by DL White
Sudden and swift, he clamps a hand on my thigh. His eyes pop open, and he says, in a gritty, slumber filled voice, "Where you going?"
I scream, then laugh, then punch him in the shoulder. "Let go!"
He sits up, grabs me by the waist, hoisting me onto the bed. I land in his lap and throw my arms around his neck. He dips his head to me and drops a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.
"I need to brush, so that'll have to do for now. What are you doing up?"
"Sun woke me up," I answer, beaming up at him. He's so beautiful to me, from the wild hair at the top of his head to his sturdy physique holding me close to him. "And my bladder. I think I drank a pitcher of margaritas by myself. What are you doing up?"
"You woke me up," he says, tipping his head back and letting a yawn escape him. "I heard you in the bathroom. I wasn't even going to mess with you, but you had to come set those lips on me."
"I couldn't resist."
"That's how it always goes," he says, then realizes what he's just said. “I—shit. Did I just fuck up?”
“Not at all. You’re a good-looking, virile Black man. We both know how popular you’ve been with the women of Orlando. You don’t think you have to walk on eggshells with me, do you?”
"No. It’s just rude to crow too loudly about my conquests.”
"You once told me that you never had to be alone if you didn’t want to be and that you could get any woman you wanted. I’m pretty clear on what that means.”
I shrug, gazing up at him with doe eyes.
“True. Look who's in my lap right now?" He asks this question as he slaps my thigh and then grips the meaty underside.
I laugh, heartily, kicking my leg out of his grip. "You are a pompous asshole.” I stretch up to kiss him, my lips lingering on his for a few seconds. "But you're my pompous asshole."
"That's what I'm talkin' about." He pushes me off of his lap and rolls out of bed. "Speaking of full bladders...”
A few hours later, the elevator arrives at the ground floor of the hotel and we part at the entrance. Preston is preppy casual in shorts, sneakers, and a graphic t-shirt to bond with the men.
I head in the direction of the spa, wearing my swimsuit under a sheer cover-up that flutters in the breeze as I pick my way down the sidewalk. I'm aware of the slap-happy grin I’m wearing. I'm trying hard to erase it.
Preston and I spent the morning having slow, quiet, decadent sex and then ate breakfast on the patio while we watched the island wake up. By the time we dragged ourselves inside to get ready for the day, I wished we hadn't planned so many events. Or at least that we could beg off and steal away and be alone.
We need to go somewhere, just the two of us. I smile again, thinking how nice it would be to go away with him and have him all to myself.
I am the last to arrive at the two-floor complex bathed in white. Morgan requested a bridal party package, which includes a full body massage, a sea salt scrub, a facial, paraffin dip for hands and feet, and a manicure and pedicure.
Morgan and her entourage are seated in the quiet lounge area; heads bent over clipboards, pens scratching across forms. Soothing acoustic guitar plucking floats from the speakers above us and aside from the ever-present sound of the ocean in the background, the ten-foot saltwater fish tank bubbles, and gurgles. I find the sound to be relaxing as I grab a clipboard with the permission slips and a pen and take a seat to fill out the paperwork.
“How did things go last night, Angie?" Brandess is asking, her glossy pink lips pursed in anticipation.
"You guys are hilarious."
Morgan laughs. "Aw, I'm sure it wasn't that bad. He promised he would be good."
"How come he was in your room when I called you yesterday?" Brandess again.
I balance the clipboard on my knees and mechanically fill in my information–name, address, date of birth. I pause to answer. "You’re kidding, right? You put Preston in a room next to mine, in a building off by ourselves. Where did you think he was going to end up? He couldn't wait to get to my room."
"Did you guys get champagne?" Morgan asks.
"Preston drank most of it,” I answer with what I hope is a convincing, nonchalant shrug. It's the truth. "He dragged me out to the balcony, and we did a toast."
"A toast to..." Jackie lets the end of her question trail off, leaving me to fill in the blanks before she fills them in for me.
"We pulled this thing off without killing each other. That’s a toastable event."
She looks disappointed when I don't admit to having wild sex with Preston in the middle of the day, on vacation, on an island, then shout that I am falling for him all over again. She'll probably go into premature labor when she finds out.
I fill out my forms and stack them on top of the pile that has gathered. I return the clipboard and the pen and turn to Morgan, who is bright-eyed and sunny with a wide blue headband holding her locs back. She looks happy. Giddy is more the word, despite what I am sure was a late night for her. She will be running on sheer adrenaline until the moment she says I Do.
"Are we ready to get this show on the road?"
Jackie can't have a massage, so she wanders from station to station, visiting with everyone and helping the staff deliver water and towels, along with coffee and mimosas. She settles into a worn leather recliner and hands me a flute of barely orange tinged champagne. I love my massage, but that doesn't stop me from trying to sip my drink.
She folds her hands over her belly and glances up at me, her brown eyes wide and full of fake innocence.
“So. Angie.”
I take a few sips and, frowning, hand the flute back to her. "Jackie, I swear. If you ask me something about Preston, I will sucker punch you. I don't even care that you're pregnant."
"You would not," she shoots back, not in the least afraid of me.
"Try me."
"Fine. I won't ask about Preston. How's life? How's work? How's your dad? What's up with Preston?"
I groan and press my head into the opening in the massage table.
"I know, but I have to ask because you two look so happy right now and I would love it if that meant that–"
"Jackie?" I manage to sound stern and even a little angry.
I can almost see her pained squint as she answers, "Yes?"
"Go find someone else to bug the shit out of, please.”
"No, don't kick me out. I'll be good. Tell me about work. How's it going? Still stressful?"
"I'm happy not to be there right now."
"You said a few weeks ago that you might be burnt out." Did I? Damn, Morgan's Bachelorette party! What else did I say? "Are you still feeling that way?"
"You know..."
I tip my head to the side and sigh as the masseuse works his hands skillfully across my lower back. I carry a lot of stress there; it oozes away with every wave across my skin.
"I’m the kind of attorney that does good things—fights for the underdog, the wronged tenants. I solve legal problems. I never want to defend murders or drunk drivers. I love human interest kind of work.”
“Why can't you keep taking those kinds of cases?"
I lift my head and reach for my glass. Jackie hands it to me and watches me sip, then takes it back as I lick the sweetness off of my lips.
My caseload, at the moment, is a teenager accused of shoplifting, an older woman that accidentally backed into another car and a property damage case in which a city water main broke and flooded a home. Since Sanchez v Bailey settled, the partners want me to work on more complicated legal matters. They think it's a promotion, but it isn't.
“They want me working on cases that they think I can win.”
“Like the ones where they used to make you go against Preston."
"Exactly. But I only won against him once, and that was because he gave up. And he only did that because he left Perry."
"Yeah, what was up with that? He won't tell anyone what he's doing now, or what he plans on doing. He's always been wide open, bragging about a grea
t case he's working on. He's so secretive right now. It’s unlike him.”
"Well, he's resourceful," I comment and stifle a yawn. "I'm sure has something worked out."
"What about you? You can't stay at Flanning forever. You're good enough to move up. You should be a partner by now. You're the best attorney they have there."
I smile at my friend, who knows nothing about the legal field past what she's seen on Law and & Order and its various iterations.
"Thanks for the compliment, Jacks. I'm far from the best. I'm good, but I'm not that good. It makes me think, though." I heave up onto my elbows. I'm so relaxed; I could seep right off the table. I smile at her. “Did you know Perry recruited me?"
Her mouth drops, and her eyes widen. "Shut up! When?"
"A few years ago. Preston must have told them all about how we'd known each other forever. They said they thought we'd make a great Dream Team. The offer was lucrative. If I could get an offer from Perry, I should be able to move on to another firm."
"Go for it, Angie. It could change your life."
Jackie pushes herself up from the chair and hands me my champagne flute before waddling out of the room. I lift the crystal to my lips and sip while taking in the view of the beach and the surf.
After my massage, I am fluid, floating from one station on the first floor to a station on the second floor. I enjoy my salt scrub, purring at the sensation of coarse granules sloughing off surface skin and revealing supple softness underneath. From there, I head to the paraffin dip area.
As soon as I slide into the spa chair, I hear a muffled gasp. The patron next to me is wearing a green clay mask, but I recognize the twists with golden highlights and a generous chest.
"Oh. Hey.” I return my attention to the technician stirring paraffin dip.
"Hey," she returns. But she doesn't face front. Instead, she continues to stare at the side of my face until I give her the attention she seems to be demanding.
"Something you need to say to me?"
"I was going to ask you the same question."
"Why would I have anything to say to you?"
“You might tell me why you’ve been such a bitch. I don't even know you."
"You're here with Troy. We don’t have to be best friends."
I lift my foot, as directed by the technician so that she can brush the thick wax on to my feet. It’s so decadent, in direct contrast to the conversation I'm having.
"I'm not asking to be your best friend. And I don't want Troy in the middle of anything between you and me.”
“I don't care about what's going on between you and Troy. If he's happy, I'm happy. But if you have any ulterior motive for being here, we’re the ones that have to deal with how hurt he’ll be. I think it's funny that you and he just met, and you've already managed to get yourself invited to an island vacation where you don’t have to pay for shit. Where his brother also happens to be."
“You think I'm with Troy to get close to Preston."
“If the shoe fits.”
“Troy already told me about you and his brother.”
My heart skips a beat. Troy told her all about what?
"Troy should concentrate on his own life. Whatever your deal is, don't hurt him in the process."
Jade sits up in her salon chair, her shoulders pivoted toward me, so I don't miss a word. "I don't have a deal. I'm here to have a good time with a guy I like. I paid for my flight, and I offered to reimburse Morgan and Nate for the room. I don't know what more I can do to prove to you that I'm not here to take your boyfriend."
The word boyfriend sticks in my brain and causes a pileup of words behind it. Why does she think Preston is my boyfriend? He is... but no one is supposed to know that.
“Firs—first of all," I stutter, trying to recover. "Preston isn't my boyfriend. We broke up in high school, he’s been stalking me ever since. Him being my boyfriend is this wedding party's wet dream.”
"Don’t have to tell me twice," she says, relaxing in the seat again. "Y'all all anyone talks about."
Incredulous, I turn to face her. "What?"
"You'd think you two were the guests of honor,” she shoots back, scowling. “Yesterday, everyone was wondering if you'd throw him over the balcony before the end of the first day."
I laugh, more at the thought of everyone talking about us than the imagery of throwing Preston off the balcony, though a month or so ago, it would have been a good option.
"I'm here to sit on the beach, swim in the ocean, and hang on the arm of this cool guy I met.His brother put me out of his house and ghosted me. I am not trying to get next to that man.”
She pauses, the tone and octave in her voice going lower, softer. “Anyway, Preston is all about you. I can't compete, seeing how he looks at you."
I don't know how to respond. Indignance? Disbelief? Quiet humility?
"That day that I was at his house, and you showed up? We were having a good time. I just knew I had hooked him. After you left?” She curled her lip, twisting her neck. “I may as well have been the ugliest bitch alive. Thank God I got a new job, so I didn’t have to see him all the time.”
“And now you’re dating his brother?”
“Troy is worth it. Believe that or don’t. I don’t give a fuck, but keep messing with me and it’ll turn Troy against you.” She tips her head back, chin in the air, her lips a taught line.
“Fine. I’m sorry. I go all Mama Bear over Troy. My nick name for him was Lil Bear, until he made me stop calling him that. He's a sweet guy. A hard worker. I don't want to see him hurt."
Jade smiles, her countenance soft. She turns to me and nods, slowly and deeply, forgiving.
"I get it. I don’t want to see him hurt, either. He's lucky to have you. Are you this way with all of his girlfriends?"
I slide my wax covered hands into warm gloves that are then strapped around my wrists and sit immobile, wearing the equivalent of oven mitts on my hands and electric booties on my feet while the wax does its job.
“Only the ones that used to date his older brother.”
26
The Bachelorette Brunch is a beautiful affair with more food than we could ever eat, served buffet style. Fresh seafood, sizzling steak, and chicken, sumptuous side dishes in delicious cream sauces, crisp vegetables, followed up by cheesecake and endless champagne and wine bar. By the time we stumble out of the event room, we're tipsy, giggly, and wiping tears from makeup stained cheeks.
Morgan gave each of us tennis bracelets to wear during the ceremony. Nate gave his groomsmen cufflinks after their bonding activity— Nerf Blast. When Preston told me they’d be spending their afternoon running around the island trying to shoot each other with foam balls, I was jealous.
And then pissed that the women weren’t invited. I would have much rather been running around trying to shoot Preston with a Nerf gun.
Andrew arrives with a load from the airport, including Morgan and Nate's parents. We all head straight to the site of the wedding, an expanse of the beach already cleared of tourists, plants, and rocks and smoothed to perfection. A canopy will cover the bride and groom, wedding band, and guests. A few rows of white seats sit ready for guests.
The officiant reviews the order of the ceremony—recognition of parents, the vows, the rings, the kiss. And then the party.
"Thanks, everybody," Nate calls out as the officiant brings an end to the rehearsal and people begin to disperse. "If you're joining us for the Rehearsal Dinner, it's at six at The Cliff. It should be on your hotel maps, and it's within walking distance. Dress is casual, just come on down and celebrate–"
"Your last night as a single man!" Keith roars, clapping Nate on the back.
"Well, yeah," Nate answers through a cough and a laugh.
We’re free for a few hours, and I know what's on my mind. I've not seen Preston all day, and I want to be close to him. Skin to skin, cheek to cheek close to him. I catch his eye ever-so-briefly and start to head toward our villa.
Ten minu
tes after I arrive at my room, kick off my shoes and pull off my cover-up, I hear the swipe of a keycard and a beep as the door opens. Preston saunters into my room.
"Hey."
"Hey? That's all you have for me?"
I laugh and move across the room, stepping into his arms, letting him squeeze me right up against him. His heartbeat pounds through his chest. An appreciative groan begins as a rumble in his chest and curls out of his mouth as he wraps himself around me, tucking his head between my neck and shoulder.
"Missed you today," he mumbles between brushes of his lips against my skin.
I reluctantly pull away, but only to move us further into the room. I climb up onto the bed and lay across it, inviting him to sprawl out next to me. He grins as he stretches and yawns, his moves simultaneously cat-like and cute as fuck.
"You're all anyone wanted to talk about today."
"Oh?"
"Mmm. Girls are gossipy. Brandess asked ‘why was Preston in your room when I called’ and I wanted to tell her, ‘we fucked all day yesterday and this morning, are you happy?' Bitches."
Preston laughs that chesty, gut level laugh that I have always loved, that used to give me heartburn when I heard it across the room because I missed hearing it so much. My days of missing the sound of him laughing are gone.
"Well, no one at Nerf Blast wanted to talk about you."
“First of all, why couldn’t we play Nerf Blast? And why don't you have to go through seven levels of interrogation about someone you're supposedly not dating?"
He shifts his weight, leaning on one elbow. "Guys are oblivious to that shit. Bro Code. You know the deal."
"I need a Sis Code."
He laughs. "So, we're going to spend the free time we have talking about how our friends don't know we're back together?"
I smile and shake my head. "No, we are not. Come here."
He grins and tips toward me, his lips landing on mine in what starts as a funny smooch but turns on a dime into a passionate, sucking-air-through-my-nose, breathtaking kiss. When he comes up for air, he seems pretty proud of himself. I laugh.