When Love Just Happens: Episode 4 – Next, Sparks Start to Fly

MALCOLM

As soon as Mason pushed his chair back from my desk to stand up, I eagerly got off my island stool just a few feet away. 

I held up a hand for a high five as he passed, and he obliged. This was his first session with Esme after our meeting, and the first since our kiss.

That kiss.

I’d been thinking about it for days. I couldn’t get the memory of how the mango nectar she sipped at the restaurant tasted on her tongue or the sweet moans she made as we kissed out of my head.

I was more excited than Mason for this session because I knew it meant I’d finally have a reason to see his tutor.

I rounded my desk, positioned in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in my living room, and took a seat. My eyes immediately found Esme’s.

She was massaging her neck when I caught sight of her. A smile crept across her lips before she bit them closed.

I smiled back. “Good evening, Ms. Bennett.”

She scoffed, closing her eyes for a moment while looking away. “Is Mason nearby?”

I checked over the top of my computer screen. The coast was clear; Mason was likely in his room, playing his game—a deal I made with him if he was on his best behavior. He usually only played video games on the weekends, even during summer break. I preferred him to spend his time on more productive activities, like reading or working on a project. But I’d promised him that if he behaved with Esme, he could play his game. I’d even sat through their session, out of view, to make sure he kept his word.

“Mason’s in his room, Ms. Bennett,” I replied.

“I think we can drop the formal Ms. Bennett, Mr. Lawson titles after everything that’s happened,” she said with a grin.

My smile grew. “I like calling you Ms. Bennett, Ms. Bennett.”

She rolled her eyes, her huge smile lighting up her face.

Esme sure was a beauty. I couldn’t help but sit there and admire her. I noticed everything—the tiny mole at the dip of her cupid’s bow, the way she rolled her eyes at every little thing. I also noticed when she started massaging her neck again.

“Is your neck all right?” I asked.

She immediately stopped rubbing it and dropped her hand. “Yeah, it’s fine. I think I slept wrong, that’s all.”

“You probably need to change your pillow. Memory foam works best.”

She tilted her head to the side. “Do you moonlight as a chiropractor when you’re not financial planning for clients?”

That made me tilt my head too. “No, not a chiropractor. I dated a massage therapist my second semester of college. She taught me a few things—enough to pique my interest. I started watching instructional videos and even took some workshops in Manhattan to hone my skills.” I paused, then asked, “Did I tell you I was a financial planner?”

Her eyes widened before she shut them and let out a small laugh. “Umm…” She licked her lips, then met my eyes again. “I looked you up.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You looked me up?”

She bit the side of her lip, and I had to take a breath to stay calm.

I’m telling you, everything she did was so damn sexy.

Esme had a shy nature that I really liked. I loved shy women—they were always the quietest, most dangerous freaks.

“Technically,” she said, “my friends looked you up.”

“You told your friends about me?”

“Oh my God.” She giggled, her cheeks reddening. “I’m shifting out of this conversation.”

I licked my lips, then folded the bottom one into my mouth. “Okay, whatever you want.”

She shot me a look that I held, my stare unwavering. I watched her exhale through her lips, then clear her throat.

I chuckled.

“Mason was great today,” she said, forcing herself not to look at me—which I thought was so cute. “He was cooperative, attentive, and much easier to work with today. Whatever you told him worked, so thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, Ms. Bennett.”

She finally looked at me, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek before shutting her eyes again.

I laughed.

“I’m turning off my computer now,” she said.

“Okay,” I said, refusing to break eye contact. “Whatever you want.”

She ran her fingers through her hair and grunted, making me laugh again.

“Before you go,” I said, once I got my laughter out, “about last Wednesday—”

“Don’t even mention it,” she cut in, waving her hand. “It’s cool.”

I focused on her.

“We were just in whatever headspace we were in, and it happened.” Esme waved her hands in the air as she spoke, and you know what? Even that was attractive.

God, I was in deep.

“Okay.” I nodded. “So we’re good?”

“We’re great,” she said quickly. “I mean, it’s great. We’re good… it’s good.” She nodded, as if to reassure herself. “Everything’s good.”

“Okay.” I smiled. “Have a good evening, Ms. Bennett, and consider getting that pillow,” I said, pointing at my neck. “You know, for your neck.”

She nodded. “Good night… Mr. Lawson.”

I smiled even wider the moment Esme ended the video connection.

“Whew,” I whispered to myself. “She is too damn fine.”

I rolled my chair back and stood up, taking steps out of the living area with plans to check in on Mason.

I knew he’d been on his best behavior because I’d made sure to stick close to my desk and keep an eye on him during his tutoring session tonight.

Mason was set to spend the night at my condo, as he did on tutoring nights. Tutoring was something Candace didn’t believe was necessary. She didn’t see the point since Mason was doing well enough in math. But I had plans for our son. I always knew which high school I wanted him to attend.

The Manhattan School for Excellence was the high school I’d attended. It changed my life when I was a teen growing up in public housing in Brooklyn. My parents worked for the city, and though they didn’t have much, they never let me or my little sister feel it. They wanted the best for me and worked hard to help me get accepted into MSE. Mason was starting where I’d started, but he was a bright kid, even brighter than I’d been. With that school, he could achieve things I only dreamed of. That was my hope for him.

I stopped at his door.

“Ms. Bennett said you did really well today, Mase,” I said, using the nickname I often called him. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the screen. His game of choice tonight was a battle game where I was always buying him virtual credits to customize his character with outfits, dance moves, and special gear. One of the reasons I allowed him to play was because it required strategy and gave him a chance to interact with his school friends while on summer break.

“I added a little something to your account, so whenever you’re ready, you can buy more credits for your character’s outfits.”

Mason grunted. “They’re not outfits, Dad. They’re called skins.”

I chuckled. “Okay, my bad. Skins. Whatever.”

Outside of my home, I felt like the youngest 34-year-old around. Inside, around my son, I felt ancient.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, turning to walk away.

“Do you like Ms. Bennett?”

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned back toward him. “What’s that, son?”

“Do you like Ms. Bennett?” he repeated, this time looking away from the screen and focusing on me.

On any other night, I’d feel ancient around my son. But in that moment, under his curious gaze, I felt like a kid caught doing something I knew I shouldn’t have been doing.

“Wh-what do you mean by like, Mase?”

“Like, as in how you would like a girlfriend,” he replied, unfazed.

“Oh.” I swallowed hard. “Why would you ask me that?”

He sighed, setting his controller down. “Every time you talk to her, you’re always laughing or smiling really big. Like this…” He demonstrated with an exaggerative smile, cheesing really wide, showing all of his teeth.

I scratched my forehead and shifted awkwardly. “I mean… Ms. Bennett is a great tutor for you, so yes, I like her… as a tutor… for you.”

A goddamn lie.

You’re damn right I liked her.

I’d twisted Ms. Bennett into at least fifteen sexual positions in my head since our first video interview. That kiss we shared last week only intensified the visions. Now I had a moan to accompany them, and my God, the images were vivid.

4D quality.

“Okay, cool,” Mason said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Because I want you to like Mom again.”

I froze. “What makes you think I don’t like Mom?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, his eyes dropping a little. His reaction sent a pang of guilt straight to my gut. “You guys just always seem to argue now, and… I liked it better when you didn’t.”

I cringed but quickly composed myself. “Hmph.”

It was all I could muster. I’d been careful about how I interacted with his mother, especially when Mason was around. But damn, Candace made it difficult. The entitlement, the nerve. She was the one who broke us up, but she was the one acting like I was being unreasonable for wanting to avoid having my heart shattered twice.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said, walking over to Mason. “I’ll be mindful about how I speak to Mom and treat her like the queen she is. I’ll keep my word, just like you kept your word to be on your best behavior with Ms. Bennett. We’ll both stick to it, okay?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“And we’ll keep our words to each other because that’s what real men do.” I lowered my chin to look at Mason under my lashes. “Right?”

He nodded again and locked eyes with me. “Right.”

“Right. Okay, good,” I said, before blowing air out of my lips.

“Because, you know,” Mason continued, “Mom’s awesome.”

I forced a smile.

“There’s nothing she can’t do!” he added. “She cooks, always has her hair done nice, and she’s fun.”

“Mom is very fun,” I agreed. What else could I say? Disagree?

Candace was great—that’s why I married her. Our marriage had been a bit rushed, happening only after she got pregnant with Mason, unplanned. I had high hopes for us back then.

“Anyway,” I said, holding out my hand for our usual handshake. “I’ll leave you to it. Play for another hour, then get ready for bed, okay?”

“Okay, Dad,” he said as we did our handshake.

I leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. “I’ll be in my room.”

With that, I exited his bedroom, feeling a little guilty about kissing his tutor and flirting with her just minutes earlier. Mason noticing something in me, something that was being drawn to Esme, had caught me off guard. Had I been that obvious?

I’d have to be careful. The main reason I hired Esme was to tutor my son. I certainly didn’t hire her to have an affair with her. Mason wouldn’t be the only one who needed to be on his best behavior around his tutor. I’d have to follow my own advice. Mason needed her.

“I gotta chill,” I muttered to myself as I crossed the threshold into my bedroom.

***

It was after 8 p.m. on a Wednesday night, and the light in my office at Empire Wealth Management Group was likely one of the only ones still on at this hour. 

Most of the senior associates, like myself, were long gone for the day. They were probably at home with their families, winding down for the next workday. Not me. I had no one waiting for me at home. Mason was with his mother at the house I once called home, and I had some extra work I wanted to get done.

My phone buzzed on the glass desk. A quick glance at the screen made my brows shoot up. I reached for it, answering as soon as it was in my hand.

“What’s on fire?” I asked, holding back a smile.

“Me, of course,” Jermaine replied on the other end.

I chuckled, and he did too. 

“I figured something had to be up for you to call me at this hour,” I said. “No exotic trips keeping you busy?”

“Nah, man,” he groaned. “Not with all the work that needs to be done before the new school year begins.”

Jermaine Houston was a good friend of mine from high school. He was now the principal of Manhattan’s School for Excellence, where he’d been for the last three years. The day Jermaine told me he’d been appointed principal of MSE, it felt like the universe had smiled on me. I was already optimistic when he began teaching history there, but when Candace got pregnant with Mason, I knew I wanted him to attend MSE. Having Jermaine in my corner was a huge asset. 

Thanks to him, I was up to date on all the changes happening at MSE since my time there, which allowed me to prepare Mason for admission. It was why I decided to get him extra help in math when I realized his grades weren’t meeting MSE’s standards.

“I hear you about work,” I said, exhaling. “I’m still at the office, going over my clients’ portfolios, making sure their investments are performing well. I’m adding some details to a report for their next meetings, then I’m out.”

“Fun,” Jermaine snarked.

“Oh yeah,” I said, running my hand down my beard. “I’m having a blast over here. Can’t you tell?”

Jermaine chuckled. “Well, I hate to add to all the fun you’re having, but I’ve got some news about a change in the admissions requirements.”

I grunted. “Another fucking change, J?”

He sighed. “Tell me about it. I’m not happy about it either. It means more work for me and my staff—longer hours. But the admissions committee, the board of trustees, everybody’s pushing for it.”

“What’s the reason this time?” I asked. “Why add another new requirement for admissions?”

“Competition, man,” he replied. “There’s a new school opening every year, and the education environment is more competitive than ever. The committee wants to boost the school’s prestige. By adding tougher admissions criteria, MSE can position itself as more selective and attract high-caliber students. They want to stand out from the competition.”

“Why the hell are y’all working so hard during the summer?” I asked. “Damn.”

Jermaine laughed, which helped ease my rising panic.

Like I said, Jermaine had been giving me the inside scoop on what to expect when Mason applied for admission this fall. He hadn’t given me any specific details, but he kept me informed on what the admissions committee was looking for in prospective students, and MSE was the cream of the crop. I needed my son in that school.

“So, what’s the new requirement?” I asked.

“An oral presentation.”

My eyes squeezed shut. 

Of course, it had to be something Mason wasn’t the best at.

“The presentation is meant to showcase prospective students’ communication skills, critical thinking, and creativity. They want the kids to give their own versions of TED Talks.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered.

“No, thank you,” Jermaine quipped.

I scoffed a laugh.

“Look, you’ve got time,” Jermaine said. “It’s June. That gives you five months to prep for the exams and presentation in November. You’ve got this.”

No, we didn’t.

And that’s why, as soon as I got off the phone with Jermaine—genuinely thanking him for the heads-up—I called the one person I knew could help me and Mason with this.

“Hello,” Esme answered on the second ring, her voice soft and low. I glanced at my watch, hoping I hadn’t woken her.

“Ms. Bennett,” I started.

She giggled softly. “Is Mason around?”

I smiled. “He’s not. I’m at the office.”

“What did I tell you about calling me Ms. Bennett?” Her tone was playful, but there was an underlying authority in it. I could tell she was a force in her classroom, which only made her more attractive. “When we’re around Mason, we can stick to Ms. Bennett and Mr. Lawson, but when it’s just us, I think we can call each other by our names. Okay… Malcolm?”

Hearing my name in her voice.

I thought everything else about her was sexy, but that? Topped it all.

“Okay, Esme,” I replied. “I hope I didn’t wake you. You sound like you were sleeping.”

“I was watching a movie,” she said. “Then it started watching me when I fell asleep.”

I chuckled, leaning back in my chair. “Was it boring?”

“I didn’t think so,” she replied with a sigh. “I guess I was more tired than I thought after my spin class.”

I lifted my leg, resting my ankle on my opposite knee, getting comfortable. 

“Probably shouldn’t have fallen asleep, though, because my neck hurts again. Ugh.”

“Oh, come on,” I exhaled. “You didn’t get the pillow I suggested?”

“I… didn’t,” she snickered.

If she were my woman, she wouldn’t be dealing with neck pain—or any pain—not from a pillow, at least. Maybe after a couple of hours in bed, sure, but I’d take care of those aches with a massage and then some.

“I will, though,” she said, her voice brightening. “I’m sorry… why are you calling again?”

“Oh.” I quickly shifted, sitting up. Talking to Esme was so easy, I’d nearly forgotten my reason for calling. “Yes, my apologies.”

“Malcolm, no apologies, please.”

There it was again—my name in her voice.

I shook my head to refocus. “I’m calling because I’ve run into a dilemma with Mason and my plans to get him into MSE.”

“Okay…”

“I have a friend who’s the principal there—”

“At MSE?!” she exclaimed, clearly impressed.

“Yes.”

“Wow,” she replied. “Black man?”

I snickered. “Yeah, Jermaine. He’s very much a Black man.”

“Impressive,” she said. “MSE is amazing. I love how serious and determined you are about getting Mason into that school.”

“Well, I went there.”

“Shut the fuck up!” she hollered, then gasped. “Oop!”

I barked a laugh, which made her laugh too.

“I’m so sorry.”

“No, please.” I grinned. “It’s all good. Anyway, Jermaine just told me that the admissions committee added a new requirement this year—an oral presentation. It’s supposed to showcase students’ critical thinking and creativity. But Mason struggles with public speaking.”

“Most kids do,” she acknowledged. “Shoot, most adults do.”

“Right, but I need him not to,” I said. “Do you think you can help him with that?”

“Well,” she sighed, “I can definitely work with him on readiness strategies, and I can create a comprehensive prep plan for him over the summer. But I don’t think it’ll be very effective if we stick to virtual sessions.”

Her brain. Beyond her looks, it was the sexiest thing about her.

“Let’s do the sessions in person, then,” I said, barely realizing what I was suggesting.

“What?” she asked.

“You already tutor Mason in math on Mondays for an hour—let’s add another hour specifically for oral presentation prep.”

“Malcolm—”

“I’ll double your fee,” I interjected. “No, I’ll triple it.”

“Oh my God,” she shrieked. “That would be too much.”

“I promise it won’t be.” I sat up straighter. “It’ll be well deserved, I swear. Esme, you’re an amazing educator. The work you’ve done with Mason has been phenomenal. I can see how your education degree and child psychology minor from Brookville U shine through every time you meet with him.”

“Aww, wow,” she said softly. “Malcolm, thank you.”

“No, thank you,” I replied. “I’d be happy to triple your rate. And to make things easier, I’ll make sure I’m around during Mason’s in-person sessions to keep him in check, though I don’t foresee any problems.”

“I don’t know, Malcolm…”

I moved the phone to my other ear. 

“Mason hates me.”

I shook my head. “Mason doesn’t hate you. He just… noticed that I might… like you.”

“Like me?”

I chuckled nervously. “He asked me the other night if I liked you as more than his tutor because of some things he noticed when I talk to you.”

“Things like what?”

“Laughing more than usual. Smiling too.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Oh. I see.”

If I were being honest, I did like her. This would’ve been the perfect opportunity to say so, but this call wasn’t about that. It couldn’t be. Not after the conversation I’d had with my son.

“But I assure you, he doesn’t hate you,” I continued. “You’d really be helping us if you agreed to meet with Mason in person for tutoring and oral presentation prep. Do you think you can do that for me… for us, Esme?”

She sighed, then kissed her teeth. “I mean… when you ask me like that, how can I say no?”

I bit my bottom lip, loving her vibe.

Damn. God plays too damn much. Why would He put such an amazing woman in my path and make it so hard to pursue her?

“So, is that a yes?” I smirked. “Ms. Bennett.”

Esme laughed softly. “Yes, Malcolm. I’ll help with getting Mason ready for his oral presentation.”

I fist-pumped the air silently. “Great.”

“We’ll need to meet more than once a week,” she suggested. “I’m only available to tutor him during the summer. Once the school year starts, my off days are my off days—no side hustles whatsoever.”

“I get it,” I said. “How many days do you suggest?”

“Let’s start with twice a week,” she offered. “If possible, I can meet Mason this Friday for our first in-person session. After that, I’ll assess his strengths and weaknesses and adjust the schedule as needed. Does that work for you?”

“My schedule’s flexible,” I told her. “I can do most of my work from home.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Cool,” I echoed.

We were quiet for a moment before I added, “I look forward to seeing you this Friday, Ms. Bennett.”

“Malcolm?”

I chuckled. “I meant, Esme.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

I hung up with Esme feeling much better—not just because she agreed to work with Mason on his presentation but because I’d get to see her a lot more.

“Down, boy,” I muttered to myself. “This is not about you. It’s about Mason.”

But damn, was I excited.