Getting His Game Back
Getting His Game Back is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2022 by Gia de Cadenet
Book club guide copyright © 2022 by Penguin Random House LLC
Excerpt from Not the Plan by Gia de Cadenet copyright © 2023 by Gia de Cadenet
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Dell, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Dell and the House colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
Random House Book Club and colophon are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Not the Plan by Gia de Cadenet. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
ISBN 9780593356623
Ebook ISBN 9780593356630
randomhousebooks.com
randomhousebookclub.com
Book design by Alexis Capitini, adapted for ebook
Cover illustration: Cannaday Chapman
Cover design: Cassie Gonzales
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One: April
Chapter Two: May
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six: August
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty: September
Chapter Twenty-one: November
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight: December
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one: March, the Following Year
Dedication
Acknowledgments
A Book Club Guide
Excerpt from Not the Plan
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
April
Maybe he was becoming obsessive.
Khalil shifted in the hard plastic seat. While aesthetically pleasing, it clearly wasn’t made for guys over six feet who wanted their asses not to hurt while they sat in waiting rooms. He squinted, focusing again on the potted plant next to the far window. It had to be fake. He counted the little white flowers again. There were seven. Were there seven last month? He was sure there were seven two weeks ago. Before that, he couldn’t remember. And it was spring, but still that seemed like a lot of flowers for the time of year. Maybe he was making something out of nothing.
“Mr. Sarda.”
The low rumble of his doctor’s voice bounced off the empty seats, rolling over the modern concrete floor.
“Dr. E,” he said, standing to shake his hand and follow him into his office.
* * *
—
“What’s new?” Dr. Edwards asked from his leather armchair, smiling at Khalil as he settled into a much more comfortable seat on the other side of the coffee table.
Khalil took a deep breath, sliding his palms together. This was always the strange part, the transition from wherever his head was in the waiting room, to focusing on what he wanted to talk to Dr. E about. But this was part of his new normal. Talking openly to people he’d met after his breakdown six months ago was a challenge.
“Well. It’s been a good couple of weeks, I think. Work’s been busy, but good.” He slid his phone out of his pocket, opening it to his mood tracking app. “I’ve been on a nice trend lately,” he said, handing it over.
“If you’re being honest, you’ve been on a nice trend the past two months,” said Dr. E after taking a moment to read. “You haven’t had a relapse; you’ve been taking your medication as prescribed. Last time you told me you felt you’d turned a page.” He handed Khalil his phone back.
“Yeah,” he said, sliding it into his pocket. “It’s just…” He ran his hands down his jeans. “Karim brought it up. Me still not dating.”
Dr. Edwards leaned back in his chair, his hands relaxed on his khaki-covered thighs.
“What did he have to say?” he asked.
“It was a joke, him ribbing me, you know? But he made a good point.”
Dr. Edwards kept listening, his expression neutral. Khalil stifled an urge to call his therapist Uncle Phil; certain other patients already had.
“It’s been ages since I’ve been interested in a woman. Don’t know the last time it’s been this long.”
It had taken a while, but Khalil was finally comfortable with Dr. Edwards’s nod, his silent response. Khalil caught himself readjusting his watch and the friendship bracelets his niece had made for him. His watchband easily covered the scar, but there wasn’t any harm in being careful. The “Khalil the Player” joke always made him uncomfortable. He knew it came from a good place, from both his twin and his best friend, Darius. And yeah, from the outside looking in, he could admit that it might once have seemed like he fit that description. He loved women; he’d never treat them as disposable. But since he hadn’t been able to keep his sadness in check, and Nia had left him, and things had gone…bad, he’d lost interest. Which, now that he was doing better, felt really strange. Though after the past few months he’d had, he wasn’t sure what was supposed to be normal and what was supposed to be strange anymore.
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” Khalil continued.
“What’s that?” Dr. Edwards asked.
“That I’m noticing, that I’m missing having someone in my life. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting back to myself,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
Dr. Edwards nodded, but remained silent.
“And like we’ve talked about, maybe I was hiding. Maybe I was turning to relationships to stay away from feeling sad.”
“How do you feel now?” Dr. Edwards asked.
“About?”
“Are you having those same feelings? Do you feel you have a reason to hide?”
Khalil hesitated before replying. Enough time to realize he already had the answer in his pocket.
“No. Like you said, my mood’s been great for months.” He rested his forearms on his thighs. “But still, all this, my stuff is here.” He gestured to the space between them. “What woman would want to deal with a man whose emotions get the better of him?”
Dr. Edwards raised a hand.
“Is it possible that you’re getting ahead of yourself? First, I think it’s important to recognize that it’s good you’re interested in meeting someone. Just meeting them. You don’t have to share all of your challenges right away.”
Khalil nodded. Darius and Karim were still in the dark and they were the closest people in his life. No reason to behave differently with someone right off the bat.
“If you cross paths with someone, just exchange a few words. Start small, no expectations,” Dr. E said.
Khalil nodded, keeping his doubts to himself. All his time was spent in his barbershops, and sometimes on basketball courts. It would be tough for him to naturally cross paths with a woman in either place.
* * *
—
“I will see your ‘the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice’ and raise you an ‘aye, mami, how ’bout you try a white papi,’ ” Ana Garcia said, raising her glass to Vanessa Noble. The other women around the high table laughed, taking a sip. Then it was Helen Hsu’s turn.
“Okay, okay,” she said. “I got one. ‘The best thing about you Asian chicks is how docile you are, how servile. You really know how to treat a man.’ ”
“Ewww,” Vanessa said, her skin crawling. “That one definitely deserves another sip.” They lifted their glasses in unison, knocking back a little more wine.
“My turn,” Jill Santos said. “ ‘But where are you really from?’ Oddly enough, when I say Florida, that’s not the right answer for them.”
“God,” Ana sighed.
Time to pull out the big gun, Vanessa thought.
“ ‘I like black girls,’ ” she said.
Ana, Helen, and Jill remained silent, eyebrows raised or smiles frozen. Vanessa picked up her glass and took a sip.
“Then what?” asked Jill.
Vanessa shrugged. “That’s it. That was the whole pickup line.”
Ana frowned. “You’re shitting us, right?”
“Nope. That was it. He just walked up to me, said ‘I like black girls
,’ and stood there grinning. Guess that was supposed to make me get naked for him right then.”
“How do we tolerate this?” Helen asked. “It’s a wonder none of us has ever committed a felony.”
“We tolerate it,” Vanessa said, sitting up straight and raising her glass, “because we are some badass women, killing it in STEM and in everyday life.”
“Hear, hear,” Ana said as they clinked glasses. “Now we just have to get through one more day of this conference, without any creepy—”
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”
The women sighed as one, turning to face four dudebros, led by one of the rising stars in renewable energy, Greg Cavana. “Looks like a Benetton ad of Hot Chicks in STEM.” Greg and his friends laughed as the four women looked at one another and knocked back some more wine.
“So, ladies, mind if we join you?” asked Greg, sliding between Vanessa and Ana.
“Actually, we were just leaving,” Helen said, scooting out of the way before one of the guys “accidentally” brushed his arm against hers.
“Oh no,” Greg said. “Taking the party elsewhere?”
“Nope.” Ana shrugged. “Early start tomorrow. See you on the panel, Mike?”
The tallest guy nodded, his gaze over Vanessa’s shoulder at another group of women.
“Come on, Vanessa, let’s kick it for a while.” Greg winked at her.
Yeah, no.
“Have a good evening, boys,” Vanessa said, linking arms with Jill as they left.
Vanessa and Jill could have walked back to their hotel, but there was a chill in the air, and it was late.
“Am I an ass?” Jill asked, looking out the window of their Lyft.
Clearing her inbox, Vanessa didn’t look up. The update she’d been expecting about the suite of business management software and related apps that her company was designing for Alphastone Technologies in New York had yet to come through. While she knew that her team lead was on top of things, this was a make-or-break project for her reputation. She wanted time to assess the progress during her flight home. But she didn’t want to be rude to Jill.
“What do you mean?” she asked, resting her phone in her lap.
Jill sighed. “I don’t know. It’s like, I don’t want to be rude…it just gets old, having to put up with their shit, then have them be shocked if we take precautions.”
“Like what?” Vanessa asked.
Jill glanced at the driver, then shifted closer to Vanessa.
“Maybe this sounds bad, but I can’t take white guys seriously. Actually, almost no guys seriously. At least not guys who aren’t Filipino American. Don’t tell my parents, they’ll start looking for eligible bachelors right now. I don’t want to just refuse to date whole groups of men—”
“ ’Cause it makes you feel like you’re being as racist as they are.”
Jill grimaced. “Yeah. Do you hate me?”
“Can’t hate you for something I do myself,” Vanessa said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I can’t see myself dating anyone who isn’t black. It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s just…relationships are hard. There’s already so much to deal with, why add an extra layer of difficulty by being with someone who’s never been confronted with the same shit you have to put up with every day? And worse, does that shit to you too?” She looked out the window. “I’ve tried. And it really, really didn’t work. So now…that’s just my policy. No white guy has ever shown me that he could truly see me as a real person, an individual. As an equal, not just the stereotype he had in his head.” She sighed, hesitating to share a recent example that still stung. “A couple months ago, I went on a few dates with this white guy. Works for a nonprofit. Volunteered for the Peace Corps in Liberia. ‘Woke,’ right?”
Jill nodded.
“He invited me over for dinner. While I’m admiring a photo on his wall, he puts on a recording of wild animal sounds. Roaring lions, stuff like that. I made a joke, saying it would be tough to relax and eat while it sounded like we were about to be eaten. He was surprised. Said he thought it would make me feel more comfortable.”
Jill frowned, eyebrows coming together.
“More comfortable?” she asked.
Vanessa nodded.
“Because he wanted me to feel ‘safe,’ ‘at home’ with him, he said. He pointed to the African fabrics he’d draped over his furniture. There were even animal print placemats. When I asked him what he meant, he said black people like that stuff. Animal prints and sounds of roaring lions. He didn’t want me to feel uncomfortable in a”—she raised her hands to do air quotes—“ ‘regular person’s’ apartment.”
Jill’s jaw dropped.
“I’m sorry?” she asked.
“Yep,” Vanessa said. “I’m not a regular person, apparently. Only white girls are, I guess. And that’s hardly the first time a white guy has pretty much told me that I’m different, that I’m ‘other.’ And it stings the same each time. So why keep setting myself up to get hurt?”
CHAPTER TWO
May
Three weeks later, spindly heels clacking on the pavement, Vanessa sped up as much they’d allow her to. But early was on time, and on time was late. Rounding the corner, she froze. The salon’s light was off. After a quick glance up and down the street, she crossed the intersection, concern slowing her steps. The handwritten sign taped to the inside of the glass made her stomach drop.
“Closed due to fire.”
Vanessa cupped her hands to the glass, peering inside. Misshapen shadows stared back, over blackened, melted bottles of creams and conditioner visible near the soot-covered door. She was as frozen as the charcoal-black salon seats she could barely make out. Cars passed on the street behind her, music loud, breaking her out of her shock. She fished her phone out of her pocket and scrolled through her contacts.
“Hey, Tanya, this is Vanessa. I’m in front of the salon. What happened? I hope you and the girls are all right. Lemme know when you can?”
She hung up, tapping the corner of the phone to her chin. Closing the shop, even for a little while, would be a major blow for Tanya. Vanessa knew that she’d already been operating at a tight margin, eager to up her social media presence and get new customers. Speaking of…Vanessa googled the shop and flipped through its social media accounts. Not one word about the closing or a fire. Even worse. She’d have to call Kyle. She’d recommended him to Tanya to get her media right, and here was plain evidence he wasn’t doing his job. Vanessa switched back to her contacts, eyes narrowed. Kyle had some serious explaining to do. And she wasn’t about to wait until she got back—
Shit!
She still had to get her hair cut. Her flight was in a couple of hours and everything was set except her hair. She couldn’t be the only woman on the panel with the dudebros and have her hair not looking right. Scanning the storefronts, she couldn’t remember if there was anything nearby. Returning her attention to her phone, she did a quick search. There was a new barbershop a few blocks down the street. Their website was clean and modern. A quick scan of their Instagram showed photos of old-school barbershop chairs and a black and white checkerboard floor. The vibe was masculine, which made her pause, but she’d gotten good cuts in places like that, and, in terms of the amount of time she had, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
At least someone’s taking their online presence seriously.
* * *
—
“I just need a shape-up.”
Women’s voices were few and far between in his shop, so Khalil stopped sweeping and took a step out of the back room to see what was going on. He immediately regretted not taking a glance at himself in the mirror first. The woman standing in the doorway was maybe five feet tall without those heels, light jacket open, revealing a streamlined figure that went with her streamlined hair. Everything about her was polished, well put together. Flawless, deep copper skin. Full brows arched perfectly over dark, doe-shaped eyes and a slim nose ending in a gentle curve. Her round lips probably formed a little heart, and their sexy pucker had Khalil’s heart racing, but at the moment she was waiting for Darius, his business partner, to reply. Khalil held his breath and tried to slide back out of sight long enough to check he wasn’t covered in the hair his previous client had left behind. Then Darius betrayed him with a glance.