Smoke Screen: Four20 Bae

Prologue

Ashlynn

December 31, 2023

“Alright, party people, it’s almost time. Ya got fifteen minutes to find that special someone to ring the new year in right.”

Sidestepping a former city council member dry humping his wife in the middle of the dance floor, I tried to tune out the loud, obnoxious DJ and whatever he was yelling about now.

“If you ain’t kissing someone at midnight, you’ll spend the new year alone.”

Yeah, I could’ve gone without the reminder. Truthfully, I was ready to go, and had been ready from the moment the chauffeur I’d hired called to say he would pick me up in five minutes. I wasn’t even dressed at that point. My ideal plans for the evening included lounging in my pajamas while watching a NYE special on TV and getting undergrad wasted. But here I was, parading around the Berry Ballroom inside of the Washington Hotel, surrounded by the who’s who of the D.M.V social scene with a fake smile on my face, engaging in conversations I couldn’t care less about.

At least I looked and felt good. I wasn’t bothered the off-the-shoulder, royal-blue sequined gown with a front thigh high split and short train didn’t fit the Roaring Twenties theme—it made my stomach look smaller, hips appear wider, thighs seem thicker, and had my ass and titties sitting pretty.

The only reason I accepted the invitation to the Reed’s Annual New Year’s Eve Gala was because of my best friend, Medina. Dina, as everyone called her, was quick to remind me tonight’s benefit would help several charities in desperate need of funding, and as someone who saw how the gala—and events like it—served the Black community, I didn’t hesitate to assist in any way I could. However, I didn’t haveto be here, physically, to support a worthy cause. My social battery was depleted, and I was suddenly having second thoughts about running into my ex-boyfriend, Dina’s older brother, Raphael, after five long years.

Sending an email here and there or commenting on a person’s social media posts was one thing, but being in the same room with the ex you never really got over was a different story. And for five-hundred dollars a plate, on top of the sizable donation my family contributed, I expected to leave with a lot more than a case of the icks thanks to the overwhelming amount of intoxicated guests searching for a warm pair of legs to nestle between or a sugar baby to spoil. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t against either option … as it pertained to other people. However, I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand, or ‘doing something strange for some change’ that involved geriatric penis and wrinkled coochie.

The night was a bust.

Besides my date canceling at the last minute, Raphael’s noticeable absence from the festivities, and Dina disappearing after claiming she had to make a phone call, it seemed like my consolation prize was going home, alone, with the makings of a headache.

Then again, maybe not alone, I thought, locking eyes with the Washington Crusaders’ player who’d asked me to dance earlier, then spent majority of the evening, after I told him I’d save him a dance, reminding me. His persistence turned me off when he inserted himself into a conversation with a young couple looking for a wedding venue in June, but apparently not even that stopped my body from humming with need. I quickly calculated how much time I had to speak to him, make plans to leave together, and still get to the empty table in time to ring in the new year. However, before I could program the detour in my mind, he quickly turned away, almost like he was avoiding me.

The hell?

I stood there for a moment longer, then shook it off. Yeah, I was confused by the sudden change in his demeanor, and possibly suffering from a bruised ego, but what else was I supposed to do? Go after him? Demand he book a suite and fuck me? Wasn’t happening. With a spin move so sweet Xander McNair would’ve asked me for tips, I made a beeline toward the empty table I spotted near the back of the room. After grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, I slid into an empty seat at the table topped with plates of uneaten food, half-filled glasses of champagne, designer clutches, and a pair of red bottoms. From the looks of things, the occupants stayed around long enough to drop off their belongings, then disappeared. My hope was they’d stay away until after midnight.

I downed the contents of one glass while glancing around the room. Once satisfied everyone’s attention was elsewhere and not on me, I slipped out of the chair, onto the floor, and lifted the tablecloth, crawling underneath. After a minute or so of fumbling with the train on my dress, I got comfortable, and removed my cell phone from my clutch to send Dina a scathing message denouncing her as my best friend. Unlocking the device, I noticed the notification for the group chat Dina and I were in, along with her possible soon-to-be sister-in-law, Stephanie Arrington, and Stephanie’s best friend, Hayden Jamison.

“This about to be some B.S. I can smell it.”

I tapped the screen, smacking my teeth at the picture Dina posted of her current location … ten miles from the hotel. Her follow-up message was a promise to call or text us before noon and a Happy New Year GIF. I replied with a middle finger emoji and a message to be safe, before locking my phone and placing it back inside of my purse.

“I would ask why you’re hiding under a table,” a dark, masculine voice crooned, scaring the absolute fuck outta me, “but I’ve seen enough of those videos floating around the web to know. Lemme guess, bestie stood you up? Well, at least this means you have enough grapes for me, right?”

Even with humor lacing his tone, I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know its owner. Him, and his delicious ‘Love, Talk, and Slow Jams,’ late night radio personality voice having ass had played a starring role in my fantasies since I was fourteen years old, when we shared a kiss during a game of Spin the Bottle. All the girls—including me—wanted Raphael Anthony Reed back then. It didn’t matter what school you went to, who your parents were, what social circles they ran in, or where you lived, everyone knew Raphael, whether for his athleticism on the basketball court, his bad boy tendencies off the court, or being the eldest son of the former U.S. Attorney for D.C. Now, he was a grown ass man who’d overcome a lot of adversity, and still possessed the power to leave women swooning wherever he went.

I took a deep breath to steel myself against the myriad of emotions assaulting me all at once, only to be greeted by the warm, leathery notes of his signature scent, adding to the nervousness wreaking havoc on my psyche thanks to his nearness. This was not how I envisioned seeing Raphael after five years—me hiding under a table with a bag of grapes, preparing to partake in a tradition made famous by a social media site.

Could this night get any worse?

“Do you?”

I cleared my throat, the air stacking in my lungs at the sight of him in a black tuxedo tailored to fit his six-one frame, a royal-blue shirt, black tie, and polished black wingtip shoes. His long legs were stretched in front of him, arms resting at his sides, with a bushy eyebrow raised in question. On his handsome face, framed by a thick, but groomed beard, his full, lush lips were stretched into a smile. I squeezed my thighs together as an image of him giving me that same smile, but with his beard glistening with my pussy juices, popped into my head.

There was no denying how sexy Raphael was. He’d always been fine. A beautiful specimen of a man whose body was carefully twisted, shaped, and molded from clay or chiseled from stone into a priceless work of art by the hands of a master sculptor. Time had been good to him by enhancing those features I’d grown to love years ago. His rich, brown skin, the color of milk chocolate, was still blemish-free, serving as a testament to his vigorous skincare routine. And in his ears, two diamond studs sparkled, while a small, silver hoop adorned his left nostril. He’d cut his locs. Now, he wore his hair faded on the sides, with sponged curls at the top. My fingers itched to run through his hair to test its softness.

“I-uh. I …” Inwardly, I groaned, hating how his presence—or the thought of him—could reduce me to a babbling, flustered fool. What was he doing here? No better yet, when did he get here and how had I not known? It might sound weird, but up until tonight, I usually knew when Raphael arrived any place I was. Call it a gut feeling, crazy, or plain ol’ dumb luck, but my Double “R” alert system was always functional no matter where I was or who I was with. It had yet to steer me wrong.

Until tonight.Since the words were lodged in my throat, I nodded, placing the bag between us, next to a bottle of the limited edition MidnightAce Noir and second glass of champagne Raphael must’ve brought with him.

“Good!”

“H-How did you know I was under here?”

“I’ve been watching you all night.” He said it so cavalier, the only reaction I could muster up was a slight nod of my head, but on the inside, my mind was racing with questions whose answers would remain unknown. His piercing, dark brown eyes left me to glance at the watch on his wrist. “You ready?”

“I guess. The few times I practiced this, I failed.”

Raphael laughed. “I was referring to the new year, but hearing that you practiced eating twelve grapes in a minute tells me you haven’t changed at all, and I still know you.”

I rolled my eyes, despite the butterflies fluttering in my belly. “Whatever.”

He smiled, and I wondered if he knew the extent of how he affected me. Then again, this was Raphael. Of course he knew, and he wouldn’t mention it … not yet anyway.

“So,” he began after a brief silence, “back to my question. Are you ready for 2024 and the good it’ll bring?”

I shrugged. “I guess. I think I’m more excited about stepping into my role as head vintner now that Uncle Lance announced his retirement.”

“I heard. You should be excited. Not only are you making your dreams come true, but history. The first Harrison woman to become chief vintner. I’m proud of you.”

Even if he hadn’t spoken the words, the pride shining in his eyes and present in his voice were evident. It set off another wave of butterflies.

“Thank you,” I mumbled, feeling my face flush with heat.

“You’re welcome.” He angled his head, studying me. His eyes fell to my lips, where they lingered briefly before dipping to the swell of my heaving breasts, then lower, taking in as much of my body as he could with us sitting under the table.

“Raphe—”

His gaze snapped to mine. The desire burning in them threatened to liquefy my panties, my resolve, and the last bit of my common sense.

“Wh-What about you? What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

“I wouldn’t say I have resolutions, but I did write out a list of goals I need to accomplish in ’24.”

“Oh,” I said when it was obvious he wouldn’t elaborate on what those ‘things’ were. I hated how hollow the word sounded, or the tidal wave of disappointment washing over me at his answer. His answer was shallow, lacking, a semi-polite response you gave a person you barely knew, not to me, someone he’s known since I was eight, gave my first kiss to at fourteen, and began dating when I was seventeen.

I expected more.

Thought we were more regardless of the time that passed.

Maybe that was the problem. I’d assumed things would go back to how they used to be, and we would fall back into the friendship we had before crossing imaginary lines.

“Okay … so, what are they? Is there anything you’re excited about?”

There was a slight edge in my words. I instantly regretted asking the question when, instead of responding right away, Raphael picked up the bottle of MidnightAce Noir and took a gulp. Maybe he was just as thirsty as I was. I tried not to stare as his lips touched the rim or imagine if they’d feel the same touching mine.

“My main goal is to grow Weed the Peopleand educate anyone who’ll listen about the benefits of medicinal marijuana as it relates to pain management, anxiety, skin care, etc. As far as my personal life goes, I’m excited about mending relationships and getting back what I lost.”

His eyes darkened, and a hint of a smile tilted his lips, but he remained quiet, staring at me as though he was searching for something only I possessed. The intensity in his gaze unnerved me, but I couldn’t look away. He was referring to me. To us. There was no doubt in my mind. We tried, twice. Each time ended with us mutually agreeing it was for the best, placing the blame on timing, not being where we wanted to be in life, societal pressures, disagreeing on whether to keep our relationship a secret, and other factors that made it difficult to build a solid foundation where we were both secure in the future we planned together.

Bullshit reasons that failed to diminish the pain and heartbreak associated with losing the person you loved.

“Get the grapes ready. It’s almost time.”

Careful not to knock over the glasses of champagne, I shifted slightly, making sure I was still underneath the table, but putting some much-needed space between us, which was hard with his big body crowding me.

“Ten … nine … eight …”

I glanced over at Raphael the same time his head turned to face me. Our gazes locked and held.

“Three … two … one …”

A chorus of cheers, shouts, and screams of ‘Happy New Year’ rang out, but we didn’t speak. I reached into the bag and grabbed a handful of grapes. One by one, I popped them into my mouth, silently wishing on each one I consumed. Six grapes in, and I was feeling confident I would complete the task at hand. Until I chanced a glance at Raphael, who was throwing them back like shots. I picked up the pace. Call me competitive, but there was no way in hell I’d let Raphael eat all twelve grapes while I didn’t. I bit into the ninth grape and groaned. My stomach churned violently.

“You’re almost there, Dream. Twenty-eight seconds left. Take it slow and breathe.”

Unable to ignore the shiver that ripped through my body at his usage of the nickname he’d given me, after learning the meaning of my name, I focused on eating the last few grapes. With a shimmy of my shoulders, I swallowed the last bit of it with seconds to spare. “Ahh, I can’t believe?—”

My words were silenced when Raphael wrapped his arm around my waist, and pressed his lips to mine in a slow, unhurried kiss that caused my heart to race and melted the resolve I thought I’d summoned. His eager tongue swept into my mouth, hungrily dueling with mine while exploring and re-familiarizing himself inside of an area he’d once known all too well. I angled my head and deepened the kiss, greedy for more of his intoxicating taste, and with the sweet and nutty notes of the whiskey lingering on his tongue, I was in heaven. I didn’t want this moment to end. It had been too long since I’d been held, touched, and kissed like this with an expertise reserved for a man who knew me better than most, and I missed it, missed Raphael. The revelation shook me to my core.

“Wait.” I tore my lips from his, shaking my head. “This is—” I snapped my mouth shut because as much as I wanted to say ‘wrong,’ another word came to mind.

“Right.”

I gasped. “Wh-What?” Had I spoken my thoughts aloud?

Stroking a finger down the side of my face, Raphael flashed me a sexy smirk. “I said ‘right.’ Kissing you is, and has always been, right. The only thing I’ll consider wrong is the timing, and for that I apologize.” He released me, picked up his glass of champagne, and motioned for me to do the same. “Happy New Year, Dream.” Raphael touched his glass to mine. “Here’s to hoping we both get what we want this year.”

“Happy New Year, Raphael.” I took a sip of my drink, yet I couldn’t help but wonder if what we wanted was the same.