by Renee Tyler
I grab her by her head and throw my tongue down her throat. It feels so good coming home after being stressed to a woman like L’oriel. I didn’t know any other way to express it. You’d think I came across young women like L’oriel all the time in the industry. Actually, she was rare. Most models and socialites don’t cook. The ones that do, don’t do it very well. L’oriel cooks the way a southern gentleman such as myself can appreciate. Call me sexiest if you want to, but to have a woman that can put it down in the kitchen without you having to guilt her into cooking you a meal and then fuck you like you going off to war was sexy as hell.
Chapter 9
L’oriel
I’m sitting at the vanity Troy purchased me for when I stay over. It was a beautiful Venetian-mirrored vanity. The bench had white velour seating and mirrored legs.
I’m combing my hair in a circle, preparing to put my scarf on. As I rake the comb through my hair moving it from one side to the other, I take note of my pouting because I asked Troy again when I saw him chewing on his thumbnail that he’d been chewing on since he left out of his office—after being held up in there for hours, after fucking me damn near into a coma on the kitchen floor. I ask again, when we finally make our way upstairs, if he wants to talk about what I’d seen on the news. Instead of talking, he did an encore of his kitchen performance and gave me the most mind-numbing orgasm, rivaling the one he’d given me earlier. He left me on the bed feeling boneless. After taking a nap, I woke to find him gone from the bed.
I was starting to become a little annoyed. It seems Troy doesn’t see it was necessary to communicate with me about what’s going on with him. I’m starting to feel as if he doesn’t trust me. He doesn’t really talk to me about his brother. He doesn’t share with me what’s going on with his business. The only thing we can really talk about is all my fucked up drama. That’s the only time he doesn’t shut down. Since he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m going home. Let him sort out his business. The last thing I want to do is to overhear stuff like I had to do with his brothers’ situation to get information that he won’t tell.
Freshly showered with my Keepall in hand, I head downstairs to the counter where my keys are.
“Where are you going, L’oriel?” His voice is brusque and laced with stress. I startle and turn to see Troy standing near the stairs leading to his basement. He’s wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and grey Henley with blue sleeves hugging his muscular chest. He was sexy as hell, even in loungewear. I slightly swooned when I glanced down at the large bulge in his sweat pants. I had to remind myself that I was going home to sort out my feelings about his lack of communication.
“Home,” I say, trying to keep the attitude out my voice as I readjust my bag on my shoulder. For effect, I give a polite smile. Immediately, his eyebrows furrow. Damn, too much.
“What’s wrong, little girl?” I shake my head.
“Nothing. I was just…” I hunch my shoulders. “Ready to go home and chill at my place. Prepare for my work week.” Troy studies me for a moment, and then begins to laugh as he shakes his head. I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, staring at him, annoyed that he’s finding humor right now. He laughs a moment longer. I struggle with controlling my annoyance.
“You. L’oriel, you are a horrible liar.” My mouth pops open.
“Wh. What am I lying about?” He walks toward me and I step back, bumping into the counter. He plants his hands on each side of me, caging me in.
“First of all, you were going to leave without trying to say goodbye. Second, that fake ass smile you used. Trying and cover the dry ass way you said “home,” he says, mocking me. I roll my eyes.
“Whatever,” I say as I twist my lips, and he steps closer.
“So what’s up? Why you really leaving?” I shrug my shoulders and look away. I was hoping that he would stay in the basement while I make my exit. Once I was safe in my home, I didn’t have to answer if he called. If he came by, I didn’t have to answer the door. I really want to go home and think about why him not talking to me upsets me so much.
I mean, I knew why. However, I had to think about why he’s not talking to me, and why it’s reminding of Shane keeping me out of so many of his secrets—like him not telling me that he suffered from mental illness. I didn’t want him keeping things from me, things that could affect me. If he started his company with drug money and was into some type of drug business, I don’t want any parts of that. I don’t want to lie, cover up, or be somebody’s alibi. I didn’t get a choice before. I acted on emotions. I wanted love – I wanted to be loved, and I wanted Shane to know that he was loved. I can’t love that way again whether the person is good to me or not, not to someone who isn’t deserving. Definitely not someone who’s willing to let me walk into a lifestyle blind.
“I mean, you don’t want to talk to me. You don’t trust me. So I’m going to go ahead and let your sort everything out. You don’t need me around.” His nostrils flared.
“Dammit, L’oriel!” he bellows. “I’m not Charity, I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your man. I’m not going to sit and talk about my feelings every single time I’m going through something. I believe as a man I have to deal with certain things in my own time. What I need from you may not come in the form of you being my counselor, but my comfort. Why do I have to tell you everything in order for that to happen? I’m not hiding anything from you. If there was any information that would affect you in any way, I’d let you know. Other than that, I just need to know when I come home after a stressful day that my lady is going to provide the safe haven I need to calm my internal storm.”
His eyebrows are elevated, and his breathing is harsh. I was really trying to understand the very valid point he’d just made, but I couldn’t stop my bottom lip from trembling and my eyes from stinging from his chastisement. No, he didn’t need to tell me everything, but he needs to tell me anything that would affect me. Him possibly selling drugs affects me. I don’t want to be caught in the crosshairs of the drug business. I’ve seen enough how things turned out for girls that I grew up with from messing around with drug dealers. I dealt with as much of the drug business that I could handle dealing with Shane’s ass.
I didn’t want to believe that Troy was selling drugs like his old business partner had implied. I just don’t want to put my faith in someone again, then gain a world of hurt and disappointment. Troy raising his voice at me had hurt my feelings. He’d never raised his voice before. A few tears had escaped, though I tried to blink them back. I was embarrassed and wanted to go home so I can lick my wounds in the private. I don’t really think that Troy would put me in the countless positions my ex-husband had. However, you could never be too sure. This is why I wanted to go home without him knowing, so I’d be given the time to process this on my own.
I juggle my keys in my hand and adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder. I turn to leave through the door that led to the garage. Troy grabs my hand.
“L’oriel. I don’t want you to leave. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.” I pull from his grasp. Some part of me felt that I should stay and just be there for him, but the part of my brain that won was the stubborn part. I asked Troy if he’d purchased his business with drug money. He’d given me a generic answer, not really answering the question. That wasn’t lost on me. I refused to be in over my head again. I turned to continue.
“L’oriel,” he called. I picked up on the pleading in his voice for me not to leave. I turned to him.
“Troy. I wasn’t asking to be your counselor. I just want for you not to shut me out. I feel that though I’m your girl, I’m still on the outside of your personal life. You don’t have to tell me everything, but you don’t tell me enough. I asked you if your business was purchased with drug money. The answer you gave me was so generic that I think your lawyer advised it. I know you started your business before me. If you’re into the drug trade, that involves me currently. I’m not interested in being a drug d
ealer’s girlfriend.”
Annoyance washes over his handsome features again.
“L’oriel, I have never nor will I ever sell drugs or participate in any type of drug trafficking. Let me be clear on that right here right now. My record company is a legitimately ran business, and will forever remain that way as long as I’m the president. That has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. You are not the girlfriend of a drug dealer, but the lady of a man that’s worked his ass off to achieve what’s perceived as the American dream. Become a successful business owner and entrepreneur. That’s all me. Through the grace of God, I’ve been able to achieve, surpass, and maintain said business along with other ventures. I earn what I have through hard work and perseverance, not from selling anything other than records. Unlike you L’oriel, I wouldn’t keep a secret that would affect you.”
Once I realize that my mouth was hanging open, I snap it shut.
“So this is what this is?” I question with my head cocked to the side and hand resting on my hip. “You’re still feeling some type of way because I didn’t tell you about my weak ass marriage? You trying to do some tit for tat shit?” Now I was pissed. I drop my bag from my shoulder and take a step toward him. He was not about to hold me not telling him about my marriage over my head. Yeah, I didn’t tell him I was married, but his ass couldn’t go to jail for that. Him not telling me whether or not he was involved with drugs did affect me. I can go to jail for fucking with him. I’d seen enough shows and heard enough stories about females that get caught up because they’re dealing with a guy that sells drugs. Some even claimed to not know anything about what their men were doing. However, they’re the ones that are sitting in jail cells. I’d finally begun to put my life on the right track after dealing with a man that kept secrets from me. I was not about to give up my freedom and independence again. I love Troy, but I will not be broken again.
He steps towards me and I flinch. Whenever Shane and I argued and I wouldn’t back down, when he approached me it was to strike. I braced myself, waiting for Troy’s hand or fist to land on me. When the blow never comes, I look up to find that he’s recoiled.
“Baby,” he breathes as he gathers me in his arms. “I would never hit you,” he says as he kisses me on my cheeks that are now wet from tears.
“Baby. I’m sorry. I don’t want to keep revisiting what you have or haven’t told me. I’m not going to keep throwing it in your face. Baby, please believe me, I’ve never sold drugs. I know I need to talk to you more. I’m not good at that, but I’m going to try and work on it.”
I nod my head in understanding as I chant in my head. He isn’t Shane. He isn’t Shane. I’m falling apart. I need to go home. I can’t stay here. Right now, I can’t even look him in his face. I push away from his embrace.
“I…I just…I just really need to go home.” He releases me and allows me to step back. He nods his head in understanding. He didn’t say anything else as I finally make it through the garage and into my car—without any more resistance from him. I let my head fall back on the seat and take a few deep breaths. When I feel that I can drive without my tears blurring my vision, I drive home.
When I come through the door, I drop my bag and go straight for my wine refrigerator, then pop the cork on the Chardonnay. I pour myself a healthy glass full, leaving just enough room in the wine glass for it not to slosh out when I walk to my bedroom. I placed my phone in my Bluetooth speaker dock and fall back on my bed as Rhianna’s “What Now” plays. Tears slide from the corners of my eyes and into my hair as I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. How do I keep letting the bullshit from Shane seep into this relationship? I really am a bag lady–carrying the crap from my past into my new relationship. How could I even think that Troy’s a drug dealer? Nothing about him suggests that in his character. However, with his uncle, I can see it. I just don’t want to be that same weak, needy L’oriel that overlooks bad situations and habits that can put me in a potentially volatile situation.
I’ve walked some of Detroit’s worst neighborhoods at night looking for Shane, paying off his drug or gambling debt. I’ve suffered through watching him detox, only to go right back to getting high. I’ve suffered abuse physically, mentally, and sexually—all because I needed him to love me. I just wanted someone to love me, pay attention to me, and care about my thoughts and feelings. I thought Shane could be that person if he could just see that I loved him, despite everything. I was going to fix him so he could fix me. It terrifies me to think of trying to fix someone else; trying to fix someone had left me with barely enough to fix myself. I’m still working on me.
~
Marcus and I were sitting in the café at work having lunch. Charity had been whisked away with her very married boo. I’m still a little disappointed in her about that, but I think I was doing a pretty good job of masking it.
“So you haven’t heard from him since you walked your crazy ass out of his house again to run away?” I stop chewing my turkey sandwich to effectively give him stank face and an eye roll. However, that was Sunday and it is now Friday, and I haven’t heard from Troy other than a text asking me if I’d made it home okay, to which I sent a “yeah” with no emoji’s or anything, so I believe he’s giving me space; besides, I think he’s pissed himself. He was so upset with me accusing him of selling drugs. That clearly was a low blow. However, I was also pissed about feeling shut out. He isn’t telling me something; whether that something would affect me or not, I don’t know, but I’m no fool. I know there’s something Troy ain’t telling.
“L’oriel, are you trying to sabotage your relationship with Troy?” I drop my sandwich, wipe my hands and mouth with my napkin, and run my tongue across my teeth to ensure that I didn’t have any food residue.
“No. At least not intentionally. I don’t know Marcus, I say in my head all the time he’s not Shane. Somehow, I can’t stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. The unknown is so scary. Plus, I know he isn’t telling me everything. I can’t figure out why. That’s what’s bothering me. I don’t know if it’s to protect me or deceive me. I still can’t decide.” Marcus takes a deep breath and releases it.
“Are you sure you’re ready to be in a relationship? You can’t keep accusing Troy of being Shane. You’re going to have to begin to trust him. I don’t think Troy would purposely deceive you. If there’s something he’s not telling you, I think it’s to protect you.” I drop my head. He’s right. I don’t think Troy would purposely hurt me. The look in his eyes that night tells me I hurt him with my accusation. I’d actually braced myself thinking he would hit me when I walked away. Was I ready? All I know is those two months without Troy were the worst. I feel so safe and cared for with him. I’m attempting to make changes in my thinking. I’m over the scars, bruising, and tattering of my bad marriage. However, the wounds are still there. What I need to do is quit picking the scabs. I want Troy on this new journey with me.
“What I feel for him is so much stronger than anything I ever felt for Shane. Even when I think back to before our relationship took a turn for the worst. I don’t want to lose what we have, and that’s what makes it so scary. He seems so open, but what if I’m missing signs, what if there’s something that I’m overlooking?”
“What if you’re letting the wounds from your other relationship bleed into your new one? You obviously don’t trust Troy. Maybe you need some more time to work on you?” Marcus said as he gave me sympathetic eyes.
“I have to get better with him, Marcus. Without him hurts so bad.” Marcus reaches across the table and touches my hand.
“Then you have to let go and understand. Troy isn’t Shane. Even if he may do some things that seem familiar, you have to give him a chance to speak with you about it. Then really listen. And until he gives you a reason to think otherwise, you have to trust what he says.” I squeezed his hand.
“I know, and I will. I love him. I want to be with him. I want to be better with him and for him. He deserves that. I deserve that.�
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Chapter 10
Troy
I’m so pissed that I can spit fire. Damn near a week wasted chasing false leads. Dame, Jordan, and I spent the entire time off the grid following up on these bullshit leads. Reggie was fucking slick as saliva. This cat has slipped through our fingers twice. I don’t understand how he’s somehow two steps ahead of us.
First, Dame gets a hit that he’s in Cleveland hiding out with some chick he used to mess with. Well, we get to the broad house and she says she hasn’t seen him in a couple of days. A couple of days. So he was there? Chick showed us some of his clothes and everything. He was definitely back on that coke. All Dame did was offer the broad a bag, and she sang like a canary.
When we were heading back to the A, we get word that he was in Chicago so we have to wait to get clearance so we can head to the Chi. Once we get the go ahead we land in Chicago, only to find out he hasn’t been there in over a month.
Finally, we get a call saying he’s in Detroit, so we land in Detroit. I’m really missing L’oriel at this point and I’m in her hometown, walking around and wondering if my feet are walking the same pavement as hers, fighting the urge to find her punk ass ex, then her weak ass father.
We finally get to the chick crib he’s supposed to be laying up with, only to find out that he just left minutes before we pulled up. Of course, she was another coke head. We waited two days to see if he would show.
Now I’m tired and cranky as hell. I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in days. Plus, I spent two days in a damn truck with Dame’s wanna be comic ass, pissing in soda bottles. I’m mad because my lady hasn’t even called me since I’ve been gone, even though I couldn’t call her back. We all left our phones here and had our burners. I hadn’t given L’oriel the number to my burner. I didn’t want to heighten her suspicions—even though I don’t know how she could accuse me of selling drugs, then insinuate that I’m keeping shit from her. If her little ass isn’t the pot calling the damn kettle black.