by Cecy Robson
I lean forward, placing my forearms on my knees. “I respect you. I respect you more than anyone I know. But I’m not going to lie. When you told me what you were, you knocked me on my ass―given what we were doing and how hard you were making me―it’s the last thing I expected you to say.”
Her eyes widen in time with her flushing face. “My, you just put it all out there, don’t you?”
I hold her gaze. “Yeah. I do.” I give her a moment to collect herself before I ask what I’ve wanted to know. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop or to slow down?”
She lowers her chin and rubs her hands, surprising me by returning her gaze to mine when she answers. “I liked what we were doing and I became carried away.”
My focus drifts to the floor, the lust in her tone and the heat in her deep blue irises making me instantly hard.
“I didn’t mean to tease you,” she adds, luring my attention back to her face. “And I apologize if that’s what it seemed like. It wasn’t my intention.” Again, she strokes her hair, giving away her nervousness, showing me how bad it’s killing her to say what she says. “But like I said, I was carried away with how you were touching me.”
“Have dinner with me,” I say before I can stop myself.
She stills. “What?”
I rise slowly and stalk toward her. “I said have dinner with me. Tomorrow at six or later if you want.”
She stands and starts to gather her things, giving me her back. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. It didn’t work out well last time.”
I edge closer, curling my body so that it hovers above hers. “Last time I screwed up,” I whisper. “It won’t happen again.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with her deep intakes of air. I don’t notice I’m doing the same until she pivots to face me. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she repeats, her voice shaking.
She’s right. It’s not. But that doesn’t stop me from cupping her face and meeting her lips with mine.
My hold on her is gentle despite the aggression of my tongue. It moves deep into her mouth, seeking her out, claiming her as mine.
My lips are fastened to hers, but my fingers barely brush her skin. If she wants to step away, she can. But she doesn’t, giving me everything I give her, her moans inciting a deep growl in my throat.
She breaks our kiss, backing away and slamming her ass against her desk. “I think you should go,” she says.
“Why?” I ask, unable to keep the heavy rumble from my voice.
“I’m not going to sleep with you.”
“I wasn’t asking you to.”
It’s like a repeat of what went down in my ride, only now the roles are reversed. She realizes and laughs, covering her mouth. I wish I could laugh with her, but I’m so hot for her right now, all I can do is stare at her gorgeous face.
She lowers her hand. “I’ll see you later, okay?” she tells me quietly.
“You won’t have dinner with me?”
Although she keeps her smile, there’s a hint of sadness I’m not used to seeing. “No.”
“Why?”
“Salvatore . . .” she says, shaking her head. “You couldn’t handle someone like me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
My frustration and need for her leaks into my voice, making me sound angry, instead of what I really am: ready for more than just a taste of her tongue.
She steels her expression. “It means that I hope you enjoyed that kiss. It’s the last time I’ll ever let you touch me.”
Chapter Eleven
Aedry
“You told him what?” Autumn squeaks into the phone.
I finish munching on my salad and take a sip of water before answering. “That I didn’t want him touching me.”
“But that’s a lie, right? I mean this guy gave you your first and second orgasm for heaven’s sake—Oh, hey, Dr. Marvin, how are you?”
I pause in the middle of placing my water bottle back on my desk. I don’t have to be with Autumn to know she’s blushing.
“Oh, shit,” she whispers, when she finishes her small-talk with Dr. Marvin.
“Who’s Dr. Marvin?” I ask.
“Oh, no one, just the Chief of Staff for the organization.”
“Autumn!”
She groans. “I know. Do you think she heard me?”
“Yes. You totally screamed my orgasms into the phone,” I laugh through my teeth.
Although I’m embarrassed for me and for her, we both start laughing. Ordinarily, I don’t make personal calls at work, but I’ve been dying to speak to Autumn since my talk with Salvatore last week. With her schedule, it would have been easier to meet with the president. But this is technically my lunch break and I finally got a hold of her.
“You’re not going to go out with him, again?”
“It’s not a good idea,” I say for the millionth time.
“Even though you like him.”
I start to argue, but I won’t pretend with Autumn. “He’s too alpha.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” she asks. “I don’t know, it sounds kind of hot.”
“Autumn . . .”
“In fact, he is hot. Aedry, this isn’t some idiot with a Napoleon complex trying to act like a bigger man than he is. Yeah, yeah, he might have a little bit of an attitude and sort of an over-inflated ego.”
“Little? Sort of?” I fork a piece of cucumber. “He’s all attitude and all ego.”
“But he also has the goods to back it up.” She sighs. “Princes Leia on Alderaan, did you see his ass?”
I did. I stared at it every chance I had . . . even as I watched him walk out the door. My heart sank when he shut it behind him and didn’t look back. To his credit, he didn’t slam it.
Yesterday was the first time I walked the boys out, and the first time I saw him since Friday. We fell back into that same routine consisting of him rolling down his window and nodding my way and me waving like his mouth hadn’t sucked on my nipples and his fingers hadn’t slipped beneath my panties. I lean my forehead against my hand as my typically neglected body parts begin to throb to the beat of Cardi B’s latest rap song. This man doesn’t make me quiver. No, not at all.
“He’s too controlling,” I say, attempting to resume my conversation.
“Did you ever ask yourself why?”
“Hmm?” I’m only half-listening, my feminine areas aching as I recall what he did, how he did it, and what he said. He used words like “tight” and “wet.” Comments so graphic and straight to the point and so, so, arousing. My last boyfriend had used words like “nips.” It’s safe to assume it didn’t generate the same response.
“Aedry,” Autumn says. Her voice remains patient. She knows my crash and burn with Sal devastated me.
“Yes?”
“I asked you if you realize why he is how he is? A man who always has to be in control is that way for a reason. My guess is he’s not only witnessed severe abuse, but suffered it as well.”
I flop back into my chair. “I know,” I say. “I’ve given a lot of thought to it. But his potential history of abuse reinforces why I should stay away.”
“But you like him,” she points out.
“Yes, I do. He’s very generous and he can be extremely kind.”
“Then don’t you think he deserves a shot?” she asks. “He wasn’t the one who hurt his mother, Aedry. And he couldn’t help the childhood he was given.”
“I realize that. But I’m a counselor. It’s what I do and love. I don’t want a lover I need to play therapist to. I’m not sure it’s healthy.”
“I get it. But how can I say this? Okay. Here goes. Your relationships have all sucked and the men you were with were total vaginas.”
“Vaginas?” I ask, chuckling.
“You know I don’t like saying pussy! ―Oh, hey, Dr. Marvin. . . . Yes, ma’am, I’m all over that . . . stuff.”
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” she mumbles again. “That woman is either going to fire me
or promote me. Did I tell you she looks like Jane Goodall?”
“No.” But the visual makes me laugh harder.
“Well, she does. But like I was saying, your past boyfriends were ball-less little bitches . . . granted you didn’t turn them gay like I did, but all they cared about were themselves, getting laid, and what you could do for them. Salvatore can get into any woman’s pants.”
“Clearly,” I say, trying not to think about it.
“So why waste his time with you? Believe me, I’m not saying I like how he treated you when you were in his ride―in fact, I’m mortified on your behalf. But look at it from his perspective. He practically pulled your thong off with his teeth only to realize you were wearing a chastity belt with no freaking key!”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Her voice softens. “My point is, if this dominant alpha male with hard as cinderblock ass cheeks and a face that could melt panties can have anyone he wants, why waste his time on you? He swallowed his pride and went out of his way to apologize, because he felt bad for being an asshole. I think that’s what you should hang onto, Aedry. It’s what makes me think he really likes you.”
“Maybe. But he comes with a lot of baggage,” I remind her.
“We all do, sweets. And it sounds to me like he’d benefit from therapy. From what you tell me, this guy doesn’t necessarily need a lover. But what he may need is a friend . . .”
Autumn’s words stay with me after she disconnects and long after my cup of soup gets cold. I’m picking up my trash when someone raps on my door. I lurch to my feet as Tamira hurries in and slams the door shut behind her. She’s not pregnant and she’s doing better. But you wouldn’t know it by how frightened she appears.
“What is it?” Her gaze shifts from side to side, as if unsure whether she should speak. “Tamira, tell me what’s wrong.”
Her expression is that of the tough city kid I know, but her quickening breaths reveal the extent of her fear. “Keon hit me.”
“What?” I move closer, my eyes sweeping over her frame to look for injuries.
“I’m all right, it didn’t hurt that much.”
“That’s not the point, he shouldn’t be touching you―”
“It’s because he saw me talking to Gianno Romero. You know him, right?”
My belly churns. I already know where this conversation is headed. “Did Gianno see him hit you?” Her lips seal shut, but she nods. “You need to give me more information than that,” I press.
“Gianno is nice,” she says. “He’s always been nice to me. He said something that made me laugh. Keon saw and grabbed my arm and pulled me into the boys’ bathroom. Gianno followed us in and saw him hit me. They’re going to the Block to fight.”
A sense of nausea fills me as I feel the blood drain from my face. “The Block” is an old basketball court on the worst side of the town. It’s where the local kids buy their drugs and settle disputes. Most fights end with someone in the hospital. But a fight over the summer resulted in a kid shot in the face and another left paralyzed.
“When?”
“They already left,” she says.
I snag my purse and coat. “Miss Aedry, don’t go!” she calls.
I’m already racing down the hall, fumbling with my phone as I shove myself into my wool coat.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“My name is Adrianna Daniels. I’m a guidance counselor at James Harris High School. I just learned two students are about to fight at the Block.”
“Where?”
“The Block.” I curse when I slip on the first step and twist my ankle.
“What did you say?” the irate operator snaps back.
“It’s a basketball court. I think it’s near Halladay and Communipaw.”
“Holliday and what?”
“Halladay and Communipaw,” I say louder.
“What city?” she asks, getting testy.
I curse again, this time with frustration as I limp out the door. This is the problem with calling from a cell phone. “Jersey City.”
“Please hold while I connect you.”
I’m cramming myself into my car with my purse smacking against my side and my dangling coat only half on when the call disconnects. “Hello? . . . Hello? Damn it.”
I stare at my phone, debating whether I should call again. But instead of dialing 9-1-1 again, I scroll through my contact list. Beneath Autumn’s phone number is Salvatore’s. I close my eyes briefly, take a breath, and punch the number.
“Hello?” his sleepy voice answers.
“H-Hi. It’s Aedry.”
Suddenly he’s awake. “What’s wrong?”
“Gianno went to the Block. It’s an old basketball court near Halladay―”
“I know where it is. What the hell’s he doing there?”
“He’s meeting a kid he’s supposed to fight.”
He swears and I can hear him rustling in his sheets.
“Sal, what’s wrong?” a woman asks in the background.
I pause in the middle of yanking my coat free from my closed car door. There’s a woman in his bed . . . just four days after he kissed me.
I shove aside my petty jealousy and focus. “Salvatore, I’m scared,” I tell him truthfully. “This boy Gianno is meeting is violent and a known drug dealer―”
“I’m on my way.”
“I’ve tried calling the police―”
“No, no cops,” he snaps. “I’ll take care of it. Just stay where you are and I’ll call you when I have him.”
He disconnects, leaving me to stare numbly at the screen.
My mind races with what to do. It shouldn’t take Salvatore long to get there, but it won’t take long for Keon to hurt Gianno . . . or possibly shoot him.
I’m closer to the Block than Salvatore is. I know I can arrive sooner. But I realize that in going, I’m rushing into danger.
Yet, when I think of Gianno’s sweet, smiling face, and consider how far he’s come in just a few short weeks, I can’t in good conscience sit back and wait.
I crank the engine and shift my car into drive, peeling out of the school lot and onto the main road.
The ten minutes it takes me to reach the Block are the longest of my life. I called 9-1-1 again and was able to get through. Yet despite my frantic and detailed call, there are no blaring sirens upon my arrival, no scrambling men and women in uniform, no approaching vehicles. There’s no one besides me.
The old buildings and trees surrounding the basketball court cocoon the area, separating it into a dark urban world of its own. I’m not sure where to park, or if I should even be here. But I can’t abandon Gianno with the hopes that help will eventually arrive. I settle near a busted hydrant and pray that at least a meter maid will arrive to the rescue.
I’m not scared. I’m terrified. I gather my coat around me, buttoning it to the collar to offer me an extra layer of protection. It’s an absurd gesture. I know I’m being insanely stupid and I’m ready to high-tail it back to my car when the escalating voices of kids swearing and fists crunching bone resonate ahead of me.
“Fuck him up. Fuck that bitch up!”
“Yeah. Yeah!”
I was ready to skitter away and hide. Now my boots clomp against the hard sidewalk as I race toward the sounds. My heart almost stops as I skid to stop. Keon is the first one I see in a crowd of swinging fists, lying on the ground holding his side as blood pours down his face.
Gianno busted his face, except now he’s in trouble. He and―oh, my God! ―he and Apollo are being attacked by Keon’s friends.
I lurch forward only to be hauled back. “Hey, baby. Whatcha doing here?” a man sneers against my cheek.
“Get the fuck away from her!” Gianno growls when I scream.
He lunges forward as I struggle to break free, punching an older teen so hard in the nose, I feel the impact from where I stand. Another boy grabs him, and another, until he’s swallowed up by the crowd.
“Aedry!” Apoll
o yells. His eyes fling open when he sees me being dragged toward the driveway of an old house, his fists swinging wildly as he tries to fight his way to me. But neither he nor Gianno are a match for the number of young teens gathered.
Their anger fires my will. The man holding me swears as the heel of my boot crashes firmly against his shin. I smack him hard across the face.
“How dare you touch me?” I shriek at him.
I dig my hand in my coat and withdraw my stun gun as another hand reaches for me and hauls me back by the crook of my arm.
I don’t hesitate. In one motion I ram my stun gun against his chest and squeeze the trigger.
“Mother fucker.” Salvatore grunts, crashing to the asphalt on his knees.
His T-shirt smokes. “Oh, no. No, no, no,” I stammer. “No, no, no, no.” I crouch next to him. “Are you all right?”
He lifts his glaring face, his jaw tightening as he staggers to his feet. “I told you I would handle this,” he growls.
The man who first grabbed me takes off in a sprint as everything around us grounds to a halt. Slowly, the gang who attacked Apollo and Gianno circle out and away from them, their hardened expressions wary and splitting between fight or flight.
Swelling contusions litter Apollo’s and Gianno’s faces, their shirts dangling in pieces from their frames. As hard as they fought, they weren’t immune to the vicious blows and violence that street kids are ingrained to inflict.
Blood trickles from Gianno’s busted lip and from some scratches to his face, likely wreaked when he was on the ground fighting. Apollo is worse off with a swollen nose and eye, and a longer laceration along his crown line.
At least I think he’s worse off. The stiff and careful way Salvatore stalks toward the large group informs me I may or may not have blasted the hell out of him.
I cover my mouth. Anyone else would be crawling away if moving at all. But, again, Salvatore is very alpha. He won’t show weakness before this pack of wild dogs.
I follow behind him, trying to remain alert.
Keon’s friends rallied against Apollo and Gianno. They do nothing when Sal hauls back and kicks Keon hard in the stomach.
“You know who I am?” Sal snarls, his lethal stare trained on Keon.