The Outside Child

by Tiffany L. Warren

  “Nope. She left.”

  “Don’t worry about her. I will handle my mama. She’s gonna fall for you, just like I’m falling for you.”

  He’s not the only one falling . . .

  Chapter 8

  Brayden’s teammates roared with laughter as he rushed out of the final meeting of training camp. He didn’t care about their laughter. None of them had an ebony goddess waiting for them in their condo like he did.

  Chenille had been luxuriating all week with the pampering Brayden had provided. She had to be just about ready for him to partake.

  He showed up at the condo with one thing on his mind: pleasure. Giving it and receiving it in return.

  But first, he needed a sandwich. He’d missed breakfast at the hotel, and needed plenty of energy for what he had planned.

  “Chenille,” he called from the kitchen. “I’m here. I’m not an intruder.”

  It was the sound of Chenille’s feet sliding across the tile floor that made Brayden turn his head. The sight he saw was not a tantalizing woman ready to be devoured. This was . . . this was scary.

  Her afro was standing out on her head on one side, and the other side was smashed down onto her head. She didn’t make any attempt to fix it. She stopped in front of the counter and sighed.

  “What’s wrong?” Brayden asked. “Did you have breakfast? Lunch?”

  “I’m sick.”

  Brayden immediately dropped the sandwich fixings on the counter and embraced Chenille. He tried to smooth down her hair, but was unsuccessful. He kissed her on the forehead anyway.

  “What kind of sick? Do you need medicine? I can go out and get it.”

  “I got my period, Brayden. I’m so sorry . . .”

  Brayden hugged Chenille again and chuckled. “It’s cool. I’ve waited this long. I can wait until next time.”

  “I must’ve miscalculated on the calendar.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Let me take care of you. What makes you feel better?”

  “I already took a warm bath. It didn’t help. I was going to try taking a nap, but when I laid my head down I got nauseous.”

  Brayden thought for a minute. “So maybe tea will help. Come sit down in the family room.”

  Brayden led Chenille into the family room, which was equipped with a big-screen television on the wall and a comfortable brown suede sectional. He got Chenille situated on the long piece of the couch and found a blanket to cover her.

  Chenille’s eyes were wet with tears that threatened to overflow, but she accepted the blanket and wrapped herself up in it. Brayden kissed her on the forehead again because she looked so pitiful.

  “You’re gonna be mad at me,” Chenille said. “You didn’t fly me here for this.”

  He shook his head. “Are we going to spend time together today?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then I’m getting exactly what I wanted when I flew you here. I wanted us to spend time together.”

  Brayden rushed back into the kitchen to start the cup of tea. Of course, he was disappointed. He was beyond ready to go to the next level in their friendship, and he could tell that she was, too.

  When the tea was ready, he loaded up a tray with tea, crackers, and cookies and took it back into the family room along with the sandwich he wanted to eat for lunch.

  “You want to just watch movies?” Brayden asked. “Your flight doesn’t leave until tomorrow, so you can relax today.”

  “What kind of movies do you like?”

  “Sci-fi. The Aliens franchise is my favorite.”

  Chenille closed her eyes as her body shimmered with laughter. “You want to watch alien movies?”

  “I always like a good alien movie.”

  “Since you can’t have any booty, I’m gonna let you have these aliens.”

  Brayden plopped down on the couch and positioned Chenille so that he cradled her upper body in his arms. She breathed in deeply and exhaled.

  “You smell good,” Chenille said.

  “I do? Not on purpose. What do I smell like?”

  “You smell like a man. I think it’s just your natural scent that I like.”

  Brayden wanted to sniff his armpits to see if he was ripe. He’d never had a woman comment on his natural scent.

  “Attraction is all about chemistry, you know?” Chenille asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, our bodies are having chemical reactions right now in response to each other.”

  “That sounds incredibly sexy.”

  Chenille gave a weak laugh and allowed her head to rest on his chest. “Nothing about me feels sexy right now. I’m in pain.”

  “Let me help take your mind off the pain.”

  “I thought you wanted to watch your aliens.”

  “In a little bit. I just wanted to say that I’m so glad you came. You’re the first woman that I’ve invited to camp.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I haven’t really had a real girlfriend since I joined the NFL.”

  Chenille gave him a skeptical look. “What about your mother? I know she’s brought plenty of women for you.”

  “That’s a whole other story. She thinks she knows what I want and need. She doesn’t.”

  Chenille pulled her legs underneath her on the couch and closed her eyes. He stroked the top of her head. There was sweat on her brow. Finally, the pain seemed to pass, and Brayden felt her muscles relax.

  Brayden massaged and rubbed her arms, hands, and shoulders—any place on her body he could reach. She purred as he lightly kneaded her flesh trying to make her relax.

  Soon, Chenille’s breathing slowed. Her chest rose and fell slowly. She was asleep.

  Brayden stopped massaging and kneading and encircled her body with his arms. Even though she wasn’t feeling well, she still smelled like coconut and shea butter. It was her hair. He inhaled deeply and let more chemical reactions happen.

  As she slept, Brayden thought more about what Chenille had said. He mostly agreed with her ideas on attraction, but thought she might be wrong about one thing. Attraction wasn’t just chemical reactions. His attraction to her was spiritual. She was a soul mate whom he wasn’t ever letting go.

  Chapter 9

  Ineed to go shopping. Brayden invited me to come to the first home game of the season, and I know his mama’s gonna be there. I’m going to be sitting next to his mama at the game. And I don’t even own a football jersey. I feel like a fraud.

  Marilyn already doesn’t like me. The last thing I need is to show up to this game unprepared.

  Thank goodness, Kara came over for moral support. She picks up a pair of jeans out of my suitcase and shakes her head. “You can’t wear these. They’re too tight.”

  “All of my jeans are tight. They make my booty look big.”

  “You’re not trying to look like an Instagram model when you see Brayden’s mother again.”

  “Brayden knows she wasn’t feeling me, so I don’t know why he didn’t get me a seat somewhere other than next to his mother.”

  Kara laughs. “He wants y’all to get along. The two ladies in his life.”

  That’s true. Training camp proved that. I have to admit that it is incredibly sexy to have a man this determined to be my boyfriend, especially since he hasn’t gotten any of my goodies yet.

  I was mad as hell when my period came. I had been looking forward to rubbing up next to those washboard abs. Even when he held me while I cramped, I could feel his abs through his t-shirt.

  “What can I wear, then?” I ask.

  “A sundress.”

  “To a football game?”

  “Yep. You gonna look real virginal.”

  “Who said I’m trying to look virginal?”

  “Oh. I thought you were reclaiming your virginity, since you haven’t given Brayden the booty yet.”

  She has jokes. And they aren’t funny. At all.

  “He’s not pressuring me for sex, but I was about to give him some. My ovaries
are some haters.”

  “Well, he’s a baller. He already knows the booty is inevitable, so he ain’t even gotta be pressed like regular guys.”

  “The booty isn’t inevitable, though. Mine isn’t.”

  “Well, not you, but I’m saying, though, how many girls ain’t giving it up after a dude like Brayden starts wining and dining?”

  “None. Zero. That’s why I don’t know if I want to give my heart to him.”

  “Well, tell me the reasons you do want to give your heart . . . and the booty to this man. ’Cause you got about ten pair of matching bra and panty sets in this suitcase.”

  I laugh out loud. “There is nothing wrong with wearing decent panties.”

  “Naw, but you act like he’s getting it every day, three times a day.”

  “At this point, I’m not ruling that out.”

  “Ooh, you nasty.”

  “He took care of me and massaged me until I fell asleep when I had my cramps.”

  “Really? Most guys I know act shady as hell when my period comes. I don’t hear from them fools for a week. Guess that’s side chick time.”

  Not Brayden. There were hordes of groupies in town checking for him, so he could’ve dipped in any honeypot he wanted. But he came home to me and stayed there. I just knew I was gonna fall asleep and wake up to find him gone. I woke up still cradled in his arms with my face on his chest.

  “I don’t even want to think about side chicks. Ugh. I gotta make it through this football game, where the groupies are football experts and his mama is a critic.”

  “Are you up on football lingo? Do you know how the game works?”

  My eyes widen a little. I think I know the rules. “They run down the field and make downs until it’s a touchdown.”

  “Do you know what position Brayden plays?”

  “Ummmm. . . .”

  I know Brayden gave me this information, but it must’ve gone in one ear and out the other, because I don’t remember at all.

  Kara shakes her head. “You are not going to impress a football mom like this,” she says.

  “I know. It’s bad, right?”

  “The worst. Football moms are basically our mothers on steroids. They know all of their son’s stats from peewee football to the big leagues.”

  I whip out my phone and pull up a browser so I can search for Brayden’s stats.

  “He went to University of Texas,” I say. “Played wide receiver in college.”

  “What’s his position in the NFL?” Kara asks.

  I hit the back key to go to a different website.

  “This is taking too long,” Kara says. “Brayden’s mother has already written you off at this point. You’re beneath her son.”

  “Okay. Found it. He’s a running back.”

  “Do you know what a running back does?”

  I groan. Why do I need to know all this? I’m not planning to try out for an NFL team myself. I just want to date a player.

  Wait.

  Do I want to date one? Like really date an NFL player?

  “Kara. This isn’t important. I promise I’ll know what a running back does by the time of the game. But tell me something. Would you date an NFL player?”

  “I can’t even believe you’re asking me that question, heffa. You’re living my dream right now.”

  “And you’ve thought about what that means? When I went to the training camp, there were hoes everywhere. Some girl offered to have a threesome with us. At. The. Airport. Who does that?”

  “Hoes do that. Ignore them.”

  “Ignore them? They’re everywhere. Like roaches.”

  “Stomp them, then,” Kara says with a laugh. “But, seriously, girl. Brayden doesn’t seem to be interested in those girls, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “What if I’m like . . . the girl you marry, but the hoes are just women you play with. You know how men say they love you and it doesn’t mean anything when they smash the next chick.”

  “You are a wounded woman,” Kara says, sounding like a wise old person.

  I am wounded, but I want to try with Brayden.

  “Come on. He took care of you when you were on your period. And your cramps are just . . .”

  “Horrific.”

  “I know, right. And you’re insufferable.”

  I suck my teeth. “Well, he suffered me.”

  “And no bodily fluids were exchanged?”

  “We’ve kissed, but you’re not . . .”

  “I’m not talking about kissing and you know it.”

  “Well, no. None of those bodily fluids were exchanged.”

  “Hold onto him, Chenille. You like to run guys off, but hold onto him.”

  Chapter 10

  I changed my mind about the sundress for the game. I’m not worried about Marilyn thinking I’m virginal. I’m wearing tight jeans and Brayden’s jersey. I had a gig last night, so I had to fly early this morning, but I made it. I’m here for my boo.

  Yes, my boo, and not my man. I’m not quite ready to call him my man yet. I’m almost there, though.

  I change clothes at my hotel and head over to the football stadium in the car Brayden sent. The traffic is abysmal, but the driver seems to know all the shortcuts and uses all the lanes that look forbidden to other drivers. I guess the Dallas Knights, and girlfriends of the Dallas Knights, don’t sit in traffic.

  I bet the Dallas Knights’ mamas don’t sit in traffic, either.

  Why did I have to think about Marilyn? I wonder if I should try to impress her this time with how awesome I am. I’m attractive. I’m fit. I make my own money. I’m not a ho. She should love the hell out of me.

  When I get to the players visitors’ box at the Knights stadium, I don’t feel as confident about Marilyn. I walk into the first class, elite box area that has plush sofas, chairs, and waitresses with trays of wine and mixed drinks. This is nothing like the training camp. This isn’t for fans or groupies. Not even new girlfriends. This is for immediate family and significant others.

  I am a significant other.

  Since I’ve been grown, I don’t think I’ve ever had a man claim me as his own without me having sex with him. Brayden is giving me wife treatment before I “deserve” it. That’s typically what women do—give men too much without getting anything in return. Well, not me, but my friends. They’re cooking, cleaning, and screwing a man every way including sideways, without being the significant other.

  There are several rows of seats inside the players’ box, so I take a drink and sit in an available seat. Marilyn isn’t here yet, so I can’t purposely choose a seat far away from her. That’s my new plan—to not be near her.

  Unfortunately, Marilyn has other plans. My nostrils flare as she tiptoes toward my seat in dangerously high heels with a man who I’m assuming is her husband. Escaping now would be rude, although I don’t know why she would want to sit by me.

  “You’re here,” Marilyn says. “So, you’re not a one and done.”

  I choose not to allow her to offend me. Breathing slowly yet steadily.

  “Hello, Marilyn. Is this your husband? Are you Brayden’s father?”

  The man seems friendly and has a smile that matches Brayden’s. “I am. Joseph Carpenter. Pleased to meet you. You must be Brayden’s lady friend, Chenille. He’s been bragging on you.”

  “I wouldn’t say bragging,” Marilyn says.

  “Yes, sir, I’m Chenille,” I say, bypassing Marilyn’s diss. “He’s been bragging about me? What has he told you?”

  Marilyn plops down in an available seat and pretends to ignore me and her husband while we chat. I want to laugh, but I don’t.

  “He says you have your own makeup design company and are making big-time money. I like that,” Joseph says. “A woman ought to have her own money.”

  “Give me a high-five on that, Mr. Carpenter. I’m going to always have my own.”

  “Please call me Joseph. It’ll make me feel young.”

  Marilyn makes
a loud, annoyed-sounding huff as we slap hands. I decide to stop antagonizing her, so I take a seat next to her, and Mr. Carpenter sits down on the other side of her.

  “You’re not the first young lady Brayden’s talked about,” Marilyn says.

  “I plan on being the last, though.”

  Mr. Carpenter almost chokes on his beer, as he bursts into laughter. I’m glad he doesn’t really choke, because Marilyn looks so disgusted that she probably wouldn’t even help him stay alive.

  Unlike Joseph, I’m less amused by Marilyn’s antics. I’m irritated. Why would she have a problem with me? I’m respectful. I’m not dressed badly. I have my own business. Her son has found a jewel in a pile of rocks.

  “Wouldn’t you like to see your son settle down with one woman?” I ask.

  “How many children do you have?”

  Oh, my goodness. I just figured out what this reminds me of. It feels like that one time that I dated a white boy in high school, and he brought me home to his racist parents. His mother asked me this exact same question. She also suggested that I take up a trade, because she’d read that black women have a hard time getting married.

  “I don’t have any children,” I say. “What makes you think I have any?”

  “Women who target athletes typically have multiple children by multiple men.”

  Joseph scowls at his wife. “All right now, Marilyn. That is enough. I apologize, Chenille, on behalf of my wife.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for her. She’s not sorry.”

  “I’m not,” Marilyn says.

  “That’s fine,” I continue as I feel an angry heat rise on the back of my neck. “I will say that I didn’t target Brayden. He pursued me. I’m afraid I didn’t even know who he was when we met.”

  Marilyn chuckles. “Sure, you didn’t.”

  I drag in a long, uncomfortable breath. This is not going well. I don’t want to spend the entire game verbally sparring with Brayden’s mama.

  Marilyn folds her arms across her chest and grins as if she’s won. She hasn’t, but I hate the idea that she might think she has.

  “You can’t run me off, you know. Brayden is the sincerest guy I’ve met in a long time. Ever. We’re going to be together even if you don’t like it.”