“We have to do the long distance thing. Ninety days—that’s not so long,” Deon soothed.
Solay nodded, hoping that Deon was right. It was ironic that they were back together but also had to say goodbye. “What time is your flight?”
“Tomorrow at two.”
So soon? Anxiety clawed at her. “Do you want to come upstairs?” she asked nervously.
Deon answered with a smile.
Reunited in the bedroom, they tore at each other’s clothes. Panting…growling…perspiring. Naked, they fucked like animals. Standing up against the bedroom door, seated in a chair, doggy-style on the floor.
On the bed now, their bodies crashed and collided, almost brutally. Duel emotions fueled their passion…a combination of welcome-back sex and a farewell fuck at the same time.
When Deon finally pulled himself out of Solay’s silken clutch, he exhaled. “Damn, that shit was off the chain!”
Breathing hard, still trying to catch her breath, Solay nodded in agreement. When she found her voice and said, “Oh, Deon. I miss you already,” he didn’t respond. Knocked out cold, Deon was snoring.
Could a long distance romance really survive? Troubled, she stared at his sleeping face, searching for an answer. While Deon slept, Solay studied his image as if she were trying to memorize every beautiful detail. She stared at his body…his hard, broad chest, and the outrageous breadth of his shoulders. With the tip of her finger, she traced the Asian letters of the tattoo that draped the thick, right shoulder. Voyaging downward, her eyes settled on his dick, which was tempting and desirable, even while limp. It was a tremendous effort not to kiss and suck it.
Settling for snuggling, she stretched an arm across his chest, wishing that her arm was a lock that could keep Deon next to her forever. You’re acting clingy and weak, said a scolding inner voice. But in the throes of separation anxiety, Solay couldn’t control her feelings of desperation.
She rubbed the slightly raised letters of Deon’s tattoo, comforted by the feeling, until she slipped into an uneasy dream.
Deon’s ring tone was loud, awaking Solay early in the wee hours of the morning. He sounded groggy when he answered but he quickly became alert; his voice vibrating in excitement.
Propping himself up, Deon lay on his side with his phone pressed to his ear. “They’re changing the script—giving me a bigger part? Yo, man. That’s what’s up. Good lookin’!” Shaking his head as if in disbelief, Deon chuckled. “Man, you working overtime for that twenty percent!” He erupted in joyful laughter.
Feeling suddenly and completely alone, Solay caressed his back, and eased her hand up to his broad and muscular shoulders.
“It’s my agent,” he whispered with pride.
The smile she returned was sad and knowing. Something had changed between her and Deon; she’d felt it last night. Their lovemaking was passionate, but something had been missing. The connection last night had been purely physical…their emotional bond had weakened, seemingly beyond repair.
Though Deon was still in bed with her, Solay had a sorrowful feeling that he had already gone.
CHAPTER 45
“Did one of your friends recommend the therapist?” Lincoln asked Chevonne as he cruised along Ivy Hill Road.
“No, I found Dr. Lerner online. She’s a certified marriage counselor; licensed in three states.”
“Three states? Wow! I guess she really knows her stuff,” Lincoln said sarcastically.
“You promised you’d go into this with an open mind.”
“I am. Can’t you take a joke? Stop being so sensitive.”
Dr. Lerner’s office was nestled on a small, quaint street in Chestnut Hill, a prominent section of Philadelphia. Her Colonial-style home doubled as her office.
Lincoln knew immediately, after entering the mosaic-tiled foyer, that the therapist was a little eccentric.
Dr. Lerner met them at the door. She wore her brown hair in spiraled curls that were gray at the roots and blonde on the tips. She was dressed in an oversized, paisley-print smock that was so ill-fitting, it hung off her shoulder, revealing a beige bra strap.
She ushered them to a lime-colored office that was decorated with peaceful floral paintings intermingled with striking Picasso prints. Framed degrees and inspirational quotes were also hung on the wall.
“Have a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings.” Dr. Lerner offered, motioning for Lincoln and Chevonne to take a seat on a purple sofa that didn’t match anything in the room—not the yellow bean bag chair or the shaggy orange rug.
The woman was obviously colorblind, and a product of the hippie era, but Lincoln didn’t want to be judgmental—at least not until he heard what the therapist had to say.
Dr. Lerner dragged a wheeled office chair across the room. She positioned the chair across from Lincoln and Chevonne, and took a seat. She smiled a very pleasant smile, but Lincoln was feeling a bit aggravated. He wondered if Dr. Lerner could sense that he didn’t want to be there.
I don’t know about this. This woman better know her stuff or I’m out! He cut a glance at Chevonne, trying to convey his sentiments with his eyes, but Chevonne wouldn’t meet his gaze.
“Thank you for seeing us at such a short notice, Dr. Lerner,” Chevonne said in a nervous tone, breaking the silence.
“No problem. I’m glad you took the first step. Let’s not waste any time; let’s discuss your issues.” She turned on a recording device and grabbed a canary-colored note pad. “Why are you here?”
Why are you here—just like that? Doesn’t she need to dig a little deeper; ask more let’s-get-acquainted questions before going for the jugular? Lincoln glared at Chevonne for selecting this kook.
Chevonne coughed, putting a cupped hand in front of her mouth. She looked at Dr. Lerner, and then at Lincoln. “We’re here because I had an affair. I know it was wrong…I didn’t mean for it to happen. Actually, a casual fling turned into something bigger than I ever expected. My infidelity almost destroyed our marriage; I really hope you can help us.”
Dr. Lerner turned her attention from Chevonne to Lincoln. “And what role did you play in her affair?”
“What do you mean?” Indignant, Lincoln turned up a corner of his upper lip.
“What did you do that drove your wife to cheat on you?” Dr. Lerner spoke cheerfully as if she were asking a pleasant question.
Lincoln twisted around, frowning at Chevonne and then at Dr. Lerner; resenting being asked such an asinine question.
“Well?” Dr. Lerner asked, pen poised to jot down Lincoln’s response.
“I didn’t do anything. I love my wife. I’ve never gone outside of this marriage,” he said, looking at Chevonne. Admitting his faithfulness to a stranger heightened his anger. Another man had touched his wife’s naked body, had stuck his dick in her mouth and her pussy—places that should have been reserved for Lincoln only. Infuriated, Lincoln sat, bent at the waist with one leg extended, appearing ready to bolt.
“So do you think this is something that can be fixed? Are you both equally committed to resolving your problems?” Dr. Lerner asked.
Chevonne spoke up first. “Yes, Doctor, that’s why we’re here. We are both committed to our marriage; we want to work this out.” She darted a glance at Lincoln. “Right, babe?” she said, grabbing Lincoln’s hand.
Though Lincoln felt like punching a wall, he sat upright and reluctantly accepted Chevonne’s hand.
“Now that we agree that this marriage can be fixed, let’s start at the beginning. What is the real reason you believe the affair began?” Dr. Lerner smiled sweetly.
Lincoln looked over at Chevonne, interested in hearing her answer to Dr. Lerner’s question. Despite all her apologies and explanations, Lincoln still didn’t get it. He didn’t understand why Chevonne would choose a dirty, sweaty, greasy mechanic over him. Why’d she go to that thug for the warmth and love that she could have easily gotten from him?
Chevonne cleared her throat. “Things started changing between us. I didn’t
feel like my husband cared about me anymore.”
“You know that’s not true!” Lincoln growled.
“Let her finish,” Dr. Lerner intervened in her soft, sweet voice.
“Well, after he started having problems with his career…um…after the second pay cut, there was no joy in his eyes. He was so angry; it was difficult being around him.”
“Uh-huh.” Dr. Lerner scribbled on her pad. Lincoln looked over to see what she was writing.
“How did that make you feel, Mr. Jennings? Did you feel like less of a man after your salary was reduced?”
“Yes, I did. But I wasn’t pushing my wife away. If anything, I needed her more. I needed her to be there for me—to have my back while I was down. I desperately wanted her attention…her affection. But instead, she pushed me away, and let me suffer, treating me as if I wasn’t good enough for her anymore.”
Dr. Lerner turned her focus to Chevonne; her blue eyes targeting Chevonne with laser precision. “Did you cheat on your husband because he was making less money?”
Now it was Chevonne’s turn to squirm. No longer in the hot seat, Lincoln relaxed and became a spectator.
“No, I didn’t cheat over his salary. I love my husband,” Chevonne exclaimed while looking over Lincoln. From the look in her eyes, Lincoln could tell that Chevonne was becoming weary of Dr. Lerner’s questions. She kept glancing at the door, as if she’d had enough and was ready to leave.
“Was your relationship okay prior to your husband’s financial issues?”
Lincoln answered before Chevonne could. “Yes, I think so. We were good.”
“Mmm-hmm. You say you and your wife were good. So…how was your sex life?” Dr. Lerner asked, as if she doubted that his claim was true.
“Great. I didn’t have any complaints.”
Dr. Lerner laced her fingers together. “What do you think would help you in the process of forgiving your wife?”
Both Chevonne and Dr. Lerner gave Lincoln their undivided attention.
“I’m not sure. Knowing that she had sex with another man…” He shook his head. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t get that thought out of my mind. I keep seeing a man’s hands on her and them making love. It’s killing me to know that during the time that she was denying me—she was out there, giving it away. She was so deceitful, taking time off work to be with her lover…” Lincoln paused to collect himself.
He hadn’t expected to be able to open up to Dr. Lerner, but her voice was calming like a teacher on the first day of kindergarten, making him comfortable enough to believe that she would come up with the perfect solution.
“It’s okay, Lincoln,” Dr. Lerner soothed. “It’s very hard to forgive a cheating spouse, but it can be done.”
“So what do you suggest, Dr. Lerner?” Chevonne asked, clearly becoming annoyed with being referred to as a cheating spouse. “Do you have any techniques that might help him to stop obsessing about my affair?”
Chevonne then turned her attention back to Lincoln. “I love you. I truly don’t want anyone else. It is over, Lincoln. I ended it. Babe, I’m doing everything in my power to help us heal.”
“Well, I’ve counseled many couples that are dealing with infidelity. Your situation is stastically unusual. Though it happens, it’s rarely the wife that has been unfaithful. You may not like what I have to say, Mrs. Jennings…”
Chevonne placed a hand on her chest. “Dr. Lerner, I’m open to practically anything that you think will save my marriage.”
With bated breath, Lincoln waited for Dr. Lerner to finish her sentence. He was curious to hear what she had to say.
Dr. Lerner leaned forward. “If you want your husband to forgive you and to move past your indiscretion, you’re going to have to allow him the same sexual freedom that you enjoyed.”
Chevonne’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You need to give your husband a one-night-only pass. A night of complete sexual freedom.”
Chevonne gasped; her mouth hung open.
“My methods are unorthodox, but they work. After your husband has explored outside of the marriage, his resentment will dissolve. He needs to feel vindicated. Then and only then, will he be able to forgive you.”
“Are you crazy? We came here to get help, and your advice is for me to allow my husband to cheat on me? Please!” Chevonne stood. “We have to get out of here, Lincoln.”
Exiting the office, Lincoln was at a loss for words. He couldn’t believe that Dr. Lerner would tell him to dip out on his wife, as if more cheating would resolve their problem.
During the drive home, Chevonne would not stop talking. “Have you ever heard anything so absurd? What kind of doctor would suggest that a man cheat on his wife, to make a marriage work? She’s a damn quack! I’m so sorry that I chose her. I should report her to the therapy board. That woman should not be allowed to practice!”
“That therapy thing is nothing but a racket. Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’re going to work this out ourselves.” Lincoln reached over and patted Chevonne’s hand.
Though Dr. Lerner’s advice sounded off-beat and crazy, on second thought, having one night of passion with a stranger might be exactly what Lincoln needed. Maybe she wasn’t a quack; maybe she was a genius.
He decided to take Dr. Lerner’s advice and secretly use that free pussy card. One of these days. Maybe.
CHAPTER 46
“Guess who the boss is taking to the AIA convention?” Rachel said when Lincoln arrived at work.
“No idea,” he said, trying to sound disinterested, but his pulse was thrumming fast. Five years in a row, Lincoln had gone to the American Institute of Architects convention along with Frank, and it would be a sure sign that his job was in trouble if Frank decided to take one of the so-called young, cutting-edge guys.
Rachel leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. “The boss is looking for some hanky-panky. He’s taking Amber.” Rachel clicked some keys on the keyboard and turned the computer monitor toward Lincoln.
Dumbfounded, he tried to keep his eyes from physically bulging when he saw the order for two tickets to the convention. One for Frank Clemmons and the other for Amber Ralston.
It almost felt like a sucker punch, but with so many pay cuts, he would have been a fool not to have seen it coming. It was time to make moves. A leap of faith. On the bright side, maybe Frank was doing him a favor by forcing him to free-fall from the ledge.
“I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if those two are getting adjacent hotel rooms. He didn’t ask me to book the hotel. Oh, no. Mr. Family Man booked the rooms himself.” She turned the screen back to its normal position. “I told you those two were up to no good. Do you believe me now?”
“Hmm,” Lincoln murmured.
Rachel smirked with self-satisfaction. “Case closed. Mystery solved.”
In his office, Lincoln sat staring at nothing. The world was full of surprises. The woman he loved wholeheartedly had proven with her sordid betrayal that nothing is ever the way it appears. Other than to indulge his sexual cravings, there was no reason for Frank to take Amber to that convention. She was only an apprentice drafter—the last person on the totem pole. Lincoln had always considered Frank to be a straight-shooter…the last of the good guys. Amber was ambitious and devious. Perhaps she and Frank deserved each other.
While he was trying to wrap his mind around the Amber and Frank situation, his cell phone rang. A glance at the screen told him that Michelle was calling again. Instead of clicking the IGNORE button, he picked up. The poor woman deserved to have closure.
“Hi, Michelle. How are you holding up?”
“I’m making it,” she said solemnly. “You could have at least returned my phone calls; I’ve been calling you every day.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. It gets hectic here at work.”
“Well, I was only calling because you told me to let you know if I heard anything about Crowbar.”
Lincoln swallowed a lump of fear. “Did
he turn up?” He grimaced, his imagination working overtime with the details of Crowbar’s fiery demise. Lincoln had never met Crowbar, but he envisioned a charred body discovered in a vacant lot. Burned beyond recognition, it took dental records to identify him. That man didn’t deserve to go out like that, he thought, bitterly mimicking his brother’s words. Lincoln conjured up a newfound hatred for Raheem.
“Crowbar’s back home. At least one of those two no-good bums knew how to find his way back to where he belongs. I don’t know what Earl’s problem is. Why would he do me like this?”
“Crowbar’s home? He’s all right?”
“Yeah. He never intended to go back to rehab. He took Sharonda’s money and went on a long binge.”
“Fantastic!” Lincoln blurted.
“What’s so fantastic about that? Crowbar went through the rent money, the electric bill money, the money for groceries. He messed Sharonda up.”
Despite Crowbar’s misdeeds, Lincoln couldn’t stop grinning. Wait until Earl hears this!
“You need to stop giving me the runaround. You know where your brother’s at!”
“You’re right, I do,” Lincoln said, coming clean. “He hooked up with another woman, Michelle. I was hoping Earl would tell you himself; I didn’t want to be the bearer of that bad news.”
Michelle wailed, whooped, and hollered like she was openly grieving at a funeral. Her response was extreme, in Lincoln’s opinion. Michelle and Earl had only been together for a short time. But he couldn’t judge her. What did he know about a woman’s heart?
After she quieted down a little, Lincoln assured her that he’d tell Earl to call her. But Earl wouldn’t. In Earl’s mind, Michelle was long gone and forgotten, undeserving of even the common courtesy of a phone call. That’s how Earl was. He was the younger brother. While Lincoln was taught to stand on his own two feet, their mother—may she rest in peace—made life easy for Earl and did everything for him. When cancer cut her life short, Earl replaced her with a stream of female enablers. Lincoln hoped that Ivella didn’t allow him to lapse into a former, trifling behavior.
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