by DL White
"Chile, you'd best go on home and shave the cha-cha. I'll be surprised if you're still a virgin tomorrow."
"From your lips to his dick." I sighed without realizing I had done so while I tucked the phone away. When my attention returned to the room, I found Jada's smirk in the mirror.
"Know who you remind me of? Myself when I met Joe. I was stone cold nuts about that boy." She closed her eyes and let out a light grunt. Then her eyes popped open again. "Did you know he made me wait for sex?"
"No! For how long? And why?"
"Six months of hand holdin', and cheek kissin', and dry humpin'. His family is religious, you know. Strong church upbringing, and he felt like he should wait. I was climbing the walls. I was well and good in love with him by the time we got down to business, and maybe that was the point. It was nice, though. I never so much as looked at another man, to tell the truth."
"Have you had… the talk with Layah? And Courtney? What do you tell them about sex?"
"The truth," she answered. "It feels good, it's a good thing, but you need to be ready— heart, mind, and spirit. Me and Layah have had a couple of good conversations about what to expect. The boys and the girls at her school have wild hormones, but she's got a good head on her shoulders. And you know she's like her Auntie Esme. She has researched the subject of intercourse from A to Z."
I smiled. It was nice having a little protege.
"Courtney…" Jada sighed, her eyes rolling. "He knows biology and anatomy, but the boy giggles if you say breast. He can't even point to pee in the toilet, so…"
I cackled at that.
"He's nowhere near ready for a mature conversation, and that's fine with me because I'm not ready to have that conversation with him. Trey, though? He's old enough to have the conversation. Are you?"
"Yes! But there's such a stigma about virgins. Like… they get easily attached to that first guy and never explore. And… I feel myself getting attached. And I don't want to explore."
"If I set aside twenty years of saving myself, it better be for somebody good and for a good reason. And he better make sure I get mine. You know what I'm saying?"
"I know what you're saying. That hasn't been a problem, so far." Smug, I winked at Jada in the mirror. "I get mine every time."
"Ooh, you hussy!"
I saw her about to land a playful tap on my shoulder. "Nuh! That wax. You better not."
She glanced at her hands, covered in bright pink. "But I want to hit you. We're sisters, Es! Best friends, even! You ain't told me nothin'!"
"And I'm not about to start. I already told O'Neal that the Esme Whitaker Comedy Hour is over. I've got something good, and I want to keep it to myself. Mostly."
Jada resumed her work with my hair. I saw the dejection all over her face in the mirror. "Fine. But call me when you do the do. One tap for it was aight, and two taps for it was hella good."
"Trust me. I will not need to tell you."
"If he got a big ol' dick, I want you to be ready to be walking around like you just dismounted a mustang. Stroll past the shop windows. I'll know by how you're walking."
I laughed so hard, tears sprang from my eyes. "Finish my hair, Jada!" I shrieked, wiping tears from my cheeks. "I have shit to do."
Jada's nails gave my scalp a relaxing massage as she continued to smooth and pull the wax through my curls. The manipulation gave me volume, and the color gave me a dramatic style. She pulled out the blow dryer to finish the look, then added some oil to my roots and edges.
"Leaving my salon fine as hell."
When I stood to hug her goodbye, I caught myself in the mirror and stopped to admire my hair in a ray of sunlight. "I can't believe I waited so long to do something daring with my hair. I totally love it."
"Seriously, Esme… you think Trey will like it?"
"You are not the only person around here with a man that loves everything about her." I handed her my usual tip, hooked my bag in the crook of my elbow, and slipped on my shades. "Trey will love it."
After I left the salon, I headed to Benning M&A Consulting for what I hoped would be the last time. I parked in the lot and walked to the building, carting a box for my belongings, my purple hair bouncing with each step. At the front entrance, I swiped my badge and waited for the door to open, but the LED light flashed red.
I swiped again, but nope. Red. Ethan already had my badge turned off, the petty bastard. I pressed the security button and held it until it buzzed.
"Can I help you?" Asked the faint voice over the intercom.
"It's Esme Whitaker. My badge is turned off. Can you buzz me in?"
The door clicked, then released, and I walked in, but I was met at the front desk by a member of security. "Ms. Whitaker? Mr. Byron asked that you not be permitted upstairs. If you wait here a moment, I'll get someone to help you."
If I wasn't so over this job, this company, and my boss, I'd cry. But as it was, I was sick to death of Benning, so I happily trotted over to guest seating to wait.
After a few minutes, Reese came downstairs, carting a box.
"Esme, I'm so sorry that you're leaving us," she whispered, handing me the box as I stood. "Ethan asked me to pack up your desk. Actually, he said, put her shit in a box and get it outta here." She frowned, then continued. "I think I got everything but let me know if you're missing something."
I opened the box to check it. Everything seemed to be inside: framed photos, my favorite coffee mug, a personal calendar, and a sweater that I kept around if the building's cooling system was running on overdrive.
"All good. Thanks, Reese."
I handed her my phone and laptop and the access badge and key for Miller Design. I instantly felt lighter, like an elephant had been lifted off of my shoulders. I had spent over ten years of my life at Benning. It wasn't altogether a waste, but I could have done so much more if only I'd been allowed to flourish. I'd have quit years ago if I knew it would feel like this.
"For what it's worth, Reese, I enjoyed working with you. I don't know how you manage to work for Ethan, but I can't do it anymore. See you around."
I waved goodbye and turned to leave.
"Esme!"
I stopped, then turned to face her. A flush was blooming its way up her lithe, runner's body, making her skin glow pink. "I want you to know that I think you did the right thing. I mean, I don't just think… you did the right thing. Ethan had to go out to Miller Design this morning. That negotiation is in flames. Ethan's boss is pissed."
Good, I thought, with every bit of deserved sanctimonious attitude. I could only hope that they now had to deal with Vincent or Saul. The time for softball was over.
"They haven't killed that contract yet?" I asked. "Is Pettigrew still in the game?"
"Apparently so, though the terms have changed drastically. Ethan was on the phone with one of the other contract staff to get a major rewrite out. Anyway," she paused, her face reddening. "I'll miss you, Esme. You're an amazing talent with a bright future. I hope we cross paths again."
"Thanks, Reese. It's nice to hear someone in this building say that."
"Also? I love the hair. I wish I could do that."
"You can. When you quit." We exchanged a brief hug before I stepped away and walked out of the building.
I never looked back.
I'd decided to make lemon chicken, a recipe that I knew by heart because I'd had it all my life and made it often. Still, I was nervous, and when I was nervous, I made mistakes, so I took great care in perfecting the baked chicken, angel hair pasta, and spinach salad on the side. I made vinaigrette dressing and pulled a loaf of Italian bread from the freezer to toast.
After checking dishes and taking a long shower, slathering my body in decadent, silky body butter, fluffing my hair, and spending too much time picking out a dusty rose tank dress with a deep round neck, I whipped through the living room, not even silently cursing O'Neal. He'd been home long enough to leave shoes, magazines, a copy of the Atlanta-Journal Constitution, and other items sitt
ing around like the house wasn't spotless when he got home. He was gone again, off to Madrid, leaving me to clean up his mess.
By the time the doorbell rang a little after 7:00, I was ready. Still nervous, but excited and ready for whatever this night brought me.
"Hey," I said, pulling open the door with a wide smile at the tall, brown-skinned, handsome figure that took up most of the doorway. As usual, he made casual look sexy in navy blue sweatpants and a thick, stark white t-shirt. He smelled good as hell, like always— sandalwood and laundry detergent.
"Hey, girl," he said, stepping inside and immediately sliding both arms around my waist to pull me to him. I looped an arm around his neck and tipped my face up to his. He dropped his lips onto mine, landing a groan-filled kiss that communicated with me.
I felt his fatigue, his heartache, but also the sense of calm that overcame him when we laid eyes on each other. When the kiss slowly and regretfully ended, he stepped back, then narrowed his eyes, tipped his head, and pulled his lips in until his mouth formed a thin, straight line.
"What?" I asked, immediately patting the wild pink and purple mass that my hair had become. "You… you don't like it?"
So much for not caring what he thought of my hair.
"Do you?" He asked.
"Yeah," I answered, pulling my hands from my hair, throwing my shoulders back, lifting my chin. "I do."
Yeah. Find your confidence and fuck him if he don't like my hair.
But also, I hope he likes my hair.
"That's all that matters, right?" Then a moment later, a smile burst through his solemn demeanor. "It looks real good on you, baby. Especially with the dress. It picks up the pink." He nodded. "Nice."
"Really? You like it?"
"I love it." He cupped my chin and pulled me to him for another kiss, then straightened to sniff into the air. "What do I smell? Chicken? Garlic bread? Don't let me find out you can burn, Esme."
Trey had seen the house twice before, so I didn't feel the need to give him a tour, but both times, he'd stuck to the living room. This time, I led him into the kitchen, where dinner was laid out on the island, alongside plates, silverware, and napkins.
"I don't know about burn, but I can cook. I thought we would eat in the living room, maybe watch a movie?"
"Sounds good to me. I had a burger about eight hours ago, so I'm starving." He leaned in to nuzzle my neck below my earlobe. “You might put my new stove to good use after all.”
"I feel like I'm competing with Mrs. Pettigrew's cooking. This is my mama's recipe, and this is still Mrs. Whitaker's kitchen."
"Well, alright, then. Let's get it crackin'." He slid a hand across my ass, then gripped a cheek, his fingertips digging in just enough to make me flinch. "Booty rub for luck," he said, before grabbing a plate to hand to me.
"I'm fixing your plate? Something wrong with your hands, Mr. Pettigrew?"
He smirked, aiming a playful side-eye in my direction. "I was letting you go first, Ms. Whitaker. Damn, I'm not even all the way in the door, and here you go."
I began plating my dinner, waiting for Trey to load up before we headed back to the living room to settle in front of the widescreen plasma TV that O'Neal insisted on buying, then was never home to watch.
"So, the office has been rough for the past couple of days?"
"I'm being light when I say rough."
Trey perched on the edge of the couch; his dinner plate balanced on his knees. I'd opened a bottle of Chardonnay to go with dinner and he'd already taken a few generous sips from the glass that sat in front of him on the coffee table.
"Vincent was out there most of today. That's Vincent's wheelhouse, though. I should have turned the whole thing over to him in the first place, but I let my ego run the show."
"I went by Benning today to drop off my computer and phone and get my stuff from my desk." I nodded at the box that still sat by the door, near the steps. I'd unpack it, eventually. "Ethan's assistant said he had to have a new draft of the contract drawn up."
Trey nodded, his jaws working on chewing a large bite. "Yup," he offered, after swallowing. "Vincent said Miller gave us the sob story that he was cool until a project that he was halfway into went bankrupt. He got his customary deposit upfront, but he was never getting the back half of that, and he was counting on finishing that job to stay above water."
Trey bobbed his head side to side while he chewed another bite of dinner.
"It was a good deal until Pops had a heart attack. When I took over, he got greedy, thinking that I would just accept the revised terms, and he would get the money he needs."
I chewed thoughtfully, listening to Trey. I'd heard the same story so many times over the last ten years with Benning. "But you're Saul's son, so of course you didn't just accept."
"Not with my neck on the line and Vincent watching. I hope that dude doesn't think I don't see him pretending not to gloat. This is what he always wanted; for me to fail and to prove that he should succeed Pops. Fuck it, man. He can have it."
I finished my salad and sipped wine. Then I asked, "They're still going after Miller, then?"
"Not in the same way. Pettigrew will mentor to Miller. He needs to get a loan to cover his shortfalls, which will be hard with his credit, so Vincent is walking him through that. They're setting up a Joint Venture, so they bond together to complete and file the bid, maybe work together on a couple of projects while the powers that be decide who gets the work. If they get the bid, the provisions in the agreement provide for payment to both companies. Miller owns his company, Pops owns his. They work together for special projects where Miller's firm has the upper hand."
"That sounds like it might work."
"Yeah. That's why I should have turned it over to Vincent all along. Maybe he was right. I'm not equipped to run this company. Not the way Pops wants it to run. But it's not like I haven't been saying that. And it's not like I didn't tell him that I was only doing this job in the interim, on the sole condition that he was coming back, and that I'd get to do my own thing when he returned."
"And… what is the chance of that happening?"
"Right now?" He bit out a short burst of laughter, chuckling deep in his throat while he inhaled another bite. "Not likely. I'll bide my time and my money and jump to my own thing."
"Keep hope alive."
"Always."
Trey set his plate on the coffee table in front of him, then picked up his wine glass and scooted back, settling into the comfort of the microfiber couch. He laid an arm across my shoulder, then pulled me close and laid a wet kiss on my temple.
"Dare I hope that I'll get to spend more time with you?"
"No need to hope for that, Trey." I set my plate next to his and leaned into him, angling my face up to get a kiss on my lips, too. "Unless you confess to murder or something equally heinous, I'm not going anywhere."
"One time, I stole a pack of gum from the corner store. How heinous is that?"
"You fucking criminal. Did you get away with it?"
"Hell no. My mama did not raise a petty thief. I had to return that gum, apologize, and work for that store owner for a month. Not to mention the lecture: we work for things, Trey. We don't just take what we want."
"I like Mama Pettigrew."
"Because she's mean?"
I reached up to stroke the stray hairs in his beard. He leaned in to kiss me, letting the kiss linger longer than normal before opening his mouth and taking the kiss deeper. When I came up for air, Trey set his wine glass down and angled his body toward mine, easing us back so that he was snug between my thighs.
"I probably taste like lemon chicken and garlic toast. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I see you enjoyed dinner."
"It was terrible," he mumbled, tipping his head to nibble on my earlobe, then kissing his way down my neck and across my shoulder and back again. "Really awful, Esme."
"And you call me mean." I clicked my tongue. He kissed my lips. "In my house, laying on top of me with your dick r
ubbing on me while you taste like the dinner that I cooked."
"I'd rather taste like pussy, if we're keepin' it a buck."
"Don't threaten me with a good time, Trey."
"Oooh." Trey's eyes grew wide at my response. "I sense a shift in your approach to my lewd suggestions. Half the fun of making them is knowing that you'll roll your eyes and pretend they're inappropriate."
"They were! But they're not anymore. I don't work for Benning. You're out of the contract negotiation. We're free and clear to do…"
I ground my hips up and into his. "Whatever we want."
I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, then his mouth dropped open when he sucked in a gasp. He started to sit up, but I caught him with my thighs. I cupped his face, a hand on each cheek.
"Don't go. Tell me, I can take it."
"It's just, I was thinking, right? This thing between us has been a lot. We met under strenuous circumstances. We started off fighting because you're mean."
I scoffed. "Assertive."
"Then I won you over with my charm."
"Because you act like an only child."
"And now, we can direct this whichever way we want to go. All of that before was preamble. Foreplay. Precursor. Now we get to the show."
"And the show is sex?"
Trey lowered his gaze to the rise of breasts peeking out of my dress. His lashes, long and lush, seemed to brush his cheeks as he bent to kiss them, lingering for a few moments on each. "At my place, you said definitely eventually, and I figure if I hang around, eat more of these delicious dinners and if I may be inappropriate, more pussy…"
"Trey…" I pretended to protest, but the mere mention of his mouth on me lit me up.
"Then I will get to that definitely part of the show. We still have Never list items to cross off, right?"
I knew that I'd know when the time was right, and with every exploding nerve in my body, I knew that it was time to tell him about the last two items, the ones that I needed his help to cross off.
And I prayed that he would be willing to cross them off with me.
"Let me up a second? I need to show you something."