chapter 10 #2
Wes: Not looking good, Bug. They fumbled the bag not holding on to the Bama running back.
See! It was little shit like this. He knew I was a diehard Lions fan.
And I liked that he talked to me like he respected my opinion on the game.
But it wasn’t just messages like this. I’d grown accustomed to random texts in the middle of the day.
About the weather, about sports, about politics, and even about my favorite TV shows.
Yesterday, he sent me an old song we used to listen to, and it immediately transported me back to a time when a copy of the latest Pretty Little Liars novel was my idea of the perfect romantic gift.
Bri leaned forward and whispered, “Do you know who Ms. Tea is?”
I shook my head. “No.” While I had a strong suspicion of Ms. Tea’s identity, I wasn’t ready to divulge that information to anyone—not even Wes. Because the truth could have far-reaching implications for his family relationships.
“Hendrix thinks it’s Jackson,” Bri said with a shrug.
“It’s not,” I told her. “He’s not smart enough.”
Kay glanced at her phone, then groaned. “Now I have to go back home to grab Amir’s glasses. I swear …” She tapped at her screen, then dropped the phone on the table. “Okay, you’ve stalled long enough, Albany.”
My dominant emotions teetered between dread and embarrassment. Dread, because since this morning, my sole focus was his infuriatingly handsome face, his hooded eyes—and his dick. And that was a me problem. Embarrassment, because I’d vowed to not let him affect me.
The hits kept coming, too. I’d missed an important phone call with my divorce attorney, stubbed my toe on the way to the bathroom, and suffered through an acute allergic reaction to the tiny piece of pineapple that fell in my late-night smoothie.
As if things couldn’t get worse, I couldn’t even make myself come—not even with the big rubber dildo I’d recently purchased from my favorite Black-owned naughty toy company.
The waitress returned with my coffee. I stared at the table, still torn about how much I was willing to divulge.
Telling my homegirls everything that happened felt like an act of terrorism against myself.
What would it accomplish exactly? Other than highlighting that I was a horny bitch.
Correction, I was a clumsy-as-fuck, desperate-ass, horny-ass bitch. And that was the sad part.
Explaining to them that I felt the need to masturbate after one almost-kiss made me feel all kinds of things.
Pitiful. Weak. And still horny. Then there was the act of admitting it out loud.
I loved Bri and Kay, but there was so much they didn’t know about me, so much I’d kept hidden from them.
Still, I felt the need to unburden myself.
Kay nibbled on her bottom lip. “I’m worried about you, Pookie. You’ve been so erratic, not like the Albany I know. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if you’ve fixated on Wes because you can’t deal with the end of your marriage to Darrell.”
Like a faucet, I slipped into anger mixed with overwhelming regret.
And I decided to embrace it. “I have to face my choice to marry Darrell every single day when I look in the mirror,” I grumbled, trying to keep my voice even.
“My bank account was on life support because of him. I had to sleep in Bri’s bedroom for months because of him.
The only reason I’m not there right now is because Granny took pity on me after I wrote a sad, rambling, inappropriate email about how my life is a shit show. ”
“Hey, I—”
I cut Bri off to continue my rant. “My credit is shit because of him. Trust me, I don’t need an excuse to think about Darrell and everything that he’s put me through. And, no, I don’t need to transfer that negative energy onto Wes. They both suck.” Except Wes doesn’t suck.
Kay raised her arms in surrender. “Okay, sis. I got it. I just want you to be okay.”
“Well, I’m getting better every day,” I confessed. “Sometimes, I’m not okay. Sometimes, I’m a mess. But I’m not defeated. Right now, I’m just embarrassed because I”—I leaned closer and lowered my voice—“broke my dildo trying to fuck imaginary Wes in the shower this morning.”
Still unable to meet their eyes, I fumbled with a napkin. When I didn’t receive a response, not even a snicker of laughter, I glanced up at them. Only to find both of them staring at me with wide eyes and mouths.
Kay blinked, then snapped her mouth closed. “How did—”
Shaking her head, Brianna blew out a slow breath. “I’m at a loss for words right now. And I’m wondering how … I’m sorry. I got nothing.”
My cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I know. It’s crazy, huh?”
“Very.” Kay grabbed Bri’s mimosa and finished it. “I’m going to assume you and Wes had an argument or something.”
Sighing, I confessed, “No. He’s still an asshole and everything, but he’s a nice asshole.
Every time I see him, I’m hit with these warring emotions.
I hate him, but I don’t hate him. He’s not my friend, but he kind of is.
I don’t like him, but I do. He sucks, but not really.
I told you I’m a hot-ass mess. I can’t control my emotions. ”
Kay narrowed her eyes as if in deep thought. “When is the last time you saw him? I’m just trying to figure out what prompted this.”
“He bought me a Big Mac!” I snapped.
“How does that translate to masturbation?” Bri asked, confusion etched across her brow. “’Cause I’m still trying to wrap my brain around this.”
“Ugh.” I dropped my head against the table. “I haven’t had an orgasm from a real dick since the night before I filed for divorce.”
Kay fell back against the seat, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. “Really?”
“This is so much information,” Bri added. “Whew, chile. So why you don’t just get some?”
My gaze flashed to her. “Sure. Why don’t I just go out and ask some random guy to give it to me?”
“I don’t think she’s talking about a stranger, boo,” Kay suggested. “You live in the same building with the man you want to fuck. So just pin him against a wall and rub yourself on him.”
“Actually, I don’t even think she needs to do that. Wes looked like he wanted to devour her the last time I saw him.”
I let out a wistful sigh. “That was the night.”
“The night you what?” Bri asked. “Because I was there, and you were sitting on the other side of the table eating your pizza in silence.”
“Silence because you and Hendrix kept arguing about stupid shit,” I tossed back. “Seriously, you can’t talk about anything, sis.”
“We’re not talking about me and Hendrix, though,” Bri argued.
Kay cut in. “Anyway, what happened?”
“He almost kissed me,” I admitted.
“Why didn’t he?” they both asked simultaneously.
“He said he wants me to set the pace.”
Bri lifted her hands in the air, before she pounded her fists against the table. “Girl, will you hop on his dick so we can move this party along?”
Nodding, Kay agreed. “I mean, you deserve a good sexcapade, Pookie.” She traced the rim of her mug with her finger. “We all do.”
I stared at Kay. My heart hurt for her because her heart didn’t seem to be fully invested in her upcoming marriage. I didn’t want to say anything, but if not being ready for marriage was a person, it would be Kay. I wanted more for her.
Bri must’ve been thinking the same thing because she said, “Look, Sissy. I meant what I said. You don’t have to get married.”
Kay waved the waitress over. “We’re not talking about this. Let’s get out of here. Wedding shower time.”
After we paid our bill, we walked out of the restaurant arm in arm.
The ride to the hotel was silent, each of us consumed with our own thoughts.
It almost felt like we were walking individual planks into an unknown abyss of our own making.
Would this wedding actually take place? Could Bri and Hendrix make it an entire day without arguing?
Will I be able to keep my panties on around Wes?
Just our luck. When we pulled up to the venue, all three men were waiting outside. Kay slowed down as we neared the front entrance, but then she sped up again, putting them and the hotel in the rearview mirror.
After we’d ditched the shower, I opened my door to find Wes outside. I rested my head against the frame.
“Hey,” he said, holding up a bag of food. “Can I come in?”
Sighing, I held the door open, letting him in. I headed to the kitchen. “Thanks for coming. How’s Amir?”
Wes set the bag down on the countertop and slid onto a barstool. “Not good. What’s going on with Kay?”
I opened the fridge and handed him a beer. “I’m not sure.”
“Where is she?”
I glanced back at my bedroom and nodded. “Sleeping. Bri’s in there with her.”
“Did she say anything earlier? Give any indication that she didn’t want to go through with this?”
“No.”
After we pulled a Thelma, Louise, and Tamika, racing off to an unknown destination, we were bombarded with phone calls from everyone. From Mama G and Hendrix to Amir and Wes. Kay had refused to talk to Amir or her parents. We drove around for a while before we came here.
It had been hours, and Kay still hadn’t said much. Tears were shed, wine was consumed, but she’d yet to offer an explanation. Not that she needed to. I was going to support her no matter what she decided.
“I am worried about her, though,” I added. “Something’s not right.”
“How much do you know about Amir and Kay?” he asked.
I rested my elbows against the countertop. “Why? Is there something I should know?”
He shrugged. “He mentioned something to us about a month ago. Said that Kay wanted to postpone the wedding for some reason.”
“Hm.”
Leaning forward, he cracked his knuckles. “Just doesn’t seem like her to do this.”
He was right about that. Runaway Bride was more in line with Bri’s personality.
Kay wasn’t an emotional person. She rarely cried, always maintained her composure.
In college, she’d stuck to her plan, graduated with an undergraduate degree in three and a half years and went straight into dental school.
Amir had proposed three years ago, but she wouldn’t even set a date until they started their practice.
“I don’t know,” I mused. “I hope they can talk, though. They have a practice together, years invested in each other and their relationship. Anyway …” I peeked in the bag. “Coney Island?”
“Lafayette. I got a few of everything. Hot dogs, loose burgers, plain fries, and chili cheese fries for you. And a couple of doughnuts.”
I opened the box, peered at the mound of fries covered with heavy chili, cheese, and onions. Again. He’d done something so small. Remembering my greedy ass loved Lafayette Coney Island. “Thank you.”
He stood. “No worries. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I followed him to the door. “I’m sure we’ll be fine for now.”
“Colby is off work, but I let Grady know that you wouldn’t be accepting visitors.”
Before he could leave, I rushed ahead of him, stepping between him and the door. “Wait.” I placed a hand against his chest, right over his heart. “I really appreciate this.”
His gaze dropped to my lips. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”
I searched his eyes. “You mean that.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact.
“I do.”
Inching closer, I was acutely aware of his reaction to me. He wasn’t stiff, but he didn’t retreat. He didn’t speak. He didn’t meet me halfway either. When he told me he would let me set the pace, he meant it. And tonight, I wanted to …
Without a word, I reached up on the tips of my toes, clutched his shirt in my fist, and pressed my lips to his. He smelled so good—like sandalwood and spices, citrus and a hint of vanilla. Sensual. Sexy.
I groaned when his strong arms encircled my waist, holding me to him as he deepened the kiss. And damn … It was better than I remembered. The perfect balance of tongue and teeth. It was supposed to be a simple, thank-you kiss. Something to test the waters, but not fully immerse myself in him.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
His mouth was so soft, his body was so warm.
I knew I should let go of him, pull back, step away, but my emotions were at war with each other over the best course of action.
In the end, though, he made the decision for me when he broke the kiss, taking his body heat with him as he put some distance between us.
“Bug, I—”
Nodding rapidly, I blurted out, “You don’t have to say anything. I already know.” I placed a hand over my mouth. “I was just … I don’t know what I was doing.”
His tongue darted out, and I was laser focused on the movement, transfixed by the dimple on his right cheek, the tiny creases on his mouth. His beard. His diamond earring. Everything.
“I should probably go,” he suggested.
“Yes, get out.” I opened the door. “Don’t call me.”
He chuckled, and the sound went straight to my core. I flattened my hand on my stomach as he brushed past me into the hallway. But before I could close the door, he turned to me, gripped my jaw with his massive hand, and pulled me into a quick kiss.
Damn it. That was good, too. Maybe it was the force of it, the way he claimed my mouth, or the way his thumb swept down the column of my neck? So gentle. Sweet yet demanding. My knees nearly buckled, but I managed to hold on to the door frame.
He pulled back again, and I was struck by the heat blazing in his eyes. His hungry expression. “When you’re alone”—he circled my nose with his and kissed the tip—“I’ll have my way with you the way you want. Remember … you set the pace.”
Then, he was gone.
Closing the door, I slumped against the wood and slid down to the floor. It felt like I’d opened a box that couldn’t be closed anymore. He said he would let me set the pace, and now that I’d tasted him, now that adult me knew what it felt like to be kissed by him, the question was …
Hard and fast, or nice and slow?
Or both?