AFRICAN AMERICAN ROMANCE: A Thug to Remember (Hood Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance) (African American Urban Contemporary Short Stories)

by Lady Keisha

  Stepping into my apartment, I pushed those thoughts to the back of my head and took a deep breath. It was all so clean and fresh in here, so bright and airy. Sure, the place was small, but it was mine. After sharing a sorority house with a bunch of sisters for the last four years, I was looking forward to having a place to myself. I’d picked up a few extra shifts over at the campus coffee shop in preparation for graduation, certain that even if I didn’t have a job I would have a kick-ass place to live. And here it was. All I needed now was someone to share it with.

  Sighing, I flopped myself down on my couch and tried not to let my thoughts linger for too long on my serious singledom. It was probably for the best, after all, I didn’t want to be juggling a graduate career with attempting to nurture a fledgling romance. But there was still a part of me that missed having someone to cuddle up to at night, even if I knew I was being completely ridiculous.

  I had dated all the way through college, a series of White, middle class guys who’d always treated me well and taken care of me, then vanished as soon as talk moved to something more serious. I couldn’t believe I’d kept falling for their little tricks, and found myself just rolling my eyes when I heard the usual, “I really like you but I’m not ready for (insert arbitrary relationship milestone here).” In some ways, it was good not to have to worry about where my boyfriend was in the relationship, but I missed that physical affection. And by that, yes, I mean the sex.

  I always seemed to have a much higher sex drive than most of my boyfriends, and I found myself getting angsty for it after only a few nights without. Being head of a sorority meant that I was never short on guys to discreetly hook up with, and I wound up sleeping my way around most of the campus without anyone ever really realising it. It felt liberating to let go and just let my sex drive run wild and free, not having to rein in my flirty eyes or suggestive talk, but things didn’t work like that out in the real world. I wasn’t the head of some prestigious organisation any more, and I couldn’t expect dudes to just come and hurl themselves down at my feet.

  No, I would have to actually go out and try to find people, head to bars and chat up the barflies. I was already planning what to wear and whether I should have my hair up or down before I had a chance to stop myself. Damn, I must really be horny.

  There and then, I made a promise to myself: no random hook-ups for the next two weeks. That would give me time to focus on getting settled in to my apartment, as well as getting ahead on my job hunting. I knew most of my sisters were still lurking around the sorority house, drinking and crying at the thought of saying goodbye to each other, but I couldn’t have gotten out of there fast enough. It might sound callous, but I was more than happy to bid goodbye to my sisters, not because I didn’t like them, but because I needed to get out and start on my own. They had always felt like somewhat of a hindrance to me, and I knew that I wouldn’t be one of those who hung around the house till the fall semester had practically started again, begging to have just one more party. No, I loved those girls, but I knew when it was time to move on, and that time was now.

  So the next couple of weeks were spent job hunting, getting dressed up in my nicest businesswear (if there was one thing I was guilty of spending money on, it was clothes, but it meant that I always had the perfect wardrobe for any given occasion), and heading out to offices to hand in my thick, printed CV with a smile plastered on my face.

  Every time I came in, they seemed impressed that I’d actually made it down in person as opposed to typing out an email like everyone else, but I knew that it was such an easy touch to help you make a good impression that no way was I going to pass that up. By the time the two weeks were up, I already had a couple of interviews arranged, and I was feeling good about my prospects. I had spotted a bar down the road from me, and decided that it was only right to support local businesses and lavish a little attention on myself to celebrate.

  Pulling on a pair of kitten heels and turquoise halterneck dress, I inspected myself in the mirror, pulling my dark hair into a ponytail and brushing on another coat of mascara. I was all set to hit the town. I had called up a couple of my college sisters, Sam and Thea, and they’d agreed to come help me celebrate, on the condition that I would do the same for them when they graduated the following year.

  Tottering down the road in my heels, I spotted them hanging out round the entrance of the bar, talking animatedly with a bouncer outside. What was this now? As I got closer, I could hear them asking about being let in, demanding to know why a bar like this wouldn’t let in a couple of college girls. But the bouncer stood firm, shaking his head and refusing to talk, no matter what they said. Even as I approached, and they turned to shrug their shoulders at me exasperatedly, the bouncer didn’t take his eyes off the middle distance, as if refusing to admit we even existed.

  I stood in front of him, working my best diplomatic tone, and spoke. “Come on, man, I live just up the street, I’m good business for you. And my friends and I won’t cause any trouble, we just want a couple of drinks and then we’ll be out of your hair.”

  At that moment, a man stepped out from inside the building. He was tall, maybe six-five or even six-six, and ripped as hell, his muscles showing through the tight shirt he was wearing. He glanced over at me, just as I finished talking, and my heart sprang into my mouth. Damn, that guy was cute. I didn’t usually go for Black guys—some kind of internalized racism, one of my friends called it—but this man was gorgeous. His eyes were a deep hazel, his hair cropped tightly around his head. Everything about his clothing was expensive, even the whiff of aftershave I could make out on his neck.

  His eyes flicked down over my body, and I felt my breath hitch in my throat. I usually wasn’t keen on guys checking me out that blatantly, but there was something about him that was impossible to resist. His easy confidence, maybe, or the way he held himself. Either way, when he leaned in to the bouncer and murmured something in his ear, the man keeping us out of the bar stepped aside and gestured for us to go in. Raising my eyebrows, I shot him a grateful smile as Sam, Thea and I walked into the crowded bar. Whoever he was, he had some serious influence around here.

  “Fuck, I didn’t realize he was back around here,” muttered Thea as we sat down at a booth, picking up the menu to glance through the prices. My ears pricked up.

  “Wait, you know that guy? The guy who got us in?” I wondered if his act of kindness had just been because he knew Thea, and nothing to do with that look he gave me. The thought was strangely disappointing.

  “I don’t know him, so much, but I know of him,” she said mysteriously.

  I rolled my eyes. “Oh, quit being so evasive. Who is he?”

  She looked around, then gestured for me and Sam to lean in closer as if she was letting us in on the biggest secret she’d ever heard. “He’s Randy Paulson. He’s probably the most influential drug dealer in this part of town, and he’s bad news.”

  Drug dealer? I’d never so much as taken a toke of pot before now, and here I was giving a well-known drug kingpin a second glance. I blushed at the thought, but pushed it out of my head. What were the chances that he’d be interests in me for more than an appreciative look, anyway? I was a broke-ass sorority girl with a marketing degree and a hefty chunk of ambition that tended to get in the way of me dating known criminals.

  “Huh,” I replied, keeping my thoughts to myself.

  “Well, I don’t care if he’s Obama’s illegitimate stepchild, he’s really cute,” declared Sam.

  “Sam! Come on, you wouldn’t, would you?” asked Thea, her eyes widening.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Of course not. He’s bad news. But a girl can window shop.”

  “There’s window shopping, Sam, and then there’s sitting with your face pressed against the glass and drooling,” I replied fondly as Sam’s eyes scanned the room for him. “Anyway, how do you know that about him, Thea? I didn’t tag you as the type to keep tabs on our city’s criminal underworld.”

  She shrugged. “I don�
��t know. I guess these things just get back to you, you know? With someone as well-known as him, I’m surprised the whole city doesn’t know.”

  “So what does he deal?”

  She looked at me curiously. “You don’t partake, do you?”

  “No. Just curious,” I replied nonchalantly.

  “I’m not really sure. I know he refuses to handle heroin, because it’s too messy, but a couple of girls from the house were buying molly and coke from one of his sellers.”

  “In the house?”

  She blushed. “Yeah, a couple of the younger girls. We figured it was best not to tell you. Plausible deniability, you know.”

  “And I’d have made you get that shit out of my house.”

  “Well, that too,” she nodded. “Anyway, what’s your interest in our drug lord?”

  I shrugged, putting my menu down. “I don’t know. I haven’t been laid in a while, maybe I’m just horny and looking for someone new to rub up on.”

  “You don’t have to be so gross about it!” Thea wailed, waving her hands overdramatically in the air.

  “Well, that’s what it is, and you know it.” I found my eyes scanning the room, looking for him, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. “Anyway, are we going to order or what?”

  So we went up to the bar and got a drink, then another, then another. It felt good to let loose like this, even if it had only been a few weeks since I’d been living with these women. Something about being off campus, with my apartment just up the road, seemed to make things even more crazy than usual. So we drank, and we drank hard. We put away pitcher after pitcher of beer, all my careful budgeting down the drain, because I was just having way too much fun to stop. And every now and then, I would catch sight of Randy making his way around the bar.

  I wondered if he was dealing, or if he was just here for pleasure, or a bit of both. Either way, I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and I caught him glancing down at me a few times too. Every time he caught my eyes, I averted my gaze, only to sneak it back to him moments later to see if he was still looking. I felt like a teenager, peering over at my crush to see if they were staring at me. It felt kind of good to have someone to flirt with, even if I was adamant that it wasn’t going to go any further than that. I already had enough to deal with without bringing a drug kingpin into my life.

  So we sat and we drank, and we laughed and exchanged stories about what had been going on in our lives since we’d last seen each other. Two weeks seemed to stretch out into infinity as they shared the gossip and the hook-ups and the break-ups with me, and I couldn’t believe that I’d been living in that hyperactive bubble for the last four years. But by midnight or so, I could see the two of them were flagging, glancing at their watches with sudden interest, and I knew that they would be calling up a taxi and making their moves soon.

  “If you guys are thinking about calling it…” I began, watching as Sam snuggled her head down against Thea’s shoulder.

  Thea yawned widely, then nodded. “I think I need to get back soon. Do you want us to walk you home before we head?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it,” I waved my hand in the air. “I’ll finish my drink and then I’ll head out, it’s only two minutes down the street.”

  I had ulterior motives, even if I didn’t want Thea and Sam to realize them. Sure, I’d been drinking, and it probably wasn’t the best time to be trying to pull this shit off, but I had to go over and just talk to Randy. Even if nothing happened, there was something about getting that ego-boosting flirt from an alpha male that really put a pin in an already great night.

  Thea followed my gaze straight to Randy, who was sitting at the bar surrounded by a group of men and women, and raised her eyebrows. “Careful, Renee. Don’t get yourself into trouble.”

  I appreciated her concern, but that didn’t stop me rolling my eyes just a little bit. “Come on, I’ll be fine. You know me.”

  Thea nodded cautiously before gently shaking Sam and picking up her cell to call a taxi. Leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek before she left, she whispered in my ear.

  “I hear he’s got the biggest cock in the whole city.”

  I looked up at her, a little scandalised to hear that kind of language coming from the usually chaste girl, and waved her and Sam off. I’d had a good night, but there were other things that I was even more keen to do.

  Swirling my last glass of beer around on the table, I tried to formulate a game plan. I had always been so confident and assured about my skills with picking up guys back in college, but how the hell was I meant to go about it here? I didn’t have that big reputation, and he was the one surrounded by adoring friends, not me. Or maybe they were clients? It was difficult to tell. The taboo nature of his career sent a shiver of excitement through me, even though I knew it shouldn’t have. He was bad news, but I wanted to hear him. Taking a deep breath, I had just about psyched myself up to go over and say hello when someone plopped themselves down on the seat opposite me. I lifted my head to protest, but was met by pair of startling familiar hazel eyes. Holy shit, it was him.

  “Um…hey,” I nodded, thrown of my game by his approach. “I’m Renee.” I stuck my hand out over the table, and he took it, apparently charmed by my job interview flirting technique.

  “Randy.”

  “I know who…I mean…“ I stuttered over my words, not wanting to give away the fact that I knew who he was and what he did. Maybe he wouldn’t like me knowing?

  He grinned widely, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth, the kind that Beverly Hills women pay a pretty penny for. I noticed a slight layer of stubble on his cheek, and fought the urge to run my hand across it, suddenly desperate to feel it’s roughness underneath my fingers.

  “Don’t worry about it. Pretty much everyone knows who I am. Hence…” he gestured at the bar, where his group of loud, excitable partygoers were chattering endlessly.

  “Looks exhausting.”

  “It is,” he pulled a face. “They’re all big into their coke, but it’s not really my thing.”

  “You don’t…?”

  “Unless we’re talking a Jack and Coke, I tend to avoid that kind of stuff altogether. It’s a waste of money and, anyway, I get to see how stupid people become when they take that stuff. It seriously isn’t pretty.” He shrugged. “Kind of put me off it for life.”

  “Oh,” I replied, my mind reeling. For some reason, I’d imagined him engaged in every single stereotypical drug-dealer scenario- snorting cocaine of mirrors (did people even do that anymore?), his apartment strewn with glass pipes and rolling papers.

  “So what about you?”

  “Huh?”

  “What do you do?” He smiled again, as if trying to encourage the words out of me. I wasn’t usually this useless in front of hot guys, but something about his power mixed with his disarming charm made it difficult to think straight. I didn’t think the beers had helped much, either, but then who was counting?

  “I’m a student. I used to be a student,” I corrected myself. “I just graduated and moved in to an apartment up the street.”

  “What did you study?”

  “Marketing. It’s crazy-hard trying to find a job in this kind of climate, though, I’ve been looking everywhere.” I sighed, taking a sip of my drink.

  “Marketing, huh? Maybe I could give you a job. You could come up with taglines and advertising campaigns for me.” His tone was playful, and I was once again thrown off by his demeanour. How could a guy this charming, this sweet, be a drug dealer?

  “Hmmm, I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Though I’m not sure people need a reason to take drugs other than the fact that they need something to pose with on a Saturday night.” I realized what I’d said seconds after it came out of my mouth. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t—”

  “No, really, it’s fine. It’s kind of nice to hang with someone who isn’t just looking for a few more pills to pop.” He threw back the last of his drink, then gestured towards mine. “Can I get
you another?”

  I glanced down at my almost-empty beer, swilling the last few dregs around the bottom on my glass. I kind of wanted to stay, but I knew I didn’t want to get stuck with his braying bunch of revellers. “Nah, it’s cool. I should probably be getting home now, anyway. I’ve got an interview to prepare for.”

  He held his hands up. “Hey, work comes first. Can I get you to the door?”

  Damn, he was such a gentleman. More than any of the middle class kids I’d dated for the last few years. I cocked my head at him, weighing up the pros and cons of what I was about to do in my head. Screw it, I thought, it wasn’t every day you met a hot, alpha, charming man-about-town, even if he was dealing drugs.

  “Can I leave you my number?” I asked, my voice a little higher than usual. He looked taken aback, but kind of pleased.

  “Course you can. Here, put it into my phone.”

  He pushed his smartphone across the table towards me, and I tapped out my cell number then handed it back.

  “Alright, I’ve got to go now. But you call me when you get a chance, okay? Maybe we could hang out somewhere a little less loud.” I was surprised at the brazenness of my words. I thought that level of flirting was saved for student bars.

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Will do, Madam.” He stood up, and placed a hand on my waist, guiding me to the exit. His fingers gently traced my skin, and I felt shivers travel from the bottom of my spine all the way up to my neck. His hand was warm and firm on me, and I could see a couple of girls shooting my jealous looks from the bar. I guessed that they were more likely hanging around him for his drugs than his sparkling wit, so I didn’t let them bug me.

  Randy pushed opened the door for me, and, with one last grin, sent me off into the night. I wobbled slightly on my heels, pulling the ponytail out of my hair and letting it fall loose around my shoulders. Maybe it was the fact that I’d just given a drug dealer my phone number, but I was feeling a little more wild than normal.

  When I got back to my apartment, I made up a box of Mac and Cheese into the microwave, and grabbed myself a big glass of water to stave off the hangover.