by Mason Dixon
Harder than Anton and Val had made it look.
Kenya positioned her arms the way she had seen Val do when he was demonstrating her portion of the dance, but she must have done it wrong because he started correcting her right away.
“Lift your head, hold your elbows higher, and move closer. Tango is about passion, desire, and lust. Act like you like her. Like you can’t live without her.”
He positioned Kenya and Mackenzie so their bodies touched up and down. Their breasts, stomachs, and pelvises pressed against one another’s. When Mackenzie slid a hand down her back and pulled her even closer, Kenya thought she might spontaneously combust.
So much for acting.
“Aren’t you glad you said yes?” Mackenzie asked.
Kenya felt goose bumps form as Mackenzie’s breath kissed her skin. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and she wondered if Mackenzie could feel it. She wanted to kiss her. To run her hands over the hard nipples and firm breasts pressing against hers. Mackenzie ground their hips together, exerting exquisite pressure on her rapidly swelling clit. Kenya bit back a moan and tried to listen to Anton’s and Val’s instructions, but she was lost. Lost in the moment. Lost in Mackenzie. Before she knew it, the two-hour rehearsal was over and Anton was congratulating them for a good first session, but she couldn’t remember a single thing she had just been taught. She could only remember how incredible it had felt to be in Mackenzie’s arms.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mackenzie said.
Kenya couldn’t remember the last time she had received such a tempting offer.
Try never.
“Even though we have our pick of restaurants in this area,” Mackenzie said, “I thought we could go to my place for dinner. My chef can prepare us something while we’re soaking our sore muscles in the hot tub.”
Kenya imagined sinking into bubbling water up to her neck while she and Mackenzie sipped champagne and waited to dine on a five-course meal prepared by a private chef, but there was one small problem. “I brought a change of clothes, but I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“You won’t need one. You can borrow one of mine. But if you ask me, you’d look even better wearing nothing at all.”
Mackenzie’s voice was husky with desire. Kenya had asked for and received permission from her to take it slow. But now all she wanted to do was speed up. She wanted to feel Mackenzie’s hands on her bare skin. She wanted to touch Mackenzie’s in return. She wanted to take the lessons she had learned tonight and put them to use. She wanted to take Mackenzie to bed and show her she didn’t always have to take the lead. She wanted to show her how good it could feel to follow. She wanted to trace the curves and planes of her body and commit every inch to memory so when she closed her eyes, her mind would be able to reproduce the image. And she wanted to taste her. God, how she wanted to taste her. She wanted to drink from her until she’d had her fill, then go back for more.
But not tonight. The next time she made love with someone, she wanted it to be about more than fulfilling a need. She wanted it to be about more than simple physical release. She wanted it to mean something. She wanted to feel the rush of emotion that occurred when two people of like minds came together. More than anything else, she wanted it to happen with someone she loved, not someone she met three days ago. Except Mackenzie was starting to feel like both.
“Let’s go,” she said. “I’m starving.”
Chapter Five
Simone usually powered off her cell phone and stashed it in her locker before the start of each shift. Not by choice, though. During her last employee evaluation, Jolie Winters, her manager, had asked her to focus on her customers while she was on the clock instead of posing for selfies with her coworkers. Tonight, however, she decided to break the rules. After she clocked in, she slipped her cell into her pocket instead of storing it away.
Two days had passed since she and Kenya had talked. She had texted Kenya the fifth question this afternoon. She hadn’t thought the question was that difficult and had expected an immediate reply. Almost five hours later, she was still waiting for a response. Was Kenya mulling the question over, was she ignoring her, or was she too busy being wined and dined by Mackenzie to check her messages?
“Got a hot date?” Amanda asked after Simone checked her phone for the third time in the last ten minutes.
“I wish.”
She put her phone in her pocket and resolved not to take it out again until the end of her shift. Or maybe not for another hour. Whichever came first. She made a Midori sour for a corset-clad femme clearly on the hunt for companionship for the night and wished her good luck as she slid the drink toward her.
The femme licked her MAC-covered lips and adjusted the fit of her corset so her full breasts rode even higher. “In this outfit, I won’t need luck.”
She walked away on heels so high they made Simone’s feet hurt just looking at them. Based on the number of heads that craned in her direction as she walked past them, the femme wouldn’t lack for volunteers to rub away the ache. Simone was tempted to fight for a place in the growing line, but her phone vibrated as she prepared a tray of pineapple margaritas for a group of tourists staying at the spa hotel down the street. She smiled when she saw Kenya’s name on the screen.
“Can you cover for me, Amanda?” she asked, handing the tray of drinks to one of the servers. “I’ve got to take this call.”
“You got it.”
“Thanks, buddy. Text me if you start to get slammed.”
Amanda kept mixing drinks without missing a beat. Simone didn’t expect Amanda to call for help. The busier it got, the more focused Amanda became. It was only when the crowds started to thin that her mind began to wander. That’s when the trouble began. When she started looking for new, creative ways to have fun instead of doing her job. More often than not, Simone was right there with her. Playing drinking games, cracking jokes, flirting with customers. Whatever it took to make the shift go faster—and life more enjoyable.
Simone answered her phone before the call went to voice mail and headed to the alley out back so she could talk someplace quiet. Quiet being a relative term. The only place to find peace in rowdy South Beach was inside a sensory deprivation chamber. And she was fresh out of those.
“Sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” Kenya said, “but I had a meeting that ran long, then I had a two-hour practice session that turned into three. I’m just getting home. I was about to nuke myself something to eat and head to bed when I saw your message.”
Simone checked her watch. “It’s after nine. You haven’t had dinner yet?”
“Mackenzie invited me to her place, but I begged off.”
“Getting bored already?” Simone asked hopefully.
“No, but her personal chef insists on turning every meal into an event. He says food should be experienced, not simply consumed. Tonight, I was too wiped to make it through the appetizer, let alone all the way to dessert.”
“Is Mackenzie there with you?” Mackenzie was still putting in as much face time at Azure as ever. Simone hadn’t realized she and Kenya were spending so much time together, which meant they were becoming even more serious than they had been on La Dolce Vita over the weekend.
“No. She said she was going to head home and crash, too. Anton, our choreographer, really put us through the wringer tonight. We need it. The competition’s a little over three weeks away and we’re nowhere near ready.”
“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. Do you want to win that bad? I mean, it’s all for charity, isn’t it?”
“That’s why I’m taking it so seriously. I don’t care if Mackenzie and I come in first or last. I just don’t want to look like a klutz while we’re doing it. Especially for such a worthy cause.”
“I might not know a mambo from a merengue, but I bet you’ll be great.”
“Thanks.” Kenya sounded genuinely touched. “I appreciate that.”
“Don’t mention it.” Simone pushed herself off the wal
l before she got too comfortable. “I have to get back to work and you need to get some sleep, so I won’t keep you long. What’s your answer to question number five?”
Kenya paraphrased the question Simone had posed earlier. “Before I make a phone call, do I rehearse what I’m going to say? Short answer? It depends on who I’m calling. If I’m conducting a job interview, I follow a script and ad-lib as needed. If I’m talking to someone I care about, I speak from the heart.”
“And when you’re talking to me?” Simone was curious about where she stood on the spectrum.
“With you, I never know what to expect so I try to prepare for every possible eventuality.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Kenya chuckled, her voice as warm as the feeling that flowed through Simone’s body when she heard the sound. “Now go to bed before you fall asleep standing up.”
“I intend to. Good night.”
A limo pulled into the mouth of the alley as Simone ended the call. She paused, waiting to see if a VIP needed to be escorted inside without being mobbed by the crush of people outside the front door. She didn’t recognize the glammed-up redhead in the tight bandage dress and sky-high designer heels who exited the limo first. She did, however, recognize Mackenzie, wearing a bespoke pinstriped suit and a smug, just-got-fucked expression.
Simone snapped a picture with her phone while Mackenzie and the glamazon played an action-packed round of tonsil hockey.
“So much for going home and crashing.”
Mackenzie and the glamazon took separate entrances so they wouldn’t be seen together. Simone opened her text messages so she could forward the photo she had just taken to Kenya, but she hesitated before initiating the upload.
Even with photographic evidence, would Kenya believe Mackenzie was cheating on her so soon? Kenya was so sprung, Mackenzie could probably tell her the sky was green and she would believe her. For a skilled player like Mackenzie, explaining away the photograph would be child’s play. Because Kenya would most likely choose to believe her, not her own eyes.
Simone hated to see Kenya being played for a fool, especially by someone who was so good at it, but she had never inserted herself in Mackenzie’s romantic entanglements before and she wasn’t going to start now. No matter how much she wanted to.
She deleted the message, turned off her phone, and reluctantly returned to work.
If she tried to point out Mackenzie’s shortcomings, Kenya would probably think it was just a case of her airing sour grapes. In order to believe the truth, Kenya needed to discover it on her own. The only thing Simone needed to do was make sure she remained the one thing Mackenzie wasn’t: honest.
*
Bridget returned from Maui sporting a deep tan and an ear-to-ear grin. Thanks to scheduling issues, she and Avery had been forced to take their honeymoon before they said, “I do.”
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what you and Avery were doing when you weren’t lounging by the pool,” Kenya said when she and Bridget met for brunch on Saturday.
“That’s what vacation in paradise is all about, isn’t it? Eating too much, drinking too much, getting too much sun, and having way too much sex. On second thought, strike the last part. There’s no such thing as too much sex. Too little, perhaps, but not too much.”
“If you say so.”
“Would you like something to drink?” the waiter asked.
“A pitcher of mimosas,” Bridget said. “And keep them coming.”
Kenya spread her napkin in her lap as she perused the menu. “Are we celebrating something?”
“Yes, the merciful end to your dry spell. A little bird told me you’re seeing someone. To be specific, Mackenzie Richardson.”
Kenya rolled her eyes, suddenly painfully aware of why Bridget had asked her to meet her today. “Is that little bird named Celia?”
Bridget flashed a smile as wide—and as inscrutable—as the Cheshire cat’s. “A good reporter never reveals her sources.”
“You’re an editor, not a reporter,” Kenya pointed out. “You spend your days whipping other people’s words into shape, not crafting your own.”
“Same difference. Now tell me about you and Mackenzie. On second thought, don’t. I already know all about her. Tell me about the hot bartender you’re seeing on the side.”
“I’m not seeing anyone on the—” Kenya held her head in her hands. “Remind me to fire Celia after we’re done here.”
“Don’t blame her. She was just trying to keep me in the loop after my so-called best friend cut me out of it.”
“Stop being so dramatic.”
“Fine. Now tell me what I’ve missed.”
While they dined on eggs Benedict and stuffed French toast, Kenya told Bridget about the events of the past week. Everything from her panic attack outside Azure before the speed dating event to the White Party on Mackenzie’s yacht to her nightly dance lessons to her agreement to answer Simone’s list of questions.
“Have you slept with Mackenzie yet?”
Kenya nearly did a spit take. Bridget never hesitated to ask in-your-face questions, but there was a time and place for everything. This was neither. “No, I haven’t.”
“That has to be some kind of record for her. Her relationships typically have the average life-span of a fruit fly.”
Kenya pushed her empty plate away from her. “That’s comforting.”
Bridget lifted her broad shoulders and slowly let them fall. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know is true. We read the same gossip columns, remember? I know because we’ve compared notes more than once. What about the hot bartender?” she asked after she refilled their glasses. “Are you dating her, too, or is that wishful thinking on Celia’s part?”
Kenya took a sip of her fresh drink. “Simone and I are friends.”
“In the way you and I are friends or the way Romeo and Juliet were friends?”
“Thank you for the unexpected literary reference, but Simone and I are not having an epic romance, doomed or otherwise.”
“What are you having?”
“An extended conversation.”
“So that’s what the kids are calling it these days. When do I get to meet her?”
“Mackenzie?”
Bridget shook her head. “Been there, done that. I met her at a business luncheon the paper sent me to when no one else was willing or able to attend.”
“What did you think?” Kenya asked, anxious to hear Bridget’s take on a woman she thought she could very easily fall for. If she hadn’t already.
Bridget wagged her hand from side to side. “Meh.”
Kenya felt a prickle of concern. Bridget was an excellent judge of character, and Kenya valued her opinion. “What do you mean by that?”
“She’s drop-dead gorgeous, but I found her a bit oily. She reminded me of a car salesman. Too focused on the sale at the expense of the experience. When our conversation ended, I checked my wallet to make sure it was still there.” Bridget grimaced as if she’d gone too far. “But that was years ago. She might have changed since then. For your sake, I hope so.”
“Why for my sake?” Kenya resented the implication she was somehow fragile and in need of protection. Vulnerable, yes. She would readily admit to that. But fragile? Not by a long shot.
“Your relationship with Ellis had other issues,” Bridget said, “but you ended it for the most part because she cheated on you. Now you’re dating someone with a reputation for being a serial philanderer. Surely you see the irony.”
“I do. Which is why I’m not rushing into anything. Mackenzie is beautiful and sexy and charming, but I’m not going to sleep with her unless it feels right. Until I feel I can trust her.”
“Good. Because I don’t want to end up in prison for going medieval on her ass. Now when do I get to meet Simone? I know,” Bridget said before Kenya could respond. “You, Celia, and I should go to Azure for drinks tonight. It’s been forever since the three of us had a girls’
night out.”
“Celia and I had one last week. Sorry you missed it.”
“On a one-hundred-fifty-foot yacht, no less. Don’t rub it in.”
“I’ll call Celia to see if she’s free tonight, but I doubt she’ll be able to talk Juan into watching the kids two weeks in a row.”
“She already did. And I’ve already cleared it with my other half, too, so Celia and I are all set. We’re just waiting on you.”
“What if I have plans?”
“Even if you did, Celia and I would go without you.”
“I’m sure you would.” Kenya tossed her napkin on the table and signaled for the waiter to bring the check. “In that case, count me in. I don’t want you and Celia roaming around Miami without a chaperone.”
“We’ll try not to embarrass you too much.”
“Uh huh. I’ll believe that when I see it.”
*
Simone was intrigued when Kenya, Celia, and a tall, imposing woman with a close-cropped Afro and the relaxed look of someone who had recently spent time basking in the tropical sun walked into Azure a little before nine. After they came over to the bar, the woman with the fresh tan—Kenya introduced her as Bridget something or other—didn’t ask Simone to guess her favorite drink (Scotch on the rocks), but she did proceed to spend the next thirty minutes asking her practically everything else. Before long, Simone started to feel like she was being given the third degree.
This must be the best friend Celia warned me about.
She had already been asked to confirm she was gainfully employed, didn’t have a criminal record, and wasn’t “a drug-addled whack job.” What was next? Was Bridget planning to throw an arm around her shoulders and ask her to state her intentions, or take her out to the proverbial woodshed and kick her ass?
“That’s enough, Bridge,” Kenya said at length. “Give her a break. She’s got work to do.”
“I suppose I have what I need,” Bridget said before adding a pointed, “for now.”