He laughed and shut the front door.
I guess he was planning an extended visit. He’d stayed the night before, and I’d stayed over there a time or two, but never when he was acting this funky. Besides, this sleeping together without actually sleeping together was getting on my nerves.
I took a long, hot, soothing shower and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. Calm again, I was pulling my hair up into a ponytail when the phone rang.
Thinking it was Roman calling from the video store, the calm fled and I punched the speaker button and answered rudely, “Yeah, what?”
“Jewellen?” Stacie’s voice was confused.
“Hi, Stace, sorry. What’s up?”
“I was calling to see if you were going to make church tomorrow? You sound like you could use a little religion.” She laughed.
“Yeah, girl, I thought I’d try. Why, what’s up?”
“Well, I’m trying to get everyone together so we can go over the wedding plans.”
“Ah, it’s about that time, huh?” Nobody but Stacie was enthused about this damn wedding.
“Yeah, we got the church for the second Saturday in August. Lucked out, really—someone else canceled.”
“How sad. I wonder who.” How horrible to cancel a month before the big day. I knocked on wood that something like that never happened to me. Course, at the rate I was going, I needed not worry about marriage plans anytime in the near future.
“Yeah, well, whoever’s loss is my gain. Can you make it?”
“I’m back!” Roman bellowed from the front door before slamming it shut. Goody, His Moodiness returned. Let the peasants rejoice. My, I really was testy this evening!
I switched over to the handset and headed downstairs. “I’ll plan on it.” The phone beeped. “That’s my other line, Stace. See you tomorrow.” I stood in the kitchen and watched Roman unloading all kinds of junk as I switched over. “Hello?”
“Jew-Ro, I’m in love,” Roni Mae sang across the line.
I smiled. “Is that right. Who’s the lucky man?”
“Who do you think? Aaron Too Fine Paris, that’s who!” she squealed, and launched into a lengthy explanation of how this love thing came to be. While she chatted, I hit the MUTE button and glared at Roman.
“What is all that crap?” He had about four bags of groceries.
He smirked at me. “Thought I should keep some stuff I like to eat over here. You know how I hate all that nasty fat-free, low-calorie shit.”
Now he was moving food into my fridge? An hour ago, he told me to “let it go.” Now our food was cohabitating. I switched the MUTE button, “Girl, I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, girl. You know what else he did?” she started up again. Muted her again.
“So, uh, you’re moving food in all of a sudden?” I asked suspiciously.
He ripped open a packet of microwave popcorn and looked at me. “Got another problem?” I didn’t care for his tone. At all. Shit, I could have an attitude if I wanted. It was my house, my kitchen, and ... shit!
“Maybe I do. Hold on a sec.” I held the phone back up to my ear and unmuted. “You know, girl, this all sounds so good—why don’t you tell me again tomorrow at Stacie’s thing.” I listened for a second. “Uh-huh, tell me that too. I gotta run; something’s about to boil over up in here. Okay, bye.”
I slapped the phone down on the counter. “Seems to me you sure are making yourself at home up and through here.”
He took out a bowl and two glasses and set them on a tray before answering. “Yeah, that’s true. But, hey, I want you to do the same over at my joint, okay?”
Here he goes with the hip-hop again. Before I could think of something else to say, the damn phone rang again. I started to ignore it when I noticed how irritated he was about it, this being the third call in a matter of minutes. Just to be contrary, I snatched it up. “Hello?”
“Jewel?” A male voice I didn’t recognize was asking for me.
“Yeah?” I glanced at the phone screen: Private Number.
“Hey, how are you doing?” The voice was more familiar, but I couldn’t place it yet.
“Okay, how about you?”
“You have no idea who this is, do you, honey?”
Only one person ever called me honey like that. Almost like an afterthought. “How could I forget you, Patrick?” I laughed at my ex-boyfriend, okay, seriously, ex-fiancé. Don’t they pick the darnedest times to call? Patrick and I were real tight back in the day. I thought he was it. I was sure he thought I was it, too. That was before his ex-girlfriend came along and he realized she was it ... still. Everyone said I should have fought harder for him, and maybe I should have, but that was not my thing. I was knocked out of the ring the minute the ex turned up with that I’m-so-sorry-I-miss-you-so-much mess.
To my way of thinking, if a man was into you, he was not going to be into anybody else. You know, kind of that whole Bernie Mac philosophy: “Who ya with?” I was not about to go all Grey’s Anatomy and tell Patrick to “pick me.” He tried to play the both of us off each other, and when he realized I wouldn’t play, he went back to what was easy. And I was left alone and more than a little disillusioned.
In the long run, I think my mom was far more broken up about it than I was. Lord knew my mother loved him as if he was part of the family. Hey, the way I figured it, what was for you, was for you. Speaking of which, I couldn’t help but think Patrick’s timing couldn’t possibly be worse.
“You know, I was thinkin’ that very same thing about you, darlin’.” That Georgia drawl hadn’t faded one bit. Typical man—call up all out of the blue like they hadn’t done you wrong without a “sorry” or a “my bad.” AND expect to have a nice civil conversation with you like nothing ever happened. Well, I could be a mature grown-up (sometimes). Patrick was once very important to me. I could at least see what he wanted. With Roman acting any old kinda funky way and currently staring me dead in my mouth, I couldn’t resist playing along a little bit.
I laughed softly. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that time I brought you home with me and we spent the weekend holed up in that hotel in Atlanta before going to Valdosta. Remember that?”
“I remember lots of things, Patrick.” Couldn’t help but let that edge slip out. Wouldn’t pay to let a brother think he got off scot-free. There were still reparations to be made.
“You never did beat around the bush, honey. Susan’s gone, been gone for a while, and I was wondering ...” He trailed off hopefully. Of course he was wondering.
Decided to ignore that whole slippery slope. “Where are you?” I asked out of curiosity.
“Wingin’ my way back to you, of course. I’m in the Atlanta airport on my way to Dallas for six months or so. See if I still have a chance at a few things.” Did he say six months? A chance at what?
I stood there with my jaw open until the microwave timer went off. I jumped and looked over at Roman, who was still looking all up in my face. Hands on his hips, scowl on his face. It occurred to me that this was not the best time to play this game. I had a good idea of what Patrick wanted and needed no witnesses. Might want to keep Roman on his toes, but I was nobody’s fool!
“Really, you don’t say?” I answered, trying to be cool, turning my back on Roman. I heard him snatching the popcorn out of the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. He slammed the bowl onto the tray and went into the fridge for something.
“Would I lie to you, sweetheart?” Patrick drawled.
I snorted. “Don’t go down that road, Patrick. You really don’t wanna go there.” I heard them announcing flights in the background. “Listen, you’ve got somewhere to be, and I’ve stuff to do ...”
“So why don’t I call you when I get settled in and everything. Probably Monday, okay, honey?” Mighty proprietary for someone who left skid marks on my heart as he vacated the relationship with alarming swiftness.
“Yeah, you just do that.” I didn’t add more. For one, I didn�
�t want Patrick to read much into my words, and for two, I didn’t want Roman to read much into my words!
“Lookin’ forward to seein’ you, Jewel. I really, truly am.” No doubt.
“Bye-bye now.” I hung up the phone in a hurry and clicked the ringer to OFF. I twirled around to face Roman. His expression said it all. I shrugged. “What?”
“Patrick?” He raised a brow and set two wineglasses onto the tray with a tad more force than was absolutely necessary.
“An ex.” I could be as short and unrevealing as he was any day. I tossed a couple napkins onto the tray. Oh, I was so not in the mood to have this conversation with him tonight. The trip down Memory Lane of Significant Others Past was always fraught with pitfalls.
“And?” He glanced up from opening a bottle of chardonnay.
“That’s it. Ex.” I couldn’t let the opportunity pass. “Like Jaquenetta, right? Ex.”
He laughed. “I gotta hand it to you, Miss Jewel. You do know how to get your li’l point across.” He looped a plastic bag over his arm and picked up the tray. “Course, when I mean ex, I mean as in no longer an issue, you follow?” He turned toward the living room.
“I’m right behind you,” I quipped.
“You know what I mean. Let’s watch these upstairs.” He headed for the stairs. I clicked off a lamp and followed him up.
He set the tray down on the chest at the foot of the bed and extracted three movies from the bag on his arm. “Take your pick,” he said, and extended the movies to me, a funny look on his face.
I hoped he wasn’t going to turn moody again. I took the DVDs and read the titles. My head popped up and I stared at him. “You trying to tell me something, player?” The movies were Let’s Make Love, Wild Orchid, and She’s Gotta Have It. I sensed a theme. Of course, I’d be a damn fool not to.
He put his hands out innocently. “What? That day when we talked ’bout movies, ya said ya liked Marilyn Monroe, Mickey Rourke, and all of Spike Lee’s movies. And the video store was out of all the good new releases.”
“Um-hmm.” I had never seen Wild Orchid, actually, but I’d heard a lot about it. I noticed that this was the unedited version as I took it out of the case and pushed it in. Roman clicked off all the lights, and I swirled around to look at him. What were we playing now?
The arms came out again. “What? It’s better to watch movies in the dark, Jewel.” Better for who? Better for what? I wondered as he took off his shoes and stretched out across the bed on his stomach with his head toward the TV. He reached over the foot of the bed and grabbed some popcorn with one hand. With the other, he patted the space beside him. “Come on over, babe. Get comfy.” It suddenly occurred to me just what had been on Roman’s mind all day.
“Um-hmm.” I picked up the remote and stretched out beside him. I had just gotten to the point where I could be around him without my hormones jumping up and sprinting away from me. I was just settling into this “let’s wait” mode, and here he went changing the script.
Don’t get me wrong—the hormones still jitterbugged around a lot. But I felt like I had them under control. As long as he was over there and I was over here, I wouldn’t disgrace myself by drooling over his body.
I distracted myself by picking up the remote controls. TV, audio, DVD—I clicked everything on and waited for the movie to roll. Fifteen minutes into the film, I knew I was in trouble of disgracing myself. A big Brazilian man was having his way with some exotic-looking woman, or maybe she was having her way with him, but however you call it, it was hot. Very hot. The heroine of the movie came across these two people in the midst of a freak fest against the wall of a dilapidated building and couldn’t tear her eyes away. I knew how she felt. Finally, it was too much for her and she ran away. Again, I sympathized.
Lord, was it warm! Roman had inched closer to me (or had I inched closer to him?). The heat coming off his body didn’t help. The minute the scene changed, I sat up and yanked the cord to the ceiling fan to start that baby whirring. Then I reached forward and grabbed the wineglass Roman had put on the tray for me. I took a long, deep swallow.
“Too hot in here for ya, baby?” Roman asked in that maple-syrup voice.
“A little toasty,” I answered without even cutting my eyes in his direction.
“It’s a hot night.” He glanced over at me. I could feel him giving me the old once-over with those eyes.
“Yeah, hotter than normal,” I murmured, still never taking my eyes off the screen. The poor girl kept having flashbacks of what she witnessed. Before she could get it under control, along came Mickey Rourke. She was a goner. I slurped down that wine in no time flat.
During the next steamy scene, Roman’s hand rubbed up and down my spine. As if it wasn’t already tingling. He touched me and that was it—I was ready. More than ready. Mighty ready. It had been a hell of a long time for me. We’re talking over a year. I thought back for a minute—yeah, over a year. It was Patrick, speak of the devil. Anyway, all I knew was, if Roman was ready, I was ready. Truth be told, I’d been ready and willing since he fell on top of me two months ago.
I shot him a glance out of the corner of my eye. Yeah, really ready and shamefully willing. This time, it was me who inched closer. He shifted to lay on his side facing me but kept his eyes on the screen. I did the same. He trailed a hand down my arm; I trailed mine along his neck. He traced the outline of my thigh; I traced a bicep. He took the barrette out of my hair and fanned his fingers through it. Thank God it was clean and manageable today.
“Want another glass of wine?” he whispered as they tried to stuff a vague plot in between the sex. I did notice that Roman had used that whisper as an excuse to inch closer. There weren’t too many inches left.
“Hmm? No, thanks.” I could barely speak. The next steamy scene came too quickly. I had no recovery time from the last one.
Roman and I had run out of relatively neutral zones to trail and trace. The scene was a wild one, with the heroine watching Mickey urging and coaching a couple on lovemaking in the back of a limo. I imagined the cut version was short and sweet. This version left nothing to the imagination and the places those zoom lenses could go.
Roman reached beneath my T-shirt and unsnapped my bra. It was a front snap, and my poor breasts had been crying for freedom. They practically jumped into his waiting hands. I bit down on my lip as he skimmed his thumbs back and forth across the tips. Wouldn’t do for me to start howling at the moon. My fingers grazed along his chest, and I started opening his shirt buttons.
He tugged at the T-shirt lightly. I could take a hint. I whipped it over my head and pitched it aside. The bra was just as quickly disposed of. His shirt followed along. Still, both sets of eyes remained on the movie. The heroine was having a little fling with some guy who thought she was a prostitute. Hey, Mickey told her to go for it. I was pleased to hear Roman’s breathing get a little louder. I did hate to pant alone.
He slid his hand down my spine to the small of my back and applied subtle pressure until my hips were pressed against his. My hips were intrigued. They pressed forward curiously. His belt and the button fly were in the way. I shifted back for a minute and fumbled around till I undid the belt.
“Don’t ever wear this complicated thing again,” I teased, and was surprised at how breathless I sounded.
“It’s history,” he muttered. His voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it, almost gravelly. I loved it. He tossed the belt aside.
I undid one button. It was hard to do this stuff without looking. But it was an interesting sensation relying on the sense of touch alone. I paused because Mickey and the heroine were having a little tiff. That was okay; Jacqueline Bisset in a supporting role was going to entertain us with a naked nubile native she just picked up. After the second button, I couldn’t resist reaching inside to cop a feel. Silk boxers. Packed and straining silk boxers—wow. I was so impressed, I lingered for a while, rubbing, cupping, squeezing, stroking, teasing.
“Jewellen, just finish up wit
h the buttons, hmm, babe?” His voice was strained.
“Oh yeah, those.” I grinned in the darkness and made short work of the last buttons.
“Find anything down there you like, Miss Jewel?” He growled the words deep in his throat as he pulled the jeans off and flung them over the side of the bed.
“Nice drawers,” I teased, snuggling up closer to him. He lifted one of my legs over his and wrapped his arms around me. I couldn’t help it. I had to groan a little. My breasts came up against that solid chest, and every impressive inch of him was so very close to exactly where I needed it. Did I mention that I was really ready?
But Roman was still watching the damn movie, so I watched too. Finally, Mickey tells the heroine his life story and she’s so moved that, lo and behold, her clothes melt off and they get their share of bed-time aerobics going. Good Lord, when they said unedited, they meant it.
“Look, baby,” Roman said. As if I could take my eyes away. Color me naive but it looked to me like they were really doing it, no movie magic involved. Especially, right... there! Roman shifted against me, and I had to bite my lip again. “Whatcha thinkin’?” he asked.
It must be my cloistered upbringing or my inner prude, but I just couldn’t bring myself to say that I wished he’d do to me what Mickey was doing to her. And I wished he’d do it quick. So I said nothing at all. The movie finished and the credits started rolling.
“Maybe that looked pretty interesting, huh?” He rolled us over until I was on my back, and he was above me. He held my arms out by my head and leaned down as if to kiss me. Instead he flicked his tongue across my lips. Over and over. I made a muffled little sound and tried to pull my hands free, but he held fast. “I wanna hear it, Jewellen.”
“What?” My brain was struggling, what with my oxygen going short and my blood rushing around to a hundred other places.
“Every li’l sound, every li’l moan, every li’l demand you make.”
Heard It All Before Page 14