“Sure,” Geren eagerly agreed. “What do you have in mind? An early dinner?”
Tempest shook her head. “I’m not really hungry. Are you?”
“Naw, I’m still full from lunch.”
An aggressive driver behind them started pressing heavy on his horn. Geren had on his hazards in a lane restricted to no parking from four to six.
He merged into the rush-hour traffic. It had been a quick shower; the rain was already tapering off a bit.
Tempest looked out the window at all of the people rushing to their cars, the bus stop, or wherever, trying their best not to get wet. One expensively dressed sistah was on the corner doing battle with an umbrella turned inside out by the strong wind gusts. She was glad that wasn’t her.
She diverted her eyes to Geren, who was concentrating on the traffic. “I have an idea.”
“What’s that, baby?”
“Let’s go antique shopping or some other bourgeois thing like that.”
“Sounds good, but—”
“But what?”
“Does the evening have to end there?” Geren asked hesitantly. “When you pick up your car? I was hoping we could be together tonight.”
Tempest blushed uncontrollably. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Geren lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her gently on her palm, taking a long whiff of the pear-scented lotion he’d grown so accustomed to. It smelled like heaven to him.
“So what brings you down to Georgetown anyway?”
Tempest sighed heavily. She really didn’t want to discuss her stressful day. “I had a meeting with the board of directors of the Shearer Foundation.”
Geren turned the busy corner at Wisconsin Avenue and M Street. “I’ve never heard of them,” he stated, keeping an eye out for an antique store.
“That’s not too surprising. They prefer to keep their affairs on the down-low.”
“Kind of like the Mafia, huh?” They both cackled. “What does the foundation do exactly?”
“Several things. Among them, handing out fat grants to nonprofit organizations.”
“Ahhh, like the teen pregnancy center?”
“Uh-huh. They’re one of our largest benefactors. The city gives us some money, but not nearly enough to get by on.”
“I see.”
“Today was our annual review.” Tempest took another deep breath and exhaled. “I had to get up in front of a dozen filthy rich people and account for every penny of the money they so generously forked over to us.”
“Sounds thrilling,” Geren said, an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
Tempest looked at Geren like he’d lost his mind.
“Ha, are you kiddin’? I have a migraine that won’t quit.”
Geren started rubbing her knee. She was as stiff as an ironing board. “Don’t worry. I’ll hook my baby boo up with one of my award-winning massages and fix you right up. Make you feel like new.”
“Ummmmmmm,” Tempest moaned, relaxing her head against the headrest of the car, relishing the thought of Geren’s hands all over her. “As long as it’s a full-body massage.”
Tempest opened her eyes just in time to see Geren winking at her. “That can definitely be arranged.”