by Kat Addams
“We know where your mind is. When are you going to admit it?” Nikki pulled out her phone and started tweeting our location and specials. She was our social media guru, and after her debut as Crystal Cream Pie at the strip club, she’d risen to be an Instagram sensation herself.
“Admit what?” Layla’s eyebrows pulled together. She was genuinely confused.
The poor girl was more than a few crayons short of a full box.
“You and Aiden,” Rox said.
“When are y’all going to give up on that? Gosh! I promise we’re just friends. There hasn’t been any hanky-panky!” Layla’s cheeks flared red.
“You’re as red as my man’s ass last night when I whipped the hell out of it. You’re lying. Give us the details. You finally got you some of that loving from Down Under, didn’t you?” I said, teasing her.
Layla and I always teased each other. It was our love language.
“Whose ass did you smack? Was that in your new sex dungeon?” Layla changed the subject.
“No one’s. I was lying. I haven’t found anyone worthy yet. But don’t change the subject. Tell us what y’all been doing.” I pulled out a knife and began chopping lettuce.
I hated food prep. It was the most tedious part of the taco truck business, and I usually put it off for as long as I could. I much preferred dealing with customers, especially the rude ones. They were my specialty.
“Oh, you’ll have someone worthy. Maybe even tonight.” Rox nodded toward Terrance.
“Shit. What’s he want now?” I wiped my hands on a dishrag and hopped out of the truck.
The last thing I needed was DTF teasing me over whatever conversation he planned on having with me. I knew I had treated him pretty shitty yesterday, accusing him of swiping my wallet. But I didn’t like to apologize. Call it my fatal flaw or whatever. One of them anyway.
“Coming out here to apologize to me, Miss Queen Betty? Finally figured out that it’s not all men?” Terrance grinned.
A tiny dimple on the right side of his face twitched, and I had the sudden urge to put my finger on it and trace it down to those lips of his that curled up in a smirk.
“Never. What’s up?” I asked.
“Well, let me have the bigger balls here and apologize for something I didn’t do. I’m sorry you lost your wallet, Betty. Sorry that happened to you. Also”—he stared down at his shoes before looking up at me with a devilish gaze that made even me, the badass Betty, take a step back—“I want to ask you out. We’ve been flirting for ages. I think you might have the wrong impression of me. But I want you to have the right one. I know my schedule has been tight lately, but if you’re free this weekend, I can make it work. Tomorrow? Can you do that? I’m working at night, but I’m free that afternoon.”
“Just what kind of date? Lunch?” My heart thumped hard in my chest.
I hadn’t been asked on a date in who knew how long. I only cycled through my friends with benefits when I needed them, which hadn’t been much these days. My schedule stayed as busy as Terrance’s, if not more. Thankfully, I hadn’t had to resort to stripping—yet. Not that I was opposed to it. These boobs could bring in heaps of cash. But working The Pink Taco Truck provided me with what I needed. Now, I just needed to save it all for … something. One day. I had no idea what that something was, but I trusted it would come to me in time.
“How do you feel about baseball? There’s a game,” he stammered. His eyes shifted left and right in line with his feet, which couldn’t stand still. “I’m kind of involved.”
“What do you mean, you’re involved?”
The thought of Terrance in tight baseball pants made my heart beat even faster. That was the moment I decided, To hell with it. He was going to be my first boy toy to christen my new sex dungeon.
“I coach sometimes. Actually, crap, I can’t do that. I forgot. That’s the wrong date. How about Sunday instead? Does that work? We can do the typical lunch thing. I’ll find a good place. Brunch even, if you’re free?” He took a deep breath. The dimple that seemed to wink at me disappeared.
“Sunday brunch. I can do that. Any place in mind?”
“A few. Can I get your number, and I’ll text you tomorrow and let you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his feet again.
“Sure.”
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket, watching him do the same, and told him my number. He typed it on his phone and sent me a text. I stored his info under Stripper Tito because that was what I was going for with Terrance—his alter ego. He was a bad boy, and bad boys who wanted to pull that mischievous shit on me were punished.
“Right. Got it.” I tucked my phone back into my pocket.
“Right.” He scuffed his foot across the pavement. He glanced around the busy parking lot.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Terrance and I had always been able to cut up and shoot the shit. But this conversation felt awkward. I hoped this didn’t mean that when we finally got down to dating or sexing, we were a total dud together in the sack. I’d felt chemistry with him since that day I first sat across from him at his bar. I knew he felt it too.
“Nope. Nada. Zilch. Zero. Nothing else to see here.” He cleared his throat and nodded before turning to go, scuffling away as quickly as possible.
I walked back toward the truck, unsure of what had just happened. I knew Terrance had given me his number, and I knew we were going to brunch on Sunday, but I had no idea what had been going through his mind. He’d seemed unsettled. I shrugged my shoulders before climbing back in the truck.
“And?” Rox asked as the entire DTF crew stared at me, waiting.
“We have a date. Brunch on Sunday, I guess. It was just weird. He seemed nervous. Like he wanted to say more but didn’t. Must be a White-boy thing. I had that with another one before too.” I grabbed the knife and a tomato, getting back to food prep.
“It’s not a damn White-boy thing, Betty. It’s you. I’d be scared to date you too. I mean, who has a sex dungeon in their own damn house?” Layla tilted her body from side to side in some weird victory dance like she’d just roasted me.
I stopped chopping and pointed the knife in her direction. “I would tell you to watch it, but for once, your dumb butt is right. I’d be scared to date me too.”
“What magic is this?” Nikki cried, reaching up to flick a crystal she had hung above the sink. “Betty just said someone is right! Some kind of miracle’s going on in here!”
“And by miracle, you mean, me not sticking my foot in your ass.” I narrowed my eyes until she broke her gaze with mine.
“False alarm. She’s still Betty. Carry on.” Nikki winked at me.
“Same ol’ Betty. Breaking in that dungeon with Terrance,” Layla sang.
I sent my foot flying behind me, playfully kicking her in the pants.
“Mmhmm. See? Prepping for an ass-kicking already. You’re going to have him on his knees in no time!” Layla laughed, dodging my kick.
“That’s the plan,” I muttered, finally giving in to the banter. “Tito will be mine.”
Rox let out a, “Whoop, whoop,” as we all laughed, and I began to speculate how my brunch date would go down on Sunday.
Right after I had made my date with Terrance, I’d called Shay, my hairstylist, for an emergency appointment. If I was trying to get laid and break in my dungeon, I needed to freshen up this mop on my head. Not that my hair looked terrible now, but I needed something new. Thankfully, Shay had said she could squeeze me in first thing in the morning Saturday. Otherwise, my current Afro wouldn’t match the femdom black vinyl I planned on wearing once I tied my boy, Terrance, to my bed.
I ran my fingers through my hair and climbed out of my car, noticing a dozen other cars already in the parking lot. The sun had barely come up, and the place was packed full. Shay’s Salon was the most prestigious salon for Black women in Outer Forks. Whatever look I was going for, Shay could nail it in a heartbeat. Her skills were unmatched by any other stylist
that I’d ever been to, and for that, I paid the price. I had a special fund set up just for my hair. It was called the ’Fro Dough. Not like that little White boy running around in that Hobbit movie, but like I needed some cash for my flawless Afro.
I opened the door to the salon. The familiar smell of coconut sent me into a warm and comfortable frame of mind. Shay made her own line of products that were supposedly organic, vegan, cruelty-free, and all that jazz. She’d told me that was the only thing this hipster town would buy these days. And by the looks of all the younger folks in here, I believed her.
At thirty-one, I was the oldest woman here, not counting the two other stylists, Sheila and Sherry. Shay had run both of those ladies out of their home-based businesses. But surprisingly, they had been flexible in giving up their turf to Shay, a bright-eyed young prodigy stomping all over their grounds. I guessed they had known the times were changing, and if they wanted to keep their jobs, they’d have to keep up with the trends. And the Outer Forks Black-hair trend was cutting-edge modern.
No more back room of Sheila’s house for the young whippersnappers today. They had given up on Sherry’s garage salon as soon as Shay opened her doors. I couldn’t blame them. Shay’s place looked like something out of a pop-culture magazine. Everything was bright white, except the colorful art prints scattered throughout the room and the bubblegum-pink lights hanging from the ceiling. This place looked much more like New York City than Outer Forks, but the locals loved it. Hence, the packed waiting room.
I grabbed a magazine and made myself comfortable in the only available chair. I squeezed in between two younger ladies with their heads stuck in their phones, no doubt Instagramming their stories of being at the beauty parlor—ahem, salon. Even the term beauty parlor sounded dated.
Word on the street was that all the boomer Black women had found a salon across town once Sheila and Sherry abandoned ship. Those old ladies had been loyal to their stylists for years because Black women didn’t trust their hair with just anyone. When a Black woman had her hair done, she’d better know who was touching it. That trust took years to build. But Sherry and Sheila had sold out, and those stubborn old ladies weren’t having it. They had taken their business elsewhere, refusing to set foot in an edgy salon instead of a room that smelled like their grandmama’s parlor, where the gossip was just as hot as their straightening combs.
I lost track of time as I flipped through the entire stack of magazines, waiting for my turn in the chair.
“Rumor has it, you’re here to impress a White boy, Betty. Come on over here,” Shay called out across the salon.
Half a dozen faces turned toward me, grinning, as I made my way toward her chair.
“How do you always know everything around town? I don’t get it. He’s not just any White boy. He’s Tito, the mixologist stripper down at The Steamy Clam,” I replied, shutting down all the stares.
“Really? That man is fine!” a younger lady said, meeting my gaze in the mirror in front of her. “The way he dances. Mmhmm! You know he’s going to rock your world. I’d be in here, too, if he asked me out.” She licked her lips.
“Bet,” I said, nodding before settling into Shay’s chair.
“A stripper from The Steamy Clam, huh? That’s a new one. Even for you.” Shay threw the plastic robe over me and immediately began to work.
“New for me? What’s that mean?” I held my head straight, fighting against the comb as she brushed the demons out of it.
“You’re always going after some outlandish men. Let’s see. I know about the stuntman, the hacker, the yogi, the zookeeper, the chemist, and the race car driver. I can’t forget about him.” She smirked, tugging at my hair harder.
“What’s so outlandish about being a chemist?” I asked, folding my arms under the robe.
“Just that he was caught making meth. That’s all.” She laughed. “Lordy, only you, Betty. Only you.”
“You know I never even suspected that, and he was out the door the second I heard. That does seem to be my luck though, doesn’t it? He’d better be glad I hadn’t heard of that shit before the news broke. I’d have shoved his balls in those beakers and cooked them until they melted. Make him smoke that. Crackhead.” My nostrils flared.
That was the most humiliating thing that had happened to me in a very long time. I had been dating him—Mel the meth dealer—for only a short while before his crimes came to light. That had been a terrible mess in my life that I had to clean up. Like I had needed any of that.
I’d learned at a young age not to mess with that shit. My good-for-nothing dad had run us into poverty with his drug abuse, causing my mom to struggle to pay the bills. He’d eventually run away, and I still didn’t know whatever had happened to him. I was a stereotype. My dad had left for a pack of cigarettes and never come back. But good riddance because he’d ruined my life when I was growing up. Both mine and my mama’s. And after that, she’d kept jumping from one loser to another, trying to save us all. Instead, she had been blind and let them all bring us down.
We hadn’t had the money for anything. Forget about getting my hair done. I’d worn an Afro throughout my childhood because natural hair was all I could afford. And back then, Afros weren’t in style. Kids had made fun of me throughout my entire time at school. I didn’t live in poverty anymore. And I refused to ever even entertain the idea of drugs or debt or anything that could ruin my life.
So, fuck Mel the meth head. He’d almost destroyed my life. I’d never let a man or anyone do that.
I threw my hands out from under the robe, beginning to sweat. Just the thought of Mel had me growing hotter by the minute.
“They all have some type of shit, don’t they? Glad you found out he was into that mess before he somehow got you involved. Though I know you ain’t dumb enough to go down that road. Miss Betty, queen of The Pink Taco Truck. I hear things have been looking up for you since y’all opened that second sister truck.” She stepped back, waiting for me to answer.
“What’s with these salons and gossip? Yes, I got a new home, and money is good. I’m good. And my date with the stripper is gonna be good if you make my hair more than good. I need something ferocious. Like I’m going to eat him up—because I am. Let me tell you, Shay. This man has a body like one of them Roman statues. And his face is chiseled perfection too. But he needs to know who he’s dealing with. I want a long, lustrous, slightly untamed weave. But also professional so that he and everyone else know I mean business. I’m not playing with these men anymore. Well, I’m playing with them but in my own way. Not being played with. I run this show.” I smiled at myself in the mirror, wondering if Terrance could handle me. Probably not. I’d yet to find anyone who could. Sometimes, I couldn’t handle myself.
“Oh, girl, I feel ya. You gotta show these men who’s boss, and that starts with this crown we wear on our head.” Shay tapped the roots of my hair.
“So, let this crown show him that he’d better treat me like a queen or else it’s boy, bye!” I settled into the chair and watched Shay work her magic.
Sunday morning arrived, and I’d successfully not slept on my new hair last night. I had a crick in my neck, and I was tired as hell, but I didn’t care because my hair remained flawless. Shay had nailed my hair, and I readied myself to nail my man.
Terrance had texted me last night, letting me know to meet him at a new place that had just opened up nearby Scarlett Herb. He knew the bartender there, and he would make us a mean Bloody Mary, which just so happened to be my drink of choice. Terrance made them for me often and even added a dash of The Pink Taco Truck’s Shizzle Sauce. This new bartender at brunch had a lot to live up to, but I’d give him a chance. If anyone knew their mixology, it was Terrance.
I texted him that I was here as soon as I parked my car. Like the rest of Outer Forks, it was packed. Our small town had grown so much over the last few years that I began to feel overcrowded myself. I was a city girl through and through, but the sudden influx of new residents made travel
ing in my local area more than frustrating. Businesses boomed, but long wait times and traffic were less than ideal. Our new sister taco truck even struggled to keep up with orders. Earl had mentioned possibly purchasing another or even opening a steady place.
I didn’t have time to think about more business. I was already stretched thin, but I wasn’t complaining. I liked keeping busy, being busy, and getting busy. And now, my goal was to get busy with my new stripper boy toy, if he could handle all this.
I smoothed my skirt down and pushed my boobs up before entering the building. He texted back, saying that he’d reserved us a corner table and he was there already, waiting.
That’s one point for him being on time.
I immediately spotted him from across the room. The way his jaw dropped as soon as he saw me gave me a tickle in my pants. I only needed to flutter my lash extensions at this man, and he would become putty in my hands—and in my dungeon.
Four
Terrance
I’d never thought of myself as the nervous type. But the second I saw Betty—or as I liked to refer to her, Queen B—walk through that entrance, I began to sweat so much that I was going to give myself swamp ass just by looking at her. Those wild curls in her hair looked like she could remove one and tie me up with it, which I’d happily be eager to try.
“Morning, Terrance,” Betty said, pulling out the chair across from me and sitting down before grabbing the cocktail menu.
“Oh, sorry! I was going to get that for you. I’m just …” I shook my head. My brain had gone fuzzy the moment I saw her, and already, I was screwing this up.
“You were distracted by my new look. I get it.” She smiled sweetly, cocking her head to the side.
Betty never smiled sweetly. Something was going on. My foot began to shake under the table.
“So, Terrance … Tito … whatever your name is—”
“Terrance. You know Tito is just the stage name. Like your friend Nikki’s stage name, it’s my brand. Kind of. Tito isn’t me.”