by Amber Malloy
“The old man finally showed up!” someone yelled over the harsh, big-room house music. The place was decorated in gaudy-ass neon lights and cheetah prints. He forgot which young’un had moved into the Lake Shore Drive condo, but figured it was probably the kid’s first apartment. The place was hideous.
“Beer, vodka or what is it you senior citizens drink? Martinis shaken, not stirred.” The group of losers drunkenly chuckled at their own joke. “Oh, that’s right. He doesn’t drink—”
“Or have fun,” a Swedish rookie finished for their host.
“Surprised the old folks’ home let you come out so late.” The laughter at his expense grew louder. If there were a moment in the last five years that he needed a drink, he felt tonight qualified.
“Here.” The girlfriend to the Russian handed him a drink off a tray. “Virgin Long Island.”
“This is basically a Shirley Temple,” he said.
“Yeah, but I didn’t want it to sound unmanly.” She giggled and went back to serving the rest of the room.
Slipping his big frame around the drunken, sweaty bodies, he headed to the next room and took a swig of his drink. The kid’s apartment was tacky, but his media room was the worst by far. Burgundy leather couches and awards decorated the living room. Hawk sighed. He didn’t want to mope at home alone, and that was the only reason he’d attended this little shindig.
“Hey, man,” Marco called out to him. Hawk slapped hands with the Northern Royals latest and most controversial trade. “You usually don’t come to these things.”
“Try to avoid them, but my night opened up—and you?”
“The coach got onto my ass about ‘cultivating relationships’.” He held up his fingers into quote marks.
“In other words, he threatened you,” Hawk translated for him.
Marco had been in the league a good ten years, but had kept his hard-partying ways a lot longer. For the most part, Hawk didn’t really know all that much about his teammate. Still, he managed to get along better with him than the rest of the rest of his co-workers.
“Pretty much. I’m giving this shit another ten minutes, and I suggest you do the same. This mess is for the dumbbells and rookies.”
He nodded his head at Marco’s assessment, but suddenly felt lightheaded. Crap, he needed to check his blood sugar.
“See you later, man.” Hawk patted his shoulder and walked down the connecting hallway, hoping the bathroom was nearby.
* * * *
Customers surrounded the stage. A young, black teenager from the southside commanded everyone’s attention. Lexi felt her first amateur contest had gone better than expected.
Lashonda walked into the bar. “Finally made it.” She swung her straight, burgundy hair off her shoulder. “And look who I brought with me.”
The woman who trailed behind the black Jessica Rabbit waved at everyone. Shit! Didn’t these chicks have at least one basic-ass friend? Hell, if I stick around long enough, it might end up being me.
“Lexi Waters, Dahl Carter,” Remy introduced them.
“Hey, that rhymes,” the woman who was the color of a perfectly crafted candy apple said. Lexi took her extended hand over the bar and shook it. “I’ve been dying to meet you! Anyone who can deal with this merry band of lunatics.” Dahl reminded her of one of those sex pots from the seventies who had invented slo-mo hair swings and wore one size too small cotton shirts, tight shorts and had a smile that could rival the sun.
“Don’t trust anything she says,” Remy warned. “This one is trying to butter you up so she can poach Peaches from you.”
“And on that note…” Dahl threw a cheeky wink over her shoulder as she beat a path to the kitchen.
Lexi opened her mouth to give a classic retort, but loud cackles near the bar’s entrance pulled her attention. Afraid the drunk gang would be a problem, she tried to track down the bar’s bouncer that she usually hired for special occasions.
“You don’t seem worried.” Lashonda plopped down on a stool. “Dahl is hella persuasive.” The video vixen was the pure softy of the group. Lexi felt she was getting their personalities down, which slightly worried her. Close friendships had never been her jam.
“Moe and Peaches have some kind of blood oath,” she admitted. “I’m not too worried about it.”
The obnoxious laughter went up a huge notch. She looked for the muscle she’d hired, but he was nowhere in sight. It was getting late and no one wanted to deal with the drunks.
“Let me,” Lashonda offered. “I’m a pro at this.”
“This ought to be good,” Simone said.
The tall beauty pulled herself up to her full height and went straight for the small group. As she dressed them down, the college-aged children immediately shrank away. Lashonda reached over and snatched the phone out of the girl’s hand.
“Not positive, but I think that’s illegal,” Simone whispered.
In a chastising manner, Lashonda wagged the cell phone at them before something on the screen caught her attention.
“If she gives it back, I don’t think it qualifies as a crime,” Lexi answered.
The emcee assisted Moe’s contest winner off the stage. While most of the crowd migrated closer to the singer who had won the contest, Lashonda approached the bar with the phone facing out. “Hey, is this…”
Lexi set down the mug and hovered close. A few scantily dressed beer girls addressed the live feed. “Let’s see how much this big boy can really do!” a platinum blonde screamed before turning her phone toward a half-passed-out Hawk.
“This enforcer may be called to the penalty box, but we’ll try one more Brewhouzer Bitters to see if he can hit a goal,” another woman with even skimpier clothes suggested.
“How can we find out where he’s at?” Remy gestured for the owner of the phone to join them. “You, phone girl, come here.” Her tone hardened. The chick’s shoulders sagged as she made her way toward them.
“Why? What’s going on?” Lexi had to admit she was disappointed, since she honestly couldn’t stop thinking about the previous night. Of course, if she were honest with herself, it was a one-and-done type of deal, and she had no room to feel anything, honestly.
“Hawk’s diabetic. He doesn’t drink.”
Lexi’s ears pricked at that bit of information.
“Who’s this on your friends list?” Remy asked her.
“It’s just some social media talk show. These girls from the restaurant, Jugs, get invited to high-profile parties and mingle.”
Remy rolled her hand for her to get to the point.
“Short-story it,” Lashonda rudely told her.
“In other words, I follow her, but I don’t have a clue what her location could be.”
As the seriousness of the situation seeped in, Lexi grabbed the cell out of Lashonda’s hand and memorized the girl’s username.
“Remy, pull up this app on your phone,” Lexi instructed. She dug into her jean pocket and took it out. “Follow the Jugs girls.” She then spouted out three names that were on their inner circle list.
“Dani Lyons is an editor we have in common,” Remy said.
“Can you text her and get her to go online?”
“Okay.” Her fingers flew across her screen lightning fast. “She’s on now. What next?”
Lexi tossed the phone back to the girl Lashonda had stolen it from. “Grab a seat. Drinks are on the house for you and your friends.”
“Really?” Delight brightened the girl’s whole face.
“Yes, but you have a hundred-dollar cap, so don’t get stupid.”
“What a way to punish her,” Lashonda murmured. The college kids hurried off toward the main floor. “How are we going to find him now?”
Putting her hand out, she waited for Remy to place her cell into her open palm. Lexi quickly reconfigured the GPS settings to track down the Jugs girls. “Got it! Simone, make sure Dahl doesn’t steal Peaches”—as she untied her apron and handed it to her bartender, she spouted off
a list—“and don’t give those kids more than fifty-dollars-worth of our alcohol.”
“Water that shit down. Got it.” Simone smirked.
Rolling three deep, Lexi was on her way to rescue the man who had given her the best dick she had ever had. Mixed messages anyone?
Chapter Thirteen
They had arrived at the luxury condo in a record fifteen minutes. In downtown Chicago traffic on a Friday that was a small miracle. Remy had greased the doorman’s hand a good one hundred dollars to get them into the building. They found the condo from the obnoxiously loud music that blared out of the corner apartment. Lashonda banged her fist against the door with the authority of SWAT.
“When are you going to admit to Knox that you’re for real pregnant?” Lashonda asked, pounding the door again as Remy leaned against the wall and sighed.
Fanning herself, she shrugged. “He’ll figure it out eventually.”
Lexi’s gaze glided down to Remy’s nonexistent baby bump…a burger bump, maybe, but definitely no baby.
“Odds are he already knows,” Lashonda muttered.
“Then why should I say anything?”
“Wow, his competitive streak mixed with your stubbornness makes for one big, ball of crazy in the Bell-Knox household.” Lashonda beat on the door with the side of her fist even harder.
“What the hell?” A teenager opened the door. Lexi assumed he was a kid by his baby-fat fresh face and hard Finnish accent. Hawk had mentioned all the rookies were foreigners. “Oh, hey, are you the strippers we ordered? But you’re—”
“Say it. I dare you.” Lashonda shoved him to the side. “If you want to beat it to a blonde, all you have to do is look in the mirror. Geesh, get a little variety in your life.”
“Find the bathroom. I’ll meet you there.” Remy pulled out a professional camera from her purse and snapped pictures of the kitchen. Lexi opened her mouth but shut it quick enough since she probably didn’t want to know what the hell Remy was doing.
Moving through a ton of people, she tried to figure out the layout of the place.
“Do you know where we’re going?” Every inch of the condo was taken up with young, drunk bodies.
“Yeah, I’ve done a shoot in this building before.” Lexi had recently learned everyone’s profession. Lashonda was one of the top commercial stylists in her field. “This way.”
Wonder Woman cut a path for them through the crowd, but Lexi still managed to lose her. Knocked around by the drunk idiots, she rose on her tippy toes to pinpoint the Amazon within the crowd. “Come on, gurl. You run a bar.” Lashonda clamped a hand down on her wrist. “Smack some of these babies out of the way.” She yanked her into a room. “Whoever owns this place has a shit aesthetic.” While the leopard prints begged for a second more satisfying death from the floor, Lexi had a hard time focusing her eyes on any one color in the room.
Across the main bedroom a blue light shone under a closed door. “God, I hope nothing gross is going on in there. I have a nervous stomach,” Lashonda admitted. She grabbed the knob and shoved the door open. Perched on top of the toilet lid, a Jugs girl had draped herself onto a half-passed-out Hawk.
Barely able to hold himself upright, he was weaving and his head bobbed back and forth. “Okay, night-night. Fun’s over.” Lashonda plucked the phone out of one of the girl’s hands and pressed a few buttons on the screen before she threw it out of the door.
“Hey!” While the half-dressed woman ran after her cell, Lashonda snatched the other chick off Hawk’s lap. “Go help your friend,” she suggested, pushing her out of the bathroom.
Lexi hurried to slam it shut behind her. “Where does he keep his insulin?”
“Dre told me one of his pants pockets. He had to shoot him up once.”
“Hawk.” Lexi smiled. Peeling back his eyelids, she checked to see if his eyes were dilated.
She searched his jacket pockets but came up with nothing “I’m going to feel around for your insulin pen, and—” Lexi moved to his chest, touching his hard pec.
“Ghosted,” he murmured before her hand bumped the needle in his front pocket, similar to a decorative pen. She pulled it out. “You ghosted me—”
“A little help, please?” Lexi asked Lashonda while she placed the pen in her mouth to pull the cap off between her teeth. Lashonda leaned him forward and together they pulled off his jacket. Once she got his sleeve unbuttoned, they were able to roll his shirt over his thick arm.
Before she could get the pen out of her mouth, Lashonda rushed past her.
“Where are you going?” she asked, popping off the cap.
“Look… I told you I’m squeamish, and don’t for a second think I missed Hawk saying you ghosted him after you banged.”
“Huh, that’s not what he said.” Lexi plucked the bottom of the needle with her index finger.
“No”—Lashonda opened the bathroom door and arched her wildly shaped eyebrow in her direction—“but you banged.”
“What’s going on?” Remy asked, out of breath. She squeezed into the crack of the door.
“A lot.” Lashonda slipped out of the room, leaving them with the big man.
“Ah, the needle.” Remy strolled over to the tub and took a seat on the ledge. “She’s such a baby.”
Lexi searched the middle of his arm for a vein, then tapped it until it bulged. Taking her time, she slipped the sharp tip into his arm and pressed on the plunger.
“Nurse or Fortune 500 owner of a tech company… Who can tell the difference?”
“My mom had diabetes.” Lexi pulled the needle out and yanked a square of toilet paper from the roll to hold onto his arm. “It looks like he crashed. Hopefully, he’ll be okay in a few minutes, but we should probably call an ambulance, just in case.”
“The boys are on their way.” Remy tapped on her phone screen. “Besides, he has a private doctor who’s going to meet us at my house.”
“Oh,” Lexi said with a hint of disappointment. She wanted to stay with Hawk but didn’t want to intrude on their system. These people were practically family.
“Unless you want to stay with him. I mean, you’re awfully good with that needle.”
Schooling her expression into an unreadable mask, Lexi lifted her eyes to meet Remy’s. “True, that could come in handy.”
“And, according to Shonda, you guys banged…so there’s that.” Remy tilted her head to the side, probably daring her to lie. Instead of digging herself into a bigger hole, Lexi returned her attention back to the patient.
“Who-o did what-t?” he slurred. Hawk attempted to sit up, but Lexi gently pushed him back down.
“Relax, big fella.” Hawk’s hazel stunners drunkenly glided over the room before landing on her face.
“Hey.” He smiled.
“Hey yourself.”
As he flipped his palm up, Lexi shyly sucked her lower lip between her teeth and intertwined their fingers together. Closing his eyes, he slumped against the toilet tank again. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed. Strangely enough, this offbeat night had turned into one of the more romantic ones she’d ever had.
* * * *
The soothing sounds of orchestra violins was the first thing to tickle his nerves. Hawk opened his eyes to a blurred version of his bedroom. He kept blinking until he could see everything in a less abstract way.
Above the fire that roared in the hearth, his gaze connected with the vibrant colors of his Corey Barksdale oil painting. Jazz musicians played their instruments in wild red and yellow tones. The picture popped among the cool slate blues and grays in the bedroom.
Turning his head to the side, he found Lexi next to the bed, studying her tablet. She sat with her forehead furrowed in deep concentration and her legs tucked underneath her in his Garbo wingback chair. Soft snowflakes drifted to the ground outside the window behind her.
While her dark brown eyes twinkled with amusement, Lexi’s lush lips curved at the corners. Appearing even younger than he
r thirty-two years, she wore her short, black hair slicked away from her makeup-free face, and the pink sweater that dwarfed her petite frame accentuated the color of her pretty brown skin.
Perfect! He damn near sighed out loud.
Blood rushed to his cock, stiffening his already-semi-hard rod. At least the most important thing on him was working properly. The rest of his body felt like he’d been beat with a sack of potatoes. He hadn’t felt this bad in years. He was groggy as fuck, and his heart beat wildly in his chest when he realized he had a game to play.
“Oh shit, what day is it?”
Lexi smiled over the top of her tablet. “Saturday.”
Panicked, Hawk yanked the sheet from his body and tried to crawl out of bed, but a wall of muscle pain prevented him from going anywhere.
“Whoa there, big fella.” She laid her hand on his bare chest and tried to push him back onto his bed. Of course, she couldn’t possibly move him. “Doctor prescribed rest. You’re out for the night.”
“Shit,” he hissed. “What did he tell my coach?”
“Dehydration.”
“Okay.” He nodded in agreement with that excuse. “That’s better than the truth, I guess.”
Lexi moved from the chair and took a seat on the edge of his bed. Hawk plopped back onto his pillow. “They don’t know you have diabetes?”
“Yes, but I’ve never let it affect my game and I want to keep it that way.” They sat quietly listening to the hypnotizing melody of the violins until the song played out. “This music…” He turned his head to the left to get a better view of her.
“Violin Concerto Florence Price. She was the first black woman in America to have her art performed by an orchestra.”
“She wasn’t on that list of music you sent me.”
“That’s because you asked for neo-soul and R&B, not classical composers.” She chuckled.
How cool can this woman possibly be? Not for the first time, Hawk realized he was crazy comfortable in her presence. There were no awkward silences where he needed to fill the space. Their conversations never felt forced.