“So it looks like you’re having fun tonight. Do you want to dance?” He leans into my ear and breathes the words down my neck. It sends a shiver through my body as his scent wafts up my nose, awakening my libido as I remember our lovemaking last night. Goosebumps erupt down my arms. I glance back to Jenna who has begun dancing with some guy. When I turn my head back to Dixon, one brow is lifted and a hand extended. Cocky man.
I relent and we begin to dance. At first there’s some distance between us. That gets rectified when he places his palm on my hip, and we begin to gyrate together. I’ve never danced this way in my life with another human. It makes me feel so turned on. My head is light as I remember our little hump session last night. The smell of his body wash is like an addictive drug. With both hands on his shoulders I feel his tight muscles contracting as he moves. With his palm at my hip, we move in sync. He takes my hand in his and spins me around. The room tilts along with me, but then he pulls me flush against his body, steadying me, and we begin the same gyrating movement from behind.
“Don’t worry, Malcolm didn’t allow any paparazzi in here tonight,” he whispers against my ear.
His hot breath travels down my neck, and I suddenly wish we were somewhere more intimate. He moves my hair across one shoulder, and if I’m not mistaken, he inhales my scent. My panties pool with lust as I remind myself that I’m nothing more than a quick fuck to him and an old friend.
This means NOTHING! I yell in my head. Just because we fuck in sync and dance in sync means nothing. He may be kind and understanding and great with kids, but it all means NOTHING!!! He spins me around again. Now my belly meets his waist, and I think I feel something … hard. I gasp. When I look into his exotic eyes, they’re blue, yellow, and green swirls … I melt. My reactions betray me when my breath hitches as his thumb grazes my chin and crosses my cheek. Such an intimate gesture.
Suddenly, Dixon reaches for his pocket. He’s wearing a black button down shirt that hugs his muscles and shows off his slim waist. His black pants are also a slim fit, making him look every bit the Greek Adonis that he is. He takes out his cell phone. I watch him intently. A name lights up the screen. ELLA It’s so large I can’t miss it. I’m here.
Dixon’s eyes turn wide and immediately cut to me before they go back down their normal size. He places his hand back on my waist and leans to my ear. His hand touching me feels like ice. The ice seems to be leaving his hand and continues to run through my body, making me shiver and reminding me he’s simply a good dancer. Our bodies mingling in the most sensuous way possible now, and last night, was him in ‘dick mode,’ not some meaningful chemistry we share.
“I’m sorry, Eden, I have to meet someone,” he says regretfully.
I’m not sure why he would be regretful. Is he regretting that he likes to play the field? Or that he’s leaving me? I doubt he’s apologizing for the latter. Jenna notices the interaction and stalks toward me, grabbing my hand and pulling me away. She doesn’t even give me time to respond to him, which is probably a good thing because with the drink in my system, I may not have control over the words leaving my mouth.
Jenna and I begin to dance wildly on the dance floor. I don’t care about Blythe or even Dick for that matter. Yes! I’m back to calling him Dick. My blood is warm. I want to sulk, but I don’t want anything to get me down tonight. Not Blythe and definitely not Dick. I’m free, happy. I try to convince myself. The reality is that I’m hurt.
A dark man comes up behind Jenna and whispers in her ear. I notice her cheeks flush and she giggles. It looks like he wants to dance with her. I lean forward and tell her to go ahead. I need to get to a restroom anyway. My bladder is screaming for relief. Jenna turns to face the guy and the two begin to move in sync. I don’t know that I could have danced with a stranger like that, even with the few drinks I’ve had. As I make my way to the ladies’ room, I try to wipe my mind of Dick. I enter a bathroom to relieve myself. When I’m done, I saunter over to the sink to wash my hands and check myself in the mirror. My skin looks moist and my makeup is smudged. Definitely not my finest. I try to embrace the carefree feeling.
Back on the dance floor a man asks me to dance, and this time I step out of my comfort zone and dance. A quick glance over to Jenna tells me she’s having fun with her handsome suitor. I wonder about her relationship with T. She doesn’t seem to care about snuggling up with this new guy. My dancing partner moves in to caress my hand. His own hand is warm and a little slimy. I urge myself not to pull away, using the argument that he’s good looking and I need to try new things. We begin to move together. He’s a good dancer, but we don’t have the same chemistry as I had with Dick. I close my eyes and move to the music. A shooter girl comes by, but I reject the shot, needing to keep my wits somewhat. Deep down, I know I’m fighting all the emotions of this week, starting with my mother, sleeping with Dick, and ending with Blythe’s assault. I try to push the thoughts away. The small amount of alcohol in my system definitely helps. I open my eyes and hate that I’m scanning the room for him. Dammit, Eden, get a grip!
As I walk away from Eden, my insides churn. She saw the name on my screen, and I saw her happy demeanor slip. I guess we are fooling ourselves if we thought we could keep whatever was happening between us as a one-night stand. The way our bodies meshed together while dancing wasn’t innocent. The electricity running through my body, when she was pressed into me, was making me wild with need, and I don’t have an ounce of alcohol in my system. Her scent of fresh peaches and her sexy body make me drunk in need for her.
In a way, I’m glad Ella’s text pulled me away because if we would have kept up dancing a while longer, I would’ve wanted to seduce her again. Last night she made it clear she thought it was a mistake. She’s probably right. Better to cut our losses now. As I think the thought, I remember the sweet noises she made when she was coming. I need to curb the thought fast. As much as I want to experience her again, I know I can’t go down that road and risk messing things up for my son. She’s Jaden’s teacher, I remind my dick.
Making my way through the crowd, I head to the front door in search of Ella. She just flew in from Washington. She isn’t familiar with New York. I spot her just outside the club doors. She’s petite, but I can’t miss her. Her raven hair flows down her back. She’s wearing a black, fitted dress to her knees and a pair of pearls in her ears. Very Washington D.C., conservative and classy.
“Hey.” I walk up to her and give her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m glad you could make it.”
She seems a little nervous. “Thanks, Dixon. I know we didn’t have much time to spend together in Washington, but I’m glad we can now,” she says with a sweet smile.
“I would say let’s get out of here, but the owner of this club is a childhood friend and it’s opening night. I need to show my support,” I explain.
A paparazzi standing beside me calls out my name. “Mr. Crawford?” I turn. This isn’t the best time to be posing for a picture, and I don’t want to send Ella running off. I look to Ella for her silent permission, and she shrugs her shoulders.
“It’s okay, Dixon. If I’m going to be spending time with you, I guess I will need to learn to live with it. Besides the White House is always infested with reporters.”
“Thanks for understanding.” We both turn and smile for the reporter. I wonder what the headline will be tomorrow. Most of the stories they come up with are completely off the mark.
“Of course.” She grins. She’s very polite and well mannered.
We make our way back into the club. I realize Eden must still be around somewhere, and it bothers me to wonder what she’ll be thinking. I push the thought aside. It’s much better when I’m perceived as an asshole or as some guy the ladies like to call a dick. It keeps the expectations low, and right now it’s all I want to handle. With Ella hanging on my arm, I guide her inside. The music is pumping so it will be difficult to talk, but she’s staying with me for the next two days so I’m sure we’ll be able to acquaint ourselve
s back at my apartment.
We take a seat at a table in the VIP lounge, and a waitress comes to take our order. Malcolm has also set up a kitchen in here, which is both funny and awesome. Of course he loves to eat, so he figured his guests would appreciate a list of gourmet appetizers when they take a break from dancing.
Once we have eaten and had a drink, I ask Ella if she wants to take a walk around. I notice Eden dancing with a guy. I can also tell she’s a little tipsy by her looser, sexy movements. It pisses me off that the guy has his hands all over her. I know I don’t have a right to be angry, especially after leaving her, but I can’t control the jealousy forming in my chest. I know I have to get my shit together.
Ella and I make our way to the dance floor. Malcolm is showing off his moves. I pat him on the back. I’m six-one and Malcolm easily towers over me at six-five.
“Hey, buddy,” I yell over the music. He leans over to give me a guy hug. “Malcolm, this is Ella,” I say, introducing her.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ella.” He grins.
“Nice to meet you, Malcolm. Dixon was saying that you are an old friend. This club is absolutely magnificent. Good for you,” Ella compliments him.
“Why thank you, Ella. D—I—X—O—N,” he says, accentuating each syllable of my name since most people call me Dick, “is a very good friend.” He laughs.
He clearly has quite a bit of alcohol in his system, and he’s a joker on a sober night. I shake my head and take Ella away from Malcolm before he says anything embarrassing about me, like my lack of a sex life in high school.
The rest of the evening is spent dancing and by one in the morning, I call my driver to pick us up. I haven’t been able to pull my eyes off Eden. It irks me to no end. As Ella and I exit the club, I notice Eden leaving with her friend. Eden’s about to get into an Uber car when she lifts her head to see I’m holding Ella’s hand, as we’re about to enter the black Escalade together. My stomach dips when I see her frown. I pull my gaze away. It’s a jerk move. I should have hollered have a good night or something better. I realize she must have a painted a picture in her mind about what was happening between Ella and me. I’m not ready to change that painting just yet.
I wake up in the morning with a splitting headache. I’m not sure if it’s from the lack of sleep or the alcohol, because I don’t feel like I drank that much. I’m glad Matilda wanted to sleep over. I can hear her and Grant clamoring around the kitchen. His voice sounds happy and playful. Sleeping in the guestroom has been good for me. I have my own space. I’m not thinking about who my husband has sunk into today. It’s a huge relief knowing this marriage will be over soon, and I can get on with my life. There’s so much uncertainty in my life now, but I know I’m strong enough to face the hurtles thrown my way. At least that has been the lesson this week. Only time will tell.
My head pounds and my body aches, as I make my way to the master bedroom to get ready for work. Luckily Blythe left for work early this morning, so we don’t cross paths. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and look in the mirror, not recognizing the woman staring back at me. When did I grow up? When did I get into a loveless marriage? I continue to brush out my curls and place my hair in a bun. I swallow two Advil and throw on a coral short-sleeve blouse and beige skirt and head down the stairs as ready as I will ever be to start my day.
“Hey there.” I smile at Grant, who runs up to me full force. My head feels the vibration, and I wonder how I will get through this day.
“Mommy. I had so much fun with Tilda,” he says buoyantly.
“Thanks so much, Matilda. We would love to have you babysit again.”
“That would be great. I need to work as much as I can,” she explains while adjusting her glasses.
She even made Grant a batch of French toast for breakfast. I lift one off the plate, feeling a mixture of hunger and nausea … maybe from the dancing and drinking last night. So that’s what it feels like to be young but not carefree since I’ve woken up to my responsibilities. I tell myself to choose party nights on the weekend. I’m in no shape to go to work after a night out on the town.
“Mmm, Matilda, this is delicious.” I close my eyes and savor the sweet taste of the French toast with hints of cinnamon.
“Thanks. It’s my mama’s secret recipe.” She winks. “Which is really just adding a lot of cinnamon.” She lowers her voice and lifts a hand to block her mouth.
“I’ll keep it a secret too,” I whisper back.
I quickly grab Grant’s school bag. Friday is pizza day at school, which means I don’t have to make lunch and since we’re running late, it’s a good thing.
I arrive a few minutes before the bell. A part of me is dreading the playground this morning because it will be awkward seeing Dick. Jeez! Thinking about the sexy dancing last night reminds me of how hard it is for me to keep my hands off him and vice versa. What stings the most is knowing he went home with another woman last night. That little detail reminds me I need to protect my heart.
Thankfully, his wife’s nanny comes to the playground to drop off the kids. Relief washes over me. I could have never looked him in the eye, knowing he buried himself deep inside someone else last night. Knowing burns a hole straight through my heart. It reminds me of the day we kissed back in Williamsburg. That soft, loving tender kiss turned my world upside down, and then he was gone and I was left in pain. Now after sleeping with him that familiar loss has taken up the vacancy in my heart again. I hate to admit it, but I fell for the damn dick all over again.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Matilda.” I smile at her as I grab my purse. Grant is already holding her hand and guiding her toward his play area.
“No problem! I told you I have lots of free time right now.”
“There are a bunch of take-out menus by the phone and some money right next to them. Can you please order in? I don’t know how long I’ll be,” I explain and my stomach ties up in knots.
“Yeah, sure, don’t worry. We’re good. You go ahead. I’m sure Grant will tell me what he likes to eat.” She smiles kindly.
I let out a long sigh. I haven’t seen Grant all day, and I hate to leave on a Friday afternoon, but the lawyer is squeezing me in.
I place a kiss on his cheek and he throws his arms around my neck. “See you soon, Mommy.”
“See you soon.” I wrap my arms around him and take a deep breath. I hope I’m doing right by him.
I turn to leave the apartment and head toward my car. One of the mothers at school referred me to her divorce lawyer, saying she was a pit bull. I’m not sure if that’s what I need, but I figure it can’t hurt.
It’s a steamy Friday afternoon as I make my way down the congested Manhattan streets. Her office isn’t too far, which is good because my anxiety is building by the seconds. This is a big deal. I don’t know how Blythe will take the news.
I head into an underground parking lot and then up to the office. Wylder, Smith, and Anderson. The place looks impressive. I’ve checked in and taken a seat in the waiting area. Not even a moment later a woman introduces herself with a firm handshake.
“Samantha Wylder, Mrs. Howard.”
“Please call me, Eden.” I smile. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice, Ms. Wylder.”
She turns back to me and smiles. “Please call me Sam.”
I follow her into an impressive office with floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the New York skyline.
“So what are your plans, Eden?” She motions for me to take a seat in front of her desk, and she walks around to take a seat behind her desk. She’s an attractive woman, about mid-thirties. She looks sharp and fierce. I’m guessing it’s a good attribute for a divorce attorney.
“I want to leave my husband as soon as possible. I signed a prenup …” I begin to explain.
“Are you sure you want to leave? Maybe you’ve had a lover’s quarrel and this can be worked out,” she suggests, leaning forward on her desk with her fingers interlaced.
“Sam, w
ith all due respect, my husband has been cheating on me for years. We don’t really sleep together. He acts as if I’m nonexistent. He doesn’t like me to go out on my own. Last night I went out, and he twisted my arm.” I lift the sleeve on my blouse to reveal bruises that resemble a handprint.
“I see …” She leans back and takes notes on a notepad on her desk. “I know who your husband is and how much he’s worth. You did mention a prenup. Did you want to contest it? Your husband sounds like a narcissist. I bet we can get a judge to overturn that agreement. Let’s take some pictures of your arm. Were there any witnesses?” She continues to shoot off questions, making me feel dizzy and lightheaded.
“Uh, I don’t want to contest anything. I want a normal life with my son. The only point I will fight for is full custody. Blythe is never around. He never interacts with him, so I can’t imagine he would want him anyway. I don’t care about money. I never did. I just want out. I want to live my life,” I explain while my insides shake.
“I understand. How will you support yourself? I can’t imagine … and please forgive me for saying this … but you must be used to a certain lifestyle. I’m sure you won’t be able to continue living that way, once you leave him. Of course he will have to pay a nice sum of child support for the boy. Will that be enough?”
“Sam …” I exhale a breath. “I don’t care about money,” I repeat. “I’m living in a prison. I’m also scared of Blythe’s reaction when he finds out I’m leaving him. He’s got an ego problem, and he isn’t going to like the idea of me leaving. Quite frankly, I’m scared. He’s been more off than usual lately. I came to you for advice. I would like to move things along as quickly as possible. I want all ties to Blythe severed.”
“Does he do drugs or drink excessive alcohol?” she asks.
“I don’t think so, but honestly I don’t know much about his life. He is rarely home. Like I said, he has been off, and I don’t even know why, but I sure as hell can’t ask him. He makes me feel like I don’t have the right to ask.”
Dick (Bad Boys #1) Page 13