#SampleSunday: I have layers
The usual crowd milled around. Sweat glistened on skin, a testament to the day's heat. The thump of bass from a nearby car stereo rumbled. Desmond laced up and started a warm-up game by himself. Soon he was lost in the rhythmic swish of the ball going through the net.
After about thirty minutes, he was recruited to join a pick-up game. The exertion helped to clear his mind, give him something to focus on. He was crouched in deep concentration, watching a player about to take a shot, when a familiar silhouette caught his eye.
Desmond straightened, his attention drawn to the person walking along the fence surrounding the court. He signaled for a substitute player, giving them a fist bump in gratitude before stepping off the court and heading toward the fence.
“Fuck you doing here, Shawn?” he spat out, his words venomous. “Nothing’s changed since the last time you tried to pull this brother-to-brother bullshit.”
Shawn nonchalantly shrugged, his hands buried in his pockets. The casual gesture only intensified Desmond's simmering anger. "I don't need a reason to check up on my big brother."
“You didn’t check up on your big brother when I was doing your time in Jesup.”
Desmond could have predicted the irritated eye roll that came. “Here we go with the martyr speech, like Jesup was Rikers or Folsom. You was literally at a camp serving white-collar time.”
“Your time. Time you should have been serving. It doesn’t matter how much time I served or where I served it; it was supposed to be yours.”
“You say that like I ain’t do time too.”
Desmond’s upper lip twisted; he fought to keep his tightly gripped fists at his sides as he struggled to control his emotions. “You did a year, Shawn. After I served twice that before you showed up to take accountability. And had to be forced to do that.”
“Look, man. As fun as it is to spar with you or whatever, I needed to find you because Mom’s not doing well. You need to roll by the house. Soon.”
Shawn’s words felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He hadn’t kept in touch with his mother, and the news of her worsening health hit hard.
“Where’d you hear that?” he asked. “Dad didn’t say anything about her being sick.”
Shawn folded his arms, averting his eyes as if he was casing the basketball courts. “Just passing along the message. She’s been asking about you. Thought you should know.”
Desmond stared at Shawn. “Thanks for the message,” he replied finally, then walked back to the basketball game.
The damage, however, was done. His mind was already elsewhere. He played mechanically; his shots were off, his passes sloppy. He had no concentration or heart in the game. After a few minutes of effort, he snatched up his bag and headed back to his pickup.
He arrived at his apartment visibly agitated. There were reasons he didn’t see his family, especially those that weren’t supportive of him while he was inside or after he’d come out. Now his energy was off, his routine was threatened, and he wasn’t sure how to get himself back on the right path.
Desmond picked up his phone, looking for a distraction on Beyond Bars, but was scrolling through posts, not really reading them. An alert from Instagram popped up on his phone.
im_thatcher has sent you a private message.
He squinted, his brows nearly knit together. Imani sent him an Instagram DM?
Without hesitation, he swiped the notification, opening the app to his direct messages.
‘I’m not stalking you, I swear. My phone must have pinged from the area because you’re showing up as someone I should follow. Weird, huh?’
He didn’t know whether to laugh or be creeped out by this coincidence.
‘Yeah, that’s weird how phones do that. What’s up. How is your Saturday?’
‘Pretty good,’ she wrote back. ‘Deep cleaned my place, went to yoga. I dropped by the farmers’ market again but I guess I wouldn’t be lucky enough to see you two weekends in a row.’
Was Imani flirting? Or just being friendly? Were women ever just friendly? If she wasn’t interested, she’d never have reached out, right? She’d keep things strictly business.
So…was she flirting?
‘Anyway, sorry if I am disturbing your weekend. I’m about to hit the Chick-a-Biddy close to your side of town, though. I thought you might want to meet up.’
She. Is. Flirting. Fuck.
Desmond was starving. The oatmeal he’d eaten that morning was long burned off. Running into Shawn had decimated his appetite, but the conversation with Imani had reduced his stress…and he could eat.
‘You wear red bottoms to work but eat at a low-key neighborhood chicken joint?’
‘Don’t make me have to prove I’m not bougie, Mr. Taylor. I like chicken. I’m leaving my place now. If you’re coming, I’ll see you in about a half hour. If not, I’ll see you Thursday.’
Desmond stared at his phone for a full sixty seconds, then got up and headed for his shower kit. His studio included a full bathroom but he kept everything in a caddy. You never knew when you were being moved and Desmond was always prepared.
‘See you in a few.’
Desmond quickly showered, lined up his beard and his hairline while he was in the mirror, slathered on lotion and threw on a t-shirt and jeans, then grabbed his keys and headed out. He pulled up to Chick-a-Biddy, parked next to Imani’s BMW in the lot, and walked in, spotting her immediately at a table in a sunny corner wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses.
She wore a fitted Prince t-shirt and understated jewelry. Her hair, which was normally in a subdued style, was a halo of loose curls and twists around her face. He found he liked it, but he tried not to stare too long.
“You made it,” she said, sliding a menu over for him to peruse.
“Almost didn’t recognize you without your corporate fit on,” he said, sliding into the booth opposite her.
Imani laughed, removing her sunglasses and setting them down on the table. “I have layers, Desmond.”
“Yeah, yeah. Lemme see what shoes you got on.” He bent to peer at the rest of her outfit, smiling at the cut of her tailored leather shorts and impeccable, spotless leather and suede sneakers. “You’re not beating the bougie charges, Imani.”
“I can’t help that I like nice clothes. You’re not looking bad, Mr. Has To Take A Shower To Eat Chicken.”
“I had actually just got home from playing ball…” The conversation with Shawn flashed across his mind, putting a brief damper on his mood.
“Let’s order,” Imani suggested. “And then we can both talk about what just happened to your face.”
ABOUT CALCULATED RISKWhen heartbreak leads to love…
All her life, Imani Thatcher has played it safe, making the smart moves that landed her a prime spot at one of Atlanta's top financial firms. When heartbreak shatters her carefully planned world, she finds herself questioning everything she thought she knew about love and life.
Desmond Taylor has enough on his plate keeping Bright Pathways Youth Center running and Atlanta's at-risk teens off the streets. A polished financial analyst from the high gloss end of Atlanta should be the last thing on his mind, but from the moment she walks through his doors, he cannot deny the electricity between them.
When it comes to matters of the heart, love is always a calculated risk.
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