“Ramona, I’ve changed. I’m not the same guy you dated in high school. We want different things now.”
“But you want the wrong things.”
“They’re not wrong for me.”
She marched across the kitchen and grabbed his forearms. “You’ve got to return to New York. With me, things will be different.”
Ean pulled free of her hold. “Our relationship wouldn’t work, Ramona. We’re too different now.”
She retreated as she studied his face. “I know my arguing with Quincy made you uncomfortable.”
What was behind her sudden change of topic? Ean played along. “Why were you two at each other’s throat all night?”
Ramona shrugged. “He was arguing. I was just defending myself.”
Ean looked beyond Ramona’s pouty expression to the temper in her dark eyes. “Since when does Quincy argue with you? In high school, he barely spoke with you.”
Surprise wiped away Ramona’s anger. “I can’t believe you don’t know.”
“What?”
“You really don’t know?” Ramona rolled her eyes. “Quincy’s in love with me. He has been since high school.”
“What?” Ean’s head spun.
“That’s probably why he was angry with me last night. He knows that now you’re here, he doesn’t stand a chance with me. There’s no need for you to feel threatened.”
Ean frowned. “I’m surprised, not threatened. Quincy’s a good guy. You should give him a chance.”
Ramona’s eyes stretched wide. “You’re giving me to Quincy?”
“No.” Had she screeched this much in high school? No wonder his mother didn’t want her as a daughter-in-law. “But you could do a lot worse than Quincy.”
Ramona lifted her black purse higher on her shoulder. “Is this some sort of joke? Don’t take too long to come to your senses, Ean. You could find that you’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to you.”
Ramona stomped from the kitchen. Moments later the front door opened, then slammed shut.
Ean straightened away from the kitchen counter and strode to the foyer. He locked his mother’s front door, then mounted the stairs to the shower. Quincy was one of his best friends; but since Ean had returned from New York, that friendship had been strained. Was Ramona the cause of that? Did Quincy really have a crush on her in high school? Was he in love with her now? If so, why hadn’t he ever said anything?
There was only one way to get answers to those questions. He wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation.
Hours later, Ean pressed the doorbell to Quincy’s two-story townhome. It was like the signal to the second round of a prizefighter’s match—the prize being a friendship he valued too much to let go. The first round in Quincy’s office hadn’t gone well. He had higher hopes for this morning, especially with the new information.
Quincy greeted him with a scowl that ground his hopes to dust. “Why are you here?”
Not the welcome he’d hoped for. “Are you going to let me in?”
Quincy hesitated before stepping back.
Ean entered the living room. He’d been to Quincy’s town house a few times during his brief visits home. The living room wasn’t large, but it was comfortable. He crossed the beige Berber carpet and settled onto the thick brown sofa. The honey wood furnishings cre
ated a soothing environment, which was at odds for such an angry man.
Across the room, suspended from the wall, was a large, flat-screen, high-definition television. Beside it was a tall matching bookcase crammed with history and professional journals. On the coffee table in front of him lay recent copies of sports magazines.
Quincy propped his shoulder against the archway separating the living room from the rest of the ground floor. “What do you want?”
Ean sized up his witness, from his shaved head to his bare feet, before laying out the evidence in support of his case. “You and Ramona got into it at the restaurant last night.”