The Unexpected Affair

He kicked his boots off at the door and opened each piece of mail that he’d gathered from the box. He plopped down on the sofa in his family room, rested his head against the back of it. Working long hours usually left him exhausted. He grabbed the remote control and tuned the television to ESPN, caught the commentary before the playoff game was to begin. Watching sports after a hard day’s work was usually the highlight of his day. Except for today. The highlight today had been the beautiful stranger who had rammed her car into his cement truck. He hadn’t been able to get her out of his head since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

He made his way into the kitchen and checked the chicken that he’d placed in the slow cooker that morning before work. He tasted a piece and closed his eyes. It was perfectly seasoned and tender. Over the years, he’d become a great cook. Bachelorhood had taught him self-sufficiency and he’d mastered it. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and made his way into the bathroom for a long, hot shower.

He dried his hair and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He put on a pair of basketball shorts and pulled an old Mizzou T-shirt over his head. He wasn’t startled when he heard the doorbell ring. It wasn’t unusual for his best friend, Melvin, to show up unannounced, and especially on the night of a playoff game. Before Lane could answer the door, Melvin was already inside.

“It’s game time!” Melvin yelled, a baseball cap turned backward on his head and a Cavaliers jersey barely covering his belly.

“You smelled the food cooking,” said Lane.

“Now that you mention it—” Melvin raised his eyebrows “—what are we eating?”

“We aren’t eating anything,” said Lane with a grin.

Melvin usually made himself right at home. And today was no different as he reached into the refrigerator and grabbed himself a beer. “Last beer, bro,” said Melvin, raising it into the air.

“Well, maybe you should run on down to the store and grab us another six-pack.”

“At halftime, bro,” Melvin promised as he plopped down in the chair in front of the television.

Lane knew that he wouldn’t be making the beer run. He never did. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Halftime. I promise,” said Melvin. “How long before dinner?”

Lane laughed at his best friend, who had been his college roommate and his teammate on the football field. Melvin knew him better than anyone—had been with him through all of the highs and lows of his life: his marriage to Helena, his divorce from Helena, the death of his brother. He’d been his rock, and often his sounding board. Melvin was family. They’d grown up in Saint Louis together. And after Lane had moved to Texas and gotten settled, Melvin soon followed. Slept on his couch for a few months until he’d finally landed a job and his own place.

Lane described his day to Melvin—told him about the woman crashing into his cement truck. “She was concerned about filing a claim with her insurance,” said Lane.

“Was it a bad dent?”

“Not too bad. Nothing you can’t handle.”

In addition to owning his own accounting firm, Melvin also tinkered with old cars. He owned a body shop in South Dallas where he transformed old cars into new ones. He also worked with insurance companies to repair damaged cars.

“Have her bring it over to the shop, and I’ll knock it out for her.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” said Melvin. “Why are you so concerned about it, anyway?”

“She was a nice lady. Just trying to help her out.”

“Mmm-hmm. I see,” said Melvin. “She cute?”

“She’s not bad on the eyes.”

Melvin had been slouching in the chair. He sat straight up. “You like her.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“I don’t even know her, bro. I’m just trying to help her out.”

“Right,” said Melvin as he made his way to the kitchen to fix himself a plate. “You can do something for me, too.”

“What?”

“Tyler needs a job,” said Melvin. “You know my nephew Tyler. He’s moving in with me for a few months. Needs a new start. Getting into all kinds of trouble in Saint Louis. His daddy thinks he’ll do much better here in Texas. Maybe you can get him on down there at the plant.”

“Does he have any experience?”

“Fast food. But he’s smart. He’ll catch on fast.”

“I don’t know, man,” said Lane. He’d been burned too many times before trying to help people out. Situations like this ruined relationships. “Youngsters aren’t dependable.”

“He’ll be dependable. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lane shook his head. He didn’t like the idea of putting his job on the line for people, but he knew Tyler. And he knew how it was growing up in Saint Louis and running with the wrong crowd. “Have him come down and see me on Monday. I’ll see what I can do.”

“He’ll do good, man. I promise.”

“He’d better.”

Lane disappeared into his bedroom for privacy, shut the door. Pulled the folded piece of paper from the pocket of his work pants, unfolded it and searched for Whitney’s phone number. She answered on the second ring.

“Hello.”

“Hey,” he said nervously. “It’s Lane Martin. You know, from the accident today.”

“Oh, hello.”

“I’m sorry to call so late. But...” he paused “...I just wanted to tell you, I have a friend who owes me a favor and can knock that dent right out of your bumper. You can take your car over there tomorrow. That way you won’t have to report it to your insurance company.”

“Really?” she asked. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m a nice guy,” he said with a smile in his voice. “And my best friend owns a body shop.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

“Text me the address of the shop.”

“Okay, I will. As soon as we hang up.”

“Cavs up by two!” Melvin yelled from the other room. “Lane, get your ass in here!”

Whitney giggled. “Sounds like you need to go.”

“Sounds like I do.”

“Thank you again,” said Whitney.

“No problem. Have a good night,” said Lane. “And I’ll text the information right away.”

“Great.”

She hung up.

He sat there on the edge of the bed for a moment, a subtle smile in the corner of his mouth. He typed the address to Melvin’s shop into a text message, hit the send key and then made his way back to the game.

Chapter 3

Whitney glanced at the text message. She was grateful for the gesture, Lane arranging to have her car repaired. She shut her phone case and walked over to the baby grand piano that rested in her living room. She loved her piano, though it crowded her space, which was another reason she was having a house built. She needed the extra space for her baby.

She’d played the piano since the age of twelve and had mastered it. Music was her lifeline. She was from a musical family—her grandfather and father were both musicians. So her love for music made sense. In addition to playing, she wrote songs. She’d written a few pieces and sold them. Songwriting had brought about a nice supplement to her teaching income. She’d even entertained the thought that if she wrote full-time, she could probably make her current teaching salary or more. But the fear of not having a secure income always trumped her love for writing.

Whitney started a bubble bath and lit a candle. She’d gone to the gym, and a bath after a workout always soothed her aching muscles. She sipped on a glass of red wine to wash down the chicken breast and brown rice that she’d prepared for dinner. She peeled sweaty clothes from her body, pulled her hair up into a bun and stepped into the bathtub. She needed to steal a few moments to pamper herself before settling in for the night.

When she slipped into bed, sleep came quickly. She’d fallen asleep long before nine thirty and with the television blaring with Don Lemon’s commentary on CNN. It seemed that morning always came abruptly.

* * *

Whitney moseyed over to the door, opened it. The bell rang and fifteen kindergartners rushed from their chairs and headed toward the door.

“Excuse me!” exclaimed Whitney. “I don’t remember dismissing anyone.”

The children slowly made their way back to their respective seats, waited patiently for their teacher to give them permission to move.

“Now you may form a single-file line in front of me. Bus riders first.”

The children formed a line in front of the door, and Whitney escorted them out of the classroom, through the hallway of their elementary school, past the office and out the side door where the buses waited for them to get on board. She ushered all of the children to the correct school buses or to their parents’ cars. After seeing that all the children made it to their modes of transportation, Whitney made her way back to her classroom.

She sat at her desk and graded a few papers, turned on her laptop and checked her email. This was her quiet time. She loved her children but looked forward to those quiet moments when they all went home. After responding to emails from parents and shutting down her computer, she tidied the classroom a bit. Placed crayons and bottles of glue into cubbyholes and threw trash away.

She checked her watch. She had just enough time to make her appointment at the body shop. Lane’s friend Melvin had promised to make her car look like new. She looked forward to it and appreciated Lane for even suggesting it. She grabbed her purse from the locked bottom drawer of her desk, pulled her keys out. She shut off the lights in her classroom on her way out the door. Her cell phone buzzed. Kenya.

“Hey, girl,” she answered.

“I need a drink,” said Kenya. “Meet me at Duffy’s.”

“Can’t. I have an appointment.”

“Oh, Whit! Are you going to make me drink alone?” Kenya whined.

“Why do you need a drink so badly?”

“Will’s mother is in town. You know she gives me hives. I can’t do anything right with her!” said Kenya.

“Oh, no! Not his mama.”

“She’s already started. Now she’s trying to plan the wedding. I don’t mind her input, but damn, this is my wedding,” said Kenya. “She’s added like twenty extra people to the guest list.”

“No!”

“Twenty extra mouths to feed!”

“What does Will say?”

“That’s just my mom, babe.” Kenya’s voice was in a baritone as she mocked her fiancé. “You know how she is.”

Whitney laughed. “Sorry.”

“This is so not funny, Whit. I’m going crazy!” Kenya exhaled. “She wants to look for alternate choices for the rehearsal dinner, and now she’s asking why the bridesmaids’ dresses have to be so provocative.”

“Did she specifically say bridesmaids’ dresses, or did she mention my maid-of-honor dress, too?” Whitney laughed.

“Whit!”

“You do need a drink,” said Whitney. “Meet me at the body shop and we can find somewhere to go from there.”

“Thank you. Damn, girl.”

“I’ll text you the address.”

Whitney bid the custodian a good night with a nod. He gave her a wide grin, and had she not been on the phone, he’d have struck up a long conversation about his ailing mother. Once Whitney revealed to him that she was from the Bahamas islands, he always went on and on about his Caribbean roots. She walked out the door quickly and to her car.

* * *

She waited for Melvin to appear in the customer waiting area after the receptionist called for him. He was not at all what she’d expected, actually the opposite of the image she had in her head—he was clean shaven, tall and handsome. Not at all a body-shop type of guy. She shook his hand.

“Good to meet you,” she said.

“Pleasure’s mine.” His smile was handsome. “Let’s take a look at that dent.”

He followed her outside to her car.

“Here it is.” She pointed at her vehicle.

“Ouch,” he said. “But it’s not so bad. Won’t take me long to knock that out.”

“Good. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. Lane is my best friend,” he told her. “And he insisted that I take good care of you.”

“Did he, now?”

“Yes, but he didn’t mention that you were so beautiful and had a sexy accent. Where are you from?”

“Bahamas.”

“Nice,” said Melvin. “Now, if you’ll just have a seat in the customer waiting area, I’ll get you squared away.”

“Actually, my girlfriend just pulled up. We’re going to run out for a bit, and I’ll just come back in a little while.”

Melvin squinted to get a better look at Kenya as she pulled into the parking lot. “She look like you?” He smiled.

“She’s engaged.” Whitney smiled and began to walk out of the shop.

“Engaged, but not married, right?” he called as she walked away.

“They’re just about there.” Whitney laughed, giving Melvin a wave as she exited. She hopped into the passenger’s seat of Kenya’s sedan.

Kenya lowered the volume on the Rihanna song she was blasting. “Who’s the nosy guy?”

“Melvin.” Whitney wrapped the seat belt around her. “Lane’s friend.”

“Oh, Lane.” Kenya grinned. “Now you’re on a first-name basis.”

“What? His name is Lane. You want me to keep calling him the guy whose truck I plunged into?”

“I guess not.” Kenya gave her a side-eye. “Now, where around here can we go for that drink? I don’t know anything about this neighborhood.”

“Right,” said Whitney, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll just check Yelp.”

“Okay.”

“It says there’s a bar just around the corner. They have great reviews and even have a happy hour,” said Whitney. “Make a left here at the corner.”

* * *

They stepped into the quaint bar, snagged a small table in the corner of the dimly lit room. Soulful music played casually, and some people swayed to it, while others engaged in loud conversations. Whitney ordered her signature rum and pineapple juice, while Kenya sipped on a glass of Merlot.

“Can we have an order of the hot wings, too?” Whitney asked the half-naked server.

“Sure,” said the young woman. “You want mild or hot?”

“What do you think?” she asked Kenya.

“I’m not eating any hot wings. Girl, I’ve got to fit all of this into that wedding dress in a few weeks.”

Kenya was always watching her weight. Always on some diet or taking a supplement for this or that. And since getting engaged, she’d been on a mission to maintain her weight at her current size because she was not buying another dress.

“I’ll take the hot ones,” said Whitney, and as soon as the server walked away, she leaned toward Kenya to talk over the music. “A few hot wings never hurt anybody.”

“I’m not like you, with your perfect figure that you never have to work for!”

“Oh, I work for it. But I cheat sometimes,” said Whitney. “I hit the gym, too.”

“When, Whit?” asked Kenya. “When was the last time you were committed to a workout?”

“Last night.”

“But before that, how long?”

“It had been...” Whitney thought for a moment, took a sip of her drink. “Okay, it had been a while. But I’m back now. I’m sore right now, but I’m back.”

“Why do you bother?” asked Kenya. “Look at you. You’ve got it in all the right places.”

Whitney’s five-foot-four physique was coveted by many. Her 152 pounds seemed to fall in all the right places. In her mind, though, she needed work. She needed her butt lifted and her stomach flatter.

“So do you. You just need to tone a bit,” said Whitney. She knew that weight had been a long-standing and touchy subject for Kenya, so she changed the subject. “I found the perfect shoes for my dress.”

“Really? Where?”

“DSW.” Whitney pulled her cell phone out, sorted through her photos and showed Kenya. “Look at these beauties.”

“Oh, they are beautiful!” Kenya grabbed the phone. “I need to send this to all of the bridesmaids.”

Whitney snatched her phone back. Her Bahamian accent was stronger at times. “No, honey. I’m the maid of honor. My dress and shoes will be different.”

“You’re right,” Kenya resolved. “It’s just that these women are dragging their feet. I don’t even think that Tasha has gone to get fitted for her dress!”

“She will.” Whitney laughed. “You know she’s late for everything. She’ll be late for her own funeral.”

“Why can’t she ever be on time?” Kenya took a sip of her wine and made room on the table for the piping-hot wings that the server placed on the table. “Thanks, honey. Can we get some extra napkins, please?”

The server walked away, but not before rolling her eyes at Kenya.

“Did she just roll her damn eyes at me?” Kenya asked.

Whitney chuckled. “I think she did.”

“See, that’s why I don’t come over here.”

“It’s okay.” Whitney was already tearing into a hot wing and licking sauce from her fingertips. “Some of the best places have the worst customer service. Try these wings, girl. You’ll forget all about what’s-her-name.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t see it.” Kenya grabbed a wing, her pinkie finger in the air.

Whitney shook her head and grabbed another wing.

* * *

Just as they pulled up at the body shop, Melvin was pulling Whitney’s car out of the bay.

“You’re all set.” He stepped out of the car, grinned and dangled the keys in the air.

“Thank you.” Whitney gave him a smile and grabbed her keys. She took a long look at her bumper. It was like new. “Looks good!”

“Damn right!” he boasted. “Now, tell my friend Lane that I took good care of you.”

“I certainly will.” She walked around to the side of her car. Melvin opened the door for her and she sank into the driver’s seat. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He slammed her door shut.

She drove off, found a track on her playlist and smiled as the music resonated through the car.

Chapter 4

Lane relaxed on the sofa and flipped back and forth between two football games. Why they had to air them at the same time was beyond him. He had bets riding on both of them. He wasn’t a gambler in the traditional sense, he’d convinced himself. He just dabbled a bit. He didn’t need the money. In fact, he’d made a nice salary driving his cement truck for the past seventeen years. Betting on sports was just a pastime. He could quit at any time.

He yelled at the television, a plate of food on the coffee table in front of him. He sipped on a cold bottle of Budweiser, leaned back on the pillow and pushed the comforter aside. The sofa doubled as a bed for him because that’s where he slept most nights. It had been weeks since he’d slept in his bed. He worked insane hours, and usually he’d fall asleep in front of the television before the last quarter of any game. He was the epitome of a bachelor, and his relationships had struggled in the past. His long hours left minimal time for dating.

Besides working long hours, he hadn’t found a woman worth the work of dating long-term. He usually found something wrong with her. Too clingy, too self-centered, too fat, too skinny, low self-esteem—all were reasons to break things off before anyone got serious. His divorce had left him gun-shy, and he wasn’t sure that he’d let anyone else in after that. Love was painful, and he didn’t have time to be hurt again.

His phone buzzed and he looked at the text message.

Just left Melvin’s shop. Thanks for everything!

“Whitney,” he whispered. A smile swept across his face, and he couldn’t wipe it away.

He replied, Yrr welcome.

He wanted to say more but didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. Didn’t want her to think that he was interested in anything more than making sure her car was taken care of. He placed the phone on the coffee table and stuffed a forkful of green beans into his mouth.

I hope you have a nice night, she texted back.

You too, he replied, and then waited for the notification that she had texted him again.

He waited. Grabbed the phone and typed, Are you free Friday night?

What was he doing? Friday night was his night to fall asleep in front of the television again. He didn’t need to make appointments that he had no intentions of keeping. He hit the send key anyway.

Free for what? she asked.

Idk. Dinner?

“I don’t know?” he whispered. “Dammit!”

He didn’t even have a game plan. He’d approached her without a plan. And on top of that, he wasn’t even sure if he really wanted to take her out. It was just something that had slipped out, an impulsive act on his part.

Sure, she texted.

Had she said yes? He sat up straight on the sofa, stuck his chest out. He was cocky now.

Cool, he typed.

Where would he take her? She was undoubtedly a wine-sipping fancy-dinner-spot type of woman. He was a sports-bar type of guy. That was a good enough reason not to follow through with this crazy idea. He leaned against the back of the sofa, considered how he could get out of this date that he’d just made on impulse. How had he even gotten here? They were as different as night and day. And he wasn’t up for anyone trying to change him. Nope. He’d been there, done that with the last woman, Erica. She’d tried her best to change him. Buying him these corny outfits and insisting that he wear them to the cocktail parties and office dinners that he’d been forced to tag along on. She hated when he watched the game or hung out with the guys from work. Wanted him to spend every waking hour with her. He was relieved when she finally disappeared from his life.

I know a nice sports bar in the Arts District. The Cowboys are playing that night. Not that I’m a fan of the Cowboys, but I enjoy a good football game, she texted.

He smiled when he read the text. “Damn,” he whispered.

Well, who are you a fan of? he asked.

Broncos. I don’t know why. I grew up watching soccer myself, but I just like the team. You?

Kansas City Chiefs. After my hometown, Saint Louis, lost the Rams to LA, I went with the next best team.

The Chiefs? The next best?

He laughed aloud and then dialed her phone number. Forget the texting. He needed to set her straight! She was laughing on the other end of the phone.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” he asked.

“Did I push your buttons?” she asked, still laughing.

“What do you have against the Chiefs?”

“I’m not saying that they’re crap overall. Their season is pretty good this year.”

“They’re doing great this season!”

“You’re right. And they do have Andy Reid.”

“What you know about football?”

“I know a lot,” she said. “Now, are we meeting at the sports bar on Friday night or what?”

“Send me the info and I’ll meet you there,” he said. He tried to remain calm. Friday wouldn’t get here soon enough, he thought.

“Good!” she exclaimed. “I’ll see you then.”

“Okay.”

“I’d love to talk to you more about the Chiefs, but I have an early morning with twelve kindergartners. I need my beauty sleep.”

“I wouldn’t want to interrupt your beauty sleep. It seems to be working pretty good.” He chuckled.

“I’ll see you on Friday.” Her voice smiled.

“Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

He held the phone long after she’d hung up. He took his plate into the kitchen and washed the few dishes that were in the sink. He grabbed another beer from the fridge and decided that he’d turn in for the night, as well. Three o’clock in the morning usually came knocking a lot sooner than he was ever ready for.

* * *

Lane pulled his Ford F-150 into the parking lot. Sat there for a moment and gathered his thoughts. It was early, and though he’d done these hours for many years, he still needed a moment each morning. He listened to the ending of the song on his playlist before finally shutting the engine off. Made his way across the gravel to the office and punched the time clock. He made his way over to his cement truck, hopped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He smiled at the rumble of it. He hopped out and then did an inspection of his truck. Priscilla, he called her. He and Priscilla had been together for many years. He’d been with Priscilla longer than his ex-wife.