“I did but your phone just rang. I thought you had stepped out to 7-Eleven or something.”
“Oh. I don't know what happened. I'm just happy to hear your voice now.”
“We'd better get some sleep.”
“I'll be there at seven-thirty.”
“I'll be ready.”
“Good night, Anya.”
“Good night. And Braxton—”
“Yes?”
“I love you too.”
Chapter 22
David's hands trembled as he gave the cab driver a twenty. “Keep the change,” he said, his voice matching the quivering of his hands.
“Thanks, pal,” the New York driver responded. “Hey buddy, are you sure this is where you want to go?”
David nodded, making eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror.
“Okay, pal. Just be careful, ‘kay?”
“Thanks,” David said flatly. He wasn't afraid—the neighborhood gangs and wandering thugs didn't pose the greatest danger.
As the cab rolled away, David fought the sweeping desire to run after the car. But he remained steadfast, being drawn by forces refusing to relinquish their hold on him.
He looked up at the elderly building. The bricks had weathered the years well, but many of the windows had not and were boarded up with various shades and sizes of plywood, making the building look like a strange patchwork quilt.
David shivered and started toward the building. He kicked the overturned garbage can that barred his path and jumped as two squealing rats sprang from their habitat.
Taking forced steps, he moved toward the building and fleetingly glanced at a little boy coming out with a bicycle.
The boy crinkled his eyes at David. “You comin’ ta see my mama?”
“No.”
The boy maintained his stare, putting a finger in one of the holes of his tattered shirt and moving it around, making the hole larger. “Someone else up there wit’ her right now.”
“I'm not going to see your mother.” David tried to push past the boy, but the bicycle blocked the path.
“You the po-lice?” The boy stood firm.
David understood the young boy's suspicions. He'd been the same way, enforcing the neighborhood rule: No strangers allowed. David picked up the bicycle and stepped around the boy.
“Hey, get yo’ hands off my stuff!” the boy yelled.
David entered the five-story building and covered his face as the dank air hit him like a right uppercut. Urine, marijuana, and other indistinguishable elements mixed to cast a pungent odor that convinced him the building hadn't been cleaned since he moved away.
He took the steps, two at a time, not stopping until he reached the third floor. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the railing. The Flintstones blended with reggae, yet both were outdone by screaming voices that pushed their way into the corridor.
He hadn't raised his eyes yet, unable to find the courage to face what he'd come to see. As his breathing steadied, he forced his eyes to travel upward until he saw the number on the door. 3A.
His heart thumped with a force that shoved him back against the banister. He closed his eyes, trying to combat the images that flooded him. Then he heard it. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Startled, he opened his eyes and whirled around in the hall, crouching low as his eyes shot from corner to corner. Suddenly, the hallway was threateningly silent. The music, the television, the voices had all disappeared.
Bang! Bang! The shots came again. He covered his ears, but the gunfire continued.
David bolted down the stairs and out of the building, running past the young boy and the garbage cans that lined the street. He ran faster, but the sounds came louder. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
David screamed and sprang up in his bed. He held his chest and felt the pounding against his hand. It wasn't until he turned on the light and surveyed the room that he realized he was at home, in Los Angeles.
His fingers grasped the damp sheets tightly and he lay back, inhaling deeply until his breathing became even. Finally, he turned on his side and glanced at the clock. He'd only been asleep for two hours, yet in a few more Sunday's dawn would be peeking through his window. Dragging the heavy quilt over him, he reached for the switch on the bedside lamp. But suddenly, he pulled his hand back, leaving the light shining.
Chapter 23
Sasha twisted under the sheets and gently removed Hunter's hand from her waist. He rolled over and Sasha remained still, until she heard his low, smooth snore. She wiggled from the bed and stood by the edge, searching in the darkness for her clothes, and then she remembered—her shirt and pants were by the front door, right where Hunter peeled them from her body last night.
“Baby, you are a sight to wake up to,” Hunter crooned, his voice still full of sleep. “Come back to bed.”
He could only see her naked silhouette, but Sasha still felt his smile. “I didn't plan on spending the night, and I don't want Anya to worry.”
He pulled her down onto the bed. His lips nuzzled against her neck “You're grown. You don't have to answer to Anya.”
Her head fell back as she let herself enjoy the sensation of his tongue gliding up to her face. “Anya wouldn't approve of this.”
Hunter leaned back suddenly and clicked on the nightstand lamp.
“You mean she wouldn't approve of me.” Hunter's eyes narrowed and he pouted slightly. “Anya doesn't like me because I don't fit her image of how a man should behave. Sometimes, I just want to put her in her place.”
Sasha frowned. “What kind of threat is that?”
Hunter's eyes opened wide. “It's not a threat, baby. I just want her to give me a chance because I don't want her to affect us.”
She relaxed and kissed him, eager to end the conversation.
He pulled her back against his chest, resting her head on his shoulder, stroking her until bumps rose on her arm.
“Are you cold?” he asked, as he wrapped the sheet around her.
“No, it's just your touch.” She rolled over onto him. “I have to go.”
“I want you to stay. I enjoy being with you, Sasha.”
His eyes told her he meant what he said, and she was filled with joy. She loved being with him too, although this was not what she'd planned. Falling for Hunter Blaine was like stepping into a minefield knowing where all the explosives were. But she couldn't stop where her heart was going.
“I've had the best time with you,” he said.
She laid her head on his chest. Maybe something real could happen with Hunter and me, she thought.
He kissed the top of her head and said, “We're going to have some great times together.”
She burrowed herself deeper. Maybe he was ready for a serious relationship again. She sighed deeply, relishing her thoughts of the life she could have.
“It's hard for me,” Hunter continued. “Women always say they don't want any strings, but fifteen minutes into the first date, they're talking about marriage.” He pulled her closer. “But not you. You're different.”
Her smile widened. What would Gordon think the first time he saw her with Hunter? And what about Madear? Her grandmother would see that she could do something right.
“What I love about you, Sasha, is that you know this is just about sex. Some good old-fashioned, rock-my-world kind of sex. You don't mind just kicking it for a while, and I really appreciate that about you.”
The smile on her face remained, stuck in place, while every muscle inside tightened.
“So, how about some of that good sex?” he asked, as his hands moved from her shoulders, caressing and kneading the rest of her.
Sasha could feel the heat of him as he pushed her against the mattress and laid his weight on top of her. Desire shined through his eyes. Moments ago, she would have mistaken his stare for love. But now she knew he wanted nothing more than the pleasure her body could bring. She held back the tears—she would never let him see her cry.
“You are so beautiful.�
�� The tips of his fingers brushed against her face.
Her plastic smile remained.
“You know, I've never dated anyone as dark as you.”
Her mask disappeared.
“That's a compliment.” His words came quickly as he felt her stiffen. “You know how American standards are. ‘The lighter the skin …’ I have to admit, I have gone for the fair-skinned beauties in the past. But you,” he said, moving his hand along her body. “You are my Black beauty.”
She waited a beat, then raised her hand, holding it next to his face. The coffee-glaze polish on her fingertips almost matched her skin tone. And both the nail polish and her skin perfectly matched his complexion.
“Just checking. I thought maybe you were a different color,” she said.
He frowned and the muscles in his jaw pulsed through his skin. But when she smiled, he chuckled. “You're pretty funny, Sasha. That's another thing I like about you.” He kissed her neck, then moved his mouth down her body. “That's what you are,” he said, pausing for a moment. “You are my Black beauty.” He reached for the box of condoms he had on the table next to the bed.
Sasha closed her eyes, willing herself to block out his remarks. But what his lips and hands had been able to do before, couldn't be managed this morning. She was wounded under the assault of his words.
However, as Gordon's wife, she had been well trained in the art of removing herself. She responded to Hunter, doing with her body what he had come to expect. And when he finally collapsed on top of her with a loud grunt, a fake groan escaped from her lips.
Finally, Hunter rolled over and ran his hands over her head. “You know what I'm going to do?” He sat up in the bed. “I'm going to find a good hairstylist for you.”
For the first time in what seemed like hours, Sasha heard her own voice. “For what?” she said shakily, running her hand over her hair.
He stood and walked across the room, then stopped at the bathroom door like he was posing for a scene in a movie. Sasha's eyes washed over his naked body. He really was a beautiful specimen, with runner's legs and a weight-lifter's torso. There were muscles and bulges everywhere a woman expected.
But, it was his mouth that held her attention. She watched his full lips move. “You would look so much better with longer hair. You're gorgeous now, but what would happen if you had braids or a weave? Either one is fine with me.” He shook his head. “I can't even imagine how much better you'll look when I get through with you.”
It wasn't until he had closed the bathroom door and Sasha heard him relieving himself that she was able to close her mouth. He was out of his mind. Or maybe, she thought, I'm out of mine.
Morning had not yet revealed its light, still the townhouse was warm with yesterday's heat. Anya opened the French doors that led to the balcony, and inhaled the morning air as a soft breeze whispered across her face. The street was still dark and desolate. Even the earliest of churchgoers were just stirring from their sleep.
She was wide awake though, having slept soundly for the first time in several days. She smiled, recalling her conversation with Braxton last night. “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered. There was still a lot they had to work through, but she had hope.
In the kitchen, she set the coffee machine. Within minutes, the Colombian brew filled her nostrils, rousing her even more. She loved this time of day—a head start before the world began.
There were still a couple of hours before Braxton arrived. Maybe if she woke Sasha and filled her belly with a few eggs, strips of bacon, and sourdough toast, she'd be able to talk her cousin into going to church.
Anya scurried up the steps, then tapped on Sasha's door. No answer. She tapped again, this time a bit harder. Still no answer.
Anya tiptoed inside. Empty. There were no signs that Sasha had been home at all. She crept to the closet; Sasha's clothes hung the way they had since she arrived.
She slammed the door and strode into her bedroom. Maybe there was a message. But the red light on the answering machine stared back at her, unblinking.
Anya paced the floor. There was no doubt in her mind: Sasha was with Hunter Blaine. She trooped back and forth, mumbling, threatening Sasha, then Hunter. She stopped. What would her grandmother think?
“This is ridiculous,” she said aloud. “Sasha is grown. She can do whatever she wants.” But, even as she said those words, she shivered. If only Sasha weren't with Hunter. She shook her head, trying to rid her mind of those thoughts.
Back downstairs, she got her coffee and curled onto the couch with yesterday's newspaper in her hand. She rummaged through the paper, tossing segments onto the floor, until she was left with the business section. Maybe checking on her stocks would improve her mood.
Less than a minute later, the front door lock clicked. Sasha stepped silently inside, and closed the door gently behind her.
“Good morning.”
Sasha jumped, holding her hand to her chest. “You scared me. I thought you'd still be asleep.”
Anya placed the newspaper on the floor. “Most people are asleep or just getting up. Not just getting in,” she said sharply.
Sasha winced inside, wishing she'd come in a few hours earlier. But to Anya she said, “Come on, cuz. I'm grown.”
“Too grown to call?”
“I'm sorry.” Sasha threw her purse onto the chair. “I'll call next time.”
“So, you're going to make this a habit—hanging out with Hunter until the sun rises?”
Sasha's eyes hardened as she remembered Hunter's words.
Anya misunderstood Sasha's silence. “I told you, Sasha, that man will just use you up, then spit you out. You're just another one of his conquests.”
This is just about sex … Sasha fought to keep Hunter's words from her mind. No matter what he said, he was still with her. And, as he dropped her off just now, they had made plans to meet again tonight. Obviously, he couldn't get enough of her. Maybe … “Why do I have to be one of his conquests?” She sat down on the couch, leaned back, and dramatically crossed her legs. “Maybe I was the one who conquered him.”
Anya rolled her eyes.
“Girl, why are you trippin’? Hunter and I are just friends having a good time.”
“Please don't tell me you're sleeping with him.”
Sasha leaned forward and looked directly at Anya. “Don't be naïve. What do you think I was doing all night?” She crossed her arms. “And, not that it's any of your business, but you should know I plan on going back for more.”
“Listen to you.” Anya stomped across the room. “You sound like some kind of slut.”
“You say that like it's a bad thing.”
Anya glared at her cousin.
After a few moments, Sasha went to Anya's side. “Come on, I'm just having fun and I can take care of myself.”
Anya slumped onto the couch. “Fine!” She picked up a few pages of the newspaper and held it in front of her face.
Sasha sighed. By the way her cousin was hiding behind the paper, she knew this was not over. “So what are you really angry about?”
Anya was silent.
“You don't have to say anything, but I know you're not mad because I stayed with Hunter. Did you have another fight with Braxton?”
“No.” Anya didn't lower the paper from in front of her face.
“Something must be wrong. You're here and Braxton's not.”
“Nothing's wrong. Braxton and I talked last night and then I came home.” Her voice was still muffled by the paper.
“Ah, so you're mad because you didn't get any?”
The paper dropped slowly from in front of Anya's face. “’Get any’?” she said sarcastically. “I'm impressed with your command of the English language.”
“Girl, I know what it's like when you're not being satisfied—”
“Not that it's any of your business,” Anya interrupted her, “but Braxton and I are celibate.”
“Celibate?” Sasha repeated the word as if she didn't know what
it meant. “Why?”
“Because we're building a relationship on something more than sex.”
“People do that and still sleep together. You're not sleeping together at all?”
“Not anymore,” Anya said, softening since they weren't talking about Hunter. “Once we became engaged, we decided to try to do this right.”
“But you've been engaged for over six months!”
“Sasha, you sound like a woman can't live without sex.”
“Maybe by some miracle a woman could do it but not a man. What about Braxton?”
In seconds, a dozen of their arguments went through Anya's mind. “It's hard for both of us. But it's important that we try to do this.”
Sasha shook her head in surprise. “I didn't think there were people like you in the world.”
“There re a lot of single men and women struggling with this—because it is a struggle—but we're handling it because we think it's right.”
“Is this another one of those God things? Are you trying to follow some rule?”
“It's not a rule. This is about parameters and protection that I think God has set for me so that I won't get hurt.”
“I can't imagine that God thinks you'll get hurt by being with someone you love.”
“He doesn't. That's why there's marriage.”
Sasha was thoughtful for a moment. “But … what do you do when you get an urge?” She lowered her voice to almost a whisper.
Anya laughed. “There're other things besides sex. But when everything fails, I pray.”
“Oh, please! You say that like prayer is the answer.”
“It is for me.”
“Wow, life without sex,” Sasha said, shaking her head. “You're a better woman than me.” She stood and stretched her arms overhead. “I think I'll go to bed,” she yawned. “I didn't get much rest last night.”
Anya forced a smile, ignoring Sasha's remark. “Since you're already up, why don't you go to church with me?”
Sasha's arms dropped, dangling at her sides like a rag doll's. “Anya, I'm so tired, my bones hurt. I promise, I will go one of these Sundays, just not today.”
Anya kept her voice upbeat. “Okay.”
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