“I love you, Cheryl,” Randy said, kissing her.
“I know you do, baby. I love you, too.” Cheryl kissed his neck, as she began unbuckling his belt. When he’d come home so very late last night, she had been too tired to welcome him home properly when he finally got into bed. But stimulated by all this talk about endorsements and money, her juices were now flowing like a faucet. And there was no time like the present . . . but to her surprise, Randy gently held her hands, stopping her from unzipping him.
“I’m sorry, Cheryl. I’m really tired.”
His words were apologetic, but there was something else in his eyes she couldn’t read. And he had never, ever, turned her down. What the hell’s up? “That tired?” she asked with a lightness in her voice that she didn’t really feel.
“Yeah. And actually, I gotta go right back out. I promised Brent I’d go back to Jersey with him to take a look at his car and see what’s wrong with it. I’ll probably be gone all day.”
Cheryl’s eyebrow shot up. “Really? You’re going to Jersey, again? Why didn’t Brent get the car towed when it broke down last night?”
Randy shrugged as he refastened his pants.
“It’s odd that Mila didn’t mention that you and Brent were going to work on the car. I wonder why she didn’t say anything.”
“Maybe Brent didn’t tell her. I don’t know.”
Cheryl frowned. “I’m only saying—”
Randy let loose a loud sigh. “Cheryl, if you don’t believe me, why don’t you call Brent? Or call Mila; I don’t care.”
Cheryl backed toward the table and picked up her cell phone, never taking her eyes off Randy. She’d been too tired to fuck Randy when he came in, and she’d also been too tired to check his cell phone, either. Had Sexy gotten in touch with him? Was he planning on spending the rest of the day with that little hooker?
“Hey, Mila. What’s up?” she said when her friend picked up the phone.
“Girl, not a damn thing. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing. I wanted to see if you and Brent wanted to go over to Stefano’s this evening for some Italian with Randy and me. An early dinner, and maybe a show? We haven’t done the couples’ thing in a minute.”
“Oh, Randy didn’t tell you?” The surprise in Mila’s voice was genuine. “He and Brent are supposed to go back to Jersey this afternoon to look at the car. You know how men are. As much money as they’ve got, they want to tinker with the damn thing themselves instead of letting the professionals handle it. Serves us right for both marrying country boys, huh? But, yeah, if they get back in time, I think it’s a great idea.”
“Satisfied now?” Randy asked when Cheryl hung up.
Cheryl bit her lip, feeling stupid, but saying nothing.
“Well,” Randy shrugged, “I’m glad you didn’t come right out and accuse me of lying. Thanks for that, at least.”
“Sorry,” Cheryl said in a low voice. “I guess, well, I’ve been under a bit of a strain, too. It’s not easy forgetting . . . you know.”
Randy lowered his eyes. “I know.”
“Forgive me, Randy?” Cheryl’s voice broke as she talked. “I really don’t want you to think I don’t trust you.”
“Yeah, baby, of course.” Randy rubbed her back for a moment, then pulled her tightly into this arms. “Look, we’ve been a little crazy lately, and it’s my fault. I apologize, Cheryl. I really do. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I’m sorry if I don’t always show it.”
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, too, babe.” You really are. You really are. “And I love you, Randy, like I’ve never loved anyone else.”
“I’m going to make it up to you, babe, okay?”
Cheryl smiled and nodded. God, I’m so stupid! He messed up once, yeah, but who hasn’t? I’m going to lose him if I hold too tight. Damn that Sexy! God, I hope she’s okay. Cheryl grimaced, angry at herself for her conflicting emotions. Then it occurred to her, maybe Randy wasn’t acting strange because of Sexy, but because of Yusef. Had he told Randy about their conversation? She’d asked him not to . . . but you never know.
“Cheryl?”
“Yes, babe,” she answered, her face nuzzled in his chest.
“I really want you to know that you shouldn’t hold what happened against Sexy. It was my fault, not hers, babe.”
Cheryl strained to control herself. “If you say so.”
“I’m serious, Cheryl. I’m not suggesting you guys should become friends or anything, but, well, I don’t want you to think too bad of her. She’s really not a bad girl.”
“Yeah, she’s the typical girl next door,” Cheryl said, moving away from him. “That is, if you happen to live next door to a whorehouse.”
Randy sighed. “Okay. Well, anyway. I’m going to change into some jeans and go get Brent so we can get to Jersey before we lose the sunlight.”
* * *
“Cheryl!”
“Hey, what’s up, Stephen?”
“Gurllllll . . . you’d better wake the hell up,” Stephen said urgently into the telephone.
“Why? What’s wrong?” Cheryl glanced at the clock. 11:35 p.m. She jumped and looked around. And Randy wasn’t home. “What’s wrong?” she said, more urgently this time.
“You’re not gonna believe this! I just got off the telephone, and . . . girl, I’m telling you you’re not going to believe this . . . but Jocko’s dead.”
“What?!” Cheryl sank back down on the bed. “When? How?”
“I just got off the phone with him—”
“I thought you said he was dead!”
Stephen snorted. “Not Jocko, Raphael.”
“Oh.”
“I got off the phone with him a couple of minutes ago, and he said he’d just found out, but that it happened around ten o’clock.”
“What happened around ten o’clock?”
“My God, haven’t you been listening? Jocko died!”
“I have been listening, Stephen. But how did he die?” Cheryl shouted into the telephone.
“Oh. Sorry.” Stephen chuckled. “Hit-and-run right in front of his house.”
“Oh my God,” Cheryl said in a hoarse whisper. “I can’t believe it.” I paid Ligon to rough him up, not kill him! What went wrong?
“Are you okay, Cheryl? I thought you might be surprised; you sound downright upset.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s kinda too bad he was killed, but it’s also kinda good, too. At least for you, if you know what I mean,” Stephen explained. “You don’t have to worry about him trying to hit you up anymore.”
“Right, of course,” Cheryl said, her mind racing. She hadn’t told Stephen about Jocko’s subsequent contact, or her hiring Dwayne Ligon, and now she was glad she hadn’t. She didn’t want anyone to know she was involved in a murder. “But he probably wouldn’t have bothered me again, anyway. Poor guy. I hope he didn’t suffer too much. Do you know if he died instantly?” Not that it mattered, really. The bottom line was he was dead, and it was her fault. How could she live with herself?
“I have no idea. I guess it’ll be in the morning newspaper.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Well, look, I’m going to get to bed,” Cheryl said, faking a yawn. “Talk to you in the morning.”
“Okay, darling. Give young country boy a goodnight kiss for me and tell him I’m sorry for waking you up.”
Cheryl hung up, and briefly wondered where “young country boy” was, but that was the least of her concerns at the moment. She reached over and turned on the radio, tuning into WINS-AM, the New York City all-news station. It only took fifteen minutes before the story she was both waiting for and dreading came over the airwaves.
Police report that a Washington Heights man was the victim of a fatal hit-and-run about 9:48 this evening. Forty-five-year-old Jack Fagin was rushed to the hospital after being hit on Amsterdam Avenue but was dead on arrival. Witnesses tell police that the car which hit Fagin was
a Gray Ford Taurus. Police say they have the license plate of the car and are currently looking for the driver.
Cheryl’s hand flew to her mouth, and she struggled to stop herself from hyperventilating. They have the license plate? How long would it be, then, for them to catch Ligon? And could she really trust that he wouldn’t rat her out to help save his own skin?
Cheryl Blanton Alston had always considered herself a strong woman who could think her way out of any situation, but all the lies and secrets . . . it was becoming too much. The secret of the baby she’d sold. The lie about her age. The secret about Sexy being her child. Now this.
Cheryl looked over at Randy’s side of the bed and began to sob. Now, if never before, she needed to be held—tightly—in her husband’s arms.
Sexy
The real estate agent walked Sexy and Randy through the attractive, one-bedroom apartment on the prestigious Upper East Side. As they moved through the rooms, the agent pointed out the amenities and services that the luxury property offered.
“I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but although this building is awesome, I’m not feeling this particular apartment. It’s too small,” Sexy said quietly to Randy.
He patted Sexy on the shoulder soothingly and said to the agent, “She likes the building, but do you have something roomier?”
The real estate agent brightened. “I certainly do. All of our residences are distinctive, with their own unique charm, and there’s an exquisite three-bedroom on the twenty-fourth floor with an expansive view, a large gourmet kitchen, floor-to-ceiling windows, and it even has a terrace.”
“Let’s take a look at that one,” Sexy said, smiling. Randy may have thought they were shopping for an apartment exclusively for her, but Sexy was intent on finding a spectacular place for the two of them. A place where Randy would be proud to invite his friends. A place that he would soon call home.
The moment the real estate agent opened the front door of apartment 2417, revealing an expansive apartment with high ceilings and unique architecture, Sexy turned to Randy and said, “I want this one.”
“You haven’t even looked around,” Randy said with a chuckle.
“It’s beautiful. I love it!” Childlike, Sexy ran through the spacious apartment, squealing and twirling around in utter delight. Her happiness was infectious, creating bright smiles on both Randy’s and the agent’s faces.
After the lease was signed, the agent asked Sexy if she needed the assistance of an interior decorator.
“Yes, if Randy doesn’t mind the added expense,” Sexy said, looking up inquiringly at Randy.
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Yay!” Sexy exclaimed, her eyes twinkling as she clapped her hands. “But, I want to decorate the master bedroom, myself. I don’t want to have to sleep on the floor, tonight.”
Randy squeezed Sexy’s hand. “You won’t have to. I’m free for the rest of the day, so let’s go pick out your bedroom furniture.”
Our bedroom furniture, Sexy was tempted to correct, but she restrained herself. Sexy smiled as she told herself that the day was fast approaching when Randy would realize that Cheryl was a has-been who deserved to be left in the past, while she was the present and the future, the chick with that bomb-pussy that he couldn’t get enough of.
In the furniture store, Randy stood back while Sexy examined mattresses and headboards. Wanting to include Randy in the selection process, Sexy continually asked his opinion and before long, Randy became a full participant, going so far as to stretch out on one of the beds that they both admired.
The manager of the store promised to deliver the selected furniture in two hours. After plunking down $11,000 without blinking an eye, Randy escorted Sexy out of the high-end store.
“What are your plans in life?” Randy asked, striking up a conversation during the drive back to the new apartment.
“I’m interested in a career in sports medicine,” she said off the top of her head. “I injured my knee while at gymnastics practice when I was a kid, and I hated being out of commission for so long. But getting treatment for the injury was the catalyst for my interest in becoming a sports medicine physician.” She exhaled, pleased with how convincing she sounded.
“I’m surprised that you want to become a doctor. I thought most girls as pretty as you want to be a model or an actress or be involved in some kind of glamorous field.”
“No, that’s not me at all. I’m not that shallow. Beauty eventually fades, so I prefer to rely on my brain instead of my looks,” she said, making a sneaky dig at Cheryl. “I want to do something that makes a difference in someone’s life. The idea of practicing a medical specialty concerned with the prevention, diagnosis, treatment, and rehabilitation of injuries due to athletic activity is thrilling to me. It’s a booming business, and I plan to eventually own a state-of-the-art facility.”
“There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye,” Randy remarked, sounding impressed.
“I don’t usually admit to people that I’m actually a math and science geek, but that’s the real me; a nerdy girl with a business plan and a desire to heal. I probably didn’t mention that I’m going to start college at Columbia University next year,” she said, continuing the big lie.
Randy looked worried. “Where’s that? Is it far away?”
Sexy smiled indulgently. “No, Columbia is right here in New York.” Boy, Randy really is a hick. How do you live in America without knowing the whereabouts of one of the country’s top universities?
As they neared the apartment building, Sexy asked Randy to make a stop at a liquor store. “I’d like a couple bottles of champagne to celebrate my new home.”
Inside the store, Sexy picked up two plastic flutes and set them next to the chilled bottles of Moët on the counter. While Randy paid for the purchases, Sexy sneakily stuffed her handbag with mini bottles of vodka and gin and simply for the hell of it, she also stole a couple small bags of cashews and peanuts.
* * *
Randy had been a perfect gentleman all day, but after downing his first glass of champagne, he became extremely complimentary and somewhat touchy-feely. “You sure are a beautiful girl,” he commented, staring in her eyes. “And your hair smells like green apples,” he said, taking a deep sniff as he stroked her tresses.
“Thanks, Randy. More champagne?”
“I try not to drink too much during the season, but since we’re celebrating, why not?”
As she refilled his glass, the doorman called to let her know that her furniture had arrived. Twenty minutes later, the deliverymen were assembling the furniture and Randy pitched in, speeding up the process and delighting the men with his down-to-earth attitude. They left with hefty tips and autographs from the Yankees’ star player.
* * *
After the bed was made, Sexy asked Randy to get the other bottle of Moët out of the fridge, but the moment he turned around, she jumped on his back, insisting that he take her with him, piggyback style. Randy laughed uproariously as he carted Sexy off to the kitchen.
While riding his back, Sexy rested her head on Randy’s shoulder. He smelled faintly of cologne and clean male sweat, and the combined scents aroused her. She covered his neck with kisses, and smiled with satisfaction when Randy emitted a soft moan.
He positioned her on the island and embraced her. His strong arms felt hard and protective, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Sexy was going to let Randy get away. She stared up at him, willing him to kiss her. He hesitated briefly, and then leaned downward. His lips were soft and his searching tongue tasted like champagne. With her palms cupping his face, she pulled him closer as she kissed him slowly and gently.
The soft, throaty sounds he made let her know that she was getting to him, breaking his gentlemanly resolve.
“No, I can’t,” he whispered, pulling away.
“Why not? No one needs to know except us. It’s our secret.” She began working on his zipper.
“It’s not right,” he protested.
“I want to taste you, baby,” she cajoled, slipping her hand inside his briefs. “Can I suck your dick, Randy? Please? One last time?” she asked, her hands running over the swell in his crotch, touching him intimately.
Randy released a groan that was a mixture of defeat and raw passion. Sexy hopped off the island and dropped down to her knees.
Randy stepped closer and lowered his jeans, the bulge in his cotton briefs creating a huge dick print, sending hot coils of need throughout Sexy’s body. He made a guttural sound in the back of his throat as she guided the smooth head of his dick to her eager lips.
A pure wave of lust ran through her. “Mmm,” she moaned as he pushed inside her moist mouth.
“Mmm,” he responded, his dick smoothly gliding along her champagne-coated tongue, and then plunging deeply in the back of her throat. “Oh, God!” Randy trembled and moaned. Her hands moved to his firm ass, which she cupped, holding him securely in place.
With his dick imprisoned inside Sexy’s hot mouth, Randy was a willing captive. She gripped his ass and he gripped her head while thrusting in and out of her mouth. Damp heat blossomed between her thighs, and Sexy was nearly hyperventilating, panting with need.
She pulled back, allowing his dick to slip away from her lips. Randy gave a small cry of protest, but she stroked and appeased his slippery dick for a few moments and then flung off her top and wriggled out of her skirt. Clad in only pink lace panties and bra, she began rubbing her breasts and stroking her moist crotch with her middle finger. Her long fingers unhooked the bra and let it fall to the floor. Next she stepped out of her panties, and kicked them on top of the mound of clothes on the kitchen floor.
Fingering herself, she kept her eyes on Randy, who watched through half-lidded eyes that were glazed over with lust. “You want to taste this pussy, Randy?” she asked softly.
Mesmerized by the wanton display, Randy bit his bottom lip, and then nodded his head helplessly. Sexy stuck out her middle finger, and Randy unreservedly slurped on her finger.
“My pussy needs some tongue, baby,” she cooed. And now it was Randy’s turn to lower himself down to his knees. Sexy gasped in shock as his hot fingers parted her sex while his tongue ran up and down the soft slit. Her head tilted backward when she felt his plump lips pulling on her swollen clit. He tongue-fucked her so thoroughly, she gapped her legs open and squatted over his face, urging him to probe even deeper. Randy dipped his tongue in to the hilt, slurping loudly as he drank her honeyed juices.
Hittin' It Out the Park Page 18