This time I looked at him and smiled. I hadn’t noticed his sexy undertone the first time he’d asked. “Yes, I’m chill.”
My gaze lingered. I shook my head as though I was trying to awaken from a dream. This mixologist had a lot of sexual energy resonating from his mannerisms.
“If you need anything—”
I interrupted, “Yes, I know. You got me.”
A young lady wearing a white sleeveless maxi dress and high heels, said, “Is this seat taken, ma’am?”
Looking at her, I replied, “Only if you sit in it.”
“Cool beans,” she said, pulling out the vanilla-colored wicker stool.
She was shaped like most of the twentysomethings in Atlanta. Big breasts. Bigger butt. Small waist. She could’ve placed her purse in the chair next to me and sat one seat over. She did the opposite. “You look real nice, ma’am.”
“Thanks,” was all I said.
A text came in from Echo. Happy birthday my bff Blake Crystal. I love you.
I smiled on the inside. Echo was going to be excited when I gave her the news about ending my relationship with Fortune. Finally, I could reunite with my best friend.
“What’s your pleasure, beautiful?” my waiter asked the young lady next to me.
“I’ll have a lemon drop and I’d like a menu, handsome.”
Observing them from my peripheral, had I forgotten how to flirt? I ate two of my olives.
More texts chimed in from my siblings. Peter, Walter, Teresa, Kevin, and Kim. I didn’t want any of them to think I was clinging to my cell on my fiftieth. Nor did I want the bartender to detect my hint of jealousy. I’d respond to my family’s texts tomorrow.
Sipping my drink, I let my tongue marinate in vodka. What was the purpose of my life? At some point it would end. In the meantime . . . heaving, I almost swallowed the third olive whole when I’d gotten a glimpse of the waiter’s dick imprint. Quickly, I took another sip, placed my cocktail on the counter.
“You okay, ma’am?”
This time, I narrowed my eyes. Softly, I hissed, “Please, stop calling me ma’am.”
“Cool beans,” she said, then scrolled through her cell phone.
Exhaling, I took another swig, placed my glass in front of me.
When I was sixteen, the dad who lived next door to us desperately wanted to see his children. I recalled how that man spent his time and money in court fighting for joint custody because the mother of his children was pissed that he was remarried to a much younger wife. She wasn’t prettier though. Not in my opinion. Eventually, he won his case. But what would’ve become of his children if he’d conceded to his ex, moved on, and never fought for his parental rights?
The guy who lived on the other side of him—we called him Mr. E—could see his children anytime he wanted, but Mr. E never did. Every weekend there were men coming and going in and out of his house. Sometimes different ones visited in the same day. None stayed more than two days. Religiously washing his luxury cars every Sunday morning seemed more important than his being a dad.
Setting a lemon drop by the young lady next to me, he tapped the bar twice in front of me. “You chill?”
This time my smile was tighter. I gave him a firm, “Yes.”
“Excuse me, handsome, may I tell you what I’d like?” the young lady said.
“I’m all yours,” he replied, taking one step sideways to his left.
I waited for him to take her order, then said, “I’d like another.”
He stood in front of me. Gazed into my eyes. I swore the temperature between my legs rose six degrees.
“I can’t allow you to stack drinks but . . .” He gave me a closed-lip smile.
“Excuse me, handsome, but, can you put my order in? If I don’t get something to eat soon, I’m going to have to eat you. I’m hungry.”
Frowning, I looked at her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. No disrespect,” she said.
He didn’t move. He replied to her, “I’m on it,” then he tapped the bar twice and told me, “When you’re ready.” He paused, then said, “I want you.” Then he walked away.
Okay, it’s been a while since I’ve dressed like this and sat at the bar alone. I hope he doesn’t think I’m an escort.
I downed my drink, turned the glass upside down. He picked it up, cleaned the counter, made me another, then placed it in front of me without saying a word.
I texted Brandon, This young bartender is hot. I like him. I’m pretty sure he’s flirting with me. Should I take him seriously?
He replied, Send me a selfie of you and sneak a pic of him.
Looking into my camera phone, I pretended I was capturing myself. I clicked the side button, got the bartender’s photo. Then, I took one of myself and sent both to Brandon.
Sipping my drink, I read Brandon’s reply. Is that his dick! Bitch pull up your dress and bend your ass over the bar! Fuck him! Seriously, he wants you to ride that dick. Do it bitch!
I laughed.
By the age of sixteen, I was certain that a man who didn’t want much was worse than a man who didn’t have much. At least this young man had a job and I believed he wanted me. If only for one night, I definitely wanted him.
Growing up my mother had told me to keep my legs closed. That worked for a while. Until I turned sixteen and met the most beautiful boy I’d seen in my life.
Billy Blackstone was tall, dark, had nice white teeth, huge biceps, thick thighs, and drove an orange 1975 Camaro his father had given him. His Afro was cut short and always neatly trimmed. I didn’t care much for basketball but I enjoyed watching him run up and down the court.
My eyes trailed the bartender. I didn’t care if he saw me.
I couldn’t stay a virgin forever and the truth was I’d held on to mine longer than any of my girlfriends, including Echo. Billy was my first lover. First and only love, too. Maybe that was because I didn’t know what love was. The thing I appreciated most was before we did it, Billy made me cum by licking my pussy.
I hoped the mixologist was great at performing oral sex. Drinking made me start lusting for the bartender. My pussy was overdue for some good dick. I finished my cocktail, turned my glass upside down.
“Now, you need to chill for real.” He placed a large glass of water in front of me. “When you done with this, I’ve got something for you.”
Dressed in a long-sleeved black button-down shirt and black slacks, he was about six-two, broad shoulders, firm ass, and had a slender waist. I imagined he had that definition that started at the base of a man’s waistline then dipped inward toward his inner thighs.
I watched him wrap his long fingers around the silver shaker. Each time he shook, his shoulder-length locks jerked back and forth. I bet his hair grazing my clit would make me cum. I could bend over this barstool and let him spank my ass until cream saturated my inner and outer labia but I was not pulling up my dress.
Sometimes I liked it rough. Then there were times I wanted the dick slow and easy. As he poured, I became wet. I swallowed the ice-cold water, then set the glass down.
Fortune called again. I pressed decline.
“Good job. Drink a little more. If you need anything, I’m your man,” he said with confidence. Then he slid one step to the left.
“Excuse me, bartender.”
He smiled, flashing the most perfect large white teeth. “Yes,” he said as if he were willing to do anything I’d ask of him. He could start by kissing me with those full sexy lips.
“How old are you, young man?”
A closed-lip smile accompanied the lifting of his brows. Right before he opened his mouth, he stood in front of me. For the first time I noticed his beautiful light brown eyes. He placed his elbow on the bar, leaned toward me, and whispered.
“Legal,” was all he said, then he backed away. “By the way, those lashes.” He nodded at me real slow.
Maintaining eye contact, I extended my tongue, then pressed my lips to the edge of my water glass. He sure l
ooked as though he could fuck for hours.
I glanced down, then coughed. “Aw, damn!” His dick imprint was huge.
He smiled. “Think about what you want next,” he said, then stepped to the left. “You good?” he asked the young lady.
“The best,” she answered. “I’ll have one more drop, handsome.”
“I got you,” he told her.
I felt him looking at me. I refused to give him eye contact. I was not secretly going to compete for his attention. I’d convinced myself all men were flawed. They all suffered from, as Brandon would say, ADDD—Attention Dick Deficit Disorder.
I gave birth to four girls, each one was older than the young lady next to me. Devereaux, Mercedes, Alexis, and Sandara entered the bar at the same time carrying bags and balloons.
In unison, they shouted, “Happy birthday, Mommy!”
The sexy mixologist came from behind the bar, placed a small folded piece of paper in my hand, then said, “Happy birthday, Mommy.” Those raised brows and that closed-lip smile turned away after he winked. I recalled how happy Fortune’s wife, Vanessa, looked every time I saw her with her younger guy.
Greeting my girls, I thought, I’ve pushed four babies out of this vagina. It’s still tight and I’ve still got it. I hugged, kissed, and thanked each one of my daughters.
As a single mother I may have gotten some things wrong, but my children were all right. Well, perhaps. Depending on how one viewed their situations.
CHAPTER 10
Alexis
I scaled the chick sitting next to my mom. Twenty-two, maybe three. She gave me a head-to-toe once-over. Her gaze into my eyes steadied for three seconds, then she smiled. Just like the guys, we had our unspoken signals to express interest. I gave her a small upward nod. No smile. She was cute but there was only one opening in my entourage for a feline and Chanel had that on pause.
An alpha female—cheetah in nature—was more devious than an alpha male. The difference was women were more manipulative when it came to getting our way. Couple deception with determination and a real woman was dangerous . . . potentially lethal.
“I like your dress, Mama,” I said, touching her outfit. I smoothed her fly away in with the rest of her strands, tried to uncurl her fingers to see what dude gave her. The larger-than-average print in his pants, I did not miss it. Instantly, I created a vacancy for his dick on my team.
My mom moved her hand. “Oh, no you don’t,” she protested.
“You know you’re not going to use it. You’ve got Fortune, Mama.”
“And you’ve got James, Chanel, and God only knows who else.”
Didn’t matter that the chick next to my mom redirected her attention from her phone to me. I could do her tonight if I wanted but I didn’t play games. I had game. There was a major difference.
Mercedes exhaled. “Sandara, go ask the hostess to hurry up and seat us please.” She dragged the last word out of her mouth.
My baby sister got her strut on like she was on a runway. I wished she’d discover her God-given modeling talent and get paid for being beautiful instead of comping her coochie to the lames. One more kid slide out of that womb and Sandara’s baby count would be tied at four with our mom’s.
Dude tapped twice on the bar. My mom turned as though he was her man. I stared at him.
“You chill?” he asked, picking up my mom’s water glass.
Her eyes lit up. She smiled then nodded.
“Birthday beautiful. This one is on me.” He set a martini with three olives in front of her. “Remember what I told you.”
Aw, hell no. Game recognized. I started to whistle at him and command, down boy. Tapping? Really? That shit wasn’t cool. I’d lose points if I reacted. I’d let it go for now. My wanting to ask about my dad and getting whatever my mom was holding on to in her hand would wait for now. This was her day.
While he was standing there, I leaned, hugged my mom, pushed my butt out a little so he could see the curves of my ass. Mercedes tugged the hem of my mocha minidress. She’d better be happy I didn’t adjust my thong for an added visual. I ignored my sister.
I made sure my mom was facing the flirtatious bartender. This was the gorgeous mother who used to get all dolled up on weekends. The woman who had taught us how to keep it sexy almost had it all together. She could’ve done a better hairdo. The pulled-back look was too uptight for that slammin’ fitted halter. I would’ve gone over the top, added in extra pieces of hair, and created big wavy curls that bounced right above ass.
I whispered, “I love you, Mommy.” Despite her not telling me who my dad was, regardless of my being the one who’d challenge her the most, my mom was everything to me.
“I love you too, Alexis.”
Admiring my mother, I shook my head. She was the bomb and didn’t realize it. What made her lay with lames? Not only that, long as I remembered she’d taken up residence in that putting-a-man-first lifestyle. I shouldn’t think poorly of Sandara for having three kids. She got that mental from our mom.
“They said another ten minutes at the most,” Sandara reported.
“Move, Alexis,” Devereaux said. “She’s my mom too. Happy birthday, Mother, you look stunning,” she said, taking my space.
Southern hospitality was out there in abundance but love was unavailable to the woman who’d put her heart first. And Blake always put her heart on a limb before she knew if the guy was legit. I’d seen where that had gotten her. That’s why I had to stay on top of my game and my bitches.
To me, men were bitches too.
Dude behind the bar was probably in search of a sponsor. Whatever his intentions were, he was not going to use my mother. I could dismiss his note as innocent but the seductive expression on his face said he wanted to stick his dick inside my mom’s pussy.
No apology, Mom. I was definitely running interference. I was going to ride his dick while letting him suck mine. If he thought he was going to use my mom, I was going to make him my next bitch.
Life was all about a challenge. I could take a lot of people’s money but I wanted them to give me a reason to steal their heart. If everybody’s happy, somebody got fucked. I made sure men were held accountable for every dickcision they made.
A text came in from Chanel. Call me boo
She was twenty-five going on eighteen. The dollars she earned from stripping paid the rent on my Buckhead loft apartment whenever James didn’t give me the money. I refused to let her move in. Hadn’t given her the key she kept asking for.
I was a Georgia peach but I owned Apple everything! The iPhone, iPad, iPod, MacBook Air and Pro, I had it all but hadn’t paid for any of it. Some of my electronics were still in the box.
I knew my not responding to Chanel’s text made her anxious. Rejection made her want me more. Chanel’s jealousy of my going out with men had been a constant concern throughout our relationship. For her. I loved dick more than I enjoyed pussy.
My mom stood, picked up her drink. I took it from her, set it on the bar. “Leave it,” I said, eyeing the bartender. “I got you.”
Trailing my mom to our table, I read my girl’s next text. You need to choose, Alexis. You want me? Or you want James? I love you but you can’t have both.
I could. I did. And I was about to add one more to my team. I glanced over my shoulder at the bartender. He smiled. I winked to let him know I was interested.
Mercedes was behind me. She cleared her throat. “Let it go, Alexis.”
My mother had Fortune’s old tired ass at home. I was doing our mom a favor. While flirting with a much younger man may have made Mom feel good, she wasn’t experienced enough to let that youngster stick his dick in any hole he wanted.
But I was.
CHAPTER 11
Spencer
“Mother? Daughter?” I pointed them out to my boy, LB, then repeated, “Mother? Daughter?”
“Definitely the mother,” he said, watching me pour a glass of merlot. “I saw you double-tap that at least a half dozen times.�
��
We’d come up with our own Morse code for women. Two taps meant we wanted an exclusive op to hit it. One tap signified first to get it could have it. Sometimes we’d both do a customer if she were open. No tap. No interest.
I laughed. “Bruh, you must have eyes in the back of your cranium. How you waiting tables and spying me?”
LB was my boy. I’d gotten him on here bartending six months after I’d started two years ago. Derrick, our manager, was short-staffed on servers tonight. LB didn’t mind filling in. He could do damn near everything except cook. LB was the only dude I hung with. Only one I trusted with knowing the real me. There was one thing I hadn’t and probably never would share with him. Didn’t want my friend looking at me sideways.
“If you think there’s a man in here that didn’t see that fine-ass woman in red walk through those double doors, you’d better do that or I might beat you to it, bruh.”
I shook my head. “That’s mine. You can have the daughter. When I get to first base with Mom, I’ll arrange that for you.”
“Might not need you, man. You see where they’re seated though?” LB strolled away.
He was three inches shorter than me. Five-eleven was decent but he told females he was six feet. My double tap was seated at his table, but I paused. Damn, I didn’t know the lady in red’s name. How could I have forgotten to introduce myself?
A familiar voice said, “Check, handsome.”
I stepped to the computer, closed her out. Soon as I turned, I thought, damn! My used-to-be side, now my main, was in the seat where her potential replacement was a few minutes ago.
Handing the customer her bill, I looked at my gurl. “What’s up, Charlotte?”
“Why the fuck she calling you handsome like she all familiar? Give me a JW.”
I loved my AfJam. She was half Nigerian, part Jamaican, and one hundred crazy turnt up twenty-fo. But sometimes I wished she’d give me a drama-free day.
I leaned over the bar. “Boo, I need you to do me a favor. I forgot to pick up my dry cleaning.” I handed her a hundred. “Get it for me.”
Baby, You're the Best Page 5