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  Her best friend, Kenya, claimed to have the perfect guy for her.

  “He has everything on the menu, girl!” Kenya squealed. “I swear.”

  “Sounds too good to be true,” said a doubtful Whitney.

  “Okay, maybe not every single thing, but most stuff,” Kenya assured her. “You have to be a little flexible or you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life! And you have to stop running guys away when they get too close. Thomas was perfect for you, but you...”

  “I don’t mind being alone, Kenya. I’ll die alone before I settle.”

  “Well, you need somebody to take home to the Caribbean, right?”

  “Right,” Whitney resolved. “I guess we don’t have to get married or anything. I just want him to impress my father, who is a retired physician, and my mother, who was an educator—in her other life.”

  “First of all, I’ve met both of your parents. They’re sweet as pie...not one bit judgmental. I think they just want the best for you—whatever makes you happy,” said Kenya. “Which reminds me. Did you tell them how miserable you are teaching little kindergartners?”

  Whitney loved her teaching career. Loved making a difference in the lives of her children. She wasn’t miserable and certainly had no plans of leaving her day job. Her mother would be crushed if she even thought she was leaving the teaching realm. After all, Beverly Talbot lived her teaching career vicariously through Whitney, and she wouldn’t let her mother down. However, she had found that songwriting made her heart soar. She’d been writing on the side and it actually made a good supplement to her teacher’s income, and it gave her a creative outlet. And when someone had actually performed one of her original pieces at Kenya’s birthday party, she’d actually entertained the idea of doing it full-time. That is, until her friend Tasha shot the idea down and made her feel ridiculous for even considering it. Needless to say, her good sense had kicked in and knocked her back into reality. Besides not wanting to disappoint her mother, she would never squander her education. Her father had worked too hard to put her and her siblings through college. Not to mention, she loved her children.

  “I’m not miserable teaching, and I haven’t told them anything. In fact, I haven’t decided what my career plans are. I’m just taking it a day at a time.”

  “You’ll figure it out, Whit. You always do.” Kenya was always her encourager. “Anyway, Will and I will meet you at the Cheesecake Factory at six. His friend Jason will be there, too. He won’t have much time, because he has another commitment after dinner. But he desperately wants to meet you. He’s educated, a business owner, fine as hell...”

  “Is he tall?”

  “He’s not quite six feet, but he owns a home in Mansfield and some commercial property, too.” Kenya skirted right past the issue of his height. “He has a house on the beach in Galveston.”

  “Okay, fine,” Whitney resolved. She hated blind dates but didn’t want to disappoint Kenya.

  “Be on time, Whitney,” warned Kenya. “He’s a busy man and has another commitment.”

  “Fine.”

  Whitney had a commitment of her own. She’d just purchased a lot in the new housing development in Cedar Hill, near Joe Pool Lake. Her first taste of homeownership and she was beyond excited. She’d long outgrown her Dallas condo and was tired of the hustle and bustle of Dallas traffic. She was having her dream home built and couldn’t wait to do her daily drive-by to see how things were coming along. She just wanted a peek and hoped she could make it to the new development and then back to Sundance Square in downtown Fort Worth for her blind date with the good friend of Kenya’s fiancé’s. She hoped that Dallas traffic would be milder than usual.

  As she pulled her Nissan into the development, she smiled when she saw the cement truck backing into one of the lots. They were building more homes in her popular neighborhood. She drove to the cul-de-sac at the end of the block, turned around and came back. Kenya sent her a text and she looked down—for a split second—to read it, and when she looked up, she realized that the cement truck was now moving forward and not backward. She’d already slammed into the side of it before she knew it.

  “Dammit!” she exclaimed as the phone hit the floor. She put the vehicle in Park and stepped out of the car. She smoothed her dress over her hips.

  The driver hopped down from the truck, a frown on his face. “Lady, what were you doing?”

  He wore an orange-and-silver reflective safety vest, but all Whitney saw was the tight gray T-shirt underneath that hugged his biceps. With a hard hat on his head, he pulled the dark shades from his eyes and peered at her.

  “I’m so sorry. I just looked down for a split second,” she said. “When I looked up, there you were.”

  “What are you even doing here? This is no place for you to be driving around.”

  “I’m here because right over there is my house—my lot!” She pointed at the space across the street where the foundation of a home had just begun to be built. “I have every right to be here.”

  “You should watch where you’re going.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, called his company to explain the details of the incident. She gave an apologetic smile to the other workers who had gathered at the scene. They weren’t at all happy with having their workday interrupted. The ordeal seemed to last longer than she’d hoped.

  She hated to ask but knew that she had another commitment. “Can we speed this along? I really have somewhere else I need to be,” she stated as they awaited the arrival of the local police.

  “You’re serious.” A slight smile danced in the corner of his mouth.

  “Yes, I’m serious.”

  “You should’ve thought about your other commitment before you hit my truck,” he said. “There’s a process to this.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, pulled her cell phone out, called Kenya and explained that she wouldn’t make it for her blind date.

  “Blind date, huh?” he asked after she hung up.

  “Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?”

  “I couldn’t help it. You weren’t exactly whispering.”

  Mr. Cement-Truck-Driver was quickly getting under her skin, but she tried to remain calm.

  “It’s rude to listen in on people’s conversations. And even more rude to put your two cents in.”

  “I didn’t know people actually did blind dates anymore.”

  “Well, they do,” she said.

  “I see.”

  She ignored him and began to engage in text messaging with Kenya until the officer arrived. The officer jotted down each of their contact information, gave them each a copy and then disappeared in his patrol car. She glanced at her copy. Lane Martin was his name. She crumpled the paper and stuck it into her purse. Headed for her car.

  “Why do you need a blind date, anyway?” he asked. “You shouldn’t have any trouble finding a man.”

  “For your information, I don’t have trouble finding a man,” she stated, “not that I’m looking.”

  A slight smile danced in the corner of his mouth again. He seemed to enjoy getting under her skin. “I’m sorry about your car.”

  “My insurance will be through the roof, if they don’t cancel me.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Insurance companies are crooks anyway.”

  She stood there, when she should’ve been moving toward her car. She was mesmerized by him. Couldn’t take her eyes off his chest. He was tall, a big strong guy. Football-player strong, she thought.

  “I’m Lane. Sorry we got off to a bad start.” He held his hand out to her.

  “Whitney.” She took his strong hand in hers. She appreciated the ruggedness of it. It wasn’t soft, and his nails weren’t manicured, but they were decent—clean and trimmed.

  “That accent. Jamaican?” he asked.

 
“Bahamian.”

  “It’s nice.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She got that all the time. People loved her Caribbean accent.

  “So that’s going to be your new home, huh?” he asked, pointing at the lot across the street.

  “Yes.”

  “Congratulations.” He smiled genuinely. “I poured the concrete over there, too.”

  “Thank you, I guess,” she said, looking at her watch. “I really have to go.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” There was that beautifully sly grin again. “Blind date.”

  The truth was, she’d already missed her blind date, and she wasn’t even mad about it. In fact, she felt somewhat relieved. She hadn’t been too keen on meeting yet another guy she wouldn’t be the least bit attracted to. She would only go through the motions and hope that she’d find something about him that she could tolerate.

  “Good day, Lane,” she said. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

  She was grateful for the dress she’d chosen that day. The one that hugged her ample hips in just the right places. She put an extra swing in them as she made her way back to her Nissan.

  “Pleasure was all mine,” she heard him say. No doubt he was watching the rhythm of her hips.

  As she sank into the driver’s seat of her car, she exhaled. She glanced at Lane. Just as she’d suspected, he was, in fact, watching—his arms folded across his chest as he leaned against his truck. She was nervous, and just making it to her car had been a challenge. Her heart pounded. Why was she behaving this way? This guy most likely met very few of the requirements on her Man Menu. She started her car, turned up the volume on the Jill Scott tune that amplified through her speakers. Gave him a slight wave as she pulled away.

  He was not her type. She was sure of it.

  Copyright © 2017 by Monica Richardson

  ISBN-13: 9781488013775

  Sweet Stallion

  Copyright © 2017 by Deborah Fletcher Mello

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