Leftovers With Benefits: An Interracial Contemporary Romance Read online

  “That was beautiful, Scott.”

  “The quicker you move on, little brother, the better off you’ll be.”

  “Just the thought of doing this entire process over…”

  “There is such a thing as Tinder.”

  “Oh, GOD.”

  “Do it for me, bro,” Scott whispered.

  “You’re the happiest you’ve ever been and we both know it,” Kevin said, the tinge of jealousy that tinted his words quieted the both of them, a jealousy that was understood and didn’t require an apology. They’d started their relationships at relatively the same time, after all.

  After a beat, Kevin spoke again.

  “Mom keeps telling me she knew this would happen.”

  “You know mom,” Scott rolled his pale brown eyes, the older, more conventionally handsome version of Kevin, “she just thinks the worst of everything, just so that when something happens she can say ‘I knew this would happen.’”

  “Still. You called it.”

  “Not at first. Lindsey fooled me too. She looked normal. She looked better than normal, she looked like one in a million. You know what Shelly said to me?” Scott lowered his voice to match the sensitivity of the topic, “She was like, ‘Have you ever once heard Lindsey apologize? For anything?’”

  Kevin sighed. “I don’t think I’m ready to hear about how everyone just let me fall into a ditch.”

  “Honestly, little brother. Would you have listened to any of us?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re not supposed to,” Scott declared as he got up from the break room table. “You’re supposed to love your woman even if no one else does.”

  “I did. And look what happened,” Kevin lamented, still in a heap in his breakroom chair while his coffee cooled.

  Scott’s heart was hurting for his brother but he was frustrated. Kevin was looking at this all wrong, just as he always had.

  Kevin had a great life. He was a badass Marine, a real-life fuckin’ hero, with a great house and a great job, and gets actual fuckin’ hugs from dad now, everything they dreamed of as kids.

  So his hot wife left him. Sucky, but fixable. There was no reason he couldn’t be drowning in pussy within the month. Scott said his piece. What he was not going to do was get sucked into Kevin’s private pity party.

  “Just don’t stick your dick in crazy,” Scott advised him over his shoulder as he returned to work. “Next time you’ll be fine.”

  Kevin scoffed as he sat at the break room table alone.

  “Words to live by.”

  5

  Chapter 5

  The next day, Kevin left work early to get the estimate on the repair to his car.

  The auto body mechanic gave a look at the damage, wide-eyed mostly at the scope of work than the language. Such things were his line of work.

  “It’s gonna be at least two weeks until my guys can get to this.”

  “How much?”

  “Realistically… $4500.”

  He cringed.

  $4500. No way a nurse had that kind of money laying around.

  “Realistically, huh.”

  “Yep.”

  “Put me on the schedule and I’ll get back to you,” Kevin replied.

  “We’ll need a deposit before we start,” said the mechanic.

  Kevin got back in his car, not sure where he was headed.

  Murray Regional was only a few miles away, where Nurse Hamilton worked. He could break the news in person.

  She was probably a bit busy, but he told himself it wouldn’t take long. He could use the distraction, besides.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t there.

  “I’m sorry, Nurse Hamilton’s not on duty, and I can’t give out any personal information.”

  “Can I leave my card?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He walked out of the emergency room lobby somewhat deflated. He was looking forward to another shot in the arm before he returned to an empty house for the night and ordered takeout. His four-bedroom colonial had become a torture chamber. Lindsey had convinced him to buy it by saying they could “grow into it.” Then she spent the next four years perpetually putting off having kids.

  So he went by his brother’s house, a bit out of the way but he had nothing else to do. Scott had likely just gotten home from work, and Kevin could tell his wife Shelly completely hated him dropping by unannounced.

  “Kids, go to your room, your dad has company!” she shouted.

  “But it’s just uncle Kevin,” their oldest objected.

  “Noooow!” Shelly ordered him from around the corner, like a stay at home pro.

  Their six-year-old son went off in a huff, leaving the two men to themselves in the study.

  “So I went by the body shop,” Kevin began. “You were right.”

  Scott scrunched his face up. “What’s the damage?”

  “$4500.”

  “Holy hell. That’s nearly more than the car’s worth.”

  “Well in its current condition, I’d have to pay someone to take it off my hands.”

  “Did you talk to your sweet hot nurse?”

  “Not yet. But I’m pretty sure she’s not making that kind of money.”

  “Maybe she could go in half?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What’s she doing tonight?” Scott asked, half teasing.

  “I don’t know. I went by the hospital, but she wasn’t there.”

  Scott went still and gave him a stoic expression that bloomed into a smile.

  “You went by there? Again?”

  “Bro…”

  “Don’t ‘bro’ me, you could’ve called the hospital and you know it.”

  “I was at the shop. I was already out, besides.”

  His brother just looked at him.

  “I’m not exactly looking for excuses to go home, okay? Yeah, I’ll admit that.”

  “So, find out what she’s up to.”

  “Scott, I’m still technically married. And so is she.”

  Kevin was doing that thing where he was searching for permission, and this time Scott was more than happy to give it to him.

  “Okay. Let’s pretend for a second that that shit actually still matters at this point.”

  “It does.”

  “You still need someone to talk to. Who else, exactly, can you even talk to about this fucked up situation? Who actually doesn’t have enough in their life to worry about? And also cares?”

  “I assume you’ve taken yourself out of the running.”

  “Guarantee you she’s in the same boat.”

  “Maybe.”

  “If there’s no spark between you, all the better. It’ll be no stain on your character.”

  “Kevin, are you staying for dinner?” Shelly stuck her head in the study, her voice empathetic yet reluctant.

  “No, Shelly. In fact, he was just leaving,” Scott replied for him.

  “It’s really awful what Lindsey did. Scott told me, I hope that’s okay,” Shelly offered.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s not really a secret.”

  “Did you see his car?” Scott directed at his wife.

  “Yes, unfortunately. Your son learned a few new words today.”

  “Shelly, he’s seven and doesn’t live in a cave. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  “Well, that’s my cue. Thanks for letting me hang,” Kevin blurted. He sensed his welcome window was shutting. “I’m gonna go… do…anything.”

  “Happy hour tomorrow, though?” Scott sent at his back.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And Kevin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I want a full report,” Scott said with a sly look.

  Kevin got in his car, heading toward home, cursing the journey. Not only did he hate his house, but his brother had also planted a wicked seed into his mind.

  He already knew she wasn’t working. Going to her house would be a bit forward. In fact, it would be a lot forward. He only knew her address in a
professional capacity. He could make an excuse that it was for work, but they both knew that would be a stretch. What if she was sleeping? Shit.

  Just go home, he thought.

  He sighed in resignation. He should just go home.

  * * *

  Kenya shut the tepid water off, stepped out of the shower and surveyed her body in the mirror.

  After 30 plus years, she still felt like she was doing pretty good. Her skin was smooth, her breasts still delicate teardrops. She was grateful for whatever genetic lottery had spared her the appearance of cellulite. Though with no kids, only time would tell. She stretched and turned to the side, examining her naked profile. If she didn’t put her arms down, ever, then she’d be a centerfold. She sighed as she returned her arms to her sides and an annoying pudge converged at her middle. She smacked it in shame, in resolution. She shook her head at herself in the mirror and reached for her fluffy robe, her headscarf still in place underneath her shower cap.

  Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

  Her heartbeat accelerated.

  Surely Cecil had the good sense to wait until she was at work to get more of his things.

  She snuck up the stairs and looked through the peephole.

  To her surprise, it was Kevin the claims adjuster.

  Holy shit.

  She hesitated, torn between answering the door and running to find some underwear.

  “Just a second!” she yelled, running back downstairs in her split-level house to her bedroom.

  She rummaged through her closet with the haste of a game show contestant. She had the time and the mental readiness to put on underwear and a pair of yoga pants. She gave her bare chest a few air drying flaps with her robe before she re-tied it extra tight. Eventually, she answered the door, leaving it cracked as he stood outside.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he cringed. “This is a bad time isn’t it?”

  “Uh…no,” Kenya answered cordially, “I do have to be at work in an hour or two.”

  “Oh.”

  The night shift. He hadn’t even thought about that.

  “I don’t think I realized you worked a night shift. I knew I should’ve called first,” he reprimanded himself.

  “No, it’s okay. What’s up?”

  The door was cracked and she stood in the gap, her robe tightly held against her chest.

  God, he was a complete and total sleaze.

  “Well, I went by the body shop today and they told me the damage.”

  “Oh no,” she said as she winced. No wonder she was getting a house call.

  “$4500,” he broke the news.

  “Holy shit,” she groaned. “Are you sure? Seems a bit high for a paint job.”

  “Well, it’s only because it was on three panels: the hood, the driver side door, and the back passenger door. They each have to be worked on.”

  Kenya hung her head as she thought of her brilliant revenge plot. She could’ve saved that extra “bitch” along the side. And of course, the only person it was injuring was her. There was a petty side to her that was resentful on some level. Her hot mess college roommate Melanie was always keying bitches cars, and she hasn’t seen so much as a ticket.

  “Anyway, that’s not really why I’m here. Not really,” Kevin began, feeling a bit sick.

  Kenya blinked.

  “I was on my way home from work, from my brother’s house and I um… I told myself I was going to have a professional excuse ready, but to be completely honest with you, I just hate my own house right now,” he confessed. “And my bed. And I hate bars.”

  Kenya understood and her heart ached a little for him. He seemed pretty pitiful. In her peripheral, she saw her handiwork still proudly displayed all over his car. She shook her head.

  “You’ve been driving that thing around like that?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  “You could get a rental?”

  “I’m not a proud man, Kenya,” he joked. She laughed and he relaxed a little.

  “If it wasn’t so bad for the resale value, I’d probably leave it the way it is.”

  “Really? Why?”

  He took a look back at it and shrugged.

  “A good reminder. Every time I think about calling her and begging her to come back I just… read my car.”

  Kenya snickered, still holding the door in front of her. She didn’t particularly want the thing in her driveway, but she supposed the least she could do was not give him a hard time.

  “Well, I was thinking somewhere in the ballpark of $1800, so… maybe we could go half?” she asked sheepishly.

  “That’s what my brother suggested.”

  “Your brother?”

  “And also technically my boss. We work together.”

  Kenya nodded.

  For some reason, she was apprehensive to let him inside. She just got rid of one triflin’ man. Obviously, he was too skittish to ask, even though he basically just told her why he was there. Still. White people liked to be asked, even when the intention was obvious.

  Beyond that, Kenya felt his pain. And since he wasn’t pressing charges against her, she felt mercy.

  “Would you… like to come in?”

  “Sure,” he sighed, relieved.

  He stepped into the narrow threshold and surveyed the foyer. Warm colors, traditional style. The complete opposite of Lindsey’s design choices. She closed the door behind him, shutting out the brisk air.

  “Hungry?” she asked him.

  “Starving, actually,” he replied.

  “I was just about to heat up dinner.”

  “I don’t want to impose,” he said.

  “Oh, there’s plenty. Trust me.”

  He followed her up the stairs to the small closed off kitchen, while Kenya directed him to have a seat at the adjacent dining table. He watched through the pony wall as Kenya pulled out a massive crockpot from the fridge and plugged it into the base on the countertop.

  “Were you expecting an army?”

  “Force of habit,” Kenya answered behind her. “It was the only way to manage home cooked meals with my schedule. As soon as I get home I never have to spend the brain power on what to eat.”

  “Very…industrious.”

  “I have a thing about not wasting time.”

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “Jambalaya. Hope you like spice.”

  “I love spice.”

  Yeah, I bet you do, she thought in her head. She wasn’t even quite sure what she meant by it. But whatever she meant, she meant it flippantly.

  “Have as much as you want. I appreciate the help, honestly. I don’t know why I’m still making so much. Kills me to have to throw it out.”

  “Must be nice coming home to that smell,” he said.

  Kenya found his observation odd. Oddly true.

  “It smells like… love,” she confirmed. He nodded and smiled a bit. The word ‘love’ turned to paste in her mouth.

  Had she even said the word in the last two weeks? The last month? She thought of all the “love” her husband had come home to in the past four years. Wondered what he comes home to now.

  “It’s not as fun when you’re at home while it’s cooking. I always had to try and sleep through the smell before…” her voice trailed off.

  “I didn’t mean to make you talk about him,” he discerned.

  “No, it’s okay. I mean, it’s kind of unavoidable right?”

  “Everyone except my brother is afraid to talk about her. She’s like Voldemort.”

  “Rightly so.”

  “I know they blame me. I know they think I’m this… lesser man for still wanting her after what she did. Like I couldn’t hold on to her.”

  “Like, you’re pathetic or something?”

  “Yeah. You too?”

  “My mother.”

  “Ugh. Honestly, what is wrong with parents?”

  “I don’t know,” Kenya laughed.

  “As if they weren’t const
antly on the verge of divorce.”

  “And they didn’t have Tinder.”

  Kevin agreed emphatically, pointing in Kenya’s direction with both hands. After a beat of silence, Kenya turned back to her work at the sink.

  “So you uh… miss him?”

  Kenya tilted her head thoughtfully from the kitchen.

  “Some things. I mean, you know… stuff,” she stumbled, realizing while she spoke how uncomfortable the subject was. “But then other times I’m skipping down the street, thinking of all the things I don’t have to deal with anymore. Or I’m just…” she shrugged, “I spent a lot of time trying to see the good in him. For the good of the marriage, you know. And now I do the opposite. For comfort, I guess.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not there yet,” he confessed.

  “No?” she shook her head compassionately. He shook his head woefully in response. She was overcome with pity.

  “You’ll get there,” she took a deep breath as she said it.

  “That smells amazing already,” he said.

  There was a moment of quiet while Kenya busied herself in the kitchen, the clanging of dishes and pots hitting the dishwasher. It struck Kevin’s ears as familiar, homey. Reminiscent of childhood. Lindsey never did dishes. Though she did like buying them.

  She had such a great sense of style, he remembered. He couldn’t wait for her to style their house just the way she wanted. He was never one of those guys that wanted to keep his shitty art on the wall and trophies on display. He bought her a beautiful house.

  On some level, he must’ve known that she didn’t love him anymore. He was always hoping all of his concessions would win her over. His mind went to the sight of his wife being consoled by another man. The same deflated feeling overtook him.

  “I think I talked to your husband once before. Inadvertently,” he divulged.

  Kenya stopped mid-movement as she loaded the dishwasher. She realized he was politely offering information.

  “When?” Kenya softly asked.

  “About two months ago.”

  Two months ago. Kenya searched her memory.

  “What happened?”

  “There was a number in her phone that I kept seeing over and over in her call logs… sorry,” he muttered. She waved dismissively, absolving him.