Shawn nodded and captured her lips for a kiss as he hugged her back. “I better head out of here before Corey gets home,” he said, moving from her to finish getting dressed.
Bounce, nigga, bounce.
She left the guest bedroom and walked across to their master bedroom to retrieve her kimono-style housecoat. She glanced at the bed she shared every night with Corey. There were many things she was dead wrong for but she refused to sex his cousin in his bed. There was a line even she wouldn’t cross.
By the time she made it back across the hall, Shawn was dressed and pulling on his Jordans. She rushed to replace the covers on the bed and then opened the two windows wide to let the room air out. She made sure there was nothing incriminating left in the room and then politely led him out.
The day was over, Kimani was with Keesha’s little sister and the rest of her father’s family. Corey was at work. She and Shawn had enjoyed a day of floating around playing house.
That what’s got this fool all the way gone.
“Call me, Keesha,” Shawn said, digging his fingers into her ass as she opened the door.
“Oh . . . ooh . . . oh . . . okay.”
Keesha and Shawn both jumped back at the sight of her neighbor Jeremiah standing on the porch holding a box and looking directly at Shawn’s hand on Keesha’s ass.
Shawn jerked it away. “So yeah, uhm, thanks cuz,” he said, before he squeezed past Jeremiah’s tall frame and jogged down the stairs to his Impala parked in the drive behind Keesha’s Benz.
Jeremiah turned to watch Shawn back down the drive and then zoom up the quiet street. “Keesha, I don’t mean to get in your business—”
“Good idea,” she told him.
“But you know this is the makings of a First 48 episode or some shit,” he said.
Keesha leaned against the door and looked up at him. “It’s not what you think,” she said weakly.
Jeremiah opened his mouth and then closed it. “Just be careful.”
“What’s in the box?” she asked.
“I wanted to see if you could sign these books for Marcus’s bookclub meeting this weekend,” Jeremiah said. “He wants to surprise everyone.”
“Just leave them and I’ll walk over and let you know when they’re ready,” she said, pointing to a spot by the door.
Keesha wanted to shower before Corey got home.
Jeremiah set the box where she told him. “You know I’m headed out to work and I’ll probably stay over Marcus’s house tonight. So I’ll walk over tomorrow some time. No rush,” he said.
“Okay. See you tomorrow.” Keesha stepped forward, pushing the door closed with her.
She shook her head as she jogged back up the stairs. If that had been her dope-sniffing—or even weed-smoking—days, she would’ve burst out laughing at the whole scene.
Brrrnnnggg . . . Brrrnnnggg . . . Brrrnnnggg . . . Beeeep.
Keesha paused at the door to her office as she waited to hear the message being left on her answering machine.
“Hi, Keesha. This is Madge. Give me a call as soon as you can. I have news on the proposal you sent Bianca on the third book and—”
She flew into the room and snatched up the cordless phone. “Hello Madge,” she said, forcing herself to breathe normally as she folded her figure into the chair behind her desk. “What’s the good news?”
“Well, it’s not exactly good . . .”
Damn. Keesha squeezed her eyelids with the tips of her fingers. She really needed that next big advance and soon.
“They want you to work on this proposal. They are not happy with it as is.”
Keesha remained quiet.
“Are you still there?” her agent asked.
“Yes I’m here.”
“So I’m going to e-mail you the things she pointed out about the storyline,” Madge said. “And I’m going to be honest with you, Keesha, you really need to hit it out of the park with this. The numbers for the second book nowhere near match the first one.”
“Are they going to drop me?” she asked, clearing her throat after her words came out in a squeak.
“No, they just want the tightest story possible,” Madge said. “Let me send the e-mail, you take a look at it, mull it over for a couple of days and then let’s talk.”
Yes, just call, fuck up my day and hang up so I can mull it over.
“Okay. All right. Thanks, Madge.”
Keesha dropped the phone back on its base as she turned on her computer. She was anxious to see the notes on her proposal. As she pulled up her e-mail account, she hit play on the machine to play the rest of the messages—mainly because she wanted the indicator light to stop blinking.
“This is Keesha Lands. Leave me a message.”
Beeep.
“I have two hundred new e-mails. Shit,” she swore. It had been several months or more since she even checked her e-mail, Facebook, or Twitter accounts. She usually got Internet happy in the weeks leading up to a new book release and for about a month after.
The e-mail from Madge had not arrived yet.
“Hello I am Frank with Yarborough Recovery Systems and I am trying to reach Keesha Lands on a very important matter. Please call me back at 888-555-1212.”
Beeep.
“Fuck your important matter, Frank,” she muttered, her eyes scanning the e-mails. The majority were from readers of her books.
“Hello, this is Dr. Vogle’s office. Please give us a call back.”
Beeep.
“The hell is this shit?” Keesha asked, her eyes squinting as she took in a series of e-mails from someone named YOUR DIRTY SECRETS with the subject line: “Is this spam?”
Beeep . . . Beeep . . . Beeep . . .
She waved her hand dismissively at the e-mail and picked up the phone to dial her doctor’s office. She had to take a physical last week for her and Corey’s insurance policy.
“Vogle Medical Center.”
“Hi this is Keesha Lands. Someone left a message for me to call.”
“Hold please.”
She refreshed her e-mail’s inbox as she waited. The e-mail from her agent had finally arrived and she opened it.
“Ms. Lands, Dr. Vogle would like for you to come back in for additional tests. Can you make a four o’clock appointment today?”
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“He’s not in the office at the moment, he just noted your chart.”
“Uhm . . . I’m on my way,” she said, standing up to make her way across the hall to their bedroom.
“See you at four.”
Keesha dropped the phone on the bed and turned to look in the mirror over the dresser. What’s wrong with me?
When Keesha walked back through the door of their townhouse, Corey was home and the smell of food was thick in the air. She closed her eyes and released a heavy breath before she made her way into the kitchen.
He looked over his shoulder from a pot he was stirring in. “Hey. Where you been? I called your phone.”
“I had to mail some stuff off at the post office,” she lied, sitting her tote bag on the counter along with her keys.
“I made spaghetti,” he said.
Keesha nodded, hating that her actions would lead to him being hurt. She turned from him when tears welled up in her eyes. She blinked them back rapidly.
Corey was a good man. He paid his fair share of the bills. Helped her raise her daughter. Had patience about her crazy mother. Cooked meals. Supported her. Supported them.
I fucked up.
“Did you hear about the new book yet?”
Keesha turned back to him. “They didn’t like it. I have to work on it and turn it in again,” she said.
“You’ll work it out,” he said, coming over to rub her lower back.
“I don’t have no choice with all these bills,” she admitted. “If that new deal doesn’t come through . . .”
Corey stiffened. “Look I don’t want to argue about money. I just wanna eat dinner. Chill. Wa
tch a movie. Just not tonight, Keesha,” he said, moving back to the stove to turn off the pot of pasta.
“That’s not how I meant it, Corey.”
He glanced over at her as he dumped the pasta and the water through a drainer sitting in the sink. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
I fucked up. I fucked up.
He wiped his hands with a dish towel and came back over to her. “Look if you worried about money if—and that’s if—the book deal doesn’t come through we’ll make it. If I have to get a second job we’ll be straight.”
Guilt damn near swallowed her as she stepped forward and rested her head on his chest. “You mean that too, don’t you, Corey?”
“Have I ever let you down?”
She shook her head. No he hadn’t. Ever. I’m the one that ain’t shit.
“You hungry?” he asked, moving back to the stove. “ ’Cause I’m starving.”
“I’m pregnant,” she said, her eyes locked on his strong back.
“I had a crazy day at work, baby,” he said.
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, raising her hand to press again her stomach.
Corey turned. “What’d you say?”
She smiled through all of the emotions jumping her like a hood beatdown. “I’m pregnant.”
Corey raced back over to her and dropped down to press his hands to her belly. “A baby. We’re gonna have a baby?” he asked.
Keesha stroked the back of his head and nodded. In what should have been the happiest moment of the world she felt karma bite her in the ass like a rabid dog. The sins of the mother do often visit the child and here she was, a victim of her mother picking the wrong man of two to be her father. And now Keesha didn’t know if she had done the same.
Shawn or Corey could be the father and Keesha had absolutely no idea which one would hear “You are the father” on a Maury Povich episode. But the better man was Corey. She wanted Corey. She loved Corey.
Smiling through her tears and swallowing a lump of guilt and her own hypocrisy, she said, “Yes, we’re having a baby.”
Chapter 15
Danielle
“You okay?”
Danielle looked up at Omari sitting on the small sofa against the wall of her dressing room. She nodded as she reached behind her to massage the small of her back. “I think all of the standing in those five-inch heels is wrecking my back muscles,” she told him with a grimace as another spasm radiated across her back.
“Let me see if I can help that,” he said, rising in his navy linen pants and white tee with matching navy and white spectator shoes. “I shouldn’t have laid this dick on you so hard last night.”
Danielle arched a brow as she eyed him. “Or maybe I injured my back working so hard riding that dick down ’til it deflated,” she shot back.
“You did do that,” he agreed. “Hell of a job.”
She kept her eyes on the man as he came over to press his fingers against the small of her back. She moaned in pleasure at the small circles he made. “That’s nice. That’s real nice,” she said, imitating Bernie Mac.
Omari chuckled. “This little vacay was nice. Thank you for showing me LA,” he said, his hands still working magic on her back.
“I just wish I wasn’t so tired and cranky,” she told him, folding her arms across the top of her desk and then settling her head on top of her arms.
“It’s all right baby,” he assured her. “I’m just happy to finally get to see you face to face.”
Danielle fell silent and just enjoyed him putting in work on her back.
This was the first weekend Omari flew out to Los Angeles to spend with her, although she had been back to New Jersey one weekend during her downtime. She had to admit that she liked the laid-back nature of their “friendship.” Omari lived up to his word and was never clingy or asking too much of her. Most nights they talked a little on the phone. Some nights they didn’t. There were no missed calls on her phone while she was taping or doing spots. He completely understood that she had a life and a career of her own—grown-woman shit.
And the dick was nice. Real nice.
She spun in her chair and walked over to the door to lock it.
Click.
She turned and walked back over to him, running her hands down the front of his thighs and then around to grip his firm buttocks before she sucked his bottom lip into her mouth with a soft moan.
Omari followed her lead and brought his hands up to grip the back of her thigh beneath the full skirt of her burnt-orange dress. “You smell so good,” he told her, nuzzling his face against her neck before pressing his lips there.
Danielle shivered. “That’s my new body wash,” she whispered as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.
He slid her delicate panties to the side and stroked his finger against her bare pussy lips. Danielle widened her stance in her six-inch heels. He slid one thick finger and then another inside her and then plucked her swelling clit with his thumb.
She hissed in pleasure, her fingers digging deep into flesh where they rested on his shoulders. “I absolutely love fucking you,” she whispered into the rising heat in the air as she raised one leg to wrap around his waist.
“You do?” he asked throatily, looking down into her face as he slid his fingers in and out of her slowly.
Danielle nodded as she worked her hips in motion to his fingers planted inside of her. Her entire body felt alive. Sexy. Vibrant. Electrified. He made her feel like she tingled everywhere with all the hairs left on her body standing on end.
Pure chemistry.
Omari brought his free hand up to her nape and pulled her head forward to kiss her. First softly and then deeply. His tongue tasted of the juice he had been drinking.
She wondered if all his juices were as sweet.
Danielle lowered her leg and stepped back just enough to free his fingers from her pussy. Omari slid his fingers into her mouth. She reached down to stroke his hard dick as she kissed him, sucking both his tongue and his fingers in a mini-ménage.
“Damn,” Omari swore.
“Oh that ain’t nothing,” she whispered against his open mouth as she pulled the front of his pants away from his dick and jerked his zipper down.
“Shit,” he swore.
Danielle dropped to her knees and freed his dick to take the thick and warm tip into her mouth. She sucked as much of the length of him as she could into her mouth, being sure to stroke his thickness with her tongue.
“Danielle,” he moaned, biting his bottom lip as he tilted his head to the side to look down at her.
She let her spit drizzle against his tip before she freed his dick from her mouth and stroked the length of him swiftly as she bent her head to flicker the tip of her tongue against his balls.
Omari cried out and roughly fell back against the bookstands on the wall. Shit fell over and onto the floor.
Fuck it.
Danielle moved back to lizard-lick his tip as she continued to work her wrist and jack him.
“Girl you hell,” he said, his voice nearly a high-pitch soprano as he dug his fingers into her hair and made a fist. “Don’t make me move to LA.”
Her soft laughter tickled his dick as she continued her onslaught, causing the sucking noises to echo inside the small office.
“You gone make this bitch cum,” he said, sounding somewhere between excitement and regret.
She gave his dick one last lick, suck, and kiss before rising to her feet and sitting on the edge of her sofa. “Oh no. You got work to do before you leave LA this morning,” she told him, opening her legs wide and using one finger to pull the now-moist seat of her panties to the side.
Omari rushed to snatch his wallet from his pocket.
Danielle watched as he eventually unrolled a condom onto the length of his hard dick. She used her free hand to lightly pat her plump lips and then spread them to give her clit air.
Omari dropped to his knees and slid his dick inside her until it was buried. He leaned for
ward to suck at her mouth as he worked his hips, sending the length of him against her walls.
“Thank you for coming to LA,” she whispered against his lips, already feeling a fast and furious nut about to explode.
“You’re more than welcome,” he said.
Moments later they both clenched tightly at each other as white-hot spasms sent them free-falling through one hot climax after the next.
Hours later, long after she made sure Omari was securely on his flight back to New Jersey, Danielle was in her dressing room getting her makeup done in preparation for doing a live edition of The A-List. Everyone was on alert, excited and nervous about the first-time try at going live.
Her back was acting up and she was seriously considering requesting to wear flats but she knew her stylist would have twelve fits if she ruined his ensemble by not wearing the feather-covered Louboutins sitting and waiting for her by the door.
Danielle fanned herself. She didn’t know if it was the bright lights surrounding the mirror of the dressing room or the cluster fuck of more than three people being inside the small room at one time, but she was hot. “Can I get some water, please?” she asked, her eyes closed as the makeup artist finished her eye shadow.
Bzzzzzz . . .
Her cell phone vibrated in her hand but Danielle waited until the makeup artist moved onto her lips before she checked it. An e-mail. She felt her body go tense. The last thing she needed before going on air live was another taunt.
The e-mails from her unknown tormenter proclaiming to know her secrets and threatening to expose them had continued. They increased in frequency so much that she was almost afraid to answer her e-mail. So far there had been nothing but the dumb-ass e-mails but Danielle was aggravated. She thought about reporting it to the police but what would she say—“Excuse me, very busy officers, someone is e-mailing the shit out of me?”
This is some childish shit.
And she was beginning to be very clear about the identity of the overgrown adolescent.
“Can I have a quick minute everyone?” Danielle asked suddenly. “Please.”
As soon as they filed out of the room she checked the e-mail. Sure enough. Same-old same-old.
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