Kiana’s jaws clenched. She pressed the towel against her forehead.
“Well, you never know,” Genevieve said. “Better safe than sorry, baby.”
Silence filled the room, but Kiana heard her own heartbeat in her ears, the sound of her own blood rushing through her like a whoosh against her temples.
“You don’t remember calling me, do you?” Genevieve said. She sat at the foot of the bed, her back to Kiana.
“No,” Kiana said in a whisper. She stared at Genevieve’s back, hints of firm muscle under her smooth skin, a pockmark just above one of her shoulder blades.
“I didn’t think so,” Genevieve said. She shifted, glancing at Kiana over her shoulder.
“You’re right though,” Kiana said. She took the towel off her forehead and tossed it on the nightstand. “I don’t have a friend in this world.” She sat up and looked across the room to the desk. A half-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a full bottle of Southern Comfort stood between the lamp and coffee maker. Two fresh glasses flanked the empty ice bucket, a flap of folded plastic peeking out from the lid. She sighed.
“I take it your talk with Michelle didn’t go well,” Genevieve said. She gripped the edge of the bed.
Kiana watched Genevieve’s forearms flex. Her eyes rested on the beaded bracelets adorning her thin wrists.
“It was a terrible waste of time,” Kiana said. She scooted forward on the bed. Genevieve squeezed at the bedspread. Kiana moved closer. “She’s not who I remember. What I remember. Coming here for her was a mistake.” She glanced at the bottles on the desk then returned her gaze to Genevieve. She inched within a breath of Genevieve. She could smell her hair, clean and fresh. Cucumber mint. She leaned in, her nose nuzzling her gentle, sandy brown curls. Her lips grazed against the nape of Genevieve’s neck. “But coming here wasn’t a mistake.”
Genevieve shot up from the bed. She looked over at the desk. She looked at Kiana. “I’ve got to go,” she said.
“What? Why?” Kiana turned and moved to climb out of the bed.
“No, don’t,” Genevieve said. Her cheeks were flushed and her breath deep and loud. She ran a hand through her short curls and bit her lip.
“I thought you liked me,” Kiana said. She slouched her shoulders, shrugging and scooting back on the bed.
“I do.”
“Well?”
“I’ve got to go,” Genevieve said with a forceful sigh. She headed to the door, but Kiana, fighting the pounding in her temples and the roiling in her stomach, jumped up and grabbed her arm before she could reach it.
“Please,” Kiana said. “We’ve already established that you’re my only friend. After the day I’ve had, I don’t want to be alone.”
Genevieve shook her head and gently pulled her arm out of Kiana’s grasp. She turned and walked back toward the bed. She sat. “I don’t know what to do with you,” she said.
Kiana grinned. “I’ve got some ideas.”
Genevieve stood and threw up her hands. “See…”
“No, no, no,” Kiana said. “I’m just playing. We can order some food. I’m hungry. Are you hungry?” She walked over to the desk, her eyes stopping on the whiskey. She opened the drawer and pulled out a small stack of menus and the hotel binder. She handed it all to Genevieve.
“I don’t really have much of an appetite,” Genevieve said, flipping through the folded menus. “What do you want?”
Kiana picked up the bottle of Southern Comfort then set it back down. Her fingers tapped the top of the Jack Daniel’s. She took a deep breath and shrugged. She grabbed the bottle, unscrewed the cap, and poured herself two fingers of the amber whiskey. The smell seemed to dominate the room. Without turning around, Kiana knew Genevieve was watching her. She gripped the glass and brought it to her lips. She turned.
“Why?” Genevieve said. She set the menus on the bed and stood with a sigh.
“Why what?” Kiana said. She licked her lips; her tongue grazed the rim of the glass. The sharp smell of her drink prickling her nostrils.
“Why have a drink? Why have a drink now?” Genevieve’s face looked pained.
“My head hurts,” Kiana said. “This will help.” She raised the glass with a small smirk.
“Will it?”
Kiana nodded. She brought the drink to her lips and sipped. She took a deep breath with her first swallow. The whiskey went down with a slight burn, a sweet heat sliding down into the pit of her belly. She winced. She preferred Maker’s, but Daniel’s was cheaper, harsher. It felt like a punishment. Maybe she wanted it to hurt.
Genevieve twisted her lips. “There will always be headaches, baby. That whiskey ain’t never gonna fix it.”
“You know how you said I didn’t have a single friend?” Kiana said. She looked into the liquor, swirled it against the glass. “Sometimes, this is a friend. It’s there. Always there. It’s soothing and willing. And above all,” she said, stopping to drink, draining the last of the shot, “It’s nonjudgmental. It never, ever judges.”
“Oh, baby,” Genevieve said. She walked over to Kiana and took the glass from her hand. She set it on the desk. “I know it might seem like that, but that’s not true. It’s just not true. It never judges because it doesn’t care. It doesn’t care what you say, what you do, what you feel…even when it’s hurting you.” She placed her hands on Kiana’s shoulders and gently moved her hands up to the sides of her face.
Tears welled in Kiana’s eyes. She thought about Karyn—her gentleness, her sternness, her concern—then stopped. She swallowed and tried not to blink. She flexed her jaw against Genevieve’s hands.
“Especially when it’s hurting you,” Genevieve said.
Kiana blinked. Two tears, one from each eye, rolled down her cheeks. She ripped herself from Genevieve’s touch, and longing and loneliness gripped her instantly. She wiped at her eyes rough and fast. “Maybe you should leave.”
Genevieve sighed. “I probably should.” She didn’t move. She looked at the Southern Comfort then across the room to the windows. “But I don’t want to. I want—” She stopped.
Kiana reached out and grabbed Genevieve around her waist and kissed her. Genevieve pulled back. Kiana searched her eyes but said nothing. She leaned in, slowly, carefully. Genevieve hesitated then moved in to meet her. Kiana pressed her lips against Genevieve’s and moved her hand to the back of her head, her fingers sliding through her short curls. Genevieve kissed back, opening her mouth, her entire body hot and loose in Kiana’s arms. Kiana’s tongue found Genevieve’s, and a fierce urgency set in. Genevieve’s arms wrapped about Kiana’s back, and Kiana slid her hands down to the full cups of Genevieve’s ass. She gripped and walked her backward toward the bed.
Fully clothed, Kiana and Genevieve rolled around on the bed, slipping thighs between thighs, rolling their hips in a slow grind. Kiana couldn’t get enough of Genevieve’s mouth, her dancing tongue and moist lips. Finally able to pull her mouth away, Kiana pressed hard, hot kisses underneath Genevieve’s ear and down her throat. She gripped Genevieve’s hips and pulled her against her thigh. Genevieve dug her hands into Kiana’s afro, tugging gently and moaning, the tremble of sound in her throat making Kiana pant, unable to catch her breath. She reached her hands down and bunched up the sides of Genevieve’s dress, sliding it up her thighs. Moving faster than reason, she slipped a hand between Genevieve’s legs. A thin triangle of cotton met Kiana’s fingertips; she shoved it aside. Hot. Wet. Throbbing.
In a rustle of movement that caught Kiana off guard, Genevieve shoved her arms out, pushing Kiana to the edge of the bed. She clamped her legs tight and scooted up toward the headboard, pulling her knees underneath her chin. She squeezed her eyes closed and ran both hands through her short hair.
“I’m sorry,” Genevieve said.
Kiana jumped off the bed. “You’re fucking with me, right?” She panted, her entire body hot with frustration and desire.
Genevieve shook her head. “No,” she said.
“Yes, you are,”
Kiana said. “You’re fucking with me.”
“No, Kiana,” Genevieve said. “I’m not fucking with you. I just need to think about this.”
Kiana looked at her feet. She still had her sneakers on. She took a deep breath and clenched her fists at her side.
“Think about what, Genevieve?” she asked. She licked her lips. “That’s your damn problem. Always thinking. Stop it. Stop thinking. Just let go for once.”
“I can’t,” Genevieve said.
“You can. You just don’t want to. You’re scared.” Kiana sighed. She walked around the foot of the bed to the desk. She poured another shot of Jack. “You talking all this shit, trying to get inside my head.” She picked up the glass and held it by the rim, the tips of her fingers gripping the drink as she held it at her side. “Get out of my head. Get out of your head.”
Genevieve lifted her chin and looked at Kiana. She stretched her long legs in front of her. Kiana watched her, desire still pulsing against the crotch of her panties, still full between her thighs.
“I can’t afford to, Kiana,” Genevieve said.
“Afford? It’s not a question of affording anything.” She raised her arms and stretched them out, presenting herself. She smirked. “This is free. Free and clear. I don’t want anything from you.” She wasn’t sure what she meant with that last part. While she didn’t want anything from Genevieve for real, nothing serious or intense, she did want to be close to her. She wanted to feel her, minus the clothes, touch inside her, taste her. The moment was perfect, no need to analyze it. She looked at Genevieve, her body still trembling with want, and wondered why everyone always made everything so complicated? She brought the drink to her lips and drank. She smelled Genevieve on her fingers, a teasing taste of her on the lip of the glass. Kiana’s pussy clenched. She drained the whiskey, the tingling heat and bitter bite prickling her skin.
“Everything has a cost,” Genevieve said, her voice a husky whisper.
Kiana laughed. “I got money. How much?”
Genevieve’s eyes went stone cold. She pushed herself up from the bed and grabbed her sandals from the floor in a quick swoop. “YOU are fucked up.”
“It was a joke!” Kiana said, putting the empty glass on the desk and following Genevieve to the door. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was trying to lighten the mood. It was just a joke!”
Genevieve didn’t say anything. She shot an icy glare over her shoulder as she yanked the door open. She shook her head and rushed toward the elevators, carrying her shoes.
“I was kidding!” Kiana came out the door and yelled the down the hall at Genevieve’s back. When she didn’t turn around, Kiana screamed down the hall again. “I’m sorry! Come back!”
Genevieve pushed the button to the elevator and stared at Kiana as she stepped inside to leave.
Kiana watched Genevieve go. Her eyes burning, throat dry. She returned to her room and poured herself another drink. Whiskey, no ice. She threw it back. She smelled Genevieve on her fingers still. She sucked them. She poured more whiskey. She drank it down and poured another. She held her drink in one hand while she unbuttoned her jeans with the other. She slid her hand inside her panties. She maneuvered her fingers, those same fingers that had been scorched by Genevieve’s heat, and pressed them against herself. She rubbed. She wanted to rub it all away. The desire, the loneliness, the need. Fuck it all. Rub it all out and away. Without losing her rhythm, she brought her drink to her lips and gulped, deep gulps that expanded in her chest, the pressure building, her heart aching. Fuck it all.
She squeezed her eyes tight and cried out, her hips bucking, an explosion of red behind her eyes. The glass fell from her hand, but she didn’t move to pick it up. She couldn’t move to pick it up.
Chapter Nine
Wednesday
Kiana climbed out of the cab and stood in the middle of the block. She glanced over each shoulder. A few cars lined the street, parked bumper to bumper, and a Harley Fatboy, shiny black and chrome with red flames painted on the gas tank leaned on its kickstand directly behind her. The sun had just risen and hadn’t yet broken the tops of the duplexes and single families that lined the block. She walked up to Genevieve’s bicycle and ran a finger across the cool dew that clung to the bright green frame. She took a deep breath and made her way past the main house and up the narrow cement path to the carriage house. She slowed at the sound of voices.
Genevieve’s voice, low and raspy, a sexy growl almost. “You’re still here.”
Another voice, a woman’s voice, stronger, clearer. “I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.”
Kiana crept closer, holding her breath. She stopped at the edge of the house and leaned against it. The moistness of the humid morning clung to the sides of the house and dampened the back of her T-shirt. She peered around the corner and into the garden. At the small, rusted wrought iron table, Genevieve stood stretching in black stretch pants and an oversized purple T-shirt that hung off one shoulder. She steadied herself on the back of one of the chairs where a woman sat sipping from a blue-checkered mug, her back half-turned to the house where Kiana stood watching. The woman pushed herself out of her chair. Big and tall, the woman wore a denim vest, her matching jeans hanging low on her waist and bunched up at the top of her black combat boots. She shrugged and shook her head, the large gold hoops in her ears shaking, too. Her hair, wavy and cropped close to her head, glimmered a shocking metallic platinum. She took Genevieve in her thick arms and held her tight, hugging her and nearly lifting her off the ground.
Genevieve’s arms clasped around the taller woman’s neck. She rested her head on the woman’s shoulder, closed her eyes, and smiled a smile that looked like peace, looked like love.
“I’m so glad you stayed. I needed you,” she said. She smiled again, her eyes still closed in private bliss.
Kiana clenched her jaws and squeezed her hands into fists. Her eyes stung. She pressed herself against the cold, wet siding of the house. She tortured herself with one last peek around the corner. Genevieve and the woman were still locked in a tight embrace. The red-haired woman kissed Genevieve on the temple, and Genevieve kissed her back, two kisses in quick succession, one on her cheek and another on her neck. An intimate touch that made Kiana sorry she had come to apologize. She should have known better. She thought Genevieve had rejected her because of a joke gone too far. That would have been an easy fix. A quick apology. Nothing was ever that simple. She should have known it was something else. It was always something else. Someone else. She took a deep breath and walked back out to the street.
She started to call a cab then decided against it. She slid her phone in her front pocket and pulled her flask out of her back pocket. Sipping whiskey and blinking back tears, she walked the long walk back to the Quarter.
Chapter Ten
Thursday
Kiana woke up in her clothes, an empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s beside her and her phone rumbling against a glass of sucked on, curled lemon wedges on the bedside table. She smacked her lips, the sour taste of whiskey and bitter lemon coating her tongue and teeth. Her head pounded. She opened her eyes and looked around the room. Light sliced into the hotel room in thin strips of golden yellow. The alarm clock read 2:07. The red dot in the corner of the display marked it afternoon. She sat up and stared at her phone. She had two missed calls from Genevieve and one from Michelle. She ran a hand over her afro, grabbing at the matted back and sides, pulling on the thick curls and knots of hair. She stood and tossed the phone on the bed. It clacked against the empty bottle.
After a hot shower, she dressed in a pair of khaki pants and black T-shirt, the last of her unworn clothes. She sat on the edge of the bed and glanced over at her phone. She picked it up and scrolled through her calls again. She stopped on Genevieve’s entries for just a moment before moving on to Michelle. She pressed “call.”
Michelle answered after two rings, her voice light and friendly. She apologized for having to leave so abruptly and not being prepared to tal
k about the past. She asked Kiana to meet her at the Montpellier Hotel, a small, two-story hotel on the outskirts of the Quarter.
“I’m not in the mood for games,” Kiana said. A dull ache pulsed in her temples. She walked over to the desk and picked up the full bottle of Southern Comfort. She cracked the plastic around the cap with a twist and took a sip directly from the bottle.
“I’m not either,” Michelle said. A sliding door whooshed in the background. Her voice lowered. “Just meet me, okay?”
Kiana took another sip of the sweet, syrupy liquor. The sneaking heat of it warmed her belly. She heard Michael’s voice in the background. Michelle laughed away from the receiver.
“Fine,” Kiana said hard and fast. “I’ll meet you.”
“Good,” Michelle whispered then ended the call.
*
Genevieve called three more times before Kiana switched her phone to silent and walked into the Montpellier lobby. It was small but elegant; the mahogany counters lined in gold gave the hotel an old, stately look. Dark maroon carpeting with splotches of black lead up to the check-in counter, the rest of the floor an expanse of black, burgundy, and gray marble. The gentleman behind the front desk nodded “hello” as Kiana walked past, following the carpet path to the bar.
A large glass chandelier adorned with beads, gold balls, and jagged crystals hung over a circular bar. Tall black barstools, each with a golden fleur-de-lis painted on the back, lined the curved bar. Kiana stepped up to the bar, but before she could order a drink from the petite bartender with beehive hair, Michelle called her name from a table in the corner of the lounge area.
Kiana smiled at the bartender and walked over to the dark corner table where Michelle, in a black wrap dress and chunky gold necklace, sipped from an oversized wineglass. A freshly uncorked bottle of Pinot Grigio, a little condensation dripping down the sides, sat chilled and inviting in the center of the table. Michelle lifted her hand as Kiana sat. Within seconds, a server in a white dress shirt and green bowtie brought a glass for Kiana and poured her a liberal serving of the white wine. He nodded and walked away as quickly as he appeared.
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