The Wrong Mr. Darcy - Evelyn Lozada Page 0,11

stay here,” said Ms. Butler, coming into the room. “I fixed this place up a few years ago when he went to college, and it’s just how I like it.”

“Ma,” Charles grumbled.

There was an edge to his voice that made Derek look around. Maybe he had insulted him.

“It’s just Derek!” She paused, and then clicked her teeth, fluffing pillows on the couch, avoiding Charles. After a second, she said, “I don’t have any intention of leavin’ my neighbors behind. I ain’t uppity. I got everything I need right here.”

Charles sighed heavily and then squinted at Derek, not saying anything.

It hit Derek then, what his friend was worried about. Ms. Butler on her part-time salary had somehow managed to overhaul the house while Charles was in college … before Charles had an NBA contract …

Derek frowned, put a halt to that train of thought before it could go any further. She’d lucked into an inheritance or something. That was it.

She came to Derek then and gave him a squeeze. “Look at you! You a college man, and a big baller. Keep this guy close, Charles, he good for you.”

“Yeah, okay.” Charles stood up, towering above them. “Cuz we just sufferin’ when he ain’t around.” He grinned and clapped Derek on the shoulder. “Sorry I’m late. Ma won’t stop talking.”

“I can hear you, Charlie.” His mother’s voice floated over from the corner, where she straightened magazines on a side table.

“Why am I givin’ you a ride, anyway?” asked Derek. “What happened to your boys?”

Charles tugged his pant cuffs over his shoes and stood up. “Ain’t you my boy?” He smiled. “They’re not invited to this party. O’Donnell runs a tight ship.”

“Besides, I wanted to see you!” Ms. Butler pinched Derek’s cheek, making him blush. Then she brought a phone out of the pocket of her big cardigan. “You stand right there, let me take a picture. So handsome!”

“Christ, it’s not like we’re going to prom.”

“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain, young man! Now smile, dammit.” She took a few pictures while Derek and Charles fidgeted with their ties and suit jackets, like nervous teenagers rather than wealthy athletes.

“We gotta go, woman.” Charles bent down and gave her a peck on the head. “Thanks for dinner.” He gestured to Derek then loped out the door.

Derek gave her a hug goodbye, clasping the older woman for a beat longer than necessary. There were very few people in this world that he loved, much less liked. “Nice to see you, Ms. Butler.”

“You come back, you hear? I’ll make your favorites for dinner.”

His own mother and father preferred to eat at restaurants, the fancier, the better. They were regulars at their snooty club, had their own balcony at the opera house. They were too worried about money and appearance to spend many nights at home with their son. He realized the hypocrisy of these judgments, however, climbing into his GLS 550 Mercedes SUV wearing a Ralph Lauren tuxedo, but he also knew his materialism didn’t rule him. That he could be grateful for the kindness shown him, even if it was from someone else’s parent instead of his own.

“How’s my tie look?” Charles asked from the passenger seat, as Derek backed out of the driveway. The big man’s fingers fumbled with the material.

Derek laughed. “You’re a hot mess. I’ll retie it for you when we get to O’Donnell’s.”

“Listen…” Charles sat up straight, his head scraping the roof of the cab. “You’re not going to say anything about Ma’s house, are you? I forgot you haven’t been out here since high school.”

“Why would I? To who?”

“Never mind.”

“Are you talking about the remodel? I was just kidding about buying her a new house. It sounds like she’s happy…” He did not want to have this conversation. College scandals and payouts to student athletes were rampant these days, and the crackdowns were harsh. There was no way Ms. Butler would do something so wrong. Derek was determined to leave it at that.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Charles said, then cleared his throat. He clearly felt the same way about the conversation, abruptly asking, “Man, are you ready for tomorrow? How you feeling?”

“I’m more worried about surviving this party tonight than I am tomorrow’s game. I hate having to talk to people. Especially ones I don’t know. Okay, and most of the ones I know.”

“Why you bein’ a grouch? You twenty-three. Live a little. Boston loves us.”

“Boston loves you.”

“People might love you a little more if you actually said more