Nappily in Bloom

by Trisha R. Thomas

  He leaned forward on his elbows, his manicured nails resting on his knees. “It’s just for a few days. In Bloom will survive. You’re staying home. That’s it. Please don’t argue with me about this.” He stood up to leave the bedroom.

  I went into the bathroom and slammed the door. I pushed the hair away from my face and leaned into the mirror and took in the reality of the situation. I was too grown for car chases and husbands who wanted to lock me up at home while he figured out who was doing the chasing. Being married to Jake, six years my junior, had never been dull—I could say that for sure.

  The knock at the door gave my heart a good rattle to add more stress. “What?”

  Jake stepped inside. He wrapped his arms around my waist and nuzzled my neck from behind, inhaling fresh lavender. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want to fight.”

  “I’m not listening. You know exactly what’s going on. You want to make sure I’m the last to know. What, you think I can’t handle it?”

  “Babe, I swear I don’t know why someone would be following you. But I’m going to get to the bottom of it, I promise. I just want you to be safe. You and Mya are my only concern.”

  “You always say that. If it was true you wouldn’t have let that man stay in this house.” I gave him a tough love elbow. “Move. I’m not going to be brainwashed. You do your stroke routine and then I say, ‘Yes, sir’. Not this time.”

  He kept his place behind me. His hands slid down to the center of my hips. “I know how to reduce your stress.”

  “Aha.” I spun around. “See, this is what I’m talking about. If you were seriously worried, the last thing you’d want to do is have a quickie.”

  “Who said anything about a quickie?” He lowered himself, one knee at a time, pulling my robe apart. His face pressed into the scent of freshly showered nakedness. He slid his hands around and pulled me even closer before I could get away, not that I wanted to. His warm mouth licked and played with the skill of a man who’d been trained well.

  As much I wanted to take the credit, the truth was Jake came to the game a well-seasoned player. From the first time we kissed and held each other in his home on the beach, the chemistry was hot and magnetic. His breath in my ear was enough to send warmth shuddering between my legs. But every girl knows desire has to be followed up by technique, or you’re left wrapped in sheets of bitter frustration. I’d lived through enough of the self-fulfillment era, waiting for the lackluster performance to be over so I could be alone, me, myself, fingers, and I.

  Those days were long over, with Jake in my life. Just the pure sight of his tight brown chest glistening after a shower, and my panties went flying.

  Even when I was angry, like now, I was no match for his presence.

  With each heated stroke from the tip of his tongue, I melted. He had to stand me back up, leaning me against the cool birch wood cabinets. No use. I crumpled, unable to stop my knees from buckling. He still held me up, pinned against the cabinet doors, burrowing into his target.

  My moan echoed against the bathroom marble. Total and complete satisfaction rippled through my body. “Oh . . . God . . .”

  He stood up and held me. “Babe, you all right?”

  After a brief recovery kiss, I still couldn’t speak. I still couldn’t answer.

  He gently pulled my robe closed, tying the knot to put me back together again. He smiled into my ear, happy with the work he’d done. “You all right, baby?”

  I nodded, light-headed and still reeling from the orgasm that could be heard around the world, or at least our city block. A light, brief kiss and he was gone. He’d gotten away with telling me nothing. I scolded myself in between shudders of satisfaction. Once again, he’d shut me down with his magic.

  Pay It Forward

  He was royally pissed. He’d had an exceptionally bad day and couldn’t go home to his fiancée like this. Keisha was everything good in his life, and he never wanted her to see his ugly side.

  He pulled his car up to the security gate and pushed the code. The red light glowed in the darkness, telling him he’d put in the wrong number, so he tried it again. The gate didn’t budge. He flipped out his phone and touched the initials NB, for Nikki Beech. It rang a few times before her Trinidadian accent announced she was unavailable but would get back to the caller shortly. This was his ninth call. Nikki hadn’t returned to work after Keisha’s fitting. She wasn’t answering any of his calls or responding to his text messages.

  He was at a loss for words. Surely the security gate was broken and she hadn’t changed the code on the building that was in his name. He paid the fuckin’ note on the loft. Surely she understood the rules hadn’t changed. He tried the four-digit code again, refusing to believe he was locked out of his own building.

  He backed his convertible away from the gate and parked near the entrance.

  The manager’s office was closed or he would’ve demanded to be let in. Instead he waited. The nice tranquil area was pitch dark and quiet. He checked his watch. Keisha thought he was at a business dinner, so he still had plenty of time.

  “Ungrateful bitch,” he whispered to the open sky. Thursday nights were a ritual. She knew he would be here. So it had to be true. She was seeing somebody. After all he’d done for her. Her airy loft-style condo was something she’d seen only in magazines, until the day he took her for a little ride and gave her the keys. “Open it,” he’d said. “It’s all yours.”

  The key had turned. She entered and began to cry like she’d finally gotten her Barbie Dream House. The floor-to-vaulted-ceiling window offered a breathtaking city view. The lights twinkled against the black sky. It was for her birthday. She thought he was going to give her diamonds—or more specifically, a ring.

  He couldn’t explain without breaking her heart that he could never marry her. As much as he enjoyed getting inside her, she was not wife material. And what he did to Nikki, he could never do to his wife. Just the thought—flashes of Nikki’s behind, her arched back and the sweetness waiting at his beck and call—made his thickness rise. He had to adjust himself, sitting in an open car. He didn’t want security riding by, thinking he was some pervert. He checked his watch again. After all he’d done for her. In addition to her overpaying job, he’d footed the bill for her travel back home frequently to see grandmothers, aunties, nieces, and her two sisters, who barely left the town where they were born.

  Another hour had passed. Finally headlights circled off a high-priced vehicle. Gray was glad he’d put up his top, scooting down ever so slightly in the leather seat, not wanting to look like a stalker. He watched as they parked. He was hardly shocked when he saw the man walk around to the passenger side and open the door for Nikki. She extended her hand like some kind of princess. He took it and kissed her hand like some kind of prince. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

  Gray twisted his neck around to watch as Nikki and her friend walked to the well-lit building. A gentleman, he opened the door for her once again. They kissed lightly at the elevators before she sent him on his way. Perfect, ’cause Gray wasn’t in the mood to have to shut this shit down himself. He gave it a few minutes then dialed her number.

  “Hey?” She sounded like she was in a happy fog.

  “Hey, yourself. Seems the code was changed.”

  “Oh, yes. The manager gave out new codes. I forgot to tell you.” The gate slowly parted like the Red Sea.

  “I’ll be right up.” Gray closed his phone and stepped on the gas, afraid they might close on him, and he still didn’t have the access code.

  “I guess the real question is, can he afford you?” Gray said as soon as he entered the loft. Nikki was wrapped tight in a robe as if he hadn’t just seen her walk in with high heels and a sexy sleek dress that hugged her every curve. “Can he afford this place, the note, the car payment, those trips you need to make back home?” All the while he pressed the remote control to silence the television, which was giving off various shades of light on their faces. “Sounds to me
like you need to make a choice.” His smile, the perfect white teeth gleamed even brighter from the television light. “It’s a simple choice. Job, condo—hell, even your car. You think you’re going to keep everything I’ve given you while you fuck another man?”

  It was what she’d wanted. Some sign that he cared. A flicker of disdain was better than nothing. She’d had enough pretending. “You want to evict me, go ahead. You want your key to the car, your office, you want, you want, but what do I get in return? You want me to die as your mistress? I will not. I will not.” She was standing over him, heaving. She must’ve landed a few specks of spittle, because he smoothed a hand over his face. He clicked the television off. The room went dark, darker than her eyes anticipated. She could see the silhouette of him but not his face.

  “Gray, please . . . I’m sorry. All I ever did was love you. I don’t know where this marriage to Keisha will leave me. I deserve . . . I deserve to be loved.”

  He gripped her hand and pulled her downward. He grasped her head and kissed her gently first, then prodded hungrily for her tongue. Gray’s kiss was powerful enough to wash away doubt and any good sense she still had left.

  He pulled his lips away long enough to ask, “Do you really think I want leftovers? Do you think I can share you?” He held a handful of her hair so she didn’t have any room to turn away.

  There was fear in her eyes. To her surprise and dismay, he simply pushed his open mouth against hers. This time the kiss was deeper. “I love you, baby. Okay?” Sincerity oozed from his words and his touch as his hand slid underneath her robe. She shuddered and writhed against his fingers pushed inside her. Before long, every one of his fingers had a home. Just prep work, giving him all that he’d come for and more.

  With Friends Like These

  They pulled up in Jake’s midnight blue Mercedes convertible, greeted by stares and looks from the shopping and lunch crowd, wondering who the two fine gentlemen were, assuming they were either professional ballers or entertainers. Especially in Atlanta, now considered the new Black Hollywood. They were welcomed in the upscale Bluepointe restaurant and escorted to a prime table while every woman turned and twisted to get an eyeful as they passed. Jake had to admit he liked the attention. He seldom left the walls of his palace unless he was with Venus, who had a way of making other women scared to take a peek let alone give a full-on stare. He and Legend were feeling themselves, for sure.

  The stylish hostess seated them. “You gentlemen enjoy your lunch.”

  “Will do.” Legend watched her walk away. “My goodness, my goodness. How do you stand it? This place is a cornucopia of sweet ass dying to be tasted. How do you live like this, my brotha?”

  Jake lifted up his left hand. “Easy. I like being married. I want to stay married.”

  “How y’all doin’?” A young woman made it a point to pass their table with an extra sway in her hip.

  “Hey, baby, how you doin’? I like the way that skirt is fitting, my goodness. Pilates? Yoga?” Legend pulled his hair back slightly as if to get a clear look.

  “Thank you. I like your hair, it’s sexy. How long it take you to grow that?”

  “It’s a constant work in progress. You wanna feel it?”

  Just before Legend could cast his spell, the waitress showed up, just as beautiful as the hostess. She lingered on Jake for a few seconds. “Do I know you? You look familiar.”

  At one time Jake would’ve taken the opportunity to explain. His hit song “Fat Lips, Juicy Hips” had sold over two million copies and put him on the Billboard list twelve weeks straight. At one time he wouldn’t have made it to the table without five or six women lined up for his autograph. She was about the right age to remember him very well.

  However these days he’d accepted his anonymity. “Nah, nobody famous, sorry,” he told her, mostly to keep her heart from going pitter-patter.

  “All right, now. It’ll come to me. Meanwhile, what are we drinking, gentlemen?”

  “Grey Goose martini,” Jake said without having to peruse the menu.

  “How about you, Mr. Lova Lova?”

  “Whiskey sour—” Legend fanned himself. “—extra ice, ’cause it’s hot as hell up in here.”

  “I bet you two are up to no good.”

  “Not me, just him,” Jake said, pointing a finger.

  She smiled with shiny soft lips. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  “Ah damn, all right. All day long.” Legend was a kid in a candy store. He hadn’t gotten off the plane before he was getting the phone number of an airline attendant. “You know you wrong. How come you didn’t tell me what was going on down here in the dirty South, baby?”

  “Well, now you know.”

  “Now I know why you didn’t want to have nothing to do with L.A. It may never rain in Southern California, but it’s a whole lotta ice from those cold flossing bitches.”

  “C’mon, man.” Jake looked around slightly over his shoulder. “You liable to get a beatdown using that word around here.” After they’d sipped on their drinks uninterrupted for a straight five minutes, Jake finally felt safe to talk. “Two FBI agents come to my house. My house, brah, okay. Whatthafuck is goin’ on?”

  “The law has landed on your door. I duly apologize.” He did a mock bow, opening his arms like an English gent. Legend knew Jake like the back of his hand. His tone let him know when it was time to stop playing. He also knew he’d have to tell him the truth. “The dudes who off’d Byron Steeple have been under our nose the entire time. They worked in the JP Wear warehouse. They weren’t really just dayworkers. They more or less were on the job to make sure Byron did what he was supposed to do, which was run money clean through our company. When he stole from us, he was essentially stealing from them. JP Wear made money, but a lot of what you saw on paper was an illusion.”

  Jake’s face fell hard. “You’re saying the company was operating as a front. My company?” He shook his head. “Bullshit. I put my heart and soul into that company. Every retailer in this country had JP Wear sitting front and center. It’s still one of the largest-grossing clothing lines.” Jake shook his head. “Nah, I created that. It wasn’t some illusion.”

  Legend took a long deep breath. “It’s the truth. The sales were up all the time, but the money never changed. You remember? You saw it, you questioned it, but there was no way to explain.”

  “I remember,” Jake said, going back in his mind to the year before he’d given JP Wear over to Legend.

  “Now you’re probably wondering how I know, and the answer is, they wanted me to know.”

  “Who is they?”

  “Ronny Wilks—or Big Red, as he is so lovingly called in his circle of the uneducated and uncouth. Byron stole from him, and for whatever reason, he’s turning over buildings and bodies looking for where he put it.” Legend leaned back in his chair. “Put a gun to my head, right here, and made me piss my pants, all to hear me say three little words, ‘I don’t know.’ ”

  Jake was about to ask the most important question: Was he next? Were they coming after him because they thought he knew or had the money?

  The waitress broke in. “Here you go. Is there anything else I can get you?” She set the appetizer of sesame beef between them.

  “Nothing right now, beautiful,” Legend said with a bit of an edge. Not his usual relaxed self. He downed the last of his drink. “Wait a minute. Another one of these.” He jiggled his ice.

  Jake’s brows were raised as if to say get on with it. “Are they coming after me or what, man?”

  “It would make sense if gangsta law made any kind of sense. But I told him you and I were equally in the dark. Byron was an independent fuckup.”

  “So all I need to do is point these Feds in Ronny’s direction. Plain and simple.”

  “Not plain nor simple. C’mon, man. You know the Feds know what’s going on. They’re not trying to solve Byron’s murder. They don’t give a damn about a gay black accountant. They’re looking for the money
just like everybody else.” Legend leaned in to add gravity to his theory. “As a matter of fact, how do we know they’re even real agents?”

  Jake sort of rolled his eyes but then paused. He did his best Godfather impression. “I try to get out, and they just keep pulling me back in.” For a second or two they both laughed. “This is jacked up, seriously. The first time in I don’t know how long I’m comfortable in my own damn shoes, and all this stuff gets dredged up.”

  Suddenly Jake felt a hand smooth over his shoulder and squeeze. He turned around to see a bronze beauty with a bright smile.

  “Jake Parson, don’t even pretend you don’t know who I am.”

  He was up on his feet, hugging her. “Sirena, damn, been a long time.”

  She cheesed ear to ear. “What you doin’ in the ATL?”

  “Obviously same thing you are. I moved here a year ago.”

  “And can’t look a sista up.” She nudged him with her bare shoulder. She wore a white strapless knit dress that left nothing to the imagination.

  Jake looked over at Legend as if remembering he was there. “Legend Hill, this is—”

  “Sirena Lassiter, you’re even more beautiful in person,” Legend said, almost stuttering. Jake had never seen Legend speechless.

  “Thank you.” She took her hand back as politely as possible. Her angel smile was humble and irresistibly sexy. Her music career had risen steadily, but it was her acting that had put her over the top. Jake would be lying if he said he wasn’t smitten by her like every other man who’d seen her in countless movies, always portraying the naïve love interest. Her true personality was hardly shy or modest, but it was hard to separate the real from the image on the screen. He knew all too well.