Read Stand By Your Man for Free Online Page B

to wear masks, to interact with evil people. Yet when I see you joke with Jake, kiss Brooke on the cheek, put your feet up on my coffee table, you’re so . . . you know, human.”
    He gave a surprised snort of laughter. “No one’s ever accused me of that before.”
    Realizing that her hand still rested on his arm, where it felt way too at home, she removed it and wrapped it around her coffee mug. “You must talk to girlfriends about this stuff.”
    Slowly, he shook his head. “Nope.” A gleam lit his eyes. “Guess we don’t talk all that much.”
    Again glad she wasn’t a blusher, she accepted the change of subject. Curious, she asked, “You have hookups, not girlfriends?”
    â€œRight.”
    She’d been wise to not have sex with him. No way did she want sex without an emotional connection, a relationship. As for Jamal, sure, she could understand a guy like him wanting no-strings sex now and then. But as a steady diet? “Don’t you want more out of a relationship?”
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œSomeone who understands you and cares about you.” A role she might well volunteer for if he was looking for a serious girlfriend.
    A long pause. She was aware of Glen Campbell singing in the background, asking his love if she was going away without a word of farewell.
    In a rough-edged voice, Jamal said, “Guess I don’t know what that’s like.”
    She parted her lips on a silent “Oh.” But, surely that wasn’t true. Maybe he chose not to let women get close, but there was Jake. Tentatively, she said, “Jake cares about you.”
    Warmth flickered across his dark face. “My man’s always got my back.”
    â€œAnd I’m sure you have his.”
    The warmth fled, replaced by tension lines that bracketed his mouth.
    Again not sure what she’d said wrong, she stumbled forward. “I know you’ve worked together a long time, you’re partners. But you’re friends too. There’s a connection that’s almost like brothers.”
    Slowly, as if he was weighing each word, Jamal said, “He’s a good cop. A good guy. A buddy.”
    Karen resisted rolling her eyes. What was it with tough-guy cops, that they refused to acknowledge how deep their feelings for each other often ran?
    â€œBut we don’t talk about this shit,” Jamal said. “Our parents, how we grew up. It’s the past. It doesn’t matter.”
    â€œThe past does matter,” she protested. Pointedly, she said, “There’s more to life than sex. Getting to know someone matters. Normal conversation’s a good thing.” She savored the last bite of cake, then pushed aside her empty plate. “You seemed interested when I told you my family stories. Or were you just being polite?”
    â€œNo, it was nice.” There it was again, that undertone of wistfulness.
    â€œI get that you’re a private guy, but I’d like to hear some of your stories too.”
    â€œThey’re not as nice as yours.”
    â€œThey’re yours, Jamal. I want to hear them.”
    He rose, cleared the plates, and refilled both their coffee mugs. When he sat down at the table again, he said, “Normal conversation, eh? Okay, I’ll give it a try.” He sipped coffee. “You asked how it worked out with my aunt and uncle. It was . . . strained. Auntie Celeste felt obligated to take me. It was one of the rare times she asserted herself with Uncle Conroy, though I’m sure she regretted it later. He never let her—or me—forget that he hated the idea.”
    â€œWhat a horrible man.”
    â€œA primo asshole.”
    â€œTell me more,” she urged.
    Another sip of coffee. Then, speaking slowly as if he’d maybe never said these things before, he went on. “White guy. Thought he was way better than Puerto Rican Celestina. She had fairly pale skin and could pass for