Second Thoughts by Kristofer Clarke Read Free Book Online Page A

sunglasses to keep my eyes from wandering in her direction and a neck brace to keep my head from turning around. When I looked at her a third time─I had lost count─her eyes caught mine. Embarrassed that I had been caught staring, rather than turning my head in shame, I nodded and lifted my wine glass, acknowledging my stare. After my debacle with Jacoby, and then Dexter, I wasn’t looking to try love anytime soon, but I was willing to give liking Devaan a try.
    Instead, I’d pressed the phone icon on the screen and had typed in the letters of his first name. Yes, I was nervous, but I had been putting off the necessary, the inevitable for a long time. I ignored the voice in my head, the same one that had been instructing me for years.
    “Hello,” he answered.
    Hearing his voice surprised the hell out of me. Just as I remembered, it was filled with a sexy bass. 
    “Jacoby!” I announced, as if I had expected someone else to pick up.
    “Wassup? It’s…”
    “Patrick?!”
    “Don’t hang up,” I pleaded.
    “Oh, I wasn’t going to, man. I’m just…”
    “Surprised to hear from me?”
    I was still seated, slowly spinning the wine glass around the stem with my index finger and thumb.
    I hadn’t spoken to Jacoby DeVone in more than three years, not since he had packed everything I owned and had left me sitting on a stepping stool, in the kitchen of our two-bedroom condo, reading a letter from him that basically told me to kiss his ass. Though I was hurt, I couldn’t blame him. I was surprised he had kept the same mobile phone number. Maybe he had been waiting for me to call. Maybe I was just flattering myself with that thought.
    I had met Jacoby the winter of 2006 walking from Concourse C to the baggage claim at the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. He stepped lightly in his brown tapered square toe leather lace-up oxford. His grey suit clung to his body like he was a mannequin in a men’s section of a Nordstrom’s department store. We stood, waiting for the rail that would transport us closer to baggage claim.
    “You’re here for the game?” he had asked without looking in my direction.
    The Cowboys were in town to play the Falcons in a Sunday night game at the Dome.
    “Nah, man.” I adjusted the luggage strap over my shoulder. “Is that the only thing going on in Atlanta this weekend?”
    “It doesn’t have to be.” He extended his hand, and with a strong, firm handshake, he introduced himself. “Jacoby DeVone.”
    “Patrick McKay,” I said, wrapping my hand tightly around his, and finally looking at him. I shouldn’t have looked at him.   
    Jacoby was a beautiful man with high cheeks and lips that extended across his face. His dark complexion was evenly smooth. The white of his eyes were very white, and they seemed to tell a story no one could figure out.
    “You don’t remember me, do you?” he’d asked.
    He had the perfect set of white, evenly spaced teeth─no stains.
    “That depends. Am I supposed to?” I asked.
    He was right. I didn’t remember him. I did think he had a familiar face, but then again, don’t we all.
    “Sorry man. You said Jacoby DeVone, right?”
    “That’s right,” he confirmed. “Been a while since I’ve used my other name.”
    “Other name? I’m sorry, man. Who are you?” I asked.
    I looked at him with skepticism. Who the hell is this dude hiding from?
    “It’s cool. Relax.”
    I gave him that brother-I-don’t-know-you-for-you-to-be-to-be-telling-me-to-relax look, which didn’t intimidate him. He moved in closer.
    “It’s me. Jacoby Means.”
    “G’Tech ’99,” we said in unison, laughing.
    I grabbed and pulled Jacoby in a tight squeeze.
    “You threw me with the name change, bruh. What’s that about?”
    “That’s my pops name. I started using it just before my first year at Oklahoma. You know how they get. We finally had that conversation about carrying on the family name. Dude had all kinds of plans for me.”
    “I