by Xyla Turner
I put my lips on his and inhaled his scent, that intoxicating aroma that always makes me melt. I just let my lips touch his, no kissing, just touching. He let me. I guess he sensed I was letting something go. We just stood in each other’s embrace with my arms around his neck and his hands on my ass. Not groping, grinding or kissing. Just searching each other’s faces and inhaling each other’s breath.
There was a knock at the door and Matt yelled, “We got trouble, brother.”
21 THE OTHER SHOE
Xavier:
Goddamn, I finally got her where I wanted her. She had submitted to me. I knew she was letting it go and would let me take the reins. I would let her buy the house, but I was going to pay it off as a ‘wedding present” before the end of the year. She’ll be mad, but we’ll make up on our honeymoon. I also planned to buy her a car for Christmas, that was a gift and we’ll be engaged by then. If we have it my way, we’ll be married by then. However, I know she’ll want a big deal and she’ll want to plan it, and take forever. Shit. I just wanted her.
What she didn’t know was that John already sold his house to me two months ago and I explained the situation and had him and Matt in on the deal. His situation was true, it just wasn’t his house anymore. I paid a visit to the loan officer of her bank and paid him to go along with this whole thing. The loan would be real, but instead of my name, it would say John’s and we’d change it later. For $1000, he was more than happy expedite this for me. I knew she would not be happy to stay in my condo much longer because it weighed on her conscience. My dad told me my mother didn’t shack up and that was a woman you wanted. The love of his life, he said.
Matt banged on the door, so I let her go and went to answer it. Just before I could tell him that she was here, he blurted, “Gavin is in the wind man, he escaped from the warehouse, knocked out two of our men and he’s on the loose. He may come for her. Man, we are fucked.”
OH SHIT.
Matt walked in my office, saw Xena and the blood drained from his face. “Oh shit,” he mumbled and looked at me.
I turned towards her and she looked like the breath had been knocked out of her.
“What did you just say?” she narrowed her eyes at Matt.
“Uhh,” Matt mumbled.
She walked purposefully towards the door, then turned to me and said, “What is this about, Xavier?”
I said nothing.
She raised her voice, “One of you better answer me now.”
“Calm down, Xena, and let’s talk about this at dinner.”
“I won’t be at dinner, if someone doesn’t start talking.”
Oh shit.
How the hell do I tell her that I kidnapped Mark Gavin because he became infatuated with her after I hired him to gather the information for her dossier? I did not realize this until he texted her that evening. Then he contacted her again, so I had to make him disappear. His apartment had pictures of her all over the walls, timelines, photos of her and me and items from her apartment. This wasn’t about her dossier, this was about him and her. He had been in her fucking apartment. He was stalking her and he had to go. He was listed as a private investigator, but he was also a hacker, so the reality of him being on the loose was not good for any of us.
If I told her even a fraction of this, she would leave me for good. Telling her about what I did to Kevin would be the end of what we just began. I did not need to read that in the dossier to know that fact. I could not let that happen, but then, I’d have to keep lying to her in order to protect her. Lies always have a tendency to creep up on you, when you least expect it. Like now.
Tell her and lose her or lie to her and keep her, if only temporary?
To be continued…
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Love Under Attack!
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Xyla
Love under Attack (Sneak Peek)
1: New Regime
Imara Winters:
“Class dismissed,” I announced as the clock struck 1:15 PM.
All of my first-year students quickly grabbed their books, while those who already had their bags ready twenty minutes ago, left the class without any acknowledgments. This was typical of the first-year students, as they just recently graduated from high school. They were trying to navigate this new collegiate atmosphere by either going unnoticed or attempting to be noticed. Some were scoping out their territory or just looking for potential partners to be intimate with before the semester was over. This was my third year as the Writing Adjunct or part-time Professor at Far Rockaway Community College. In my previous life, I worked as an English teacher at a middle school. My departure there was bittersweet because I loved my students, but the administrators were crazy.
The leap to become an Adjunct at a community college was an attempt to make my resume more diverse. Now that I was no longer teaching full-time anymore, I had the flexibility to become a standard professor if I wanted, but I was not sure that would be in my best interest at this point. I liked the flexibility of not having to be at work at 9:00 AM every day. It also appealed to me since my classes were split up and sporadic each week. Besides office hours, I did not have to be on campus, allowing me to conduct my business how and when I wanted. This was important, but apparently being an Assistant Professor could have some of the same benefits. My master’s degree was in English Literature, but some colleges required a doctorate degree in the selected content along with extensive experience. I had some classes beyond my masters, but I never applied for a doctoral program. Other schools required published works, which I had, but nothing as of late.
Still in the midst of my thoughts, one of my students lagged behind, making his way towards my desk. This was only the second class of the semester and the weather was nice. The sun rays beamed through the floor to ceiling windows, as the warmth from the natural light balanced with the blazing central air unit that kept me in a sweater through the summer. It was early September, which meant student rarely stayed behind unless there was some sort of emergency.
“How may I help you, Mr. Chalmers?” I asked as I gathered my things to head to my office.
“I was just wondering what you were doing this weekend.” He replied with a smoothness about him.
“Excuse me?” I answered, curtly.
He sauntered closer to my desk, in what I guess he thought was his sexy strut, then he put both hands on the desk to lean in towards me. “What are your plans this weekend?”
Granted, the boy was a looker and would certainly be a contender if I were ten years younger, but I was not and the thought of him just seemed like literally robbing the cradle. He was my student, who was probably 19 years of age. I was pushing 34, so there was no way in hell that would ever happen.
“Mr. Chalmers, what I do with my weekends are none of your business,” I leaned towards him. “Actually, what I do outside of this classroom will never be any of your business. So I suggest you keep to the topics on your syllabus and we will have a great semester.” I calmly, but meticulously shut that down.
He smirked, then shook his head. “Can’t be mad at me for trying. You are sexy as hell with your pinned up hair, flirty blouse and tight-ass skirts.”
I gaped at him. This boy was serious. “Mr. Chalmers, please.”
He lifted his hands in the air like he was surrendering. “My apologies, Professor Winters, I’m just not sure how I’m going to make it through the semester with you as a distraction to my education.”
Taylor Chalmers shook his head, then left.
WOW.
My student just hit on me. Well, you have to give the boy credit, you can’t say he did not lack confidence. That took some big kahunas and apparently he had plenty of them. Hopefully, he could maintain his focus for the semester.
Every semester, one of the students tried to hit on me. I looked okay at 5'6, mocha skin, shoulder length permed hair. My face was usually bare, except some burgundy lipstick once in a while and I always wore earrings that dangle. People were always attracted to me, but the feeling was not always mutual. Except for my on and off partner– who was rarely around half the time. Aside from good ‘ole Doran, I am, for the most part, an old maid. Well, not old or a maid, but I just might die one.
As I walked across campus, I saw a few of my students, who eagerly waved to me. Noticing there was a lot of commotion in front of the library, I kept walking. I really wanted to get to my office and come down from all the energy that I had to exude in class. It really takes a lot out of a person to be ‘on’ for extended periods of time. You have to hold their interest and your interest, and when their energy starts to get low, you have to rally around them again.
Someone was addressing the crowd over the loudspeakers, causing me to stop. It sounded like a melody. They were not singing or rhyming, but talking about a better Far Rockaway Community College (FRCC). I started walking towards the library because the person’s voice was hypnotic, causing me to want to hear more. The closer I got, the more I was drawn by the man's words. I would have been surprised if it were a student speaking because the speaker seemed very intelligent and articulate. Not to take anything away from of our students because they possess that sort of charisma as well. However, this man spoke from experience, he was passionate and held real conviction that only came from pain.
The features of the speaker started to become clearer as I grew closer. He was definitely over six feet, milk chocolate skin, and he was bald. His face was chiseled like someone carved him out, with brown eyes and a powerful physique that was only maintained by strenuous sessions in the gym. From his presence, one could determine that he was charismatic. He used hand gestures, fluctuated his voice and anyone and everyone who was near the library was fully in tune with his words. As I surveyed the area, I noticed that I was not the only woman drawn towards the speaker, every woman in sight had eyes for him. He spoke about a better community college, how he wanted to prepare students to not only excel in FRCC, but in life as well. I could not have agreed more with his passionate statement, but I just wish it was not him.
FRCC’s newest president, Dr. T. R. Matthews, was just hired six months ago. Since that time, according to the lunch ladies who call him a slave driver, he apparently had fired most of the staff when he took office and even some of the professors. He was also known to not like the adjuncts because they were not consistent and considered hired help. Therefore, I was not on his side. The man made enemies quickly, and the word on the street was that you either liked him or not, and he either liked you or not. If it were the latter, you would be gone soon.
Even though Dr. Matthews did all of these things, he still tried to raise morale by doing these little impromptu sessions in the breezeway, outside the cafeteria, the library, or at the FAR Nest (The grill/deli). He would always draw a crowd, mostly students who loved him and some curious staff members. I always assumed he wanted people to hear his plan for the campus, his motivation behind it and do it in an unconventional way besides emailed memos or letters in a mailbox. It was a smart move on his part because he always stayed after to answer questions. The man recently took over a dormant position, fired a lot of people, was visible and literally had an open door policy. Anyone was allowed to come in and share their legitimate complaints and from what I have heard, he would always address them.
We, the adjuncts, at FRCC were not fond of Dr. Matthews since he did not like our contribution and was in the process of trying to actively get rid of us. We were currently writing a petition to him to sway his decision about our jobs. The union attempted to help us, but they seemed to have ulterior motives, so we started our own petition that we would address with him directly.
“Imara!” Someone called.
I turned around to see my co-worker and best friend, Liz speed walking towards me. “Hey Liz, what’s good?”
She looked around at the scene, then turned up her lip. “You believe this guy?” She pointed at him with a balled up fist and her thumb protruding out towards him. “He thinks because he is all Deion Sanders good looking, he can just come through here like a whirlwind and charm everyone.”
I nodded at Liz’s comment because our eyes were both glued to him. She exhaled loudly and murmured, “Damn, the man is fine though.”
“I know, shit.” I sighed, “Let’s go.”
We turned around to head back to our offices in the Butler building. “Do you think he’s going to actually fire all adjuncts at the beginning of the season?” Liz asked, looking genuinely concerned.
“I doubt it, but this man is unpredictable. He reminded me of Michelle Rhea when she became the School Chancellor in D.C.” I opened the door for Liz. “At that time, I understood why she did what she did, it was a broken system, but now since we are the ones that are directly being impacted, and I feel offended.”
Liz waited for me to come through the door, “Yeah, I remember that. She was the talk of the town. That’s probably what he is going for, publicity.”
“Ahh, I’m not sure that’s his motive. He seems to really believe what he is saying.” I countered.
Liz swiveled her head towards me, with a shocked look on her face. “Are you seriously taking up for him?” She snapped.
“No, I'm just honest,” I gasped. “Why would I take up for him, he’s ridiculous? All I’m saying is that he is passionate about what he is spewing like it is coming from an actual belief, not the watered down, presidential mumbo jumbo.”
“Hmm,” Liz barely responded. “Whatever.”
Shaking my head at Liz’s comment, I went into my closet they called an office. It was just big enough to hold a standard desk, my executive chair and two chairs on the other side of the desk. The walls were beige, the floors were old wood that constantly creaked, and the windows were old. The campus did need reviving, just like the old building needed to be updated, but not at the cost of my job.
Liz followed me in to talk about her current boyfriend who would be nonexistent in a weeks’ time. Apparently, he wanted her to meet his friends and according to Liz, that was entirely too soon. Today, she was not into him like that and thought she might be into one of his friends. Typical Liz. She was a fair-skinned, Caucasian woman, 5’3 with 4” heels on at all times, makeup was always flawless, with bright green eyes and short blond layered hair. Every day, Liz looked like she stepped out of a photo shoot, getting ready for the runway. She was one of my closest friends, even though she had a thing for black guys, in particular, my brother. I absolutely forbade her to go after him, primarily because he was married, but also because she was a serial dater.
“Oh shit!” someone yelled outside in the central corridor.
“What happened?” Liz poked her head outside my office door.
“We all have letters.” The person said with fear etched in their voice.
Liz and I scrambled out of the office, along with every other adjunct that was in hearing distance. Each mailbox held a letter, cased in FRCC official envelopes with our names typed on the front. Quickly snatching mine, I opened it and briefly read it over. There was to be a meeting with the department chair, the President, and myself in one week to discuss current and future employment. As I looked around, panic was on the faces of all of my colleagues, as we had similar letters and our worst fears were coming to pass. We would meet with our respective chairs and the President. Surely, it was to determine the continuation of our positions. He made it clear that he did not want adjuncts so he would start the process to fade them out. For some of us, this was our only source of income or contribution to our households. If he eliminated our jobs, there was only one other community college in the area. At that moment, I was scared because I needed to start looking for a job right away.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Xyla Turner was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. She is an avid reader of romance novels and a sucker for sassy females and dominant males. She is a high school educator and a groovy Aunt. Outside of reading, Xyla likes to spend time with her family and friends and travel. She writes different genres, but her favorite is romance.
Xyla has her Bachelor’s degree in Education and Masters in Education Administration.
XYLA’S OTHER BOOKS
The Chase, Part 1: The Double XX Series
Love Under Attack (Formally The College President): FRCC Series
BOMBSHELL
Bookstore Chronicles 1
Across the Tracks
Power of the Pen
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