Chapter 5
Pops was calling again. He’d been calling all day. And just like I had done since that morning, I sent him to voicemail instead of answering. Childish, I knew.
BLVCKJVCK was closed and the staff had left for the night, leaving me, Cesar, and one of our security guards, Knox, behind as we sat at a table.
Cesar rolled us a few using some of Remy’s weed as we played cards.
On a few tables, and on the bar, were a customary deck of playing cards.
To match the theme of the club, the cards were black and gold.
“Tonight was perfect,” Cesar declared victoriously. “After word got out about Remy and Galen being here, folks flocked to get in. We were packed.”
I tipped my beer back, pleased to hear this. A packed club equaled a boost in sales. Nine times out of ten, a first timer always came back. Word of mouth was the best advertising. It made people curious, but first-hand experience made them return.
“Everything worked out smoothly then,” I said as I studied my cards.
“I thought we was gonna have to beat that dude’s ass earlier,” Cesar admitted.
Knox groaned as he threw his cards down. He’d been losing for the past hour. I didn’t blame him for folding. “E wouldn’t push the button.”
“Since when has that stopped you?” Cesar challenged.
It wasn’t far from the truth. In the past, Knox was known to handle bad jams himself. Only recently he fell in line because some asshole wanted to press charges. All I’d had to do earlier when I approached him was blink and he would’ve fucked Nastasia’s ex up.
Pops owned the team, but I was the quarterback. I called the plays.
“Knox be waiting for folks to fuck up so he can do his thing,” I said.
Cesar shook his head at our security guard. “Ol’ sociopath-ass motherfucker.”
Knox laughed and I joined him. Cease was a fool.
Cesar glanced at his cards and I watched as his face brightened with pride. “Straight.” He revealed his hand, an ace, a two, a three, a four, and a five.
Impressive.
“Royal flush,” I said as I exposed my ace, king, queen, joker, and ten of diamonds.
Cesar and Knox groaned together at my luck.
Another reason why I liked Casino so much? Much like De Niro’s character, I never lost. I always played a good hand and my hustles always saw me through.
“I don’t care how many awards Owen got, Remy’s my favorite Dymond,” Cesar said as he took a pull from his joint.
I chuckled as I leaned back, enjoying the weed as well. “Best of the bunch.”
Knox took a swig of his beer. “Where was O tonight?”
“Owen would’ve come, but wifey wanted his attention,” Cesar informed him. “You know how that go.”
It wasn’t a surprise Owen wasn’t in sight. He was married to the baddest Patel of all, Penelope, and I didn’t blame him for never leaving the crib. “Remy got the weed, but Owen got Pen.”
Cesar considered this, angling his head and thinking it over. “I’m still taking the weed.”
We laughed all in agreement.
“Owen solid, though, for sending the bottle, I won’t lie. This shit gon’ be a piece for the crib.” Cesar hugged the box of champagne close.
I liked the Dymond family. I really admired how family oriented they were. How Willie D wasn’t shy about his nepotism and making sure his sons were straight. In a way, he reminded me of Pops.
In the morning, when I stopped being stubborn, I’d go and make peace with my father.
I never spent my birthdays alone. At some point, I’d have a meal with my parents, and I’d spend the night with a woman.
I didn’t do relationships or serious, but I had a few I could call up for a no-strings-attached hookup, a few who would hit me up when they wanted something simple and convenient.
“I finally got to place a face to Paisley P,” I said. The world was way too small, because what were the chances that she was best friends with Nastasia?
“Yo,” Cesar said, sounding serious as he eyed me. “I did not know she looked like that.”
I blew out some smoke, unable to shake the surprise as well. “Yikes, right?”
Paisley had a nice voice, but I hadn’t pictured the tall brown-skinned woman I’d met tonight. Pretty as could be with a face that said Don’t Play with Me. She was the Pitbull, and Nastasia was the Poodle.
Paisley was thorough, though. All that attitude and mouth wasn’t for the radio. I could tell she was about it in real life as well. It made me respect her more.
“I hope you got the number,” Cesar said.
Knox looked my way, reading for signs of success.
I should’ve gotten Paisley’s info up front, but seeing how I was shooting my shot with Nastasia, it felt inappropriate. Even if my intentions were genuine.
“Nah, I will though. I want her to host a Ladies’ Night for us,” I said.
Cesar sat back, brows raised, fascinated. “That’s one way to get in.”
As gorgeous as she was, my interests were purely business. “Nah, we’re about to do business together and I respect her too much to mix it.”
To keep things in order, I categorized the women I met. Not to be chauvinistic, but this system kept things on track and my head clear. It would be unprofessional and a breach of power otherwise to seek anything sexual with Paisley.
There was my sex life, my business life, and my friends and family time.
When it came to Cesar and Pops, the friends and family mixed with the business aspect of things, but we still managed to run a tight ship.
I didn’t mix friends with sex, and I didn’t mix business with sex.
And Paisley P, fine or not, was a dream business relationship I wouldn’t taint over lust.
“I mean, I’m just sayin’, you blew it with the friend,” Cesar observed.
I felt my forehead crease as I sat up. “I blew it?”
Cesar gestured around us. “You never spend your birthday alone, yet you here schoolin’ us in poker. She left with Paisley, and I don’t see you in no rush to get up out of here.”
Nastasia.
My mind drifted back to earlier, when I’d been alone with her up in the Spade Suite, just enjoying her vibe and chilling.
When I first stepped foot into the Diamond Suite with Remy and Galen, my instinct told me to look around to see if she’d shown up.
And thank God, she had. She’d come out looking like she belonged with me.
She had those big, silky curls pinned back on one side.
And her outfit—that, I liked the most—black and classy as she wore a lace bustier top and black pants.
She had the prettiest face: sweet, pure, and doe-eyed, as if she were soft and sheltered. I was curious, deeply curious, to see what she looked like when she was being bad.
I thought of that Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers song my parents used to play.
“She was a good girl,” I pointed out as I grabbed my beer and took a drink.
Cesar snorted. “Good girls can’t get no dick, Eaze?”
I chuckled. When I was with her, I could see the want in her eyes, but I could also feel and see her hesitation.
Her wavering on the idea of going to bed with me.
I made her nervous, but I affected her too.
It wouldn’t have taken much to convince her, I was sure, but it was in that fact that I didn’t press.
I could read her type. It was the way she smiled.
The way she blushed. The way she shrank and crossed her legs when I made her wet.
The way she bit her lip and kept her gaze away from me.
The way she thought of herself as boring because we were talking movies instead of what time she wanted me to meet her at her place.
She was fragile, the kind of woman you handled with care. Even if she’d given herself a pep talk into letting me fuck, it wouldn’t have been right.
“She would’ve regretted it,” I said.
Cesar considered this and let it go. “Damn.”
I grabbed all of the cards from the center of the table and shuffled them together, thinking it all over.
“It would’ve felt like taking advantage of her, but I did give her my number.
” It was all about chance. Gambling. Risk.
I split the deck and laid out a line of cards on the table facedown and ran my fingers along them.
“Now, under different circumstances, if the opportunity presents itself again, neither of us will look back and feel bad.” I took a chance and grabbed a card from the middle of the line and revealed its face.
The King of Hearts.
In the morning, I fed Sadé, checked my phone, and got dressed. It was a new day, and I was over the disappointment with Pops’s decision not to give me BLVCKJVCK.
To bury the hatchet, I got into my ride and drove over to my parents’ crib.
The first message I’d read that morning was from Pops telling me I was having breakfast with them.
The demand let me know loud and clear he was pissed with my disappearing act the previous evening.
He knew I wasn’t in danger or harmed, or else he would’ve bothered coming by the club or calling to make sure things were all right. Instead, he knew I was being a dick.
“Ezekiel, there you are!” My mother greeted me by grabbing my face and kissing both my cheeks. I was almost thirty, but she would still douse me with affection any chance she got. One remarkable thing about my childhood, was that I was raised on love and it never ceased.
“Sorry I couldn’t make it last night, something came up,” I explained as she let me in the door.
I could already smell something good and meaty cooking in the kitchen.
She patted my cheek, shooting me a look. “Mm-hmm, your father’s out on the patio. Make that right.”
Their dog, or, our dog, a ten-year-old Golden Retriever named Brasco, came trotting up to me with his tongue out.
I petted his head, always happy to see him.
Another reason I got Sadé and not that Border Collie I’d initially driven out to Atlanta to look into was because I was loyal to having Brasco be the only dog in my life.
I’d brought Sadé over to my parents’ house a few times and she loved him at first sight.
I had a feeling she wouldn’t accept a new dog either.