The COMPLETE Coventon Campus Series: Books I, II, & III

by Wright, Kenya

  “I leave, and you go back to talking to Lamm?”

  “None of your business.”

  I closed my eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Jay?”

  I rubbed my mouth to gain some clarity through the liquored haze. “Do you think Pipe is okay?”

  She took my hand. “No.”

  “You couldn’t sugar coat the response, huh?”

  “Not this time.” She traced a line on my finger. “I would hug you, but you have no clothes on.”

  “I get that.” I squeezed her hand. “How much do you like this guy, Evie?”

  “He’s nice.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Could we discuss this another time?”

  “No.”

  “Why is it so important to you? We’re done.”

  “I don’t think so.” I opened my eyes.

  “Trust me, Jay.” She gestured to my dick. “We’re done. You admitted to stalking. Now you’ve completely interrupted my video conversation with someone else as you pranced around, naked and threatening him.”

  “Yeah?” I leaned down until we were both eye level.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We’re done?” I stared into her eyes. “Are we really done?”

  She turned away. “Go to your room, Jay.”

  “Answer my question, please.” I wouldn’t let go of her hand, so she couldn’t walk away.

  “I’m always going to love you.”

  “And you’re always going to want me inside of you?”

  “I didn’t say all that.”

  “But it’s true. You love me. You lust after me. You see me as family. We’ve grown up together. We share the same passionate friend who we love even more than ourselves.” I hit my chest. “This is what we have, Evie. We’ve got history, stories, memories, and a whole future with even more of us together in it.”

  “We’re friends.”

  “We’re more. We’ve always been.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you really think there will be a moment when we’re not together?” Lightly, I tugged her back to me, into my arms. My cock pressed against her stomach.

  “You’re about to be a star,” she whispered.

  “I can’t do stardom without you. Pipe and you are the only people I trust.”

  “What do you expect me to do, follow you around and be in your entourage?”

  “No, I want you to be my wife.”

  She stiffened against me.

  “Evie?” I ran my fingers through her kinky curls. She’d just come out of the shower. They moved damp and soft in my hands and fell to her shoulders. “Could you ever be my wife?”

  Her body shivered against me, and I was too nervous to look down at her face. I’d been thinking about this decision for a long time. I was young, but things were really about to change, and it all scared me.

  “Jay, you can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “We can’t even buy alcohol, but you want to get married? We have our whole lives ahead of us, but you want to chain yourself to me so early?”

  “We’ll be able to buy alcohol next fall.”

  “You’re going into the NFL next fall, and I’ll still be in college. That’s two different worlds.”

  “My agent is talking about a lot of money. I could be signing a big contract. It might be worth ten million all together. Then there’s the advertisements. The Heisman Pimp stuff has blown over. Everybody wants me back. Don’t make me do this all by myself—”

  “Jay—”

  “No, listen to me. I’m about to be a rich man.” I lifted her head and gazed at her. “And I’m telling you that I want to share this all with you. Every damn day. I don’t know if I’ll do what they expect me to do. I might go out on a Pro field and fail. The world may crucify me. I could get injured and never play again. I could fuck it all up somehow, but I could win. I could be a legend. I could be worth more than all of these major athletes put together. I could have a brand, something to pass down to our kids. Evie, I could be worth it.”

  “Jay, you’ve always been worth it, way before the money. It’s never been about money or football with me.”

  “Then answer me.” I kissed her cheeks. “Are we done?”

  “Jay, I have to think about this.” She closed her eyes. “Let’s just figure out the Pipe stuff, first.”

  “Look at me, Evie.”

  “No.”

  “Please,” I whispered.

  She opened them and gazed up at me.

  “Are we done?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Will you think about marrying me?”

  “Jesus, Jay. You are so drunk right now.”

  We didn’t discuss it any further. I’d said enough. The ball lay in her court. There was nothing else I could say. But in the back of my mind, hope sparked.

  “You’re drunk,” she whispered again.

  I held her closer to me. “I am.”

  “Go ahead and lay down.”

  “In your bed?” I asked.

  She waited for a long time to respond. My insides twisted with the torturing seconds.

  “Yes. Lay down in my bed.”

  We can’t be done.

  “We’re just sleeping, Jay.”

  “I know.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Pipe

  On a regular South Beach evening, lounges shined with fluorescent colors. Music blasted from the doors. On a Wynwood evening past midnight, the night sky and full moon served as most of the lounges’ ceilings. Almost none of them had a roof. It gave a great place for all of the marijuana smoke to escape. It seemed they smoked everywhere in this district—from the corners of café shops to the art galleries, glass pipe shops, and restaurants.

  Do they think this is Amsterdam? At some point, the police are going to have a field day around here.

  I shook my head under the hood.

  “What?” Kush asked as we headed down the street. “Why are you shaking your head?”

  “White people.”

  Laughter exploded from his lips. “Did you just say white people?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought you were white.”

  “I am. It’s why I can say that. My girl Evie, when a black person does something stupid, she shakes her head and groans, black people.”

  “Wow. And why are you shaking your head at your own pale community?”

  “They’re smoking around this motherfucker like its legal.”

  “Aww, now I can shake my head too. There’s some Haitians and Cubans smoking around here too.”

  “That’s your mix?”

  “Yeah, mon.”

  “Do the Haitians say mon?”

  “No, mon.” He laughed. “I hang with a lot of Jamaicans.”

  Kush and I strolled the district some more. He took me along the blocks and pointed out particular murals that caught his eye. Every building in the area was covered in something spectacular. Some of the images seemed to move while others drew me toward them. Magic moved here. There was something about creative souls that made a person want to walk around them.

  After strolling the blocks for several hours, we smoked again and decided to grab a glass of wine. It must’ve been close to four or five in the morning.

  Like the district, the lounge we stumbled into held a certain flair for creativity. Wood covered all the walls. At the entrance, shelves held paintbrushes, cans of spray, markers, crayons, and anything else that caused a mark.

  Kush held the door open for me. “This place is called Utopia.”

  “Is it a utopia?”

  “Sometimes.” Kush picked up a pen near the bouncers and handed it to me. “Here.”

  “Why did you give me this?”

  “They expect you to draw in here.” He pointed to all of the scribbled-on walls.

  “I don’t draw.”

  “Then scribble.” He gave me a pen that dripped gold ink. “Write something g
enius.”

  “Genius?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “Alrighty.”

  I checked out the place. The lounge was huge and broken into three different sections. We stood in the first one. People of all races crowded the room. They held common things, though—dreads or something of the sorts. Colorful wooden beads dangled from the strands. Vibrant cloth wrapped around some of the black women’s heads. Almost all the guys had these big wooden circles in their ears that stretched out the lobe and made the end hang close to their shoulders. Paint dotted sandals and flip-flops.

  Different shades of green radiated from their bodies as they danced in the center to the Hip Hop that blared from the speakers above us. The lyrics came hard. The beat boomed as a man’s smooth voice rode the erratic crystal.

  “I jostle in these streets, dude. You keep your ears shut, eyes closed, lids glued. While the police shed blood on the sidewalk, you reading tabloids and repping money talk.”

  Here, everyone near the wall created something. A few stood there with a full palette of color in their other hand and several brushes all around them. Others just pulled out a pen and wrote their name. However, most drew things that I couldn’t even wrap my head around—skeletons peering out of black hoods with rose eyes, mermaids sucking the blood out of a muscular man, and a king with an opened robe, nude under it, and women lying at his feet.

  Oh, look. Someone drew a picture of Jay, the Heisman Pimp.

  I laughed to myself.

  Kush eyed me. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Are you going to write something?” He guided us to a small area with blank space. “Looks like we have little makeshift canvas for you.”

  “I don’t create art. I buy it.” I shrugged and raised my pen to the wall. “That being said, why not give it a try? I can draw what I usually doodle.”

  It took barely a minute to place the bulging penis on the wall. I’d made it so many times, I couldn’t even remember when I’d started scribbling a few there or here.

  “It’s pretty big,” Kush laughed.

  “I’m a hopeful person.” At the tip, I wrote my name in cursive as it spilled out from the tiny hole.

  “I would hang that above my dining table.”

  I handed him back the pen. “And you would probably have a decrease in attendance for dinner parties.”

  “Such is life.” He tucked a scattered dreadlock behind his ear.

  Leaving that area, we went to the second section. The Hip Hop song followed us in there.

  “...black lives don’t matter and the shit ain’t all good. Lifting the top to my shirt’s hood. Hide my eyes till the hood good.”

  Plush couches outlined the wall. Women dressed a bit more here. But, I didn’t spot any heels. The sandals just had more glam; the flip-flops bore more gems and beads. Sundresses flowed around thick hips. They had their arms out and exposed teasing views of cleavage.

  They should have because the men that stood in this area were on their game. Most towered over the women, even going past my height. Their shoes said designer—soft leather, polished tone with expensive production. Footwear that could last forever with the right care.

  No one in here buys at Shop Town.

  “These are the gallery owners and the women that hope to fuck gallery owners.” Kush bobbed his head at that section.

  “And what about the women owners? Where are they?”

  “Most female gallery owners don’t have the time to lounge around and drink. They’re too busy trying to get ahead of the game.”

  “It’s hard for a woman to get a good foot into the art world?”

  “Isn’t it like that for women in anything they do?”

  “That’s what my girl, Evie, says.”

  “The best friend, right?” He guided me through the door to the last section.

  “Yes.”

  “Sometimes I have to remember that because when you talk about her, it’s like you’re madly in love. Your eyes brighten. Are you in love with her?”

  “I am.”

  “Word?”

  “It’s complicated, but not what you’re thinking.”

  “I know how that is.”

  “Does it remind you of Saka?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Is that your slick way of asking what’s up between her and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s a muse that turned into an activity partner.”

  “And what are your activities?”

  “The list is so long it would bore you.”

  “Try me.”

  He hit me with a seductive gaze. “Maybe, later.”

  We entered the third section. A bar stood in the center but built around a huge abandoned ice cream truck. Instead of a picture chart of popsicles, images of drinks greeted my eyes. Ten small tables sat around the truck. They consisted of carved, wooden gnomes that held flat planks. Here, no roof hovered over, just sky. Christmas lights dangled along the walls. Thick clouds of marijuana smoke lingered in the area.

  The earlier hip hop song shifted to a jazz tune where a trumpet battled with a saxophone. The moon glowed.

  “It’s going to be a full moon soon,” Kush said. “Are you going to the Full Moon Party?”

  “I didn’t know there was one.”

  “Come. It’s on the island. You catch the ferry near South Beach.”

  I adjusted the hood further down, making sure the sides covered me enough. “I’ll think about it.”

  “You won’t.”

  The bartender came by, a pale, skinny chick with red braids. “What do you want, Kush?”

  “Two cold beers. Give us something from Wynwood Brewing. Pale ash or something.” He snapped his fingers twice. “Woman, are you still here? Chip chip. Speed it up.”

  She turned to me. “Please tell me you didn’t walk in here with Kush.”

  I smiled. “Sorry, I did.”

  “No, I’m so sorry for you.” She patted my hand and walked away. “I’m giving you a free beer.”

  I grinned. “Thanks.”

  Kush held his hand over his heart. “And will I be getting something free?”

  “No.” She reached under the bar and produced the bottle. I’d just taken it from her, took a sip, and turned to the TV when I almost dropped the damn bottle on the ground.

  Holy shit!!

  On television, Jay’s bare white ass walked on a balcony. The words “Breaking News” blinked off and on in yellow.

  Why is Jay naked on TV? What the hell are you doing, Golden boy?

  “What’s that?” I could hardly keep down my chuckles.

  The bartender checked over her shoulder. “It’s loon.”

  My chuckling shifted to a mutter. “Oh shit.”

  Her and Kush entered into a fun dialogue about some new art gallery that had opened up a few blocks away.

  Why is Jay on Loon TV?

  Loon had a national audience. I’d watched the tabloid show every now and then. It was fun to see the paparazzi catch celebrities doing stupid things, and the stars loved doing dumb things. Rappers fought badly with other rappers, looking more like wimpy schoolgirls than gangsters. Divas ranted about others drunkenly on camera as they stumbled out of nightclubs. On and on, every week, someone did something outrageous.

  Never had I figured that at times I would see my own friends on Loon TV. Sometimes, they showed Jay prancing around with Cynthia and Evie. A dumb stud in love with two women and the media went crazy with it. Due to all of the mess and Evie walking away from him, he’d been pretty quiet. No one had caught him doing anything interesting, lately.

  The paparazzi grew bored and searched for another public jester to laugh or marvel at.

  Jay had been pretty quiet…up until now.

  No. That can’t be Jay. Why is he naked on that balcony?

  On the screen, Jay tip-toed on a hotel balcony butt-naked. Nude. Cock hard and poking in fron
t of him. They had to blur that area, but they made a point of showing that he had something to offer the ladies. They just kept replaying and replaying the clip of him creeping over.

  “Jesus Christ.” I held my beer in mid-air. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I set the glass on the bar. The music roared in the club. The TV was on mute. I jumped up and pulled out my phone to do a search on Jay.

  Kush paused his conversation with the bartender. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I just got to check something. I’ll be right back.” I flipped up my hood and rushed outside. Cool air hit me. Although late in the morning, Wynwood remained busy. Dawn would come soon, and perhaps people planned to party until the sun rose.

  Why are you naked on a balcony? Where the hell are you?

  I went right to Loon TV’s website. The top trending video was Jay creeping across the balcony. The title above it again said, “Breaking News.” It had just been posted three hours ago. I had no idea how they’d gotten it to television so fast.

  Jesus, you can’t do anything anymore without the whole world knowing by the time you wake up.

  I read the article under it.

  Jason Taylor reported stalking toward an unidentified woman’s hotel suite, naked and ready for some action. The location is a South Beach hotel. We were unable to confirm the identity of the woman who occupied the suite. The person who shot the video on their cell phone reported that the football player never left the room. We can neither confirm, nor deny, that sex happened.

  I looked up at the video again. Whoever took it must’ve been in a hotel right across from him.

  What the hell were you doing? And why are you in South Beach? Is that why you called? I thought you knew what happened. I have to check my messages. Whose room were you sneaking in?

  I searched for more news, but that was the only thing on him. Just in case, I looked up Evie and put South Beach with her name. All the results were old.

  “You’ve lost it, Jay.” I stuck my phone back into my pocket and headed back into the bar.

  Relax. Jay’s not here for me. It’s probably some football thing. Miami Dolphins might be trying to entice him. They definitely need him. Could teams do that before the draft? Are they testing him out down here?