Zane's the Heat Seekers Page 10

  “Hmm, I see.” Geren wanted to reach over and rub her knee but was afraid he would draw back a stub. “So you go Rollerblading all the time, huh?”

  “I never said I go all the time,” Tempest answered, smacking her lips. “Maybe a couple of times a month or so.”

  “I see.”

  “Is that all you can say? I see?”

  “Well, I do have one other question,” Geren stated, glancing over his shoulder while they waited at a stoplight. He took a good, long look at the Rollerblades Tempest tossed on the back floor when she got in. “Those skates look brand-new. Are you sure you’ve been blading before?”

  “Geren, are you accusing me of fabrication?” Tempest took her glasses back off, looking like she wanted to go upside his head. “Because if that is what you’re insinuating, you might as well turn this car around and take my ass back home right now.” She realized she was busted as far as the skates, so she added, “As a matter of fact, those are a new pair. My old ones are too worn so I decided to get some new ones. Is that a crime?”

  “No, not at all. I was just won—”

  “It’s not like I asked you to pay for them or anything,” she continued. “I can spend my money on anything I like.”

  “I never said you couldn’t.” Geren was getting pissed. She was carrying the drama a bit too far. “Look, I’m sorry aiight?”

  Tempest sucked her gums, rolled her eyes, and replaced her glasses. “Well, okay then.”

  They were both speechless, so Geren threw in a Jerrold Dameon CD. He was quickly realizing that there were two Tempests; the nice one and the bitchy one. Heaven help him, but he was still intrigued and wanted to get to know her better, regardless of her evil twin.

  “So, Geren, where are we going blading anyway?” Tempest stressed the word blading, trying to prove she was an expert on the subject. “Haines Point? Rock Creek Park?”

  Geren had originally planned to take her to Rock Creek Park, near the back entrance to the National Zoo, but quickly ditched the idea. One, he didn’t want her to think she was regulating, and two, he was determined to make her admit she didn’t know hide nor hair about Rollerblading. “Actually, I thought we would head over to the brokerage firm and blade through the indoor parking garage. I know the attendant, and it will be practically empty today except for the new associates still trying to prove they are worthy enough to be there.”

  “The brokerage firm parking garage?” Geren could hear the nervousness in Tempest’s voice.

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “I figure we can kill two birds with one stone. I can show you my office and then we can do some serious blading, like they do on the ESPN Extreme Games. You ever check those out on cable?”

  “No, I can’t say that I have,” Tempest replied cautiously. “What are the Extreme Games?”

  “Oh, that’s when they do all kinds of wild and crazy things, like laying down on skateboards and racing through the streets, skydiving, and other cool stuff. The Rollerbladers really get down. I bet you could show them a thing or two, since you’re such an expert.”

  Tempest let out a hideous laugh. “Yeah, I bet I could.” She tightened up one of her knee pads and then added, “You know, it’s such a beautiful day, and I really had my heart set on skating in the park. Who wants to go inside some dim, exhaust-filled parking garage on a day like this? That’s sadomasochistic.”

  She was looking for a way out, but Geren was not even having it. “Okay, I’ll tell you what. We’ll swing by the office. I need to pick up a file I need for a breakfast meeting on Monday anyway. Then we’ll do a couple of speed-skating laps down the ramps. After that, we can head on over to Rock Creek Park, do some more skating, maybe tour the zoo, and then have a late lunch or early dinner on Connecticut Avenue.”

  “Sounds like heaven,” Tempest said, lying her ass off.

  “Cool,” Geren replied. “We’re almost there. Just a couple more lights.”

  Tempest let out that hideous laugh again. Geren laughed too, real loud. He couldn’t wait to see her make a fool of herself.

  Okay, so I bit off a little bit more than I could chew, Tempest thought to herself. I don’t know a damn thing about Rollerblading, roller-skating, or any other kind of rolling except for rolling my hair.

  Her Aunt Geraldine, the one who ended up shacking with her high school sweetheart, took Tempest to the roller rink once when she was about nine. Tempest had never forgotten the humiliation.

  There she was, sitting on the front stoop in a new pair of Jordache jeans, a white knit sweater, and a gold chain belt, thinking Aunt Geraldine was picking her up to go to the mall. That was their usual Saturday routine. She would scoop Tempest up on her way to Iverson Mall or Capital Plaza, and they would go spend the money Aunt Geraldine’s man of the week had given her.

  But, noooooooo, not that day. Aunt Geraldine had this ingenious idea about going skating so Tempest could meet some new friends. Tempest couldn’t care less about meeting new friends. She had a best friend: Janessa.

  Tempest fell on her ass so much that day, she had to sleep on top of a pile of pillows for two weeks. Thoughts of the ordeal flashed through her mind while Geren bopped his head to the jazz music coming from his car’s stereo system.

  “Everything’s going to be just fine,” Tempest whispered to herself.

  Geren turned the radio down. “What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about something.”

  Geren started snickering and turned the radio back up.

  When they pulled up to his office building, Tempest was floored by the fancy fountain out front and the sparkling glass windows of the main tower. “This whole building belongs to the firm?”

  “Every square inch of it,” Geren replied, pulling into the parking garage and waving at the attendant. “We’re one of the largest brokerage firms in the country, second only to one in New York.”

  “Cool,” Tempest replied, definitely impressed.

  Tempest was in awe from the second she stepped into Geren’s office building. Marble floors throughout the first floor, plush carpeting on the tenth floor where his office was located, and brass nameplates on all the office doors.

  She almost fell out when she entered his spacious office. His desk and bookcases were ebony wood, and his chairs were all tan leather. There were six computers with flat monitors lined up on a large table on the far left wall.

  He had an armoire with a thirty-five-inch television, VCR and DVD player as well as the bomb-ass stereo system. All the equipment was made by the Phoenix Corporation. Tempest wondered how Geren even managed to get any work done in such a plush atmosphere.

  “Nice office!” Tempest exclaimed. “Very, very nice!”

  “Why, thank you.” Geren walked over and hit the enter button on one of the computers, waking it up from its sleep mode. Numbers started flashing across the screen as he sat down in a high-backed chair to read them. “I won’t be long. Have a seat wherever you like.”

  Tempest walked around the office, checking out every nook and cranny. “When you said you were an investment banker, I didn’t realize you had it like this. Sure, you drive a fancy car and wear nice suits, but lots of brothas do that when they’re just big-time perpetrators.”

  “I hold my own.” Geren swiveled around in his chair so he could admire her beauty while she admired his office. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think you were a gold digger.”

  Tempest snapped at him. “And you would be thinking wrong!”

  “Hold up! No need to get feisty.” Geren sensed their date was heading down the wrong path. “I said, if I didn’t know any better. You don’t strike me as the materialistic type. Not in the least.”

  “That’s because I’m not. Everything I have, I obtained through my own sweat and tears. I’ve never come out of my mouth and asked a man for money. In fact, I’ve halfway supported most of the brothas I’ve had dealings with.”

  “Why are you getting so defens
ive all of a sudden?” Geren asked, becoming increasingly irritated. “I was just joking, Tempest. Damn!”

  Tempest sat down in one of the wing chairs facing his desk. “Well, you have a sick sense of humor. I’m tired of men always assuming sistahs are after their money. This is nineteen-ninety-nine. Sistahs are doing it for themselves.”

  Geren chuckled. “I couldn’t agree with you more.” Geren got up and walked over to Tempest, sitting in the chair beside her and rubbing her on the knee. “Now I see where you get your name from. You have quite a temper on you, gurl.”

  That really agitated Tempest. “I got my name from my momma! A baby can’t be born with a nasty attitude, dufus!”

  “Oh, so now I’m a dufus?”

  Tempest rolled her eyes in his direction again, but he still held on to her knee because it felt good to him.

  “At least you admit you have a nasty attitude. I guess I should be grateful for that.”

  Tempest slapped Geren’s hand away and then crossed her arms in front of her. “I’m ready to go home.”

  Geren couldn’t believe his ears. “You’ve got to be kidding. What about the rest of our date?”

  Tempest got up and picked up the handset of the phone on his desk. “Do you mind driving me, or should I call a cab?”

  “Uh-uh-uh, now I get it!” Geren waved his index finger in front of her face. “This is your useless attempt to lure me into a full-blown altercation so you won’t have to go blading.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m just not in the mood to do anything now. At least, not with you. Your gold-digger comment spoiled it for me.”

  “What about lunch?”

  “We can still do that, I suppose. As long as we go dutch. Better yet, lunch is on me.”

  “Just admit it, Tempest.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That you don’t know nada about in-line skating. You’re afraid I’m going to show you up.”

  “This is ludicrous.”

  “I tell you what. I promise to take it easy on you. Scout’s honor.”

  “Geren, the topic of this conversation has gone way past some freakin’ skating.”

  “Okay, fine. Why don’t you tell me where the conversation has gone? Clarify it for me, please.”

  “You want to know what my real problem is?”

  “Most definitely!”

  “Men who always come out of their mouths with derogatory comments about sistahs.”

  “For the tenth time, I was just joking.”

  “Okay, whatever. Can we just leave now?”

  “Let me just send some data files to my home computer, and we can head on out.” Geren grew tired of trying to reason with Tempest. “I still say you’re trying to get out of blading.”

  Tempest rolled her eyes at him. “You’re a trip.”

  “No, you’re a trip,” Geren came right back at her.

  “Fine. You want to see some serious blading.” Tempest took off to the door, huffing and puffing along the way. “I’ll show you some serious blading.”

  • • •

  Once they got out in the parking garage, Tempest was determined to prove Geren wrong. After all, Fred had given her a lesson, and she only fell a few times. Nothing major.

  They had their skates strapped on and were standing on the top of one of the ramps of the garage on the third level.

  “You ready?” Geren glanced over at her standing beside him and giggled. She looked scared shitless.

  “Not only am I ready,” Tempest responded, elbowing him. “I’m going first.”

  “Umm, maybe we should go together, Tempest. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”

  “Hurt?” Tempest hissed at him. “Nucca, please. Watch my smoke.”

  Geren reluctantly let her go ahead of him, even though he had a bad feeling. He realized he was right by the time Tempest got to the first turn. Her legs started wobbling and shaking.

  Geren took off as fast as he could to try to catch up to her, but she’d gained speed and was temporarily out of his sight. The next thing he heard was Tempest screaming, “Oh, shit!”

  Geren got to the bottom of the garage and didn’t see Tempest anywhere. “Tempest!” he yelled out. “Where are you?”

  “I’m over here.”

  “Over where?” Geren asked in a panic, looking around for her among the few parked cars that were scattered around.

  “Over here, dammit!”

  Geren finally realized where her voice was coming from and rushed over to the Dumpster on the rear wall. He climbed up on one of the metal handles and looked over the top. It was all he could do not to double over in laughter when he spotted Tempest sitting there, surrounded by garbage.

  “How in the hell did you get in there?” he inquired, absolutely amazed at her predicament.

  “I came down the ramp too fast and flipped in here,” Tempest confessed, ashamed and embarrassed. “Could you please help me get out? My back hurts, and I don’t think I can get up by myself.”

  “Awwwwwww, poor baby,” Geren said, mocking her. “Give me your hand, Miss Rollerblade Queen, and I’ll pull you out.”

  Tempest managed to reach up to him, and he pulled her up and over the side.

  Before Geren could get a word in edgewise, Tempest snapped at him. “Don’t say one word! Not one damn word!”

  Geren snickered while Tempest half-walked and half-skated to his car, holding her back with one hand and pulling trash out of her hair with the other.

  • • •

  “If you say one smart thing, I swear I will go upside your head.” Tempest was holding on to Geren’s neck tightly while he carried her into his house.

  “I’m not saying a thing.”

  “Good.”

  Geren placed her down on the sofa in his living room. Once again, Tempest was in awe of his taste. His house was laid.

  “Let me get you a pillow to prop your legs up.”

  Geren grabbed a toss pillow and elevated Tempest’s legs.

  “Thanks, Geren.”

  “You’re welcome,” he replied, looking genuinely concerned. “You want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Geren sat down beside Tempest on the sofa and picked up one of several remotes. “Want the TV on? I don’t have a huge movie collection like you do, but I have cable and a few tapes I forgot to take back to Blockbuster about six months ago.”

  “Six months?” Tempest giggled. “I’m surprised they haven’t sent 5-0 out to look for you.”

  Geren shrugged. “Naw, they just charged the full price out to my credit card when I didn’t return them.”

  “Shame on it all!”

  “Instead of TV, how about some music?”

  “That’s cool with me. This is your place, after all.”

  Geren got up and walked over to a stereo cabinet. Tempest was shocked when he opened the doors. It was packed full of the latest audio equipment, everything from an MP3 player to a rewritable CD player. She noticed they were all manufactured by the Phoenix Corporation, just like the computers in his office.

  “You really have a thing for Phoenix stuff, huh?”

  Geren pretended like he didn’t hear her and plopped in Prince’s 1999 CD. “You remember this song?” he asked as “International Lover” started pumping through the speakers situated throughout the room.

  “Boy, do I!” Tempest giggled like a teenager. “Janessa and I were in the sixth grade, and you couldn’t tell us we weren’t the shit.”

  Geren laughed. “Yeah, I remember those days. Seems like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

  “Indeed.”

  “You look tense.” Geren walked up behind Tempest, sat on the arm of the sofa, and started massaging her shoulders. “Let me help you relax.”

  Tempest was getting into the music and the massage, which was banging, until Geren’s hands slipped from the nape of her neck down to her breasts. “Ummmmmmm, I don’t need to relax that much!” she exclaimed, pushing his hands away.

&
nbsp; “Sorry, nothing beats a fail but a try.” Geren looked embarrassed and pulled Tempest back toward him. “I’ll just stick to your shoulders.”

  Tempest shut her eyes and let him work the tension out of her. “You have nice hands,” she commented. “Soft for a man.”

  “Shhhhh, don’t tell anyone. They might think I’m gay.”

  They both laughed. “Naw, no way,” Tempest replied. “I can spot a homie-sexual a mile off. My radar would have gone off the moment I laid eyes on you in the club.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” Geren replied. “I was reading this article the other day about men doing other men on the down-low.”

  “Hmph, sounds like interesting reading material.” Tempest smirked, glad that someone finally just put the shit on out there. Brothas had always been on the down-low, fakin’ the funk and cheatin’ on the sistahs with other men. In her book, those men were right up there next to the men who deserted their children in the shitty-ass section.

  “It was wild.”

  Geren started going for the tits again, and Tempest sat up. “I feel so dirty.”

  “Why?”

  Tempest turned around and eyed him suspiciously. How on earth could he not know why she felt dirty? “Well, maybe it has something to do with all that garbage tumbling down on my head,” she said sarcastically.

  Geren fought to suppress a smile. “I see.”

  “I know I smell stank. You don’t have to pretend otherwise.” Tempest lifted the front of her shirt up to her nose so she could take a whiff. “Dizammmmmmm!”

  “How about a shower?”

  “Alone or with you?” Tempest asked, pondering over whether it was too soon to get jiggy with him. She craved him in the worst way.

  “Whichever you prefer.”

  Damn, no, he didn’t go there, Tempest thought to herself. Leaving it up to me, so I can be the one who looks like a straight-up hoe. “I don’t have any other clothes.”

  “You can wear my bathrobe or one of my big T-shirts while I wash yours right quick.” Geren bit his bottom lip, hoping Tempest would invite him to join her but not holding his breath. She just didn’t seem the type, which was good and bad. Good because it meant she wasn’t giving it up easily to any Jamal, Raymond, or Mohammed. Bad because he really wanted to lick her all over and feel her from the inside.