The Lessons We Learn (FWB Book 2)

  The Lessons We Learn (FWB Book 2: Khalid & Jayla)

  Copyright 2018 Alexandra Warren

  Cover Art by Visual Luxe

  Cover Image from Eye for Ebony

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental and unintentional.

  Jayla

  When do bad bitches get to take a day off?

  The question had been lingering on my mind for the last ten minutes as I sat cross-legged on the couch in my apartment, going back and forth in my head about how badly I wanted ice cream from the convenience store a few blocks over.

  Of course I wanted the ice cream, my mouth watering at just the thought of the cold vanilla hitting my palate. But making the trip meant getting dressed, and well, this bad bitch desperately needed her day off.

  I wasn’t in the mood for a full face of makeup, wasn’t in the mood for lashes or one of my wigs, wasn’t in the mood for the stilettos I usually wore to accentuate my calves. No, I wanted to trot my ass down to the store with a fresh face, a baseball cap over my cornrows, and the tennis shoes that still looked brand new even though I had owned them for years since they rarely got worn.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because I didn’t want anyone to see me like that.

  It was silly, especially considering there weren’t many people outside of my coworkers who even knew me in this town. But the last thing I needed was to run right into my future ex-husband looking like a teenage boy, something my mother had taught me early on.

  Mama’s not here, though.

  In fact, part of my move away from home had been to rid myself of the stupid rules she had used to whip me right into her mini-me over the past “almost” thirty years. And there was really nothing that said, “fuck those rules” more than leaving the house not looking my best and getting ice cream that went against her snatched waist guidelines.

  This ice cream was a statement.

  With that, I found myself a little giddy to throw on the only pair of sweatpants I owned that may or may not have been a little high water, the tennis shoes that were more for style than actual athleticism, and the baseball cap I had won in a raffle at a fundraiser for work. But then I looked in the mirror and… this is beyond a bad bitch break, Jayla.

  I quickly exchanged the sweatpants for jeans, the tennis shoes for flats, but I kept the baseball cap on out of protest - and maybe because my eyebrows weren’t done. Then I made my way down to that convenience store with an extra pep in my step because no matter what I had on, part of being a true bad bitch was having the confidence to pull off any look.

  “Then why’d you change out of those floodin’ ass sweatpants?” was the question that followed in my head, answered with the fact that breaking the rules was going to be a little harder than I thought. But this felt like a good start, especially since I was being rewarded with the ice cream I wanted in the first place. At least that was the plan until I saw a familiar face reaching for the same carton I had my eye on long before I had even walked over here. And not just a familiar face, but the finest face I had come across since moving here.

  He was the eclectic kinda fine. The kind you didn’t necessarily see yourself settling down with, but couldn’t turn your eyes away from if you wanted to. Sandy brown locs, deep brown eyes, a glowing smile like he was always in a good mood. And on the few occasions he had passed my office working patrol, his walk literally screamed big dick. But since thinking about the security guy from the front desk at my job like that wasn’t really appropriate, I did my best to shake it off, waiting patiently for him to get his ice cream so I could snag the last one behind it.

  Naturally, I wondered what the story was behind his ice cream. Was it a statement like mine? Was it to pair with the apple pie his grandma made him? Was it a treat for his pregnant girlfriend?

  Apparently, I was thinking a little too hard since I totally missed him turning around, those playful brown eyes of his locking with mine in a way that made me wished I hadn’t walked over here looking crazy. But I had no problem owning my decision, especially once I saw the way his lips curved into a grin to say, “Mrs. Anthony.”

  No matter how sweetly he made it sound, the fact that the ink on my divorce papers could probably still be smeared made me cringe, particularly because of the reasons those papers had to be signed in the first place. But there was really no use in going down that black hole, releasing a heavy sigh instead when I replied, “Khalid, we aren’t at work. You really don’t have to call me that.”

  “I call you that out of respect, though”

  “Even if it’s not totally accurate?” I challenged, lifting my left hand to wiggle my fingers at him, hoping he noticed the tan line of where my wedding ring used to be. The same wedding ring I had proudly pawned to buy myself a new designer bag with stilettos to match and a spa day at a five-star hotel.

  I deserved, damnit.

  With an empathetic look, Khalid offered, “Right. My bad.”

  I quickly brushed him off. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s new to me too. And it’s still on my nameplate at work, still on my driver’s license, still on all my credit cards, still… I’m sorry. You don’t care about any of this. You have a pregnant girlfriend to take ice cream home to. Tell her I said sorry for the delay.”

  I was already reaching for my own carton when Khalid chuckled behind me. “Wait, what? A pregnant girlfriend?”

  From his reaction, I could tell my first assumption was way off. So I tried again, tossing the cold carton into my basket as I guessed, “No. It’s to go with your grandma’s apple pie, right?”

  “The only grandmother I knew passed away years ago, Jayla,” he replied with a stale face that made me feel awful.

  But instead of apologizing, or making another terrible guess, I decided to just let him explain when I trailed, “So it’s for…”

  “Londyn’s birthday party,” he finished with a grin that told me he was obviously excited about his friend’s celebration; an excitement that might’ve had me questioning their definition of “friends” if I didn’t know Londyn was in a relationship with someone else.

  “That’s none of your business anyway,” I thought to myself, snapping my fingers as I replied, “Shit. That is tonight, isn’t it? I forgot all about it.”

  Truth be told, I hadn’t forgotten at all. In fact, the date had been marked on my calendar since she dropped the eVite in my work email. But now that the day was actually here, I wasn’t really in the mood to hang out with a bunch of strangers, something that only made me feel worse since Londyn’s adorable self had taken the time to invite me even after I had been a straight bitch to her.

  Strangely enough, it almost seemed as if Khalid was equally disappointed when he said, “If you’re not comin’, I’ll be sure to let her know. I mean, you don’t really look like you’re in the mood anyway.”

  Hold up.

  I know he didn’t just...

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head to the side with a major attitude. “Damn. A bad bitch can’t take a day off without the security guy calling her ugly?”

  He put his hands up - ice cream and all - to defend, “Whoa. Chill. I didn’t say you looked ugly. You never look ugly. It’s just… and this might sound crazy, but… I noticed when you’re in a good mood, you wear heels to work. And when you’re not, you wear flats. You have on flats right now, so I assumed that same pattern applied outside of work. That’s all.”

  Hi
s explanation was… flattering as hell, to be honest. I mean, for him to see me as little as he did, but still notice something like that…

  Once again, I felt awful. So awful that I quickly tried to see myself out once I agreed, “You’re right. Have fun at the party, Khalid.”

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get more than a few steps away when he called after me. “Jayla, wait.” Then he did a little trot to catch up with me, grabbing my hand to insist, “You should come. Miss. Annie, Londyn’s mom, throws the best parties, and I can guarantee it’ll put you in a better mood.”

  He could’ve told me I was a rich, caucasian woman and I might’ve taken his word for it; his tone - his touch - being that convincing as his thumb gently grazed the back of my hand in a way that made me wonder what other magical powers they had. I mean, if Londyn had broken their little friend code a time or two before she got with ol’ boy, I would’ve totally understood. But since I knew that sounded just as crazy in my head as it would’ve sounded out loud, I politely pulled my hand away, tucking it at my side as I questioned, “Aren’t you the same one who just low-key roasted me about not looking like I was in the mood? What changed that quickly?”

  With a laugh, he replied, “I already told you, you always look good, Jayla.”

  “No, you said I never look ugly. There’s a lot of gray area between not being ugly and looking good,” I told him, knowing good and well I was probably landing somewhere in that gray area right now.

  But instead of indulging me, he offered me a real smile when he admitted, “Aight, you fine as hell. Company baseball cap and all.”

  His little teasing made me roll my eyes, though it was paired with me blushing since it was good to hear I was still that bitch even when I wasn’t at my best.

  “Take that, Mama,” I thought with a ridiculous grin as Khalid asked, “So, you comin’ or what? There will be ice cream.”

  The way he sang it while waving his carton made me grin even harder. “Well, when you add that into the equation…”

  Rightfully satisfied with his work, he gently pinched my chin, giving me a wink when he said, “I’ll see you later tonight then, gorgeous.” Then he left me standing there with my basket of ice cream, trying to figure out how I had let this young man game me so easily.

  Clearly, there was a lot for me to learn.

  &

  The good vibes had worn off just that quickly.

  When I left the store - left my interaction with Khalid - I just knew I was taking my ass home to find something to wear to Londyn’s birthday party. But then I saw the bouquet of flowers sitting outside of my front door; the third this week from the only person who’d be sending me flowers.

  Jason.

  He was what I considered my, “checks all the boxes” guy.

  Handsome... check.

  Six-figure salary... check.

  No children... check.

  College graduate... two checks.

  Everything about Jason Christopher Anthony screamed perfect partner when it really should’ve been screaming perfect piece of shit.

  Yes, he was handsome and charming early on, but he used that to charm his way into the panties of any woman he pleased - his wedding ring, be damned. Yes, he made great money, but it was doing a job that kept him on flights and in hotels more often than not. Something that wouldn’t have bothered me if it wasn’t for the fact that all those hotels in different cities served as the breeding grounds for his infidelity. And hell, that honestly made the whole “no children” thing a little questionable now.

  But as much as I wanted to hate Jason for doing his dirt, I could only be mad at myself for letting my mother’s overly-meticulous life plan reign over what fit my reality. The life plan that included goals of an executive-level title with whatever company I found myself at by twenty-six, a six-figure salary of my own by twenty-eight, and a wedding ring before thirty.

  Sure, those things had all technically gotten accomplished. But now, only a few months shy of my thirtieth birthday, everything was beginning to unravel… and I was the one pulling the string to make it happen. Changing careers to something I actually enjoyed doing rather than what brought in the most money. Moving to a town that better fit my speed instead of struggling to keep up with the pace of the city. And of course, filing for divorce against my mother’s wishes of “not losing a good one”.

  Good one, my ass.

  The flowers were beautiful, but I still wanted to launch them across the room, an incoming FaceTime call from my little sister the only thing that stopped me from doing so. And when I answered the call and pointed the camera towards the bouquet sitting in the middle of my kitchen counter, the first thing she said - in her best DJ Khaled voice - was, “Another one.”

  I wanted to remain annoyed, but I couldn’t help the chuckle that slipped from my lips when I asked, “Seriously, Mila?”

  “What? Maybe if he would’ve been this attentive while y’all were married, you wouldn’t be in this mess,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

  A motion I matched as I leaned into the counter and changed the subject. “Anyway. What do you want?”

  From the suddenly innocent expression on her face, I already knew she was getting ready to make a heavy request. So I wasn’t at all surprised to hear her push out, “I was calling… to see if I could come up there, for like a week. Your mom is getting on my nerves.”

  “My mom, or our mom?” I challenged with a smirk, knowing they were the same person.

  But Mila still tried to make a distinction between the two when she defended, “She was yours first.”

  I chuckled, shaking my head as I asked, “How is she getting on your nerves, Jamila Nicole?”

  “Come on, sis. She raised us both, so you know exactly how she’s getting on my nerves. When are you gonna find a husband? When are you gonna get a real job? You need to make a waxing appointment for that upper lip.”

  “It is looking a little…” I started to tease, catching the side-eye she threw at the screen as I scrubbed my fingertip against my own upper lip, and decided the next time my eyebrow lady asked if I wanted lip too, I would be answering with a yes. But if Mila wasn’t interested in something, not even my mother could change her mind, part of the reason her and my mother constantly butted heads.

  To be honest, I admired her independent thinking, even though I was a whole seven years older than her and even though that “independence” didn’t exactly extend to all parts of her life. Something I was sure to mention when I told her, “Sounds like a good reason for you to start saving up your money a little quicker so you can get a place of your own then.”

  It was the same bug I had been putting in her ear for the past six months since she moved back home after graduation, knowing she was more than capable of having her own place. But leave it to Mila to find reasons to stay at a place she clearly despised, her eyebrow piqued when she challenged, “But why would I do that when I can live at home for free?”

  Instead of responding, I only shook my head, not in the mood to give the full rant I usually gave about how she needed to branch out on her own. And I could tell Mila was happy I had saved my breath when she pushed out, “Anyway. Can I come visit you, or nah?”

  “Sure, Mila. Send me the dates, and I’ll be sure to have the guest room ready for you,” I finally replied, earning a little cheer from her end that made me smile.

  But my grin fell flat when she insisted, “Make sure you fluff the pillows how I like. And you know I only drink room temperature water now. The internet says it’s better for you. And...”

  “Girl!” I snapped, cutting her off with a laugh that was more annoyed than amused.

  I was glad she caught my drift enough to cut the bullshit, moving on from her little list of demands to ask, “Hey. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for some birthday party?”

  After a quick glance at the clock that told me I definitely should’ve, at least, been in the shower by now, I released a groan. “I don’t know
if I feel like going now. I mean, Londyn is sweet and all, but I don’t know if I feel like dealing with a bunch of… strangers.”

  Well… mostly strangers, the fine-faced security guy practically making me his plus one even though I had an invitation of my own. But considering that was none of Mila’s business, I listened in as she continued, “Which is exactly why you need to go, so everyone won’t be a stranger anymore. I mean, what’s the point of living in that small ass town if you can’t go where everybody knows your name?”

  I smirked. “Is Cheers on Netflix now or something?”

  “Cheers? What’s that?” Mila asked, her confusion only reminding me of our age difference.

  In fact, I could still remember the day my mother and stepfather-for-the-moment told me I was getting a sibling, my reaction of a scowl and, “Why?” not the one they were expecting. But at the time, I was so comfortable in my world as an only child, the interruption of an extra person enough to drive anyone crazy.

  And when that extra person also turned out to be the neediest being on the planet?

  Eventually, I got used to her. And when she got old enough to talk, I started to like her. And by the time I was off to college and she was finally in double digits, I loved her as if I had birthed her myself, taking any and every opportunity I could to try and mold her into my mini-me. But Jamila was the absolute furthest thing from my mini-me; her go with the flow, fly with the wind attitude completely opposite of the more calculated one my mother had instilled in me. And that was yet another thing I admired about Mila, her ability to do that whole “carefree” thing I saw women brag about on the internet.

  I cared - a lot.

  I snapped out of the daze I hadn’t even realized I was in to answer, “It’s a TV show, Jamila. Way before your time.”

  She twisted her lips, huffing out a, “Hmph. I’ll have to find an episode on YouTube. Now take me to your closet so I can pick you out something to wear to this party.”

  With a side-eye, I told her, “I can pick out my own clothes, thank you very much. And who said I was going anyway?”