Rogue Descendant (Nikki Glass) - By Jenna Black Page 0,51

involve any of that girlie-talking-about-feelings stuff you hate so much.”

I thought I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes before he shut it down. “In that case, we can talk about it right here.”

“You hiding a girl in there or something?”

Jamaal gave a grunt of exasperation and stomped into his sitting room, leaving the door open. I guessed that was as much of an invitation as I was getting. I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. Jamaal watched me with suspicious eyes as I invited myself to take a seat on his futon sofa. I might have hoped he would join me, but he remained on his feet, giving off keep-away vibes.

“Did you hear about the new Indian exhibition opening at the Sackler later this week?” I asked, and was rewarded by a look of complete confusion on Jamaal’s face. Bet he didn’t see that one coming.

“Huh?”

“Sackler. Exhibition. Indian stuff.” I nodded my head toward the small Indian painting that was the focal point of Jamaal’s sitting room. “Did you hear about it?”

The look on his face told me he was still busily trying to figure out where I was going with this. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously, as if he expected the answer to get him into some kind of trouble.

“Well, how would you like a chance to visit with the curator and have her give you a personal guided tour of the exhibition before it even opens?”

Boy, did I ever have his attention now. I saw the spark of greed and excitement in his eye before he managed to hide it under his habitual grumpy face. “Are you claiming you have contacts at the museum?” He sounded skeptical, but I heard the undertone of hope.

“No, but Steph does.”

Jamaal shook his head, rattling his beads in a way that had become familiar to me—and strangely endearing. “I don’t know what you’re trying to talk me into, but the answer is no.”

“I’m trying to talk you into getting a sneak peek at the exhibit. That’s all.”

Another shake of his head. “No way. Offers like that come with strings attached.”

Considering Jamaal’s life experiences, his attitude and suspicion weren’t surprising. “The only string is that I’m going with you.” Of course, that might be the kind of string he considered a deal breaker.

His lip lifted in a faint sneer. “You’ve suddenly developed an interest in Indian art?”

“No, but I’ve developed an interest in fixing whatever’s gone wrong between you and me. I thought maybe if we stopped avoiding each other and spent a little time together, we might figure out how to start acting normal again.”

Jamaal rubbed his forehead like he had a headache, then reluctantly came to sit on the couch—as far away from me as he could get. I remembered our little make-out session on this couch with a pang of regret. But asking Jamaal out wasn’t about trying to get into his pants—though my libido thought that sounded like an excellent idea—it was about trying to keep him from withdrawing from everyone around him.

“I know you’re the kind of woman who wants to fix everyone,” Jamaal said. “But it’s time for you to stop trying to fix me.”

“Why? Because you’d prefer to be miserable so you can bitch and whine about it? Of course, you’d only bitch and whine to yourself, because you won’t let anyone else near you.”

Jamaal’s temper would have normally risen to meet mine, but not today. “I’ve been broken in one way or another for more than a hundred years. What makes you think you can snap your fingers and make it all better?”

“I don’t. I’m not completely naive, Jamaal. It took years for my adoptive parents to bring me back from the brink of becoming a juvenile delinquent, and I don’t suppose I’ll ever be as well adjusted as someone who spent their whole childhood in a good, loving home. But I’m in a lot better shape now than I was when the Glasses took me in.

“I’m not trying to fix you. I’m just trying to be a friend.”

“You’ve been a much better friend than I had any right to expect,” he said gruffly. “But now, you have to let me be.”

“Why?” I demanded. “What’s different now?”

“Didn’t you promise we weren’t going to talk about feelings?”

“I lied.”

His lips lifted in the faintest of smiles. “At least you’re honest about your dishonesty.”

“And I’m not that easy to deflect. We have to live and work together for God only knows how long. We’ll do