Our Muted Recklessness (Muted Hopelessness Book 2)

by Love Belvin

  Al plopped his big ass next to me at the table. “So, I hear you’re keeping secrets.” His beam was bright and wide.

  But the word secret spiked my anxiety. My eyes shot over to Ashton, who leaned against the end of a booth, slowly making small bites into stupid fries. Amusement glistened in his dark eyes. Did he tell the football and basketball teams about us? Had all of this been some kind of joke to him?

  “What secret?” I felt my nostrils stretch.

  “Your birthday, McNabb!” Al’s jolly ol’ Saint Nick laugh should have immediately killed my panic, but I’d gotten worked up in no time. “You can’t be a Panther and not share that pertinent information. You must be celebrated!”

  That cued the crowd of athletes to hoot and holler. Except for Ashton and Paulie. Ashton found it all funny, humor bouncing in his eyes. Paulie, on the other hand, couldn’t stop staring at me. It was ridiculous.

  Dre dropped in a chair across from me. His scent announced him. Maybe if I liked him, I’d find the smell of his cologne okay—Samantha would find it appealing. But he wasn’t the best human, so I was annoyed.

  “Is it true, McNabb?” His smooth delivery disgusted me. “Is your born day tomorrow, shortie?”

  My eyes scanned the small group. “And?”

  I really wanted to know who told them, but was still trying to control my heavy breathing and not draw attention to my shaking hands.

  “And we will be celebrating you.” Dre smacked the table. “Tomorrow. Be ready.”

  “I—you can’t…” My words were lodged in my throat.

  “Your birthday’s tomorrow, Tori?” ShawnNicole’s face opened too wide, happy about the stupid news. “Let’s do the cut for your birthday!”

  “I—” I stuttered again.

  Andrea flipped her thick box braids, mutedly recording everything with her eyes. “What’s that rich boyfriend you have got planned?”

  My mouth opened, but this time nothing came out. They were all around, encroaching upon me like hyenas. These were Ashton and Aivery’s friends, humans who hated me but were now tolerating me because Ashton waved his very powerful wand. And now, members of the football and basketball team were demanding to celebrate my birthday—that I was now pretty sure Ashton told them about. And the cool, background singer girls were trying to chop off my hair and force my fake boyfriend down my throat. And I still hadn’t figured out how Ashton knew.

  Do I talk in my sleep?

  “Didn’t you tell me your boyfriend was taking you away overnight?” When did Ashton step out amongst the wolves?

  He was throwing me a bone, and before I could think it through I found myself nodding. “Yup.” Then I tried to offer a regretful smile to Al and Dre.” “Sorry.”

  “Nah,” Al drawled. “That don’t put no damper on our plans.”

  “We can still take you out, then you can slip out with ya man,” Dre made it sound so sensible.

  “Oooooh,” Andrea’s hands drew up to her face. “Where are you guys going?’

  Ignoring her, my attention went back to Al. “What do you have in mind? What time?”

  Al’s smile made him a bearable human. “Ebonies.”

  “A strip club?” ShawnNicole gasped.

  Oh my—

  Andrea squealed, “Ilk! I would never!”

  “You’re not invited,” Dre provided that shade so coolly before turning back to me. “I think if we slide in around eleven-thirty, you can spend some time with the crew, then be “ready” for your boyfriend.” He used finger quotations.

  The guys snickered. I guess that was the joke. They were taking the tomboy to a strip club. There was no way in hell these guys were going to see male strippers, which meant they were taking me to see naked women dance.

  My head flew to Ashton. His amused eyes slanted even more. It was him. He was doing this—orchestrating again. He thought it would be interesting. But unlike his underlings here, Ashton Spencer knew I wasn’t into girls.

  Or does he?

  Swallowing, I licked my lips. “Okay. I’ll only stay an hour then have my boyfriend send a car for me. BBM me the address, so I can make it happen.”

  My appetite was officially killed, and so was my time. I had to go, so I grabbed my tray and left the table to toss the wasted food.

  “I’m sure you’ll dress appropriately because of your ‘boyfriend’ and all afterwards!” Al snickered behind me and his boys joined in. “Heels and lipstick, McNabb!”

  On the way to the trash, I passed Ashton. His scent appealed to me. Did funny things between my legs.

  “And you’re not fuckin’ cutting your hair,” he whispered loud enough for only me to hear.

  A shiver shot down my spine, and I bit my lips together and tried frowning to play it off.

  I thought the vibrating sound in my bed was from my dream. Then when my eyes strained open and I could see the big neon green numbers on my clock on the nightstand, I felt it near my shoulder. It was my Blackberry going off.

  Trying to stop the sound before it woke Samantha next, I answered, whispering, “It’s twelve fifty-three in the morning.

  “Tell me something I’m less familiar with?”

  That confused me. “Like what?”

  “Like your birthday. But now that I got that info from someone else, tell me at exactly what time were you born—or at least when you were going to tell me about your birthday.”

  The fucking nerve. “I’m not telling you shit after you set me up with your stupid Panther friends.”

  “Oh, sweetheart,” he groaned into the phone with full sarcasm. Sarcasm that stung my nipples. Stupid! “you don’t want to take that tone with me. You must remember, I am the fuckin’ man around these parts, and very much capable of turning your birthday into the biggest party on the campus with one call to the Greeks’ line.”

  My eyes ballooned. I was now fully awake and had to remind myself to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed was Samantha to know Ashton Spencer called me in the middle of the night. It would be…weird.

  “You wouldn’t!” I exhaled.

  “Oh, my favorite queer, Nabby-girl, I can and will.” His threat so promising and so…masculinely sexy.

  I couldn’t believe I got turned on by a guy—by anyone! Hated the dark magic he held over me.

  “How am I supposed to pull off another fake date, Ashton, and so late at night?”

  “Don’t worry about that. I got it covered. You just need to get your grooming done and be ready at ten tomorrow night for the party bus to pick you up.”

  “Tonight.”

  “Huhn?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You mean tonight. It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “Yeah. Whatever.” He dismissed my correction. “Just be ready on time. Wear the black mini dress with the cut-out in the back and the Valentino heels. Those are the ones—”

  “With the silver studs. Yeah, I know.” I shook my head. “Is that why you called me? To rub setting me up in my face then be the bossy human you are, and tell me what to wear on my birthday?”

  “That and to tell you to get up and pack an overnight bag.”

  “What bag?”

  “An overnight bag.”

  He was crazy. “For when?”

  “For today, and one for your birthday ‘date.’ You’ll need something to wear after your rendezvous, or whatever your ‘date’ has planned for you.”

  My pulse began to race and mouth went dry. “Where are you, Ashton?”

  “In the back of your dorm, on my bike, waiting for you and your overnight bag.”

  A pocket of air escaped my lungs. “When were you going to tell me?” I was voiceless. Excitement shouldn’t be so painful.

  “After I told you what to pack, which I did,” he growled, peaking my nipples. I could actually feel that shit. “It’s cold as shit out here, so hurry the fuck up, Nabby-girl. I’m sleepy.”

  I swallowed hard, eyes squeezed. “Give me a few minutes to pack. I’ll have to be quiet and
move slow.”

  “Hurry,” he growled again.

  I hung up and crawled out of bed on my assigned mission.

  “See, that’s your problem, yo!” Al’s eyes were shrinking with each sip he took. “You think anything European mixed with Black is exotic, Dre, or that anything lightening authentic maroon blood. That shit is fuckin’ wack in 2006, bruh.”

  Dre formed the most identifiable humble smirk. I’d seen it when he would come around Samantha, talking his sweet nothings bullshit. But I’d also seen him talk shit in the gym with other athletes to know he wasn’t always Mr. Suave.

  “Here you go with this bullshit,” he singsonged over Dem Franchize Boyz’s “I Think They Like Me.” The party bus filled with twelve of us—me being the only girl—hit a bump, causing him to spill an ounce or two of his Jack Daniels before catching it in a plastic cup. “I think all women are exotic. Fuck outta here.”

  “Nah, my nigga.” Al’s jolly, belly-shaking laughter filled the smoky air of the party bus. “I been watching you and, in the three years you been here, I ain’t seen no chocolate on your arms.”

  Dre’s face wrinkled hard and he tossed his head back, offended. “You met that chick I was fucking last spring.” He managed the bottle to the floor between his feet and snapped his fingers, trying to recall. “Tashanique.”

  “Yeah. The one from Howard you was only fucking. You ain’t never claim her or take her out like that.” Al laughed again. “Only reason I know of her is because I flew out there with you for the bitches, not for you to go see your ‘lady’.”

  Dre waved him off. “Man, I like what I like. Everybody got their preferences.”

  “But that shit ain’t cool, my nigga.” Al’s permanent smile was intact. “My mom wrote a song about that shit for Black girls.”

  “What was the name of it?” Sherman, a football player, asked.

  “It was ‘Black Girls Are Exotic.’ She shot the video in South Africa.”

  “Man, ain’t nobody listening to no DeeDee Baker!” Dre clowned him, busting out laughing. “She ain’t even sing that. Alicia Keys did.”

  A few guys followed him, cracking up. Ashton, all the way near the door, shook his head, hiding his face. I was in the middle, allowing the shot they insisted on me taking to flow through my system. I was such a damn lightweight. And I was in the middle of all these Panthers, trying to be invisible on this near-hour drive.

  “Six Grammys and counting, including that one, nigga.” Dre’s words got underneath Al’s skin from sounds of that.

  These guys could be brutal, going at each other. At the start of the ride, one of the basketball players was counting up how many times two of his teammates were diagnosed with STDs. In their faces. It was insane. No fists or threats were thrown. I was grateful—uncomfortable, but grateful—for the absence of violence. The three least vocal people on the bus were me, Ashton, and DJ Paulie. Apparently, he was typically the designated driver because he hardly drank, and didn’t participate in the pre-sip activities. It was clear to me they gathered often.

  “This guy, man,” Dre sighed. “You make an accusation and only back it up with one female I was fucking?”

  “Now that I think about it, he’s right. And you know it, Dre,” another light-skinned guy added.

  “Fuck you even talking about, Brooks?” Dre challenged.

  “Your preference is non-Black girls,” the guy answered and shrugged. “Cop to that shit.”

  “I thought that was understood,” another guy chimed in. Al poured more Alize into his cup while laughing and shaking his head. Ashton sat back with his curled hand covering most of his face. He was a quiet presence, taking in all of the shenanigans. The guys laughed. Hard. “I mean, look at who you chasing now.”

  “Samantha White!” someone belted out, causing the choir to go up even louder in laughter.

  “Exactly!” Al made clear. “That’s all I’m saying. We leaving this shit to you next year. I don’t want no turning of the tide in Blakewood’s culture that Black women ain’t the fucking shit. Ya heard!” He cracked up, but I got the impression there was little joking in that.

  “Look, man,” Dre started, “I love all women.”

  “That’s the first sign of a nigga that don’t like his own!” David charged, pointing across the center of the bus, directly at Dre.

  “What you think, big homie?” Al asked Ashton. “What’s your preference?”

  Dre sighed again, head rolling to his immediate right at Ashton.

  “I ain’t got no choice in the matter, really.” Ashton exhaled heavily.

  “Why not?” David asked.

  Ashton’s eyes were low and his smirk was in play. “Two names?”

  “NormaJean and Aivery!” someone shouted.

  The last name made my stomach curl. The first one ignited my curiosity again. Who was this old lady, NormaJean? Ashton’s grandmother?

  “Nope,” Ashton corrected. “Wanda Lee.”

  “Ah, man!” Al laughed.

  “I had a girlfriend in my second-grade class named Susan. I told everybody about her. Then, in third grade, I had another girlfriend in my class named Patty. I thought I was the shit until my pops threw my ninth birthday party and invited Patty and her family. Shit! The next year, Ms. Wanda had my ass transferred to Ellis Academy where I completed my primary education!” He could hardly finish his sentence, laughing so hard with the guys.

  I guessed they, too, knew the force of Wanda’s nature. I’d only met the woman once and never wanted to again. She scared the holy hell out of me! But I couldn’t deny how funny the story was. That woman didn’t play when it came to Ashton.

  Dre raised his palm for dap. “Ellis Academy! Leading the Garden State in education, leaps and bounds ahead of the broken public school system!”

  “For life!” Ashton met him for a hi-five.

  That reminded me Dre was from New Jersey, too. They were in the same school system.

  “What about mixed girls, Spence?” David asked once the bus quieted.

  Ashton shrugged. “I think all women are beautiful, but my mother taught me about the well of beauty in Black women. There are so many available, man,” Ashton groaned as his face tightened in passion. “There ain’t enough time to explore other pots when you ain’t get to the bottom of yours, you know?”

  “Fuck! You right!” Paulie shouted from behind the wheel, and that caused them to howl in laughter. “I love Black women, for real!” His eyes made their way to me again after that statement.

  Blindly, I met eyes with Ashton, who, in his own slick way, told me he’d caught on to Paulie’s eye-hustling, too. Annoyed, I rolled my eyes to my lap, wanting to get this night over with.

  “Here’s a question,” Brooks posed, getting everyone’s attention. “Why do we put so much pressure on young, Black men—especially athletes going into the different Leagues—about their preferences? I only fuck with Black and Afro-Latinas, and still feel that fucking pressure. Should we nix the idea as Black men or just go for what the heart wants, Spence?”

  “You mean what your dick needs, nigga!” Al cracked.

  Ashton wiped his mouth then shrugged with his head, eyes out into the distance. “I mean… Sometimes it’s psychological conditioning, and sometimes it’s innate. But it’s not the process of ‘preferring one race or complexion over the others’ that men like to claim. Tyler Thomas says at some point, what you think is a preference is really a decision. You’re deciding against a particular race or skin gradient of women when a ‘preference’ pattern has been established over time.” He shrugged. “It’s a conversation Black men need to have with themselves. I recently learned preferences can be stretched. You can want to fuck a particular type you never thought you’d want to.”

  “Shit!” Dre whispered hard. “That was some knowledge for that ass!”

  “So that mean you and Aivery really broken up?” Brooks asked, too thirsty to fake like he wasn’t desperate.

  Ashton scoffed. “Fuck’
re talking about? Are we having a grown-ass man conversation or gossiping like little fucking pussies?”

  The bus went up, laughing hard. A few began to clown Brooks. I wondered why he thought Ashton and Aivery were broken up. They were always together.

  “Ebonies!” Dre shouted, sights outside of the window.

  “We here!” Al swallowed back the last of his drink.

  By the time I found the big marquee, we were pulling into a parking lot. The guys were busy, downing their last sips, pulling out gum, and checking their wallets. One guy even brushed his hair, sprayed cologne, and applied chapstick.

  I watched them all file out of the bus until Ashton and I were the last on. I walked toward the door and he stood to leave after me.

  “You don’t have to stay more than an hour,” he murmured behind me. “Your ride is on its way.” Then I felt his warm hand on the small of my back, probably thinking I needed help in the heels I’d worn. “I’ll be around you in case you feel uncomfortable or by yourself.”

  I didn’t respond, so damn upset about allowing them to bring me to a strip club, of all places. Disappointed in myself for going along with it. It was good that I didn’t say anything because Paulie was just outside. I stopped with one foot on the last step and the other on the ground.

  “Oh…” His eyes were above me, mouth wide open. “I ain’t know you was still on, Spence.”

  Ashton’s hand dragged down my ass until it fell from my body completely. “Had to make sure she was okay.”

  “That’s why I stayed behind.” Paulie’s eyes blinked hard, a few times. “I was gonna chill with you tonight to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Cool beans.” Ashton tapped my arm, telling me to move it. “Somebody gets to play babysitter for the rookie, and it ain’t me.”

  I was finally off the bus and feeling out of place already. Paulie? I’d be with Paulie in a strip club? No way. When I looked over to him, the muscles in his face had lifted, and he went about locking up the bus rental. Ashton, without a second glance, was headed toward the door with the other Panthers. By the time Paulie and I were on our way, I could see Ashton pointing toward us when speaking to the bouncer at the door.