by Tracy Gray
Five days after leaving Kentucky, I was sitting on my yoga mat inside an Airbnb in Portland, Oregon. The Portland Pioneers Cheerleading team had brought me in to choreograph two routines for their upcoming season. My iPad was on the stand in front of me, while I performed a series of light stretches.
“So, you and Busy? I haven’t talked to you, but I have seen how you two are blowing up social media.” Joya said to me from where her face was displayed on the screen. “They seemed to catch quite a few shots of him loving you up at that barbecue. What was up with that?”
“That is a really good question.” I deflected. “Because, we were only there for a little more than an hour, and I do not remember him being all that handsy.”
“Looked like he was being handsy and lipsy.” My cousin Kyndall said, her face coming into focus on the screen.
“Definitely lipsy.” Joya agreed. “I mean, you could barely see his face, it was buried so deep in your neck, or in your shoulder, or in…”
“Her mouth?” Kyndall interjected.
Joya glanced over her shoulder at Kyndall. “Exactly.”
“Well, let’s just say that it was a good weekend.” I said, reaching for my toes and elongating my back.
“A good weekend filled with good sex?” Kyndall questioned.
“Yeah, were you doing splits on that dick?” Joya joked.
I couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, the visual, Joya. Nah, I wasn’t doing splits on that dick.” I’m a professional. I pretended to grumble, but in the back of my mind I was already thinking about how to incorporate some splits into the mix the next time Busy and I got down. “Let’s just say that Busy is a skilled athlete, and he’s very attentive to detail.”
“Basically, you’re turned out.” Kyndall concluded.
“How did you manage to leave him in Kentucky? How are you not putting your condo on the market and relocating? I’m saying, even in the pictures, the chemistry is hella thick between you two.”
My eyes widened. “We are not on that.” I told Joy, shocked that she would even take it there. “I mean, we spent one weekend together. I don’t care how crazy the chemistry is, I’m not about to fall into him like that.”
“Famous last words.” Kyndall said dryly.
“Whatever, Kyndall.” I said dismissively.
Of all of my cousins, Kyndall and I were the most oil and water pairing. We didn’t seem to mix. I could and tried to get along with everyone, particularly my cousins, because we’d been raised to believe that family was your foundation. The Watsons believed that you learned social skills, conflict resolution, citizenship, good sportsmanship, fairplay, loyalty, honesty, integrity, respect, tolerance and acceptance from family. We didn’t bicker amongst each other, hate on each other, plot against each other, hold grudges against each other, and we definitely didn’t fight each other. Still, Kyndall didn’t really like me.
I’d tried for years to win her over. Once I accepted that she just wasn’t going, I decided that I wasn’t beat to kiss up to her, so I gave her back the same energy she gave me. If she came at me positively, she received positivity in return. When she showed her ass, she got my ass to kiss in return.
Joya knew what time it was with Kyndall and me. She’d tried to mediate enough “let’s get to the bottom of this” bitch sessions between the two of us, that went nowhere because Kyndall was never able to or willing to voice her actual problem with me, or admit that she even had a problem with me. She changed the subject. “How was practice today?”
“It was cool. They learned both routines today. We’ll drill them tomorrow, run them on Thursday then I’ll be outta here.”
“You headed home after that?”
I shook my head. “Nope. Dallas.”
“When are you supposed to see Busy?” Joya asked, like she was concerned that I was neglecting him or something.
“When I leave Dallas. I’ll probably fly into Kentucky and spend a few days with him before he has to head to training camp.”
“You kinda have to, Little cous. I mean, you can’t send that man off to training camp without tightening him up.” She schooled.
“Isn’t there a rumor amongst the cousins that you’re sexually repressed? I don’t understand where the hell it came from, because everytime I talk to you the conversation is dick this, sex that, throw that ass in a circle.” I joked.
“I think Joya started that rumor herself.” Kyndall chimed. “I mean, how the hell are you sexually repressed with four kids in five years and another one on the way?”
My jaw hit the floor. “Oh my word, heifer!!!! Are you pregnant, Joy??!!”
Her back was to the camera as she swatted at Kyndall. “That wasn’t your secret to tell, Kyndall.” She huffed. “And you accuse Mecca of having a big mouth.”
My jaw hit the floor again. I had no idea that Kyndall was saying I had a big mouth behind my back.
Kyndall’s face appeared in the camera. “That’s inaccurate, Mecca. I do not say you have a big mouth. I say that you tell Auntie Bo all of our business. There is a difference.” She clarified. “Besides, I’ve said that to your face plenty of times.”
“Whatever, Yamp.” Joya told her. “All I know is that you're the one who spilled the beans, not Mecca.”
Both Kyndall and I howled with laughter at Joya calling her a “yamp.”
“How pregnant are you, Joy?” I asked, once I regained my composure.
“About ten weeks.” She admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” My feelings were hurt, because Joya truly was my closest cousin. I told her everything. If Kyndall hadn’t been on FaceTime with us, I would’ve gone into explicit detail about my time spent in Kentucky.
“MeMe, you know I would’ve told you first. Nasir and I were keeping it to ourselves until I made it out of the first trimester. Kyndall was being nosy, and spotted the pregnancy app on my phone.”
“You say nosy, I say inquisitive.” Kyndall told her.
I chuckled at that. “It’s late there, ladies. I won’t hold you guys any longer. I’ll talk to you when I get back in town. Congratulations, Joy. I can’t wait to get home and rub on your belly.”
Maddox
I picked Mecca up from the airport when she came back through Kentucky. I sat in the back of my Infiniti QX80 waiting for her to come out of the doors, and calm me with her presence. There were so many other things that I could’ve been doing. Training camp was less than a week away. There was stuff that needed to be handled before I went off the grid for four weeks. But I would rather sacrifice something falling through the cracks while I was at camp than forfeit the opportunity to spend time with Mecca.
I watched her come through the exit door. She had on a pair of skin tight, dark denim capris, a pink oversized cropped sweatshirt that hung off of one shoulder and showed her 6 pack, her signature high heeled sandals and pink and gold reflective sunglasses. It was no wonder that the media had started snapping pictures of her like crazy, she looked like a fucking star. She looked important as hell...to more than just me. To me, she looked like the sunshine. My contentment. The smile on my face. To others, she just looked bad as fuck, and she was that, too. But to me, she was happiness.
Heavy jumped out of the truck, ran around and opened the door for her. She slid across the backseat, engulfing the vehicle in her signature scent, that to me smelled like butter pecan ice cream, but she told me was actually a combination of Sol de Janeiro’s 4Play shower gel, Sol Cheirosa ‘62 perfume and Bum Bum cream.
Before we could greet each other, my mouth opened and I spoke. “I wanna marry you.” I was shocked as shit at the words that had come from my mouth, but I didn’t regret them.
“Wh...what?” She asked with an expression that was halfway between a smile and complete astonishment. “What?”
“I wanna marry you, Pudding. Not today or tomorrow. But at some point, I see that for us. Like, the next time I’m heading to training camp, I want you at my spot, going down my checklist with me making
sure I have everything. When you come home from choreographing or teaching dance classes, I wanna pull your feet into my lap and rub them. When I finish up a long stint on the road, I wanna know that I’m coming home to you. I wanna give you orgasms that make you pass out for the foreseeable future. Like I’m digging you to the point that I’m bugging the fuck out about not being able to be with you when we’re apart. Shit’s ridiculous, but I can’t pretend like I ain’t feeling it. I don’t even know how to handle the thoughts in my head.”
She watched me silently and let me get everything I wanted to say out before she finally spoke.
“You can’t just say stuff like that, Busy. When you start talking about future and...marriage and stuff, you gotta be serious. It can’t just be because you missed me, or you were a little lonely, or I have bomb coochie, Busy. I’m a woman, when you say stuff like that, my mind will start working and planning. I’ll be running around putting the things you say that you want in motion, then you’ll be off with your guys talking about “she’s getting too serious.” You probably need to sit with these feelings for a minute. Process them. Evaluate them.”
She was speaking calmly, but her eyes were wild, and I knew exactly what time it was. The truck wasn’t the place to have the conversation that we needed to have, so I sat back and chilled.
When we got to the house, she immediately disappeared into the powder room. I carried her bag upstairs and put it in the master bedroom. As I made my way down the stairs, I spotted her sitting on the sofa in my family room. I joined her there, taking her right foot in my hand and unfastening the buckle of the strappy sandal, so I could massage her foot.
“Mecca,” I said softly. “I didn't mean to overwhelm you, Baby. I know you’re skittish as hell, and trust is not your thing. That was not the way to come at you, but I gotta be honest - that was not like, a planned speech. I promise on everything. Those words slipped outta my mouth before I had time to consider them, so I definitely didn’t have an opportunity to edit them. But the fact that I didn’t plan to say those words doesn’t make them any less true. And it ain’t about loneliness, or missing you or bomb pussy...even though all three of those things might apply. It’s about the way I feel when I’m with you. The way I feel when I’m not with you. What I see when I look at you, Mecca.
I’m 32 years old, Mamas. I’m a grown ass man, who’s on grown ass man shit. I wouldn’t waste your time - ask you to tie yourself down to me, just because I’m better with you than I am by myself. I need for me and my woman to be better together. I’m good by myself, Ma. I’ve done this NFL thing by myself for ten years. I could be completely cool finishing it out by myself. I’ve done this “single dude” thing even longer.
But I am better with you, Mecca. I’m a better Maddox with you. But I want you to be better with me, too. I want you to feel like you’re a better Mecca with me, too. If you don’t feel that way, then we don’t need to go no further. Let’s pump the brakes, finish out this “fake couple” assignment and go our separate ways.”
She picked up my hand, and laced her fingers through mine. “Busy, I trust you. I trust you to be the man that Miss Vera raised you to be and that you’ve shown me you are. I just don’t gamble with my heart. With my body? I'm a dancer, I take a lot of risks with my body. I’m even cool with gambling my money, but my heart? You know that’s asking for a lot.”
“I know.” I admitted.
“But I wanna give you my heart, and I have never wanted to hand my heart over to a man in my entire life. It scares the hell out of me that I’m even considering giving it away.” She took a deep breath. “Like, giving somebody the power to hurt me in a way that I’ve never been hurt before. That scares me to death.”
“I know it does,” I said, and honestly I knew it did. ”I could tell by the look in your eyes when we were in the truck. You looked like you wanted to be anywhere, but there. If we weren’t on the expressway, I feel like you might’ve tried to tuck and roll.”
She laughed out loud. “I wouldn’t have.” She denied. “I was freaking out a little. Your words, though. You said that you wanna marry me.”
“Not tomorrow, Pudding.”
“I know, Busy. But I’m like, damaged goods. I don’t trust. I don’t let myself go during sex. Like, I’m messed up.” She shook her head.
“Everybody is messed up. Hell, you think I’m not messed up? Your “flaws” don’t diminish the feelings I have, or what I see when I look at you.” I said, lifting her left foot into my lap, and fiddling with the buckle.
“What do you see when you look at me?”
“My future.”
“Next year, when you’re getting ready for training camp, I wanna be here helping you. And when I get home from choreographing and teaching dance classes, I want you to rub my feet. And I want all of that other stuff you said in the truck. But first of all, I want you to promise that you’re gonna continue to be patient with me. I already know how dudes will do you. They’ll tell you that everything is sweet when they want you, and as soon as they get you, what they thought was cute becomes annoying.”
“I promise that if I start finding you annoying, we’ll figure it out. We’ll talk it out. I promise not to treat you like shit about it. Okay?”
“Okay.” She agreed, rubbing her cheek against my chest. “Let’s date with intention, because I’m already like, majorly in my feelings about you. I probably love you, but I’m not ready to cop to that.”
“I’m in my feelings about you, too. I probably love you already, too.”
“You’re not ready to cop to it, either?” She asked.
“Nah, I’mma need like, at least ten more shots of ass before I can cop to that.”
“Tuh.” She balled up her fist.
I caught it before she could land her punch. “You’re my baby, Mecca. Even though you’re still being stingy with yours, my entire heart belongs to you.”
She stared into my eyes, before wrapping her arms around my neck and leaning into my ear. “I love you, too, Maddox Mayhew.”
The End
Afterword
I hope you enjoyed the story of Maddox “Busy” Mayhew and Mecca Goode. Please look out for my next book, scheduled for release December 2020.
For updates and more information, please visit me at:
Website: tracygraypresents.com
Facebook: facebook.com/authortracygray
Twitter: @alwaystracygray
Also, if you enjoyed this expression of my creativity, please consider leaving me a review at Amazon.com or Goodreads.
Thanks!
~ Tracy Gray