Lust

by Victoria Christopher Murray

  Even though he’d said this before while I gave him a tour of my operation that took up the entire seventh floor, I still grinned. It felt good to show my boy how I’d flipped my game.

  “So, Damon, you like this square life?” he asked.

  I noticed that as he asked that question, he was peeping the framed photo of Tiffanie on the corner of my desk.

  I couldn’t help the little bit of a frown that squeezed between my eyebrows. “Yeah.” I readjusted the photo so that Trey would look at me.

  When his eyes finally drew back to mine, he said, “Looks like leaving the Big A was wise. And coming home, even wiser. You did good, bruh.”

  He was right, but I wasn’t the braggadocios type. I do all right,” I said, maintaining my humble. “You know me, though. I’d always tried to have a mind for business. But I didn’t do anything special . . . just put my ducks in a row, got to work, and made a little something happen.”

  Trey’s eyes swept around my office again. “Looks like you did more than a little somethin’.”

  I watched as his glance took in every part of the room that I’d paid a top designer top dollar to decorate. His eyes focused on it all: the marble bar with the wrought-iron stools, the original wall paintings by a young street artist whom I’d set up in his own gallery just a few blocks away, the crystal chandelier that hung right over his head. I could tell that all he saw was wreaking havoc on his senses and all I’d accomplished was messing with his mind.

  Was that why his eyes kept wandering back to the photo of my lady?

  Every time Trey glanced at her picture, he sank deeper into the leather Empire chair as if he were getting more comfortable. But I got distracted for a moment because Trey was getting cozy in the place where Tiffanie and I got our freak on from time to time.

  I chuckled as I thought about the last time Tiffanie had sat on my lap in that chair and Trey gave me one of those what’s-so-funny looks.

  Clearing my throat and my mind, I said, “Yeah, yeah, I guess I did do more than a little something. But this ain’t no different from what we were doing. I’m taking care of business; the only difference is I don’t have to keep looking over my shoulder. But I’ve worked hard and now, I’m just reaping what I’ve been sowing.”

  Now it was his eyebrows that bunched into a frown, though his eyes were filled with laughter. “Reaping? Sowing?” He buckled over like that was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. “Seems like you came home and got more than a little money; you got a little religion, too.”

  I laughed with him because I didn’t mind being the punch line of this kind of joke. I had changed—a lot—and it was good that Trey was seeing and understanding.

  I wanted him to understand something else.

  “My only regret,” I began, “my only wish is that you had come back here with me. You and I . . . us . . . together, we could have taken this city to a whole ’nother level.”

  He paused as if he were contemplating my words, as if he were remembering all the times that he’d turned me down. I wondered if he was thinking about all the lessons I’d tried to pass on to him. And I wondered if any of those lessons, along with the time he’d done—had any of that made him ready to listen to me?

  “So you turned in your G-card,” Trey said.

  I shook my head. “You know I still know how to handle mines.” I wasn’t like Trey; no one in or out of the game considered me a hothead, but my name was known and respected. I never went after anybody, just handled those who came for me. I did what I had to do to show the rest that I was that onetime gangsta, never to be messed with, no matter how straight my game had become.

  I’d been tested. When I first came back to DC, I’d had to handle a couple of situations, but it had been a few years now since I’d been challenged or disrespected. ’Cause the word was out—disrespecting Damon King still came with a price tag.

  “Yeah, I’m sure you still do handle yours,” Trey said. “But it doesn’t seem like there’s much to handle up here.” He looked around my office again. “You seem more Wall Street than U Street.”

  I laughed. “Son, these days, U Street ain’t nothing but Wall Street.”

  He laughed with me and I took that moment to really study my boy. He looked the same, really not even a year older. I was glad to see that doing some time hadn’t turned him hard, at least not visibly. But my other questions were still skating through my head. Had he changed and could he be trusted?

  His glance returned once again to Tiffanie’s picture. “So what’s the major arm of King Commotions?” It seemed like he had to struggle to bring his eyes back to me. “What’s your major business?”

  “Setting it out for the rich and famous,” I told him. “Any happenin’ DC red-carpet events go through me. One weekend I’m doing an event for some rappers, and the next weekend I’m in black tie with some politicians.”

  Trey chuckled. “That’s what’s up. You hanging with the Obamas or the Trumps?”

  “Both! They all got money.”

  “I hear you.”

  Then his eyes did that roving thing again and I kinda felt like I was gonna have to damn near lay the picture frame flat for him to stop staring at Tiffanie like that. Finally, he glanced at me, but only for a second before he went right back to the photo. With a nod, he said, “Your girl . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “She’s phat as a motherf—”

  I leaned forward just a little, stopping him before he cursed my woman. “Yo, son, slow your roll. That’s my wife.” Even though I had somehow put a smile on my face, I was straight up serious. Trey knew me well enough to know that what I had with Tiffanie was real. I was getting ready to wife this girl and life didn’t get any realer than that.

  “Ah, let me step back,” Trey said, holding up his hands like he was surrendering to the police. “You know I didn’t mean nothing; Tiffanie seems like . . . a nice girl.”

  As if that were her cue, Tiffanie pushed the door open and strutted into the office. My woman looked good; her makeup was fresh and that leather bomber hugged her, making her look like one of those magazine models.

  But it was the look in her eyes that knocked me a little off-center. She had this mischievous glint and as she strolled closer, she never took her eyes off me. Once she was in my personal space, she leaned down and kissed me with the kind of passion that she usually saved for our bedroom.

  Now, Trey was my boy, but thoughts of entertaining him went right out the window. ’Cause all I could think about was how last night I hadn’t gotten mines. Maybe that’s what Tiffanie was thinking about, too.

  I kissed my woman back, though I was surprised by Tiffanie’s public display of affection. This wasn’t anything like my girl. But whatever had her like this, I savored our kiss, hating it when she finally pulled back.

  I loved this woman.

  Even though all I wanted to do was kick Trey out so that Tiffanie and I could handle our business right there in that chair, I couldn’t do that. Because after all of these years, today had to be about Trey since he’d made this trip up here just for me . . . well, and his grandmother, too. But his offering to stand up for me was a brother-brother thing that I would never forget.

  Glancing over at him, he just sat there, looking like he wasn’t even a little uncomfortable. His hands were folded in his lap and he nodded as if he was enjoying and approved of our little love show.

  Standing up, I put my arms around Tiffanie. “You ready to go to lunch?”

  She nodded, but when she wrapped her arms around my waist, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t have to speak a word . . . she felt my Glock. My girl wasn’t green and she knew not to mention it in front of anyone. Trust me, though, I’d hear about it later. It would be just another disagreement, because Tiffanie hated guns. But she didn’t understand the streets. I may have been legit, but I stayed loaded. I was st
ill Damon King, a man with a name, a few skeletons, and a lot of connections.

  “Hey . . . well, then, don’t let me hold you two,” Trey piped in.

  “Nah, nah,” I said, turning my attention back to him. “This is all about you. Tiff and I are gonna take you to an early lunch; one of the most famous places in DC.”

  Trey grinned, knowing right away that I was talking about our spot from back in the day. “That’s what’s up!”

  I frowned just a little ’cause Trey was supposed to be talking to me. So why were his eyes on my woman?

  I shook my head. My thoughts were stupid. He was being friendly since he and Tiffanie had just met. And he probably sensed her apprehension about him. He wanted her to be comfortable.

  “Let’s roll.” I took Tiffanie’s hand as we strolled toward the door.

  And I heard Trey’s footsteps on my hardwood floor very close behind us.

  7

  Tiffanie

  Sitting across from Trey made it hard for me to breathe. My prayer had been that since I’d had that little talk with myself, it was going to be different. My prayer was that with Damon right next to me, Trey wouldn’t be able to get to me in any kind of way.

  But that wasn’t true. Even with Damon so close to me in the booth that our shoulders touched, Trey still taunted me. I wasn’t sure if it was conscious or unconscious on his part, not that it mattered. Because whichever it was, it was the purest form of torture. His lips. The way he put his lips on his glass, the way he’d lick them after every single sip.

  Damon and Trey were talking and joking it up as if they’d never been apart.

  But all I could do was watch the man’s lips.

  “Man, Tiff,” Damon said, “Mr. Ali would give us free hot dogs to make us go away.”

  I forced myself to giggle, though I didn’t find any of this funny. Torture was never funny.

  I glanced around Ben’s Chili Bowl, hoping that checking out the people in the long line that stretched onto the sidewalk would be enough to keep my eyes and my mind away from Trey. It was still a little less than an hour before noon, and the famous eatery was already crowded. There was enough activity—with the people and the chaos, the chatter and the clanging—to hold my attention for at least a few minutes.

  But I didn’t stay away very long. The surprise in Trey’s voice brought me right back to him.

  “Get out of here with that, D!”

  Damon nodded. “I’m telling you, they’re my biggest clients.”

  “Churches?” Trey asked, as if he couldn’t believe it.

  Damon shrugged, nodded again. “I’ve put together some of the baddest church conventions, and those pastors have the biggest budgets. I’m telling you, forget about the fountain of youth; those reverends have discovered the fountain of money!”

  Not even a second had passed, when Trey added, “They have, it’s called their congregations!”

  When they laughed, I frowned. How could Damon be joking like this? Yes, churches were some of his best clients, but many of those pastors had been introduced to him by the man who’d raised me. Was he making fun of my granddaddy?

  I said, “Well, if you’re the best, babe, why wouldn’t churches want to use you?”

  There was a silent moment after I’d spoken my mind, and I wanted to slide right under the table. Not because of what I’d said. The problem was, I’d drawn Trey’s eyes right back to me.

  “True dat,” Damon said. “When you want it big, you gotta go through the King!”

  Trey’s sign of agreement was to lick his lips. From left to right, then right to left.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  Finally, God gave me a reprieve when Trey turned his glance once again to Damon. “I’m not surprised you’re doing it big here. We did it big in the ATL, too. Don’t forget that, bruh. When you and I were together, nobody could do it better.”

  “Yeah, man,” Damon said, “we had some good days down there.”

  Trey nodded. “But the best thing, what I will always remember, is that you always had my back.”

  It seemed like a normal enough statement, until the air shifted, and Damon shifted, and I twisted so that I could get a good look at my man. The way that muscle in his jaw jerked, something about Trey’s words had touched him the wrong way.

  “Yo,” Damon began, “you know . . .”

  But Trey held up his hand. “No issues, I’m just sayin’ you had my back.”

  Damon squinted.

  Trey said, “And I gotta thank you from the bottom”—with his fist he pounded his chest—“for taking care of my grandmother. I’ve got nothin’ but love for you, bruh.”

  That fast, the air shifted back to the way it had been seconds before. Fists bumped again and then Trey’s eyes came back to me.

  Didn’t Damon notice how Trey kept looking at me? Or maybe there was nothing to notice. Maybe this was all about me. And my imagination. Forget about my prayers, this was all about what I wished and wanted.

  “My grandma’s my heart,” Trey said. He rested his arms on the edge of the table and leaned forward. It felt like he was trying to push his face toward mine.

  The booths at Ben’s were not wide enough. There was not enough space between us, so I looked down into my iced tea to stop my body from going into overload. Because that’s what happened when I looked at and listened to Trey at the same time. Too much at once.

  “Ah, bruh,” Damon said, “it was nothing. Like you said, it’s all about having each other’s back.”

  “But man, you put her in the Arlington House . . . that’s serious. You went above and beyond and I owe you big-time. Just so you know, I’m gonna pay you back every dime.”

  “Negro, please! I love Ms. Irene like I would’ve loved my own grandma if I’d known either one of them. Ain’t no way I would’ve put her anyplace but the best, so you don’t owe me a thing.”

  I shifted to keep my eyes and my mind on my man, but my thoughts were on Trey. They were new thoughts, though, about him and his grandmother. It sounded like his connection with Ms. Irene was strong. I knew how she felt about him; when we went to visit her, all she’d talked about was Trey, but I thought that love had been one-way. It seemed, though, that he really cared about her, which was nice . . . but did that mean that he might be thinking about moving back to DC?

  That could not happen.

  “So, while Damon’s holding all of this down, Tiffanie, what are you up to?”

  I almost choked and I didn’t even have anything in my mouth. The very last thing I wanted to do was get into any kind of direct conversation with Trey, especially with Damon sitting next to me. Because if I talked to Trey, I’d have to look at him. And if I looked at him, I’d see his eyes. And if I saw his eyes, I’d wonder what was behind his eyes. And if I wondered, I’d wonder and wonder and wonder. And wonder what it would be like to feel his lips again.

  Before I had one of those shuddering feelings again, Damon saved me. “Ah, man, Tiff is what’s up. She helped me build my business, and now she’s leaving me to do her own thing.”

  While I sat silently, Damon told Trey about the day spa that we would be opening in a few weeks, though he made it sound like I’d done everything myself. Damon finished my litany of accomplishments with, “That’s why I have to hold down King Commotions so hard, ’cause my baby is about to outdo me.” He took my hand and squeezed it.

  That was what gave me courage. I could look at Trey as long as Damon was holding my hand. So, I let my eyes rise back up, and this time, I held his gaze. Looking at him, I couldn’t tell if he was impressed with what Damon had told him, but before I could figure it out, he stuck his tongue out at me!

  Well, it wasn’t that way exactly. Trey locked his eyes on me, took a sip of his tea, and then he did that lip-licking thing again. With the tip of his tongue, he grazed his lips, crawling over
the terrain of his skin, slowly, milli-inch by milli-inch, from right to left, then left to right.

  And my mind did that wonder thing again. Wondered whether his lips would feel as good on the other parts of me as they’d felt against my cheek.

  Then my glance dropped down to his hands and the way his long fingers wrapped around his glass. And I wondered again . . . what could he do with his fingers?

  I released Damon’s hand to grab a napkin. My eyes were still on Trey’s fingers as I dabbed at the perspiration on my forehead, my hairline, my neck. If I could have reached under the table without Damon noticing, I would have dabbed at my inner thighs, too.

  “Tiff!”

  “Huh?” It took work for me to break my gaze away from Trey’s fingers.

  “You didn’t hear me?” my man asked.

  I shook my head and Damon and Trey laughed. As if I was the punch line of some joke.

  “Babe,” I began, “I’ve got to go.”

  “What?” Damon frowned and seemed confused. “They haven’t even called our order yet.”

  “I know”—I glanced down at my watch—“but I just remembered . . .”

  I hoped that was going to be good enough, because I didn’t have anything else to add to my lie. But then my man did what he always did—he made me feel better when his frown turned upside down and his lazy smile spread across his face.

  That was my cue. I could leave—no drama.

  We both scooted out of the booth, and as Damon hugged me, I closed my eyes, held him tight, and remembered all the reasons why I loved him. Then I opened my eyes, and while still holding my man, I looked at Trey, watching us. Well, he wasn’t exactly watching us. His eyes were on me, though it felt like he was looking at more than just my face. It felt as if he were looking at every part of me.

  Trey blinked, and I felt naked. He blinked again. And I wanted to be naked.

  Oh. My. God. I would combust if I didn’t get away fast.

  “Make sure you get something to eat,” Damon said when he let me go.

  “I will.” It was only because I had on stilettos that I walked and didn’t run like I was trying to place first in the 100-yard dash in the Olympics. I didn’t even look back to throw Damon a kiss like I normally did, because my kiss might’ve missed—and landed on Trey.