“You will, girl. You will. But look, I’m getting ready to sneak out of here and go see my new boo.”
“What new boo? Are you cheating on Ju-Ju?”
“And you know this.” She chuckled. “Boo’s name is Rasul Williams. He’s lives down the street. Let me tell you, I screwed his ass the other day and he had me screaming so loud it’s a wonder I didn’t get arrested for violating the noise ordinance.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about him?”
“I don’t know . . . anyway, let me call Jasmine at my mother’s and wish them a happy new year and then go tip my ass out of here. Love ya, girl!”
“Love you too, Tracy.”
* * *
Finally traffic let up. It was eleven thirty and I felt like I would never make it on time. When I came out of the tunnel, it was twenty to twelve. I flew through the streets of Manhattan like a bat out of hell. When I arrived at the hotel, I pulled in front and threw my keys to the valet attendant. “Please park my car!”
“Which room, Ms.?”
“I don’t know yet.”
I went to the front desk. “Devin Johnson’s room, please.”
“One minute, ma’am,” the clerk said. “I’m sorry, but it says here that Mr. Johnson has checked out.”
“Checked out?” I couldn’t believe it. Please tell me I heard wrong.
“Yes, the computer says the suite is vacant.” She looked at me apologetically.
I stood there and stared at her. I didn’t know what to say, how to feel, or what to think. The noise from the people partying in the bar drifted into the lobby as they began the New Year’s countdown. Before I had a chance to talk myself out of crying, tears were already running down my face and sliding between my lips. I sniffed, wiped my tears, and fluffed my flip. Fuck it. By the time the countdown was down to one, I headed into the bar and sat down. Confetti was everywhere, noisemakers were blowing, and the people were yelling, “Happy New Year!!”
The bartender looked at me. “Happy New Year, young lady—what’s your flavor?”
“I’ll take a bottle of chilled champagne and a glass.”
“A whole bottle?” the bartender asked.
“Yup.”
He sat the bottle in front of me. As he filled my glass, I lit a cigarette and took a drag. “Spending this New Year’s alone?” he asked.
“Something like that.” I picked up my glass of champagne and stared at it. The frost was sliding over my fingers. I took a sip and mumbled to myself, “This is for the black-eyed peas . . .” I took another sip. “And this is for the collard greens . . .”
“If I tell you something,” a sexy male voice whispered into my ear, “I want you to take it the right way, okay?”
“What?” I said, practically holding my breath. Tears were again forming in my eyes. I knew that this was Devin. In an effort not to cry, I closed my eyes as he continued.
“You got a fat ass.” He laughed.
“Oh,” I said, putting my cigarette out. I swiveled around on the bar stool to face him. “You like me for my ass?”
“Correction,” he said looking me in the eyes and kissing my tears away, “I no longer like you. I love you.”
I couldn’t play this game anymore. I jumped up and hugged him. “I’m so sorry Devin. I love you so much. I’ll do whatever, just give me another chance.” Shit, all I could think to do was sing to him, and I didn’t care who heard me. “ ’Do you want some money baby / . . . Do you want some fish and grits?’ “
“Baby,” he said, rubbing my back. “Okay, baby, stop singing.”
“Why?”
“Everybody’s looking and you can’t sing.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. When I looked around people were looking and the bartender winked his eye. He gave me a thumbs-up as he flipped a quarter to a man standing near the jukebox. “This one’s on me,” he said.
The man dropped the quarter in the jukebox and Jill Scott’s “Whatever” lit up the place.
I lay my head against Devin’s chest. He held me around the waist and we started to slow dance. “I love you,” I said to him. “I need you to know that and I can’t fight it anymore.”
“Hearing that makes this all worth it.” He bent his head down and placed his lips against mine. Holding me tight, he said, “Happy New Year.”
New Year’s Eve—the perfect time to make a naughty resolution—is right around the corner. Don’t miss these other sultry New Years escapades from three of the hottest writers around.
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After a shoot-out, a doctor ends up with a bad case of amnesia . . . and the hots for her caretaker.
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A prim and proper young woman unleashes her wild side when her boyfriend slips up with another woman.
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Pocket Star Books
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2005 by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker
Originally published in the anthology Kiss the Year Goodbye
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This Pocket Star Books ebook edition December 2017
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ISBN 978-1-5011-7754-5
Whatever It Takes Page 8