Duncan (Across the Aisle Book 2)

by Xyla Turner

  “Can you turn over the chicken in the oven and turn it down to two-hundred?” she asked me. “I want it to brown. I’ll be there in ten minutes,”

  “Yes,” I agreed and left her to speak with Mama.

  Ten minutes later, Portia returned to the kitchen with the phone in her hand and said, “Yesenia would like to speak with you again.”

  “Okay.” I took the phone from her and returned to the office. “Hello.”

  “I am still here,” Mama answered. “Look, I am sorry for my words earlier. I know she loves you, and you love her. Please forgive me. I know she will make you happy. She cares, Duncan.”

  “What did she say?” I asked. “Why did you change your mind?”

  “Hmmm,” she hummed. “I guess I realized that she knows you and cares. She is not Donna, and I trust in you as a man to make the best decision for you. You will always be like a son to me, but you are no longer a child, mi hijo. You are grown, a Congressman and a future husband. I trust in your abilities. When you cut yourself loose from Donna, I knew you were on the right track.”

  “Thank you, Mama,” I replied. “I am glad you understand now. It was good to see you.”

  “You as well, my son. Have a good night and enjoy.”

  “You, too. Bye.” I hung up the phone and went into the kitchen. “Portia, what did you say to change her mind?”

  She looked at me through those long eyelashes as she made our plates and replied, “What did she say that I said.”

  “She did not say anything,” I told her.

  “Well, I told her that she was upsetting you, and that I would not have that shit. If she wanted to be someone’s mama, she needed to find another child to do that with because you were not a child any longer. You have been living your life successfully thus far, and she needs to find comfort in the fact that she raised a good kid, but you are a grown man now. So, although I understand where her concern is coming from, that it is my job now. Not hers.”

  Then Portia tipped her nose up and carried our plates to the kitchen table where we dined almost every night. I grabbed the bottles of water, and we sat down and ate, discussing our day and no longer Yesenia, her comments or her words. Once we were finished, Portia cleared our plates, washed the dishes, and I turned on the television, so we could watch another episode of New Amsterdam.

  This was our routine, but Portia was feeling a different way because once she finished the dishes, she ran her hands through my hair and said, “Duncan, my panties are wet, and I want you to fuck me hard. I might even need a spanking since I was naughty.”

  My cock instantly grew with her filthy words, as it often did when she talked like that. I loved that, and my body responded every single time. I flicked the television off, rose and grabbed her, so I could give her what she was needed.

  Slapping her beautiful, naughty ass.

  “Are you going to fill my ass, too, Duncan?” she moaned. “Please.”

  “Yes,” I growled as my fingers began to move around and press into her puckered hole.

  This was the best feeling of all, since it was so tight.

  “Do you want the dildo in your hole?” I asked.

  “Please,” she replied while sticking her ass out further.

  Sex with Portia was dynamic to infinity. I could not conjure up a number to compare this too. She enjoyed me, even when I was rough, experimenting and she let me lead. It was as if she had the secret code to me, but it was only her key that unlocked the vault. It was more than a release, but a cosmetic explosion that almost blinded me, every time the two of us were intimately together. There was no replacement, therefore, she could not leave.

  Portia

  There was one more training session with Sara and me at the Greenbelt site. She had been coming along quite well, and the store seemed to be thriving, as they revamped and rebranded their internal culture from the toxic one that Stephanie left behind.

  We were going over the process for writing up and going through corrective actions for employees when the security alarm went off. This caused a great commotion, and someone started yelling, sending us running from the office. Apparently, a woman had tried to steal some clothes and security apprehended her, but not without a struggle. She was high as a kite and fighting the entire time. The police eventually arrived and took the woman away.

  We were almost finished with the training of the proper rules of corrective action, and near the shift change. I needed to leave on time because Duncan and I were having dinner at Trent and Bernie’s place. This was our first, and I wanted to be fresh and less traumatized.

  As I was getting ready to leave, I overheard a girl, probably a pre-teen, asking the security guard if her mother was here. She said she heard she got in trouble and wanted to know where she was.

  This stopped me in my tracks, and I intervened.

  “What does your mother look like?” I asked.

  The girl described her and what she had been wearing two days before.

  “Sometimes she don’t come home. Grandma says she sick. But my mother promised that she’d go to my recital. It’s tonight, but I can’t find her.”

  Fuck.

  I looked at the security guard who had the same look as I did.

  “Come with me,” I said to her. We headed to the manager’s office.

  I explained who she was to Sara, then asked the girl what her grandmother’s number was.

  “Sara, can you get the bag her mother left for her?” I said, emphasizing my words, so she would catch my drift. “Her recital is tonight, and her mother wanted her to have the things she had picked out for her. Go and follow Ms. Sara,” I prompted the girl, as I called the grandmother to explain.

  The grandmother began to cry, but she was glad someone let her know what was going on.

  “I sit here and pray that I don’t get the call that she dead somewhere. It’s a goddamn shame. Such a smart woman. Used to play volleyball. Got a scholarship and blew her knee out. That was it. She turned to the streets and then drugs. Next thing I know, I’m a grandmother and now a full-time mother again, because her mama can’t be. I’m on dialysis, I can’t care for this girl like she needs.” The woman blew out a long breath and said, “I’m sorry ma’am. Don’t mean to dump on you, but it hurts me as a parent to want more for my child, but can’t give it.”

  Her broken words wounded me more. I was almost down and depressed by the whole thing. Bernie’s mom was on drugs, and she used to tell me, that it was her grandma that helped her out. My mom wasn’t on drugs, but the woman was non-existent in many ways. My dad was my rock, and he was no longer here. I thought of Duncan’s parents, who were supportive, but one acted like she couldn’t stand to be bothered with him; therefore, another woman was brought in. Then, this little girl, her mother was sick but still had the wherewithal to try to get her daughter what she needed for the recital. I guess it meant that, no matter what our stories were or who our parents were, we were the captains of our own ships. Our lives did not have to be defined by our parents, even if they initially were. Trent’s parents reminded me of this. We could choose, and if I was a mother, I would never treat my child the way I was treated. I would love her, and she would know it, or him. It did not matter.

  “Ma’am, let’s do this. Your granddaughter is here. She can come to the store and volunteer, and if she does well, once she turns fourteen and has a learner’s permit, we will hire her. I started working at sixteen at these boutiques, and I have stayed with this company for almost twenty years. I am the District Manager for the DMV areas.”

  “You are an angel, sent from heaven,” she said. “I prayed and prayed. She needs guidance. She needs someone to believe in her and a place to turn.”

  “I completely understand.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “The manager and I will stop by next week and discuss a mentoring program with her and you. Okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Yes. Bless you,” she chanted.

  “You too. I’ll talk with you soon.”
I hung up, put her phone number on the board for us to review with our check-in and went to see Sara and Monica, the little girl trying on the dress.

  “My mom picked this out for me?” The girl was shocked. “Even the tiara?”

  “Yup,” Sara answered. “Do you need shoes, stockings, or a shawl?”

  I smiled because this let me know that not only would Sara be a great leader because of her diligence, but she led with compassion.

  Once we fixed the girl up, we sent her to her grandma with a gift card the store paid for. I nearly lost my mind when I saw the time.

  Fuck.

  I was late.

  I called him, but there was no answer. I left a message, then texted him that I would meet him at Trent and Bernie’s place. He would not like this, but that was the only way to get there on time, since I spent an extra hour at the store.

  It was better to catch public transportation because traffic in the district was crazy. From the train station, I could catch a cab to their home, and that would put me right on time.

  I texted Duncan again to see if he received my text, but no answer.

  As I pulled up, I saw the lights were on. The walkway was lit up leading to their door. The bell sounded through the entire house and bounced off of each surface and back to the door.

  Trent answered the door with one eyebrow raised and a nod for me to come in.

  “Is Duncan here?” I whispered.

  He nodded again with that same brow lifted, telling me what I needed to know.

  “Give me your coat,” he stated and immediately started taking it off me, and I let him, as I wanted to see Duncan.

  When I entered the room, he was on the floor with Junior, helping him stack his Legos into some sort of fortress. He was actually explaining why he needed to do certain things for the wall, including pegs and securing the foundation. I shook my head as Bernie yelled at Duncan, “Stop teaching my child to be a Republican. People are not getting paid now because of some stupid wall.”

  “It’s necessary,” Duncan yelled back.

  “Oh, shit,” Trent muttered loud enough for me to hear.

  Bernie exited the kitchen and said, “It is not necessary to build a wall against the small percentage of people that come here and do heinous things. There are more American-born criminals than there are foreigners committing crimes.

  Duncan kept building, but said, “Actually, it is hard to secure the foundation, if you cannot control the border. How can we deal with what’s in-house, if we have a steady flow of criminals coming into the country with no footprint or way to trace them? It’s like they are ghosts, and it is a problem we cannot continue to ignore.”

  Trent jumped in on this one.

  “Point taken, but this is not enough to shut down a government. When we do not have a replacement for Obamacare, which is why Obama shut the government down. This is ego. This is not a priority.”

  “Point taken,” Duncan replied. “There are other pressing matters, but it does not negate the necessity.”

  “Duncan, people are not going to be able to pay their bills and the economy is going to take a hit, but this President acts like that’s fine,” I chimed in, because the shit was ridiculous. “He claims to be for the people, but he is screwing them over and has been since he has been in office. He’s a liar and a crook. On top of that, there are more points of entry into the states than Mexico, and it’s a proven fact that these are where drugs and criminals are coming in, not from the phantom unprotected border between Mexico and the adjacent states.”

  “I cannot speak for his character or his dealings because I have not investigated those allegations. What I believe in is this democracy, and he was voted into this office by the fabric of what we hold true as a country. Therefore, I am left to acknowledge his right to hold the seat and vote on the things that are presented to me.”

  This was his explanation, and I knew this was what he thought, but having the two and a half Democrats in the room, we also knew Duncan was too logical to understand the other side of things. He had compassion, but in the words of a famous quote: ‘If it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense.’ Not that he was about making money, but if the goal was to make it, then that is what he wanted.

  “Even if it’s wrong?” I asked him. “You vote on things when they are wrong?”

  This had him turning his head to look at me.

  “Yes, I vote if something is wrong. I vote against it,” he declared and continued to show Junior how to form the bridge.

  I sighed.

  The man had a point.

  “Crisis averted.” Trent laughed. “Junior and politics to the rescue.”

  He walked over to Bernie and rubbed on her protruding belly. The woman was due in less than thirty days. I’m surprised Trent let her be on her feet. I spoke too soon, because he swatted at her ass and said, “Now, go sit down.”

  “So damn bossy.” She waved him off, but waddled to the chair with no arms.

  I went to the table and said, “Girl, you look exhausted.

  “Shhh,” she hushed me. “I am, but I wanted to cook one last meal before Bonnie comes out. I begged Trent to do it, and the only reason he caved is that I promised him sweet potato pie. He loves it.”

  “That’s hilarious.” I laughed. “How are you holding up? The law firm?”

  “It’s amazing, and I've learned so much about the industry. Trent has been incredible about everything, even with this new bundle of joy coming. He has provided a lot of support to help it become what the mission is. We even have some new gear, BlackHairMatters t-shirts, mugs, pillows, and check this, shower caps," Bernie exclaimed.

  I laughed at that, but said, "Yeah, girl. Duncan brought home a few of them after our first time. I figured he was able to get them from Trent or you."

  "Yeah, that was all him," she said with pride. "I can't believe it was two years ago I was running from him. Like why? He is the best thing that has happened to me."

  I remembered some of them, which included how they met, the circumstances around their getting together and the fact that she was pregnant. She also, though she never said anything to me, probably felt like she didn't belong with someone like him. He's a public figure, a politician, he's white, but her being with a white guy was not a major thing. Now, a crazy one like Trent, That's something different. It actually made me think of all the reasons I didn't think Duncan and I would be a good fit. The man was a Republican; hence he's teaching Junior how to build a fucking wall. Two, he's different than my usual, but that was never really a reason to not be with him. At first, I didn't understand, but his differences make me want him more. He's funny and he's not trying to be. He can be extremely considerate, caring, and sexy as fuck. Damn, I crossed my legs just thinking about what he had, could and would do when he was between them.

  I was out of reasons. Hell, I wasn't even looking.

  Fifteen minutes later, Trent had us all at the table, but Junior was in bed, so the grown folks could talk.

  For some reason, I wish they would have kept that little boy up because I was not ready for the turn in the conversation.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Portia

  The antique wooden table was super expensive, because hello, it was Trent we were talking about. The man had impeccable and expensive taste, which included my bestie. The table could have fed four families. We sat at one end, with Duncan and me on one side, Trent at the head, and Bernie was to his right. It was very mafia-ish, which I would have been able to handle more than the current dilemma we now found ourselves in.

  "You and Junior were getting along quite well over there," Bernie said, before putting a bite of potato in her mouth.

  Trent and I both turned to her, and if looks could kill, she would have keeled over.

  "What?" She sensed the stares, and Trent even stretched out his hand and squeezed it to shut her up.

  "I like building things. It's a hobby," Duncan answered.

  "Are you thinking of
having kids of your own someday?" She asked, and the air must have left the room because it was suddenly hard to breathe.

  I could not believe Bernie was putting him and me on the spot like that. Even with little fucks to give, this was super awkward, and I could kill her.

  "Bernie, really?" I hissed.

  "I don't want kids," Duncan said in his normal, monotone way.

  Wait, what?

  My head jerked around to face him, and I exclaimed, "I'm sorry, come again."

  Duncan slowly turned around to look at me, when he repeated, "I do not want children."

  It still did not register in my head that the man that I loved did not want children, like ever. How could that be? I wasn't the most maternal woman in the word, but I did want kids. Maybe one or two, but I wanted a child to come from my damn womb. I'm not sure when that would happen, but it was always the plan. I did not want to raise a child alone, so I always waited for my significant other. My soulmate. I thought he freaked out because he did not want me to get pregnant at that moment. Not that he never wanted to get me pregnant.

  "Why?" I found myself asking, as I turned my head to the side in an attempt to understand him.

  "I was a difficult child to raise, according to my mother, and she often wished she never had me," he informed the room. "I am not putting another woman through the pain and hardship she went through."

  "So, you think your child will be difficult?" I asked.

  "He will," Duncan replied. "He will be like me, or worse?"

  "What's worse?" I snapped. "There is nothing wrong with you."

  He met my eyes and said, "There are many things wrong with me. I do not want to talk about this matter anymore." He turned and resumed eating, as Trent, Bernie, and I exchanged glances.

  Later that evening, when I tried to broach the subject with Duncan again, he shut it down by walking into the shower, as if I was not speaking. A spark lit in me, but I tamped down on my former self; the one where I would have left. I was a grown woman, and we could have a conversation or not, and that did not make me have to leave.