

The first date had been a favor to her mother, who was on some committee with Patrick’s mother. The second time had been because she feared she hadn’t given him a fair shot the first go-round. After an hour and a half on Monday night and hearing about Patrick’s latest accomplishments which centered around his new shipment of veggie burgers and other organic meats, she’d deduced that a third date would be the type of torture she did not deserve.

“I know you’re not desperate, Malik.” She took another deep breath and used the inside of her arm to wipe her forehead. “You can pick me up tonight at seven. We’ll go out and have some fun, because you think that’ll make everything in my world better. And we’ll be back here tomorrow for work as usual.”

Malik looked as if he were going to say something else. Instead he only nodded and continued to work on applying the fondant to the lower layer of the Ricardo wedding cake.

Hours later after they’d both worked themselves to the brink, Belinda drove herself back to her apartment. She stripped out of her work clothes, switched on the faucet in the tub and poured in a generous amount of bubble bath. She couldn’t wait to sink down into the water. Heading into her bedroom she grabbed a book from her nightstand. These were Belinda’s only indulgences—hot baths and reading. They were her only support system in a life she feared was spiraling out of control.

Just as she was almost out of the bedroom, the phone rang and she circled back to the nightstand to grab the cordless device. She said hello, continuing on her trek into the bathroom.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask when I saw you earlier. How was your date with Patrick?” Shari asked. The preschool had called Shari earlier this afternoon and she’d had to leave straight from her delivery to pick up Andre. So Belinda hadn’t seen her since this morning’s meeting. Of course she thought about her cousin’s reaction to the contest announcement—more aptly about how Shari really felt about Dina English and this upcoming competition. Shari had said she was fine with it, but Belinda hadn’t believed her. The grudge between Shari and Dina had been going on for years now, but as far as Belinda knew, neither of the women had ever confronted each other or had any reason to be in the same place at the same time. A live competition on national TV probably wasn’t the best setting for a reunion, but there wasn’t much they could do about that now.

“It wasn’t worth talking about this morning and it’s definitely not worth talking about now,” was Belinda’s reply to Shari’s question.

“But you two look so good together,” Shari said excitedly. “And just think, if you hook up with him, we could probably be a featured bakery in their store. You know those warehouse stores get lots of traffic. They usually make and sell their own baked goods. But what if we could work out some type of distribution with them? We could use that publicity.”

This was only a small sample of the pressure Belinda always felt weighing on her shoulders. Ever since she could walk and talk, expectations of her had been high. In elementary school she had to be the cutest, the smartest. By middle school her parents had encouraged—she wouldn’t say “forced,” out of respect—her to join the spelling club, which had her traveling for nationwide competitions. At the same time she needed to be well-rounded, so three years in gymnastics and four years of piano lessons were also prescribed. High school was the Debate Club, the Honor Society and every honors class she could enroll in. College was more committees and activities, but by that time, Belinda had begun to tune out more than she absorbed.

“You sound more and more like Drake every day,” she said. “I’m not going to pimp myself out, even for the sake of making Lillian’s a household name.”

“Come on, you know I would never suggest that, girl. I was just saying that would be a perk. Of course you would have to feel something for him, as well. Which by the sound of your voice I’m guessing you do not.”

“Then you would be guessing correctly,” Belinda said as she sank down into the tub, loving the soothing feel of hot water as it touched her skin, and the chamomile fragrance of the bubbles that permeated the air.

“He’s a pompous ass. And he had the audacity to call me names when I said I wouldn’t go out with him again. How childish.” Even though Belinda had to admit the fact that she was still bothered by his words probably spoke volumes about her own maturity. It wasn’t as if she had never been called names before—that, too, had happened when she was younger. Being perfect had never been Belinda’s goal—it was a prerequisite. For so long she went along with it because for the most part it came naturally. Now, twenty-six years later, she felt like she was renting space inside this body—living the life others expected her to live. It was a huge price to pay, one Belinda wasn’t sure she could continue to afford.

On the other hand, there was the guilt of wanting to lead what she presumed was a “normal” life. Her grandmother had risen above what was expected of a normal African-American single mother, and she’d made something bigger—her family and her business. And Belinda owed it to her, to their legacy, to be the best always. That’s what her parents had instilled in her and that was the rule she’d lived by all her life. The one that haunted her to this day.

“So you’re on the hunt again?” Shari asked with a chuckle.

“I’m not now, nor have I ever been on the hunt. My parents are the ones who think I should be married and ready to have babies by now.”

“You should have started young like I did,” Shari quipped.

Shari was a single mother and proud of it. She took care of her son on her own and never complained.

“I don’t even know if I want kids. Or a man for that matter.”

“Oh, you want a man,” she said. “It’s in our genes to want to get married and have kids. We’ve got a legacy to carry on. If we don’t have kids, who does it carry on to?”

Belinda was so tired of hearing about this legacy.

“The show will go on no matter what,” she said drily. “Anyway I won’t have time to think about men with this competition coming up.”

“I know. I’ve been drawing sketches all afternoon. Andre has a fever so he’s been sleeping. But I have so many ideas.”

Belinda had none. Sure, Malik thought she was thinking about the competition all day today, and she’d let him think along those lines. But it just wasn’t true. This competition was important, she knew that. But there was something else she thought was just as important. Something she feared she’d gone too long without experiencing.

Even now talking to her cousin was a distraction. Belinda had decided to make a change, one that was going to require some thought and planning. “Well, I just came home and I’m trying to take a bath. How about I call you later?”

“Sure, you go ahead. I want to work on my ideas some more. At some point all of us need to get together to figure out what our game plan is.”

Belinda nodded, knowing that would inevitably happen, no matter how much she dreaded it. “Right. You coordinate the others and I’ll be there.”

“Okay. I’ll let you know.”

“Hope Andre feels better,” Belinda said before bidding her cousin good-night and hanging up the phone.

She lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. She could get out of this tub and climb right into her bed. Sleep would be a good way to get things off her mind—if she could sleep. Most likely she’d continue to think about her life-altering decision—the one she’d made after her date with Patrick. The one where she decided to take charge of her own life. Unfortunately, once again, her life would have to wait. Tonight she had a date. Or maybe she should just call it an outing. Whatever it was, it was going to take her away from planning and contemplating. And Belinda wasn’t happy about that.

Chapter 4

“Roller-skating? Are you serious?” Belinda asked when they pulled up in front of the skating rink.

Malik had picked her up in his black Mustang—which had always struck her as too much car for his mild-mannered persona. His personality actually hadn’t matched that of the egotistical NBA players she’d heard about, either. He seemed to be different at every turn.

“What’s wrong with roller-skating?”

“Nothing,” she said with a huff. “If you’re sixteen.”

He laughed. “Grown-ups roller-skate all the time. Ever watched the Roller Derby?”

She turned to him giving her “not funny” glare. “I’m not wearing gold lamé hot pants or knee-length tube socks. Which further proves this isn’t a good idea.”

“So you have watched the Roller Derby. I would have never guessed that about you,” he told her.

Those words, while they mimicked what she’d been thinking about him, made her a little more agitated than she figured she was supposed to be on this night of relaxation. Before she could say another word, Malik had gotten out of the car and was on his way around to the passenger side. He opened the door and leaned in so that his face was about five inches away from hers—which for the record was too damned close.

“You’ll have fun. Trust me,” he said, his lips spreading into a smile. A smile that caused a tugging between her legs.

Despite her inner doubts Belinda stepped out of the car. “I’m really not dressed for this,” she said once more.

She wore True Religion leggings and four-inch gray suede platform pumps with a gray tank top that had a scooped neck that gathered and fell like a waterfall. The jeans may have worked but everything else was clearly overdressed.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, going around to the trunk and popping it open. “I bought you these since I figured you didn’t have any.”

He pulled out a brand-new pair of white roller skates with hot pink wheels and a stopper.

“You don’t know what size I wear,” she said. Of all the things men, or anyone for that matter, had given her, skates would have never crossed her mind.

He took a few steps closer to her, closing the gap between them and definitely invading her personal space. “I’ve known you for almost eight years. I know you wear a size eight pants and medium shirt because your breasts are...fantastic.”

She swallowed hard. No, it was more like a gulp.

He lifted his free hand and tucked her hair back behind her ear. “I know that your natural hair color is dark brown, your eyes are green like the sea and your favorite cartoon character is Betty Boop. Even though your father sort of gave that one away.”

“Aah, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” she replied honestly. How, why did he know all that about her?

“You say, ‘Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.’ It’s easy.”

But it wasn’t easy, or at least Belinda wasn’t finding it easy. This wasn’t a date, she told herself again. Malik was not the kind of man she dated.

Why?

She refused to answer that.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Okay, you’re right. We’re going to have fun.”

“That’s a girl,” he said, tweaking her nose then letting his hand slip down her arm to grab hold of her hand.

* * *

Belinda did everything right. She even looked pretty when she cried. Malik remembered her great-uncle Frank’s funeral, where she’d sat in the second row right behind her parents and cried softly, a tissue in her hand as she dabbed her eyes. Her makeup had remained flawless, her body still—unlike others who were bent over making a screeching sound. And she wore jeans like no other female he’d ever met. Her smile was gorgeous, her teeth completely straight, her eyebrows elegantly arched. There was nothing out of order with Belinda. Absolutely no faults that could be seen at first sight.

But she couldn’t roller-skate worth a damn.

They had gone around the rink one complete time in the twenty minutes they’d been there. Music played loudly around them, something fast with a strong beat that had the other skaters swaying and dancing as they moved around the rink in quick succession. Malik kept them upright, his arms firmly around Belinda’s waist as he moved at a slower pace, allowing her to get used to the skates and the people whizzing past them.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Nonsense, you’re getting the hang of it,” he told her. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She was no longer gripping his arm as if her life depended on it. As a matter of fact, now that the song changed to something a little slower, she relaxed a bit and focused on moving her legs in the exact motion that his went. After another few minutes they developed a comfortable, albeit still slow, stroll that took them around the ring once more.

“See, you’re getting it,” he told her with a reassuring smile.

“I guess you can tell this is not something that I do often,” she said with her own nervous chuckle.

“I’d be happy to bring you back again. I’m sure you’ll just continue to improve.”

“I’m sure you’re right. Practice definitely makes perfect,” she said, this time without the chuckle.

Another circle around and Malik led Belinda off the floor. It took another few minutes to find an empty table where they could sit and be alone. It was Friday night and it appeared everyone had the same idea to spend it at the skating rink. He ushered her to a chair and held her elbows as she sat down.

After a chuckle she said, “Thanks.” She was still smiling.

Malik took that as a good sign. Maybe she was having a nice time with him after all. He took a seat at the table opposite her and said, “I would offer to get you a slice of pizza and soda but the food here sucks.”

“Thank you for the warning.” She looked around for a few seconds as if searching for someone she might know. Then to his surprise she sat back against the chair and drummed her fingers on the table matching the beat of the song that played.

“You know this song?” he asked with what he was sure was a startled look on his face. It was rap music and not necessarily something he pictured Belinda listening to, or daresay dancing to.

“Yes, I know this song. I happen to listen to a lot of music. While rap is not high on my favorites list, I can usually get into a Drake song here and there.”

Admittedly intrigued, Malik pressed on with the conversation. “So what other music do you enjoy listening to?”

“I like a little of this and a little of that. R&B, country, some pop and rap, but not too much.”

“Okay, so who is your favorite female singer?”

She didn’t even blink. “Whitney Houston hands down,” was her matter-of-fact reply. Her voice held a tone that said she was ready should he have the nerve to dispute that.

Instead Malik smiled and nodded. “Okay, okay, so you know good music. Now what about your favorite male singer?”

“Solo or with a group?” she asked, seemingly enjoying the conversation.

“Oh, let’s live dangerously. Give me an answer for both.”

“Solo, Luther Vandross. I have to take it back old-school again and say New Edition and Dru Hill.”

Malik couldn’t help but laugh at that. Those entertainers certainly were old-school for their age group, but still had a lot of relevance today. “So do you dance, I mean when you’re listening to all this music?”

“I’ve got rhythm, if that’s what you’re asking. And why do you ask? Do I look like I’m too stuck-up to dance?”

That question effectively sobered the moment. “You don’t strike me as the type of person to let someone else’s words get to her. Yet all day long you’ve been preoccupied over what this guy said. Why is that?”

“You’re right, this is ridiculous. I’m much stronger than that. And besides, I can easily get another man since I’m so beautiful and so perfect.”

Even through the loud music, the sarcasm in that response did not escape Malik. “For the record, that’s not what I said.”

“But I’m sure it’s what you were thinking. It’s what everyone thinks of me.”

Malik took a moment to think about what he would say next. He’d learned long ago not to act impulsively. Whether it was on the court or with a woman, the same rule applied.

Belinda added, “That’s not all there is to me, you know? I’m much more than people see or than the reputation that precedes me.”

Malik nodded, proud to hear her say those words. “I believe you. Every now and then, I’m privileged enough to see that you’re more than your reputation purports you to be.”

She nodded. “I’m glad you can see that.”

Now it was his turn to nod. “You don’t have to keep that part of you a secret. It’s okay to be who you are all the time.”

She was already shaking her head negatively. “I thought you’d been around my family long enough to know better. Obviously not if you think what you just said is true.”

“So is your family what’s stopping you from being yourself? Is that what you want me to believe?”

“There are expectations in my family for each one of us separately and for us as a whole. Because our parents aren’t as active in the bakery business as my grandmother would have liked, my cousins and I were secretly named the dream team upon our birth. Haven’t you ever wondered why all of us decided to become bakers?”

Malik resisted the urge to shrug. He had wondered, but hadn’t spent a lot of time on it. People had different dreams and those dreams led them in different directions. He should be an authority on that whole subject. “I thought it was a dream that stemmed from the natural talents passed down from Ms. Lillian,” was his reply.

“That’s what each of our biographies says. A little more eloquently, perhaps.” She lifted her elbows and rested them on the table. “But they’re just words.”

“So becoming a baker was not your dream?”

“I didn’t say that,” she replied adamantly. “I enjoy working in the bakery. I did inherit a natural talent for it and I’m very interested in the future of Lillian’s.”

“But?”

She inhaled deeply. Now, that was new. He’d never seen Belinda with what almost looked like defeat on her face.

“But nothing. It is what it is. Are we going to skate some more?”

Malik almost smiled. The calm, cool and always collected Belinda had ended the conversation. And judging by her tone, she informed him that it was not open for discussion again. He stood, taking her arm, waiting while she got her bearings. And as they rolled out onto the floor, once more her focus shifted to moving her feet correctly and holding only his hand. But for Malik, the conversation was far from over.

He had not been wrong when he’d surmised that there was much more to Belinda Drayson-Jones than met the eye. Now that he’d seemingly cracked a little of her shell, his curiosity would not let him back down. Regardless of the ramifications he might face.

* * *

By the time they arrived at the pizza place, it was a little after ten in the evening. As this was a very popular restaurant, there was still a good crowd of customers. Luckily, Malik was able to get them a booth toward the back and out of the way of most of the noise.

“So, listen. I know this might not be the fancy restaurant you’re used to dining at, but I promise you’ll love Giordano’s pizza. It’s the best in Chicago and I know you like pizza.”

“I’ve had Giordano’s before. I was born in Chicago, remember.”

“Right,” he said with a smile and they both settled in their seats, picking up the menus.

“But you’re not from here, are you?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I was born in Philadelphia.”

“And you met our dear Carter in college,” she said with a slight smile.

“Carter’s a good guy,” he replied. Belinda knew he was Malik’s best friend and the closest thing he had to family in this world. That’s why Malik had moved here after his injury. There’d been no place else for him to go.

“He’s a great guy, with lots of potential,” she said. “I’m very proud of him.”

“And he’s very proud of you.”

She nodded. Nodding kept her from saying something she was sure she wouldn’t be able to take back. Something along the lines of, “I need your hands on me again.”

Belinda shifted in the seat, the faux leather making a very unpleasant sound as she did. Luckily, Malik didn’t look up from his menu or comment in any way. Still, there was something going on that Belinda wasn’t a hundred percent sure of. It had started when he’d helped her out of the car. No, before that. When he’d pulled up in front of her apartment building and stepped out of the car. All he’d needed was background music, something with bass that might be heard in a strip club. Not that she’d ever been in a strip club to hear such music.

It was the way his long, lean body had emerged from the car and the way he’d folded his arms over a chest she hadn’t realized was so toned and muscled. He wore simple jeans and a T-shirt, an outfit she saw him in daily so it shouldn’t have sparked anything different inside her. But it did. As she’d walked down the sidewalk to meet him at the car, she’d felt a tingling begin in the pit of her stomach. That tingling had only increased during their ride to the skating rink because his cologne seemed stronger than usual, more intoxicating. He’d driven with the air-conditioning on so she didn’t have the pleasure of a breeze to serve as a slight reprieve.

Then when he’d held her close so she wouldn’t fall on her face, Belinda thought she’d melt right in his arms. Instead she had to apply some type of focus because—despite popular belief—she wasn’t good at everything. Her legs hadn’t liked the fact that she’d put wheels beneath them and expected them to move around agilely. By the time they’d left the skating rink, every nerve in her body was on end and she tingled all over.

Belinda was no fool—inexperienced maybe—but not a fool when it came to the physicality of men and women. She knew the buzz of attraction the same way she knew her mother’s recipe for pineapple upside-down cake by heart. She knew it because she’d been feeling it a lot lately. Or rather, she’d been feeling the need to explore other options in the past weeks.

These feelings had precipitated her decision that her life needed to change. There was definitely something lacking in all of her achievements, a void that she was trying to figure out how to fill. For as proud as everyone was of her, Belinda wanted to break the mold they’d cast her in so badly she could scream.

“Chicago-style or thin crust?”

Belinda cleared her throat to cover up the fact she’d been thinking of something other than ordering from the menu. With her cheeks flushed from her thoughts, she closed the menu and sat back against the seat. “Chicago, of course.”