Head Games
Page 25
No worries. Got here early. Saved you a seat. To your left at the bar when you enter the lounge, she replied.
“Nigga, you wanna release that phone, too. I’z ain’t got all day.”
Both dudes stared me down. As I walked toward my sedan, I memorized their license plate, make, and model. Opening my door . . . wham! I grabbed the side of my face; my knees buckled.
“Lay the fuck down, nigga,” one of them demanded.
Material things were generally replaceable. Was taught by my dad, nobody is going to give you what you deserve in this world. I remained in a kneeling position. I was within reach of my armrest compartment. Placed my hands in the air, praying someone would pass by and these fools would run. Dude with the gun unfastened the latch, slid fifty grand over my hand, and locked it onto his wrist. They laughed.
Wasn’t shit amusing. At this point I feared they’d shoot me for the sport of it.
As they walked away, I heard their conversation.
“Can’t be nice to niggas these days.”
“That nigga lucky you didn’t pista-whup him.”
“Or bust that ass wide open . . . with my dick!”
“You right, yeah.”
They joked back and forth, got in their truck. After they sped off, I knew I’d never see my grandfather’s keepsake again.
I crawled into my sedan, locked all four doors, drove to valet at the hotel across the street, where I should’ve gone initially instead of trying to save a few dollars on parking.
The attendant greeted me with “Are you checking in?”
“Yes,” I lied. My pants legs were scuffed in front my shins. Brushing away the dirt, I was relieved my white shirt was spotless.
“Last name?” he asked.
Wasn’t as though they’d ever request identification. “Johnson” never failed with festivals of this magnitude, there was always at least one.
“First initial?”
“T,” which could’ve easily registered as a d, p, or z the way I’d said it. Taking the ticket, I told him, “Thanks.”
“Need help with your luggage, sir?” he asked.
“Airline lost it,” I told him, pointed at my cell, then spoke into my Bluetooth, “Hey.”
“I have to inform you that this call may be monitored for quality-control purposes. Is this Blitz Einstein Roulet?”
“Bitch, record this. I just got robbed. I don’t give a fuck about you right now.” Had to stop answering without looking. Thought it was Atlantis. I had more important business. If there wasn’t a line of people getting out of and waiting for cars, I would’ve cursed her out loud enough to awaken Marie Laveau.
“Your car note is overdue, sir. You’re behind three months,” she said, then asked, “Can you bring your account current today?”
“Bitch, if I could, I would. I can’t deal with your shit right now. Did you hear me say, ‘I just got robbed’?”
“Then you’ll know what it feels like when we repossess yo’ shit,” she retorted.
Unprofessional ho sounded as though she could be related to the motherfuckers that stole my piece. I asked her, “What’s your first and last names?”
A group of women stepped off the elevator. I opted to climb the stairs one level up to the Polo Club Lounge, as I told the ratchet collection agent, “I’ll take care of it. Just give me one more month and I’m paying it off.”
“If we repo it, you’ll have to pay it off to get it back. A loan is a promise to repay, sir. Stop signing shit without reading it first. This was a courtesy call.”
She could work for the casino’s debt collection department. Squeezing between a pack of happily chattering females, I saw Atlantis waving at me from the end of the bar. I made my way to her.
“Hey, you,” she said, spreading her arms.
“Can you make one pay—”
That bitch hadn’t hung up. Ending the call, admiring Atlantis, I didn’t know who was hotter: Trymm’s ex or Kohl’s ex? Ramona’s pics on Instagram, but given the opp under the “date, dick, and dump” challenge, I’d fuck both. Dallas never really stayed with a woman long enough to put her in the girlfriend category. Neither did I.
Atlantis wore a printed maxidress with a split that stopped above her navel. The fitted boy shorts underneath revealed her camel toe and shapely thighs.
“You look amazing.” I hugged Atlantis longer than Trymm would’ve approved. Slowly slid my fingers to her lower spine, stopped a fraction of an inch above the crack of her booty.
“What are you sipping on?” Should’ve asked what perfume she was wearing. Bet I could eat her pussy better than Long Dick Silver.
“A girly cocktail. Ruby Red martini. It has coconut rum, peach schnapps, vodka, cranberry, and lime,” she said. Thrusting her breasts forward, she pulled up her top.
She knew what she was doing. I got a glimpse of her nipple. “Excuse me, beautiful, real men do drink martinis.” The high pitch in my voice made me clear my throat. I wasn’t sure if her enthusiasm was sparked by my presence, but I went in for hug number two. “It is so good to see you, girl. How long has it been since we last ran into one another? Two or three years?”
“Essence. Two years ago. On the floor.” Atlantis did a sexy side-to-side swerve, running her fingers through her hair.
Trymm played basketball for LSU. Atlantis and I occasionally bumped into one another on campus at Grambling. She was always bad.
“Your usual, Blitz?” the bartender Jason asked.
“I’ll have what she’s having.” I slid my stool close enough to Atlantis to straddle her leg.
I scratched my arm and wondered what those thugs had done with my fucking watch. A police report was being filed as soon as I was done with Atlantis. I could easily identify those fools in a lineup. Meeting with Atlantis wasn’t more important than filing a police report, but both outcomes was potentially lucrative, and there was no point in canceling. First things first. I’d file a claim for my watch later. Might toss some extra shit in the lineup.
“When was the last time you saw our boy?” Atlantis asked, extending the tip of her tongue to the rim of her glass.
“Yesterday. He mentioned you. That’s why I hit you up. He’s always talking about you. You should call him. He’d like nothing more than getting back with you.”
“I don’t know. After all these years I still love him. I will always love Trymm. But we both know Trymm will never stop sleeping around.” Her excitement dimmed to sadness.
Damn. Is this brother’s dick dipped in gold?
They were high-school sweethearts over ten years ago. He’d been with her replacement for nearly that long. The one thing about men, women could easily throw us off our game. And equally so, we could win them back.
“You know we don’t mature as fast as women. Men are not complicated. If you really want to know if Trymm feels the same way about you, I can help you. He does not love Francine. Treats her like shit. If he truly cared, he would’ve married her by now. Y’all belong together.”
Atlantis tried concealing her excitement. A reserved smile grew wider. “What do you mean by ‘I can help’?”
“Might sound crazy, but buy yourself an engagement ring.”
Jason placed my drink in front of me.
Atlantis sat up straight. Gave me her undivided attention. “I’m listening.”
“Get it from Sam’s . . . scratch that. Make it Costco or somewhere you can take it back afterward with no questions and get your money back. Don’t tell my boy you’re engaged. Make sure he sees the ring when the two of you meet up. If he fights for you, or starts saying shit like, ‘I don’t want you to marry him,’ or ‘I missed out,’ he’s figuring out his next move with you and he still has feelings. If he’s simply trying to hit it one more time, he doesn’t give a damn about you, per se, but we know better. Us men believe once we date you, your pussy belongs to us. Always and forever. If he doesn’t make any moves, still doesn’t means he’s done. You got that nigga thinking.”
Atlantis sucked her drink a long time, then said, “I’ve sabotaged several relationships comparing each guy to Trymm. None of them measure up.”
A Clydesdale is not in every stable. Hell, not in every city. I wondered if her vagina was loose enough for me to fist her.
Atlantis’s emotions must’ve been swirling in her glass, where her focus was. “I’m always going to love him, Blitz. If this doesn’t work out—”
“But it’s worth your trying,” I said. She had to do this for me. “You got his number?”
“No. Deleted it years ago. I shouldn’t open Pandora’s box.”
“Put his number in your phone,” I insisted. “Call him today. Go out with him. Keep me posted. You work on him from your end, and I’ll get him on mine. And tell that nigga you posted up with you future. That way he can’t get comfortable at your spot.”
“You’re right. What have I got to lose?” she said. “The guys out here are all playing games. I’ve got to get ready for the concert tonight. Thanks, Blitz.” Atlantis placed a twenty on the bar.
I handed it back to her. “On me, beautiful.” Trymm is a fool for holding on to Francine and letting Atlantis go. Nah, make that, like so many other women, Francine is the fool for staying with that nigga. “Skip the concert. Heard Trymm is having a yacht party. You don’t want to miss it.”
Time for me to transition to triple-d mode. A woman draped in a strapless jumpsuit approached the bar. I pulled out the stool Atlantis had recently abandoned.
I told the bartender, “Put whatever she’s having on my tab.”
She frowned at me. Gave me a partial smile. “Thanks.”
“What’s up with the face? I’m trying to be a gentleman.” I extended my hand. Thought about my watch. I was definitely filing that report, today. “My name is Roulet. And you are?”
“Please to meet you, Mr. Roulet.” Her grip was firmer than mine. “I’m Viola Chambers.”
CHAPTER 50
Blitz
Day 2
“Besides Essence Festival, what brings you to my sin-fun city, Mrs. Chambers?”
Viola removed her sunglasses, placed them in a Versace case. “I’ll have an old-fashioned.” She spoke to me. Relaxed on her stool. Eased her top above her cleavage. Crossed her long, luscious legs.
“I got it, boss,” Jason answered. He removed my old bill, replaced it with a new tab.
“I run a Fortune 500 company. My business here is done. Tomorrow, so am I.” She slayed with confidence. In three seconds she overtly gave me a head-to-toe once-over. She dangled her shoe on the tip of her toes, and her feet were impeccable. Clean French pedicure.
Had to smile. “Where’re the last places you’ve traveled . . . for pleasure?”
The bartender placed her drink on a coaster. She picked it up. I admired her manicure as she held her old-fashioned areola level.
“London, Sydney, Rome, Budapest, Cusco, Hong Kong, Barcelona, Cape Town.” She winked her right eye, added, “New Orleans. That’s within the last six months.” Viola sipped her cocktail. “You?”
Damn! Eight countries? All of that couldn’t be on her dime. If it were, she might be my golden ticket to becoming debt free. Or at least I could be her traveling companion if her husband wasn’t in tow. Wanted to ask what company she worked for. “Montego Bay, Dominican Republic, Cozumel, St. Thomas.” That was the last six years.
“At least you possess a passport,” she said, sipped, then continued, “And you like sunshine and gorgeous women. Probably never married. Committed to your coins. Not women. Just a hunch. You own or rent?”
To that, I had to drink up. Requested a Long Island this time. Soon as I said, “Own,” my cell rang. No number registered. I declined the call.
“House or condo?” she asked.
“House.”
“Good. Let’s not waste precious time. I have a four-hour window before the concert. Put my number in your cell. Text me your address. See you in thirty minutes. Oh, and put on something worth my taking off.”
Viola gave me her number, snapped a picture of me, then left. I watched her walk away. Bit my bottom lip. Brilliance and beauty. I closed out my tab. Texted her my address. Got my car from valet.
Heading home, I was wondering what to wear. No woman had asked—make that told—me to put on something enticing.
Damn! My dick and my tongue got hard.
CHAPTER 51
Elizabeth
Day 2
Men didn’t need to know everything about me, but in my line of work, there was nothing I couldn’t find out about a man.
Had one phone and two numbers. One for business, the other, which I’d given to Roulet, was strictly for disposable dick. I’d never shared my sexcapades with my staff, and I had one really close girlfriend—we were opposites—that knew me well.
I wasn’t married, but I wore a wedding ring to attract men—like Roulet—looking for what I wanted when I wasn’t working, and that was a good time without attachments. Never invited a man to my hotel room. I had too much to lose if a backstabbing employee saw a guy walking out my door at sunrise. I didn’t carry much cash but a Casanova could creep out in the middle of the night along with my valuables—laptop, camera, jewelry.
Most importantly, I always had sufficient information to verify a man’s identity before I opened my legs.
Viola Chambers was my alias. Elizabeth Dawson was my government.
I’d Google searched Roulet’s property. Learned his name was, in fact, on the mortgage associated with his address. His government was Blitz Einstein Roulet. Loved his middle name. Searched his first, middle, and last names. Discovered he was twenty years younger than me. His dad was a politician. Mom an oceanographer. He’d never held a nine-to-five. Did a background on his cell number. Cross-references were confirmed.
Parking in his driveway, I spritzed perfume in my hair, on my red, green, and gold metallic bikini top, with the matching bottom. Added a tad of sweetness on my wrists, neck, ankles, and feet. In case he had a Jacuzzi or oversized jet tub, I was prepared. My long red skirt, with the slit up to my hip, that bow-tied at the waist was for his enjoyment. Men loved untying things.
I texted him, I’m outside. Walking up to your door.
Intentionally, I made him wait three minutes in his doorway before stepping out of my rental car in my “come, fuck me” high heels. The humid breeze created a silhouette blowing my skirt up and back, exposing my glistening legs. I approached Einstein in slow motion.
“You look amazing,” he said.
As promised, “Here’s the wine. You look nice as well.” I never over complimented a man. I was no guy’s cheerleader.
Other than a change in color, his attire was similar. Black buttoned-down shirt. Black slacks and leather loafers, no socks.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he said.
The living room was spacious. White leather sofa, love seat, and oversized chairs. Contemporary. Cute. His cell rang.
“Sorry about that. Let me put this on do not disturb.”
“You have a lovely, historical home. I don’t have much time. A tour would be nice,” I said. Not waiting for his approval, I led the way.
Opening the sliding glass doors, I stepped into his backyard. To my surprise, I found there was a large pool secluded by oak trees. “Can you pour us a drink? I’m thirsty and ready to get wet.”
I dug out my cat-o’-nine-tails and handcuffs. Placed my tote on the poolside lounge chair.
Einstein returned wearing sky-blue boxer briefs cut trunks, carrying two glasses of red wine. I kissed him. Removed his swimwear. Whacked him on the ass several times.
“Aw, damn. Take it easy,” he said, splashing wine.
“Easy is for underachievers.” I twirled the handcuffs. “You? Or me?”
“Let
’s take this inside,” he insisted, retreating to the other side of his patio doors.
Time permitting, I could skinny-dip when we were done fucking. I retrieved my bag, followed him to his bedroom. Took a sip from my goblet, pulled out my hot vanilla massage oil.
“Lay down. On your back,” I told him.
Layering oil all over his body, I straddled him. Began vigorously massaging him with my pussy, making his temperature and his dick rise.
Einstein stared up at me. “You are amazing. Who did you say you worked for?”
I didn’t. Nor was I telling him now. “No questions,” I said. Putting a condom on his dick, I sat my pussy on his mouth. I’d get on his stick momentarily.
Ladies first.
He nibbled. Sucked softly. Placed the tip of his tongue on my clit. Flickered. Nibbled some more.
Cuteness needed assistance.
I spread my lips. Held them open for him. His tongue penetrated me to my G-spot. That was impressive and a first. My muscles tightened. “That feels delightful,” I said, swaying my hips back and forth. “Mmm. That’s good. I need to feel your dick inside me. Don’t move. I’ll do all the work.”
I didn’t get to the top relying on a man. Aligning his head with my vagina. His penis was smaller than average. But it was hard and the perfect length to hit my G-spot. I did a one-eighty, hugged his knees to my breasts, then rocked back and forth for ten minutes.
Letting go, I did a half spin on his dick, pressed his sides to the mattress. Grinding hard, I let him know, “I’m about to come. You ready?”
Einstein nodded. As he barely ejaculated, I gushed all over his stomach and drenched his bed.
“Aw, shit!” He pushed me off of him. Felt his sheets. “I didn’t know you were a squirter. Fuck.”
Stripping his bedding, he balled up the linen, left the room. He turned on the ceiling fan. “This is fucked up.” He scrubbed his mattress with a large towel.
Putting on the clean dress I’d packed, I picked up my tote. Not caring about Einstein, I said, “I’ll see myself out.”
He wanted to fuck. I wanted to come. I wasn’t scheduled to be back in New Orleans for a year. Like the majority of the men I’d bedded, I’d probably never see him again, nor did I want to. Didn’t need the damn headaches, drama, or deviant behavior users came prepackaged with.