Page 32 of The Lockdown Mann

I follow him into an immaculately clean kitchen. Nearly everything is white, from counters to accessories.

He grabs two glasses from the cabinet, getting me ice water from the machine in his fridge, before pouring himself lemonade.

“You drank lemonade the whole time we were at the beach,” tumbles out of my mouth. Shit. Now I’m the one bringing up that trip that we don’t talk about.

He cocks a brow as he hands my glass over. “You remember that?”

“Forgot until this second,” I lie.

“Sure you did. Just like I wasn’t standing by the door waiting for you to arrive.”

“So, you admit it.”

He shrugs. “No use in hiding shit.” He doesn’t elaborate any further, making me wonder if that’s the only shit there is. If there were more, would he say? “I can throw some steaks and potatoes on the grill.”

“Sounds good to me.” That’s me agreeing to be at his house for a while. I wonder if I should call off dinner, just have a drink with him and then head home, but I don’t do that.

Desmond starts by tenderizing and then seasoning the steaks.

“You need some help?”

“I got it. You gotta be home at any specific time? If you need to be with your family…”

“Nah, like I said, Ree and Tiana are staying with Ree’s mom tonight. Some girls’ makeover thing.” I called Serena before I left for Des’s, letting her know I was hanging out with a friend tonight. She teased me about going on a date, then, not for the first time, reminded me that it was okay if I did, as long as the person could be discreet, but I assured her that’s not what this is.

And it’s not. Desmond and I are…fuck, I don’t know what we are, but it’s not that. It would never be that again.

“I was happy for you. That it worked out so well.” He rinses the potatoes, then coats the outside with oil before rubbing salt around them. “You guys were so young, but I knew you’d make it.”

“You did?” I find myself asking even though Serena and I clearly didn’t make it. Not in the typical way, at least.

“Yeah, it’s you.”

I frown. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know, man. It’s hard to put into words. I just knew you would do right by Serena and your kid, that you would be the best partner for her and the best dad for your child. It’s just how you’re made.”

“Because my mom left, and I was all fucked up about it?” I ask. That probably is part of it.

“No. Just because it’s the kind of man you are.”

My pulse stumbles at his words, but then, if he thought or thinks so highly of me, why did he want nothing to do with me afterward? Why couldn’t we have been friends? I could have used a friend back then—someone other than Serena to talk to about everything—and for whatever reason, Des had been easy for me to talk to from the start. “You don’t know me,” I say. “You knew me for two weeks,” I correct myself.

Desmond covers the steaks, putting them back in the fridge, then wraps the potatoes in foil. “I knew you, Oak. Why does the fact that it was only two weeks mean I can’t?” He doesn’t wait for me to reply, just picks up the potatoes, saying, “Come on.”

Just like I did when we were teenagers, I follow behind Desmond, curious about everything he has to say, how he sees the world, and willing to go anywhere he wants to take me.

Which happens to be his backyard.

His grill is a smoker. He fills it with pellets, turns it on, then pops the potatoes on. “I’ll add the steaks soon.” He nods toward the outside chairs, and I take one of them—one that’s lower to the ground, my legs straight out in front of me, and we can relax. It’s hot, but I love the feel of the sun around me. He has a patio cover, which we’re under, but I can still feel the heat.

He’s got a pool to the right, and a half-court basketball setup to the left.

We’re quiet for a moment, drinking water and lemonade, and I wonder if he’s searching for something to talk about like I am.

Probably not. Des is unflappable, and silence probably doesn’t get to him the way it can me.

“Your mom,” he starts, “she ever end up coming back around?” My spine stiffens, and he says, “Sorry. You don’t have to answer.”