by Tracy Gray
“Uh uhm.” She breathed out on a tiny chuckle, playing her part.
“Even when I do this.” I said, then slowly bobbed my head down to her neck and breathed her in before I let my lips gently brush against her skin. Her skin was so soft. And she smelled like...something I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it was delicious. Edible.
“I’ll keep the same energy.” She said quietly enough, so that only I could hear. Then she shifted her body, and pressed into me. If she wasn’t wearing those sexy ass, high heeled sandals, there was no way that she would’ve been tall enough to subtly rub her ass against my dick the way she was doing. “Just don’t try to seduce me, Busy.”
I pulled her tighter. “Not trying to seduce, just trying to make sure we’re believable.”
She turned around to face me, my arms still around her waist. I looked into her pretty face, into those bright, brown eyes. She smiled at me. I could’ve stopped myself. I mean, I was known for my self-discipline, but I didn’t stop myself. Didn’t want to. So, I dipped my head down and kissed her neck again.
She let out a soft exhalation, almost like a tiny sigh and wrapped her arms around my neck. I liked the way she sounded and felt, so I kissed her neck again.
“Get. A. Room.” British chided.
Those within hearing distance chuckled at us.
Mecca slowly pulled away, still looking up at me, her eyes glassy. “We should get ready to go.”
I shot a quick glance at my watch. It was after midnight. “Yeah.” I agreed. Then, I whispered in her ear. “You know your cousins are gonna think that we’re leaving to…”
“Get it in? Yeah, that’s the idea.” She confirmed. “Uhm, we’re leaving.” She announced loudly. “Nasir, can you let us out?”
The first thing Mecca did when we made it to her condo, was to toe her way out of those sandals she was wearing and exchange them for fuzzy slippers. The second thing she did was to prance into the kitchen.
“I need water. You want water?” She called out to me.
“Sounds good.” I replied, lowering myself onto her couch. Her couch was nice, but for some reason it seemed undersized. I had a hard time getting comfortable on it.
She walked in the room carrying two bottles of water, and handed me one. Setting her drink on the cocktail table, she sat down with me.
“Busy, I know we talked a little about our arrangement before…”
“Don’t trip, Mecca. We’re gonna have to talk about it again, and again. We’re probably gonna have to redefine and recreate it again and again. This situation is weird as hell. I don’t know what to expect. You don’t know what to expect...” I trailed off with a shrug of my shoulders.
“I have...concerns.”
That made me look up from where I had been checking notifications on my phone. Indigo had posted pictures of Joya’s event on her IG, and there were already comments about how “cozy” I looked with Mecca. The look in her eyes made my heart thump unexpectedly. I placed my phone on her cocktail table. “What’s up, Mecca?”
“I know you don’t know me, but I know me.”
“Okay.”
“Today, when you were pressed all up on me…”
“Did I make you uncomfortable? I was fucking with you, but I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not uncomfortable with you, Busy. I know that my cousins and I give you the business about not knowing you and you being a virtual stranger and all of that, but I know the important stuff. I’m confident that you’re not some creep. Miss Vera raised you to be a gentleman. It’s not that. It’s more that, when you touch me like that...you’re a man and I’m a woman. My mouth and my brain can say that this is an arrangement, but I’m worried about my body responding to yours.”
Was it wrong that it made me happy as hell that she was having concerns about her body responding to mine? Because earlier, when she pressed her ass into my dick, all I could think about was how fucking good she felt.
“Is this too much for you?”
She smiled at me. “The look on your face, Busy. Stop frowning like that.”
“Yo, you’re doing me a favor that you don’t have to do. If it’s too much, if you feel uncomfortable, then I’ll ask somebody else.”
“You know there are already pictures of us floating around on IG. I don’t think it would help your reputation to be boo’d up with me today, and boo’d up with someone else next week.”
I didn’t give a shit about those pictures. I needed her to be cool. I needed to not put her in a bad situation. “Fuck that, Mecca. Sydnie will have to figure something else out.”
“Calm down.” She placed her hand flat against my chest. At the contact there was a little spark, a heat. “I’m not trying to back out on you, boy. I just want you to...look out. Like, if you notice my nipples getting hard or something, don’t take it as a personal challenge. Don’t tease me.”
I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face, if I wanted to. Not that I wanted to. “Oh Pudding, there is no way in hell that I’m agreeing to that. If I ever notice your nipples are hard, because of something I’m doing to you, I’mma have to celebrate that shit.”
She rolled her eyes as hard as she could. “This is why we were never friends as kids.”
“But we’re about to be very good friends, as adults.”
“We’re about to act like it, anyway.”
“Nah.” I shook my head. “We’re about to become friends. We’re gonna be spending a lot of time together.”
“I’m gonna have to get used to you touching me.” She said, cutting her eyes slyly at me. Kind of making me feel like she didn’t think that was the worst thing on earth.
“Touching you, pressing up against you, rubbing you...backing you up on walls or other hard surfaces.” Shit. I was turning myself on.
She rolled her eyes, again.
“Yo.” I got serious for a second. “Honestly, you’ve gotta know that it’s not one-sided. I’m saying, my grandmother raised me to be a gentleman, but Ma, I am a man. I got sensations in my lower regions. When you were rubbing your ass against me earlier today, I was kinda worried about you getting poked.”
Her face was the picture of innocence; eyes wide, mouth pulled down in a sad, yet sexy pout. “What?” She asked.
“Whatever, Man.” I told her.
“I’m not a man.”
My eyes raked over her body, which was covered by a deep yellow t-shirt that she had knotted at the waist, and minuscule denim shorts. She was preaching to the choir.
“Nah, Mecca, you’re definitely not a man.”
“Stop looking at me like that, Busy.” She said in a scolding tone, but the glint in her eyes told me that she was teasing.
“Looking at you like what?”
“Like you wanna be more than friends.”
“Stop trying to get something started, Li’l mama.” I stood up from her sofa. “I’mma get outta here. Before I go, I’m thinking church tomorrow morning, dinner Monday night, and the banquet for my youth camp on Friday night. You wit’ it?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure I’m with it.”
“And we’ll talk about the weekend later.”
“What’s this weekend?”
“Every year, somebody on the team throws a big barbecue before we head into training camp. This year the backfield is hosting.”
“In Kentucky? We’re going to Kentucky?”
“If you can swing it. I mean, I know you have your own commitments. Classes to teach, a business to run.” Sighing, I continued. “You’ve been nothing but accommodating, Mecca. I’m not trying to take advantage of that, or take your help for granted. I mean, weekends seem like they’re probably prime time for dance lessons.”
“They typically are.” She agreed with a nod. “But summers are slower. Dance usually runs with the school year, so we don’t offer many classes during the summer.” She winked at me. “That’s when DJ B. Goode and Janaye like to vacation.”
Chuckling, I nodded.
“But, it’s also when I’m in the highest demand for choreography. So, I’ll have to look at my schedule to make sure that I’m not out of town, but off the top of my head, I think you’re good.”
“A’ight, I’m out.”
Mecca followed me to the door, when we arrived I pulled her into my arms for what was supposed to be a quick, friendly hug. Instead, I found myself looking down into her pretty face; her eyes soft, her expression open, her lips pink and lush. And I had the inexplicable desire to brush my mouth against hers, to capture her lips and see if she tasted as sweet as I imagined she did.
She dropped her head into my chest, breaking the eye contact, effectively breaking the spell she had cast on me.
I released her from the embrace. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.” She repeated, unlocking and opening her front door for me.
Mecca
When my mom strutted into my office on Monday morning, I wasn’t even surprised. I knew how Janaye Goode operated. She’d probably spent the entire weekend worrying my father to death about the “Busy/Mecca” situation. Smirking to myself, I watched her lithely fold herself into the chair opposite my desk.
“Good morning, daughter.”
“Hey mom.” I replied, unable to wipe the smirk from my face.
“So, tell me about …”
Before she could complete her thought, British burst into my office. As graceful as my mom was, British was equally as inelegant, making her way through life doing her best impression of a bull in a china shop.
“What are we talking about?” She asked, closing my door with a resounding click.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, giving my younger sister the screw-face. “It’s 8:30 on a Monday morning, shouldn’t you be at your own place of business?”
With her hands up in a sign of surrender, she assured me that was her plan. “I’m going, I’m going. I stopped by to talk to mommy...now I want to talk to you. Did you ask her about Busy?” She addressed that question to our mother.
“I was just about to. So, what’s happening with you and Mr. Mayhew, Mecca? Is the arrangement working out?”
Raising an eyebrow, I questioned, “why’d you say arrangement like that? Like we’re doing something inappropriate.”
“Not inappropriate, just...undercover.” She clarified.
“And have y’all been under the covers?”
My eyes involuntarily rolled to the ceiling at British’s comment. She had absolutely no chill. “Ugh.”
My mom chuckled, though. I didn’t know if it was because British was her baby or what, but she always thought British’s outrageousness was cute.
“All jokes aside,” my mom continued. “What’s going on with the two of you? For you to have been on the outs for all of these years, you seem awfully friendly.”
“Nothing’s going on with us. I’m basically just trying to get to know him. And yeah, we’ve never been friends, but I’ve known him forever. I can be cordial with him.”
“It’s more than cordial, MeMe.” British assured me. “Ma, you should’ve seen them at Joya’s house. They were all over each other.”
“We were not!”
With a hard side eye, and her arms folded across her ample chest, she begged to differ. “You kinda were.”
I flashed-back to Busy kissing me on the neck, and my subsequent ass-rubbing-against-the-pelvis response. She was right, we kinda were all over each other. “We did that to convince the rest of the family that we’re really together.”
“Worked like a charm. With all that bumping and grinding, I know you had to smoke a cigarette in the car.”
“Ahhh.” My mother laughed out loud. “Seriously MeMe, how are you supposed to resist all of that lusciousness? I mean, you’re only human and Busy is a big old piece of chocolate.”
“Fine, sexy chocolate. Muscular chocolate. Goatee, kissable lips, big di…”
“British!” I censured.
Her face was the picture of decency. “What? I was gonna say big dimples.” Her brown eyes narrowed slightly. “What did you think I was gonna say?”
My mother was tickled pink by our interaction. “Yeah MeMe, what did you think she was gonna say?”
“Ugh!” I let my head fall into my hands. Family could be so aggravating.
“Seriously baby,” my mother’s eyes gleamed with love and hopefulness, “you and Busy are a very good look. And your dad was right when he said that you two have a lot in common.”
“Who wouldn’t be a good look with Busy, though? He’s gorgeous.” I allowed.
Nodding in agreement, British spoke. “That he is. So, spill the tea, girl. Are there any sparks flying?”
I sighed heavily. How to answer that question? Be honest? Coquettish? Aloof? Disinterested? I couldn’t be dishonest with my mother and my sister, so I put it out there as plainly as I could. “I’m attracted to him. He’s so handsome, it’s impossible not to be. And that body.”
“Yaaasssss, sis. It’s that body. All of those muscles, covered by that smooth chocolate.” British’s eyes were glazed over, like her body was present, but her mind was far, far away.
“What about his heart?” Trust my mother to cut to the chase.
“He was raised by Miss Vera, no doubt he has a good heart.” British insisted. “I mean, he paid for MeMe’s attire when she went to the benefit with him. No questions asked, and didn’t even blink at the $3000 she spent.”
My mother was quiet, but her gaze held mine hostage. She always had the power to look into my eyes and see into my soul. She could read my heart and my mind without me having to say a word.
British was oblivious to the silent conversation that was taking place right in front of her, she just kept chatting away. “Speaking of the benefit, how did that go?”
“It was good.”
“What did Busy think of the dress?”
“What did Busy think of the dress?” My mother seconded. “Because from what I could see on Instagram, that was quite a dress.”
“That dress was a mess.” I admitted.
Apparently, British and that dress were homegirls or something, because she was personally offended. “That dress was everything - dreamy, lacy, ethereal, form-fitting…”
“Sheer. I don’t know why I let you talk me into it.”
“Because you looked like the hotness in it.”
“Because I was practically naked!” I insisted.
My mother easily brought the conversation back around to where she wanted it. “Did Busy think you were practically naked?”
I chuckled at her lack of subtlety. “All night long he kept repeating how much he hated the dress.”
British couldn’t keep herself from reacting. “He hated the dress?!?”
“Said it was starting mess, and that he thought he was gonna end up having to fight somebody over me...in the dress.”
A slow smile crept across my sister’s pretty face. “Uhm, you have his nose wide open already?”
“It wasn’t like that.” I maintained.
“What was it like?” My mother with the questions.
“I think he’s just been...conditioned to look out for us, the Watson girls, and take care of us. I think Miss Vera kind of insisted on it.”
My mother studied her fingernails like a word from Jesus was coming through on her nail polish or something. She picked at an imaginary hang-nail as she spoke. “Did he have to take care of you at the benefit?”
“Well, there were a lot of athletes at the benefit, and you know how presumptuous and cocky they can be - thinking that everybody wants them. And I had on that dress. I didn’t want any random, thirsty as...dudes rubbing all up on me or touching me under the guise of getting a hug. So, I asked him if he would make like a football player and “cover” my body.”
“Make like a football player and “cover” your body?” British repeated. “Well dang, my sister’s a boss. Was he like, ‘hecks yeah, I’ll cover your moth..dan
g on body’.” She caught herself.
I laughed at her silliness. “Pretty much.”
“He spent his night fighting guys off of you?” My mother asked.
“He wasn’t fighting them, mom. He was just...encouraging them to move around.”
British’s eyes were as large as saucers. “How?”
“He told them that I wasn’t giving hugs, and if they wanted to say hello, they could just wave.”
Clearly, Busy’s comedic stylings were on par with Kevin Hart, because at that, British was on the floor with laughter.
“He told them niggas to wave. Sorry mama. I just can’t believe he told them to wave.”
British’s glee was apparently contagious, because soon, both my mother and I joined in her laughter.
Friday night after the youth camp banquet, Maddox and I hopped into the back of his Range Rover. After spending three days with him in one week, all I could say was that each time had been more fun than the time before it. And the banquet was a blast.
Maddox and his team had outdone themselves. They’d rented out a local venue, and transformed the place, having it decorated to resemble the ESPY awards complete with a few of his NFL friends acting as presenters and announcing the “winners” in each category. There were film clips of highlight moments, “golden” statuettes, a press room, a red carpet and it was catered with the most delicious food I ever tasted. I looked at him with a new appreciation for the man he was, and how he got down.
“That banquet was so nice, Busy.” I told him, as we made our way downtown towards a late dinner with the professional athletes who had come to the banquet. “It’s obvious how invested you are in your athletes and your program.”
He placed his hand on my thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, and demanding my attention, his eyes met mine. “Thanks for coming with me, Mecca. Thanks for making me look good.”
His eyes held a double entendre. Sydnie Whitmore had made sure to get the local press out in force to cover the banquet as a “hometown hero/feel good” story. The coverage was good for the boys who attended the camp, but it was also good for the players, and especially for Maddox. Playing the role of his doting girlfriend made him look good. The strapless, yellow Carolina Herrera mini dress and five inch Tori Burch sandals that I was wearing made him look good. I got it.