by Jamilia Fair
"I'm heading out, Momma." She places a hand on her mother's lower back.
Janice turns around at the sound of her voice with a look of disappointment on her face. "Already? You just got here, baby girl."
I watch her lean forward to kiss her mother's cheek. "I know, but I have some business to tend to. Brian is at my place and won't leave," she groans in annoyance.
I wonder who the fuck Brian is and what he is doing at her place. I want to charge at her and demand her to tell me who the fuck this guy is, but I stay where I am. She's already annoyed with me.
Janice rolls her eyes and embraces her. "That boy works my nerve."
She pulls away to meet her gaze. "I love you, Momma. I'll see you later."
"I love you, too, baby girl."
I watch her as she turns back around to look at me. She doesn't bother to hide the scowl on her face as she walks my way. "Make sure you leave my mother a tip. Having put up with you and your insolent character, I'd say she deserves it," she softly hisses, then turns and walks out of the diner, leaving me to stare at her in complete and utter shock.
I've never had a woman, I've never had anyone, speak to me in such conduct. So many things were going on inside me that I didn't know if it was because I was outraged by how she spoke to me or from being rejected. I've never been rejected. Ever.
Taking out my phone, I call Kevin and tell him to pick me up. I had to get out of here before I lost it and started destroying things. I reach into my pocket, take out my wallet, pull out a twenty and place it in on the counter before walking out of the diner. As I'm walking out, I see Tabitha leaning up against a. Her legs are crossed at the ankles and she is on the phone, a very noticeable frown tugging at her lips.
"I don't care how you get it done, but it needs to get done," she hisses into the phone. "I want him out of my house. Now." She ends the call, then drops her head onto the hood of the car with a loud sigh.
“Trouble in paradise?" My voice is laced with much more sarcasm than I intended, but I don't care now. I was pissed at her for rejecting me. I don't usually handle some things very well.
She lifts her head from the hood of the car to glare at me. "Go to hell," she spits, digging into her coat pocket, pulling out a set of keys.
"Are you always this curt, or am I just special?" Each word drips with sarcasm.
I've managed to piss her off further because she pushes off the car and is suddenly in front of me, in my face, her chest rising and falling at a steady tempo. "Look, I am in no mood to put up with your presumptuous, arrogant ass!" she spits, her eyes liquid with rage. "What the fuck is your problem? Did I hurt your little man feelings when I told you no?"
I know I should be listening, focusing more on what she is saying, but my eyes couldn't stop falling onto her breasts. I watch her chest rise and fall and with each breath she took, her breasts bounced, sending ripples of want through me. I want her. I've never wanted anything in my life as bad as I want her.
My eyes are now on her lips. Oh, how I picture those lips wrapped around my raging cock. Either that or on my lips. I'll take whatever I can get right now. All I know is, Tabitha Davenport is mine to claim and I will do so if it’s the last thing I do.
But right now, all I want to do is capture her lips with mine. So, I do. Yielding to the impulse, I slide my hand into the nape of her neck, fighting to be as gentle as possible, so I don't scare her, and I capture her lips with mine in a hungry kiss. Her lips are so fucking soft and they taste like strawberries.
"Tabitha," I say against her lips, then draw back to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry."
Her eyes are wide, still liquid with rage, but also with something I recognize as need or wanting even. I smile and look down at her lips again. They're so soft, I bend my head down, again, and take them in even more. Her scent drowns me and I want more. I need more. I can't, not after tasting her, go another second without taking her.
She kisses me back. She fists my jacket to pull me in closer and I take that as a green light to snake my arms around her, pressing her into me. I forget that I'm standing right outside her mother's diner as I slide my hands down her back and over her ass. She lets out a startled gasp when I cup her in my hands and squeeze.
Bad idea.
One minute, I'm holding her against me, sliding my hands up, down and over her every curve, and the next she is squirming free from me. "No." I reach for her arm, but she is already putting distance between us. You're mine! I want to yell at her, but I hold back in fear of making her angry.
"What the hell was that?" she hisses, bringing her fingers to her lips, tracing them, her eyes on anything but me.
"A kiss."
Her head snaps up in my direction and she is glaring at me, again. "No shit, Sherlock. Why? Why did you kiss me?"
"Will you be angry if I said because I wanted to?" Even I knew that was a dumb question, but it didn't stop me from asking it anyway.
I watch her close her eyes and take a deep breath. “Kiss me again, without my permission, and I will see to it that you never father a child in this lifetime."
She turns around, walks to her car, climbs in and drives away. I'm left standing in front of the diner with a smile on my face. She's feisty. And I like it.
"Mr. Keegan? Are you all right?" Kevin is suddenly in front of me. When the hell did he get here?
"I'm fine. Let's go," I say and walk to the car and leap inside.
I take one last look at the diner, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips, and it's then that I declare war with Tabitha Davenport. If it's a fight she wants, then a fight is what I'll give her. Either way, she will be mine. I will take her.
Past
Tabitha
(3)
I spin around in the leather chair like a kid. I'm in the conference room and I'm alone so I can do what I want. I have work I could be doing, I always do, considering my boss has me giving a presentation in less than thirty minutes, but I can't. I can't get my mind off yesterday and that arrogant and sexy man who held me in his arms and kissed me. I swear I can still feel his lips pressed against mine, feel his tongue reach out and taste me, then explore the inside of my mouth with an urgency I'd never known before.
What shocked me the most? I kissed him back. I froze once his lips met mine. He didn't. He only leaned in closer, pressing further into me. I lifted my hands to his stomach to push him away, but I couldn’t. Instead, I fist his jacket and pull him closer, his smell, a dark masculine spice mixed with a hint of cherry, tickling my nostrils. Only God knows what I was thinking when I parted my lips to that man. I'd felt his arms circle my waist and draw me in closer, our bodies molding into the other, before dipping down to my ass and squeezing.
I remember thinking, What the hell am I doing? You don't make out with strangers, especially in front of your mother’s diner. I broke the kiss, snapping myself out of the lust-crazed trance I was in and took a step back before he had the chance to pull me back in. And man, did he try. I can still remember the heat rising slowly as I looked into his eyes.
So, I looked down at my dark red painted toes to avoid any more eye contact. I remember bringing my finger to my bottom lip and tracing it, as I still felt the sting of his teeth biting down on it, and demanding him to tell me why he'd kissed me. His response was because he wanted to and that, realizing he was the kind of man that took what he wanted, made me hot for him.
No. Even hotter for him.
And that's what pissed me off. I wanted him. I wanted him to take me right where we stood and I didn't know a thing about him other than his name. Jeremiah Keegan.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
I didn't know I'd asked that question out loud until someone answered me. "Well, as your best friend, I'm allowed to be honest with you and tell you that a lot is wrong with you." Barbara laughs. Barbara is one of my best friends and we work together. Not in the same department—she works in legal and I work in data entry—but the same building.
I look a
round to see that I am no longer the only person in the room. “Yes, you're definitely right about that," Julian, one of the sexiest and smartest of my coworkers, says in agreement. “I walked in almost five minutes ago, trying to get her attention, but received no response."
"Do you do that a lot, Tabitha?" Kelly, the annoying Brittney Spears wannabe, asks with a look of fake concern etched across her Botox face. It really was a scary sight.
I glare at her. "Do what, Kelly?"
"Space out like a fat kid who has just walked into a candy store." She has this fake smile plastered on her lips. "You may want to consider that something may be wrong with that pretty little brain of yours."
I tilt my head to the side. "Would you like to go with me?"
"Why do you ask? Are you afraid they might tell you your brain doesn't work fully like the rest of ours?”
I shake my head and glare at her. "No, you irksome bitch," I hiss while watching her unnaturally tight face twist up into a look of shock. "I only space out like that when I smell Botox in the air."
"Ouch!" Julian laughs.
"Damn, Taby! You're in a pissy mood," Barbara laughs, then pats me on the back. "I'm so happy!"
I can't help but laugh at her excitement concerning my mood. "Shut up, Barb."
I ignore Kelly as she turns back around in her chair, but not before casting a glare my way and muttering the word, "Bitch."
"Thank you, Queen Botox," I say with a smile.
"Ms. Davenport, I can only assume, since you're in a talking mood, that you're ready to give a report on the Cunningham file?" Mr. Webster, the executive director, says, entering the room with his torn up brown leather bag. The man is in his late sixties, yet he had the ears of a bat.
"Absolutely, sir."
By the time I'd finished my report, and everyone had asked their questions, the meeting was over. "Well, Ms. Davenport, after what I've just witnessed today, I can definitely see a bright future ahead for you," Mr. Webster says.
"Thank you, Mr. Webster."
"After today, I am going to recommend that you are put in the race to become one of the company's leading representatives," he says. "We need more people like you who aren't afraid to tell it like it is and who are dedicated to doing whatever it takes to get the necessary information needed."
"Oh my God. Thank you, sir."
"There is no need to thank me, Ms. Davenport, you earned it," he says as he walks towards the door. "But, if you do want to thank me, you can do so by keeping up the excellent work," he says, then walks out.
"Well, aren't you one lucky duck," Barbara laughs from her place by the door.
"I thought you left," I say while packing up the rest of my things.
"Nope. So, are you going to tell me who has you drifting off to La-la land? Because I'm all ears if you want to tell me everything."
"As much as I would love to tell you every little detail, " I sigh and place my bag on the table, "I have a yoga class in fifteen minutes."
"Oh, you sneaky little bitch," Barbara grumbles as I pull the strap of my bag up and over my head to rest on my shoulder.
I laugh. "I'll call you tonight."
"You better, or I promise you will regret it!" she yells after me.
"I promise!" I throw over my shoulder.
"Exhale slowly," the yoga instructor says in a soothing voice. I exhale my breath, relaxing my muscles, consciously focusing on releasing all my worries… and trying to forget about Jeremiah Keegan.
"Inhale through your nose." I inhale, and the sound of my breath and others fill my ears. I hold the pose for what seems like freaking eternity as the base of my neck is pressed against the floor. "Release," came the next instruction.
My body moved into a corpse pose before shifting into downward dog. I've been doing yoga for seven months and I love it. My mind relaxes as the sun's warmth caresses my skin like silk through the big glass window.
"Now, I want you to lay flat on your mat, and with your hands shoulder length apart, lift your upper body up as far as you can."
I feel something in my lower back pop. I don't move for a moment. I wait until the tension is gone before moving fluidly between more yoga positions.
It's not until I hear, “Thank you for attending, Namaste," that I open my eyes.
"Namaste," I reply with my palms together.
I look around the room at the other patrons while rolling up my mat. Everyone is covered in sweat, all dressed in yoga shorts and tops. Mariah, the instructor, stands at the head of the class in conversation with a few of the other women. I turn away to leave, but not before studying my figure in the large mirror that lines the wall in the room. My chest tightens in an enjoyable way, as I glance at the results of all the yoga sessions I've taken. My black and red yoga pants hug my long brown legs and somewhat wide hips like a second skin. A matching top hugs my waist and bust. My slender, yet toned, hourglass figure was always something I'd been proud of, but too shy to display. Beads of sweat dotted my brown skin from the warm room, so I pull my hair up into a tight, yet messy bun before turning to leave the room.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Tabitha," Mariah yells across the room.
I turn back around to look at her. "Sure thing."
A block or two down the street is my mother's diner. I go there every day after yoga class. As I am walking, I can feel the eyes of other people watching me, mostly men. I drew stares that ranged from annoyance to curious to desirous whenever I went out. The ogling, even the glares, I could put up with, but it was the catcalls that irked my nerves. I prefer for a man, a real man, to be up front with me, say what he means, instead of yelling something out of a passing car window.
Finally, I reach the diner, and like every day, a few men strike up a conversation with me. Since Momma and I moved here to Chicago, up in the inner city, men are always making passes at me. But it also reduces the number of dates I go on. I know men are still attracted to me by their appreciative glances, but no one ever approaches me, the unaccompanied black woman. It may be a better and safer place to live, but it can leave you feeling lonely very often.
The bell chimes as I walk in. "Hey, baby girl," Momma calls out.
"Hey, momma," I reply pleasantly as I walk to the counter, leaning over it to kiss her cheek.
"How was yoga?"
"Great. My muscles are tension free and my mind is stress-free." I grin. "I'm so relaxed that nothing and no one can ruin my mood."
"That's good news," a voice says from behind me.
I don't turn around. I know it's him, Jeremiah Keegan. I ignore him.
"Momma, will you let Howard know I want the usual? I'll be over at the table by the window in the corner." I turn around, avoiding all eye and body contact with the man standing behind me and walk over to the table. Once I was settled at the table, I pull out my phone and text Barbara.
'Hey. Are you busy?' I type and hit send, then place my phone down on the table.
Not even a minute later did my phone vibrate, signaling that I have a message. I pick up my phone and open it.
'I'm never too busy to hear a happy story. So, start typing. I want to know everything.'
I laugh. I swear this girl is worse than my mother. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they were mother and daughter. Anyway, I start telling her about me visiting Momma at the diner, her introducing me to Jeremiah, and him being an arrogant asshole. I don't tell her about the kiss because Barbara can be a bit too much at times. She can be a bit… persistent. She'd go into a rant about how I should explore my wild side—when she really means explore her wild side—since I don't believe I have one. I've never had a reason to explore that side of myself. And, why should I? The men I meet are assholes, full of themselves, and selfish.
I just want a man who isn't afraid of commitment, who can love me for all that I am, someone who's honest with me and won't think of just himself. Commitment, love, honesty and selfless. That's all I want. That isn't too much to ask for, is it?
'Well, he
definitely sounds like an asshole. Is he hot?'
'Very. He's Chris Hemsworth, Chris Evans and Ryan Reynolds hot.'
'Hot damn! And he's white? Holy shit, I need to come to your momma's diner more often if the men coming in there are that fucking hot!'
I laugh while shaking my head. 'You need some serious help, Barb. Now, I need to eat. I'll text you later. Bye.'
She replies immediately. 'Later! Bye.'
I put my phone down, stand up and cross the diner to stand at the counter to pick up my hot chocolate and strawberry cream cheese bagel. "Thanks, Howard," I call back to him before turning around to go back to my table.
As I head back to my table, I see that Jeremiah has taken a seat at my table. Was this man trying to ruin my day? I thought about finding a new table to sit at, or just leaving, but I wasn't about to let this man annoy me out of my own mother’s diner. So, taking a deep breath, I walk to my table, ignoring him, and sit down.
"Tabitha, right?" His voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter.
I continue to ignore him and take a bite of my bagel. I could feel his eyes on me, burning a hole in my face. I steal a glance at him from beneath my lashes and he's smiling at me.
"How long have you been practicing? Yoga, I mean," he questions, motioning to my yoga mat.
A moment had passed before I decided to speak to him. "Why do you care?" I spit, finally looking up at him.
He has a bone structure that would make a sculptor weep with joy, while firmly etched full lips, a straight nose, and intensely green eyes made him savagely breathtaking. Dark curls framed his breathtaking face. I had to fight the urge to reach out and run my fingers through it. He was attractive and muscular, his image screaming sex appeal.