Snapped

by Tracy Brown

  When her spa session was over, Toya stepped out into the crisp autumn air and took a deep breath. Instead of heading for the subway, she decided to treat herself and she hailed a taxi. “Third Street, Park Slope,” she called to the driver as she climbed into the backseat. While heading for her home in Brooklyn, she gave Jameson a call. She pulled out her iPhone and dialed his number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, sexy,” he said.

  “Hello,” Toya replied, crossing her legs and getting comfortable in the backseat of the cab. “Come over to my house at seven.”

  Jameson chuckled, tickled that she was ordering him around. As a high-powered exec, he was the one calling the shots most of the time. But this sex kitten Toya was happy only when she was the one in control. Jameson loved it. He was happy to let her be her usual dominant self.

  “Okay. For what?” he asked.

  She looked out the window as they crossed the bridge. “So you can eat my pussy,” she said.

  The driver looked at her through the rearview mirror, stunned. Toya ignored him and acted as if he didn’t even exist.

  “I’ll leave the door open,” she continued. “Just come on in.”

  “That sounds good. I—”

  “When you get there, don’t say shit! Just come in and find me, get on your knees, and eat my pussy.” She knew the cab driver was listening, so she decided to have him drop her off at the liquor store a block from her house just to be on the safe side. That way his nosy ass wouldn’t know where she lived.

  Jameson was aroused already. “Okay,” he said simply. “See you at seven.”

  Toya hung up the phone and smiled. There wasn’t a single aspect of her life that she would want to change. Her love life, her career, her life as a single, successful New York City woman—she controlled it all. Her destiny was in her own hands. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Camille watched Frankie pace the floor and couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her husband was. Dressed in just a wifebeater and a pair of Antik jeans, he walked back and forth across the bedroom floor with the phone in one hand and a cigar in the other. To Camille, he had never looked sexier.

  “I can’t wait till next week, son. I need it now. I’m agreeing to take less than what you owe me, even though we both know that’s bad business. The least you can do is get the shit to me when I need it. Friday. No later than Friday, four o’clock.”

  Camille smiled as Frankie closed his mystery deal. It was times like these that she felt so lucky that he was her husband. He exuded power and strength. She loved him so much. Lately, things between them had been a little tense. Camille was longing for children, and Frankie was seldom home long enough to make any. All he did was grind, and she appreciated that. After all, they were living in very plush surroundings while many of their friends were struggling to make ends meet. Still, Camille longed for the old days when they just had to be near each other. They’d been inseparable once. And she would do anything in the world to get that back.

  Ever since the barbecue, Camille had been determined to put the spark back in her marriage. Hearing Frankie tell another woman that he loved her, no matter how innocently he may have meant it, caused Camille to feel more insecure than ever. Whether she wanted to or not, she couldn’t help thinking about the things Toya had said. What if Frankie had begun to see Gillian as more than just a friend? She had made love to Frankie that night, and many nights thereafter, with a passion that he hadn’t seen from her in a long time. And things had gotten better between them in the weeks since then, but Camille was still hoping to change Frankie’s mind about making a baby.

  But whenever Camille talked about this, Frankie couldn’t help wondering if her yearning for children was the only thing that fueled her passion for him each night. The thought of having a child scared him, though Camille couldn’t seem to get that through her head.

  He hung up the phone and walked over to the ashtray sitting on top of the dresser. He snuffed out his half-finished cigar and came and sat beside her on the bed.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked. Frankie never divulged any details of his business to her. He said it was for her own good. The less she knew, the better. And Camille rarely pressed him for details that he didn’t volunteer.

  True to form, he didn’t tell her much. “Yeah. Gillian put me on to this dude and he’s playing games. It’s all good. Nothing to worry about.” He kissed her and she pulled him on top of her. Frankie ran his fingers through her long hair, and Camille was ready for him to take her to paradise.

  But Frankie pulled back and sat up. “I’m going out,” he said. “There’s a poker game at Mikey’s house and I can’t miss it.”

  Camille sighed and couldn’t hide the look of disappointment on her face. It was only six o’clock, and already he was leaving her. “Come on, Frankie,” she moaned. “You’ve been out every night this week. I miss you.”

  He smiled at her. “I know.” He saw the sad expression on his wife’s face and playfully tapped her. “Don’t be like that. I’ll spend more time at home after this. I don’t mean to neglect you, ma.”

  Camille shook her head. “It’s not just that,” she said. “You won’t even discuss the baby thing anymore. We’re getting older, Frankie. I’m ready for a baby and I think you should at least talk about it with me.” Camille was kinda pissed. If she had known that Frankie was going out again, she could have accepted Toya’s invitation to join her for a massage at one of the best spas in the city. Instead, she’d be spending another night alone.

  Frankie was annoyed that she was back on her baby shit. “Really . . .” He sat down on the bed and leaned in close to her. She smiled, thinking he had changed his mind about going out. That wasn’t the case at all. “Why do you keep bringing up this baby shit, Camille? Seriously.”

  The look on his face was so menacing that Camille felt her heart pause.

  “You think having a kid is gonna make everything perfect?” Frankie was looking at her like she disgusted him.

  Camille seemed shocked by the question. She shook her head. “Everything is perfect now.”

  Frankie nodded. “So what do we need a baby for?”

  She responded meekly. “I’m just saying—”

  “I understand what you’re saying. I’ll cut back and spend more time at home. But I’m getting tired of you constantly talking about kids. That’s not what I want right now. All right?”

  Camille felt like she should apologize, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She should have never said anything to begin with. “All right,” she said, hoping that she hadn’t pissed him off too badly. She wished she had just kept her big mouth shut.

  Camille never wanted to fight with Frankie out of fear that she could easily be replaced. She lived a life of luxury. No working, no school, no responsibilities other than to make her man happy and to represent him well. While most of the other women she knew had to work long hours and live by strict budgets to get by, Camille was living without those obligations and boundaries. The last thing she wanted was to be replaced with the next bitch.

  “I just love you, that’s all.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He kissed her on the forehead and stood up. “I love you, too.” Picking his shirt up off the chair, he retrieved his cigar and headed out the door, leaving Camille praying that she hadn’t rocked the boat.

  Manhunt

  Toya sat up in bed and lit a cigarette. She glanced over at Jameson and wondered how a man who was such a cornball could eat her pussy like such a champ. “You’re the type of guy who’ll make a bitch pass out, Jameson.” She exhaled the smoke. “I like that.”

  He laughed. “I know you like it.” He clasped his hands behind his head, closed his eyes, and got comfortable in her big beautiful bed. Toya watched him get cozy and frowned. The last thing she wanted was for him to think that he could make himself at home in her sprawling Brooklyn brownstone. This was no long-term relationship. Jameson was her jump-off, no mor
e, no less. He worked for Google and lived in a house that made Toya’s swanky home look modest. Still, she wasn’t impressed enough by that to let this son of a bitch spend the night.

  “I don’t like it that much, muthafucka. Don’t get all comfortable in my bed!”

  Jameson opened one eye and looked to see if she was serious. “What do you mean?” he asked. “I can’t spend the night?”

  “No!” Toya took another toke of her Newport. “There will be none of that!”

  Jameson propped himself up on one elbow. “Why not?”

  Toya put her cigarette out and stood up. Her bathrobe was wide open, revealing her big breasts, flat stomach, and perfectly trimmed bush. “Because I said so.” She picked up his clothes and set them on the edge of the bed. “I don’t do sleepovers.”

  Jameson was offended. “Damn!” he said. “It’s like that?” He sat up in bed and waited for her to say that she was only joking. But he knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t playing. Toya was a woman who spoke her mind freely regardless of the circumstances. They had met a year earlier. Their relationship wasn’t serious—no dates, no long phone calls, and no “I love you’s.” Instead, it was simple. They called each other when they needed a sexual fix, and that was that. Hearing Jameson question their arrangement made Toya wonder what was wrong with him.

  “Call me tomorrow. Maybe we can get together when I get back from the gym.” Toya walked out of the room, leaving Jameson to get dressed by himself. She went down to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of Bacardi and gave a doggy treat to her cute Pomeranian, Ginger. Jameson climbed out of her bed in silence, feeling slightly rejected. This was an unwelcome change of pace.

  Part of Jameson was intrigued by her. Toya was a sexy, successful, independent woman with a sex drive like a horny teenager’s. And he liked these things about her. She never stressed him out, never called him off the hook, never tried to take their relationship to the next level. There was no pressure for him to define their relationship, no expectation of flowers on Valentine’s Day or presents at Christmas. It made Jameson want to see her, made him want to crack her tough outer shell. But Toya wasn’t having that. Every time Jameson tried to get closer to her, she resisted. He didn’t know why he even cared, since Toya obviously didn’t. As he got dressed, he couldn’t help feeling dismissed. But he swallowed his pride, put on his clothes, and went downstairs. He peeked into the kitchen, where he found Toya sipping on a drink and marinating a steak for dinner the next day.

  “I’m out,” he said.

  “See ya!” Toya called out, not even bothering to glance over her shoulder. “Call me tomorrow.”

  Jameson left with his pride slightly wounded, while Toya sang along with the song on the radio.

  Misa and her girlfriends were holding court at the bar at one of New York City’s legendary parties thrown by Gator Productions. These parties were always fantastic, packed to capacity with wannabe ballers blowing their rent money and car notes just to floss in front of the half-naked beauties in attendance. Misa and her friends hadn’t bought a single drink all night and they were having a blast. They were all searching for Mr. Right, or at the very least, Mr. Right Now. Misa had given up on Cyrus. She could tell that he wasn’t the settling-down type, and she had no time to waste. She was looking for her come up. Instead of dwelling on the chemistry she lacked with Cyrus, she took it as a lesson learned. Next time, she wouldn’t rush it. She knew that her aggression had scared Cyrus off, and she was determined not to make that mistake again. Still, Misa was in no way laid-back.

  “Look at this bitch!” her friend Bobbi said, gesturing toward a light-skinned girl wearing a pair of stilettos with straps that wrapped around her legs, a miniskirt that stopped just below her crotch, and a bra top that was spilling over with her huge breasts. “When I start dressing like a two-bit whore, please slap me!”

  Misa and Jennifer laughed and agreed to do just that. All three of them were dressed sexily, though neither of them looked as slutty as the young lady Bobbi was now scowling at. Their laughter was interrupted by a deep voice behind Misa.

  “Ain’t it past your curfew, sweetheart?”

  Misa turned around and beamed when she saw Baron Nobles standing behind her, accompanied by a few of his friends. “Hey!” she said, her smile showcasing her newly whitened teeth. “I should be asking you that, Baron. You’re the one with a fiancée waiting patiently at home.”

  Baron smiled and shook his head. “Not anymore. We broke up.”

  Misa had to resist the urge to jump for joy, but her smile spread wider as she heard this bit of news. “Sorry to hear that,” she lied. She noticed Baron’s friends checking out her friends, so she introduced them.

  Baron’s eyes were fixated on Misa as his friends were introduced. Misa was wearing a tight blue dress with a plunging neckline and a short hem. Her thick legs looked shiny and soft in the light of the nightclub, and he was tempted to touch them. He had known Misa for years, but only as Camille’s baby sister. During the time that they’d known each other, Misa had been married with a child and Baron had been in a relationship with a woman he truly loved. So despite the fact that he always thought she looked good, Baron had never pushed up on her. But Frankie had mentioned that Misa was divorced now. And that was perfect timing as far as newly single Baron was concerned.

  He summoned the bartender, who came right away, much to the chagrin of the other people at the bar who were eager for his attention. The bartender knew who Baron was and immediately gave the generous tipper his undivided attention. “Let me get another round of drinks for the ladies and two bottles of Cris.” The bartender scurried off to get the bottles of champagne and to refill the ladies’ empty glasses. Meanwhile, Baron leaned on the bar, looking at Misa like she was the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen.

  “How’s your son?” he asked. “Frankie talks about him all the time.” Baron smiled. Frankie complained about Misa’s son all the time.

  Misa was surprised. Shane never mentioned Frankie whenever he came back from Camille’s house. He always talked about what a great time he had with Aunt “Tamille” and all the games he played with Frankie’s good-for-nothing brother, Steven. But he never mentioned Frankie. “Really? I always thought Frankie hated kids.”

  Baron laughed because it was true.

  “My son is at Frankie and Camille’s house now, as a matter of fact,” Misa pointed out. She frowned. “Frankie’s not here with you, is he?” When Misa had dropped Shane off, Frankie had allegedly been out handling business. She looked around, wondering if Frankie was really lying to her sister. If so, she was definitely snitching.

  Baron saw her scan the club for her brother-in-law and smiled, musing that women sure did stick together. “Nah,” he said. “Not at all.” He didn’t elaborate, instead opting to leave out the fact that Frankie was once again out with his sister, Gillian.

  Misa turned her attention to the fresh drinks the bartender sat before her and her friends. As Baron’s cohorts took their bottles and headed back to their table, Baron looked at Misa and flashed his most disarming smile. “Wanna join us?”

  Bobbi was off the barstool before Misa could even accept Baron’s invitation. The ladies followed him back to his table next to the dance floor and noticed the wicked glances from jealous bitches who had been trying to get sexy Baron’s attention all night. One of his friends asked Bobbi to dance and she disappeared with him. Jennifer was engrossed in conversation with another of his friends. Misa sat down, crossed her legs, and set her purse on the table, smiling at Baron.

  “Well, damn,” she said. “I’ve known you for years and the only thing I really know about you is that you suck at playing spades.” Baron had always been a handsome mystery to her.

  He laughed. “I know. I’m working on that.”

  “Good.”

  Baron flashed his sexy smile. “Plus, I had to wait for you to get divorced before I could try to get to know you. I didn’t want your man to kick my a
ss for talking to wifey.”

  Misa laughed, imagining punk-ass Louis being bold enough to step to Baron, the live wire. “Please! Somehow I doubt that.”

  Baron grinned. “I always noticed you, though. Sometimes you come to the family functions with Camille. But she sits on the sidelines and you’re always on the dance floor.”

  She nodded. “True. Camille is shy and reserved.”

  “And you’re . . . what? Bold?”

  Misa smirked, not sure she knew how to answer that. She thought about it. “Yeah. I guess you can say that.”

  He nodded. “That’s a good look,” he said. “I like women who ain’t afraid to speak their mind.”

  Misa smiled hard. Baron was fine! And he was giving her his undivided attention, much to the chagrin of the chicks surrounding their table, dancing to the music as if they were putting on a show for Baron alone. “So what happened with you and your fiancée? Why did you break up?”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. Baron still loved his exfiancée, Angie, because she had proven time and time again that she loved him for who he was as a man, just as much as she loved the life he lived. But the relationship had run its course. “Well,” he said, sitting back in his seat. “I tried to help her understand the nature of my business, you know what I’m saying? Why I need to be on the move constantly, traveling in and out of town and all that. But she got fed up with it. She was insecure about the time we spent apart. And I got tired of bending over backward to get her used to it.”

  “So you dumped her?” Misa asked.

  Baron shook his head. “Nah,” he admitted. “She walked out on me.”

  Misa raised an eyebrow. “Really?” What a dumb bitch! Misa thought. “Did you try to stop her, try to get her to take you back?”