Romeo scanned the smiling faces, heads bopping from side to side, then nodded in Sharonâs direction. From where she stood on stage, she could see that he and Malcolm were pleased and so she sang for them both, a wide grin spreading across her face. â. . . I love you, I love you, I love you, baby, I love you. . . .â
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A love song was playing on the radio, the lyrics chanted over and over as Justin or Chris or whoever was singing was trying to drive home the point that the woman he was singing to, or about, had his heart. Taryn rolled her eyes skyward, a gasp of exasperation blowing past her lips.
It had been a long day and she was exhausted and in less than six hours she had to be on an airplane headed to Paris. She was trying to run down the list of everything she had to do in her head, but she was distracted, her thoughts on something and someone else. She blew another sigh.
Roberta had worked her last nerve, the woman suddenly obsessed with hooking her up with Romeo Marshall. Every other sentence out of her friendâs mouth had been about the man until Taryn had had enough. She thought back to the conversation.
âIs that why you left me stranded at the club with your boyfriend?â Taryn had asked.
Roberta sneered. âHeâs not my boyfriend. Never was. And I didnât leave you stranded! I really had to go home!â sheâd exclaimed.
âBut you were hoping Iâd hook up with him?â
Roberta had shrugged. âWould that have been a bad thing?â
âI donât think it would be a good thing.â
âWhy not? Romeoâs a great guy. I consider you both friends and I think youâd be a great couple. I want to see my friends happy.â
âWell, your boyfriend didnât even bother to look in my direction,â Taryn said matter-of-factly. âHe was too busy looking in every other womanâs direction.â
Shaking her head, Taryn could only listen as Roberta extolled Romeoâs merits one more time. Once the conversation was over, Taryn couldnât get the man out of her head, and it was really starting to irritate her because she had more important things to be thinking about. And on the radio some crooner was singing about how much he loved his woman.
Taryn turned off Duraleigh Road and pulled her Mercedes into the parking lot of the Harris Teeter shopping center. Shutting down the engine, she heaved one last sigh, determined to get her head back on track. She took a quick glance down to her watch. It was late but she hoped they hadnât yet taken down the salad bar. There wasnât an ounce of food in her refrigerator at home and she wanted something to eat that didnât have to do with her ordering at the drive-through window at McDonaldâs.
Once inside, Taryn wasnât surprised to discover she was hours too late. The late night produce clerk, a long, lean drink of chocolate with dreads down to his shoulders, apologized profusely, but he eagerly made suggestions, sharing a host of his quick and easy favorite recipes. His enthusiasm made her smile as he flirted shamelessly.
âI could come cook for you when I get off,â the young man said, his eyes narrowed as he studied her intently. âIâm a great cook.â
Taryn laughed, the gesture easing the stress sheâd been feeling. âI appreciate the offer, but I donât think thatâs a good idea.â
âWhy not, ma?â
She shook her head. âHow old are you?â
âAge ainât nothinâ but a number, beautiful. In fact, Iâm writing a book about relationships between older women and younger men. How itâs all about the physical and emotional connection and nothing at all to do with the age difference between them.â
Taryn laughed out loud. âSounds intriguing, but the answer is still no. Besides,â she said, with a flip of her hand, âIâm not that much older than you
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