Superstar

by J Santiago

“That’s not really any of your business.”

  “God, he has both of you fooled. I don’t get it. Why are you setting yourself up to get hurt?”

  “Again, that stopped being your business when you kicked me out of our friendship.”

  “I didn’t kick you out. I just couldn’t stand to watch you make the same mistake. And, this time, someone else is going to get hurt, too.”

  “They aren’t together.” Her voice rose, anger vibrating through her. It wasn’t even the picture. It was Steele.

  “They were together at the engagement party. I know they fucked when they got home.”

  “Why do you even know that?” she asked, cringing. “Aren’t you guys a little too old to be sharing locker-room stories about your conquests?”

  Steele shook his head. “For two smart women, you and Madison are fucking stupid.”

  “You seem awfully concerned about Madison. You barely even know her.”

  “Are you kidding me? Who do you think I’ve hung out with every time I’ve been with Tank over the last two years? If you want to pretend like you’re not going to have to deal with them as a couple, you’re delusional. She might be accepting of you two being together, but they are a package deal. There’s no way Madison is out of Tank’s life. Just like him to get to have his cake and eat her—I mean, it, too.”

  He smirked, like he’d made some funny joke. It was an action she’d seen him make thousands of times when they shared jokes and sarcastic retorts. It was a look she was so familiar with, like an old, comfortable blanket you could wrap up in every night.

  Hurt sliced through her.

  “You know,” Amber said, cocking her head and studying him, “for claiming to be his best friend, you sure seem to resent the hell out of him.”

  It was a low blow but a perfect strike because Steele’s whole demeanor changed. The accusation pissed him off, and she could see it.

  “Yeah, well, he’s living the life I was supposed to have,” he sneered.

  His reaction exploded between them like a bomb, shrapnel carving up their relationship, leaving bloody pieces of their friendship strewed about the room. When the dust and ash cleared and they were able to take stock of the atmosphere between them, neither one of them could make eye contact. The loathing and resentment of his statement shocked her. The loathing and resentment in his statement seemed to have set him free.

  He hauled his massive frame out of the chair and turned, leaving her with all his doubts, presumptions, and truths. The cloak of reality sat heavily upon her.

  Tank rubbed his sweaty palms down his jean-clad thighs as he waited impatiently in his kitchen, trying to figure out what to do with the flowers he’d bought. He pulled out a vase and then pushed it aside, so he could hand them to Amber when she walked in the door. But he looked like a pussy, standing in his kitchen, with a big bouquet of flowers, so he set them down again and wiped his hands on his pants.

  Fuck! He couldn’t believe how nervous he was.

  He had the whole seduction plan worked out. His overwhelming need to provide Amber with a perfect weekend had driven him insane. Everything that would occur over the next forty-eight hours needed to be perfect. He knew he couldn’t sustain the illusion, but this first time, like a used-car salesman, he wanted to sell her on a car in less than mint condition.

  The pressure.

  Amber was supposed to arrive at any moment.

  When he’d left her in bed all those weeks ago, he’d essentially skipped out of her room because she was going to give their relationship a go. The hopefulness sustained him for the first two weeks they were apart. Then, their first rendezvous got canceled.

  And he thought, No big deal.

  But, when two weeks had slipped into three and then fallen into four, he’d begun to curse Skype. Skype, he decided, was a big fucking tease. He’d convinced himself that being able to see her daily would make the distance thing easier. But, really, it made it that much harder. Yeah, he saw her, looking her best and her worst, on good days and bad. But he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. When she smiled at him, excited about something, he couldn’t kiss her senseless and run his fingers along that perfectly imperfect jaw of hers. He could only meet her smile with one of his own. And, on the couple of days when she was in a crappy mood, instead of being able to help her forget, he got to sit on the other side of a computer screen and remind her how shitty this deal was. Staring at her across an Internet connection really fucking sucked. But he refused to tell her that. There was no way he was providing Sunshine with anything other than fairies and rainbows.

  When he thought of the future, he only did it in vague outlines because, if he looked too hard or really thought about how this would work during the fall, he would lose some of his optimism. The off-season was peewee football. His body didn’t hurt like he was a ninety-year-old man. His head didn’t feel like exploding because of the inevitable mistakes he’d made. He wasn’t exhausted. He didn’t get on a plane biweekly, traveling to different cities. The ups and downs were little ripples on a lake rather than the ten-foot surf of a hurricane. If he were struggling now with the realities of their relationship, he’d drive himself crazy during the season.

  So, he buried it with flowers, good wine, and amazing take-out food. And he continued to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans because he couldn’t let those fears surface, and he couldn’t share them with Amber. He had to be cool and unflustered.

  He surveyed the kitchen one more time. He frowned when he noted the time. Amber should have already arrived. He picked up his phone and called her. The direct path to voice mail concerned him, but without any means to get in touch with her, he tried to relax.

  Resigned, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed up to his rooftop. From his perch up there, he could see the street in both directions. Rather than stand in the kitchen, worrying over how to give a girl flowers, he stood against the railing, looking out over the city. She still hadn’t arrived by the time he finished his beer, and his concern amplified. He was reluctant to worry Franco or Keira, so he waited, really impatiently, getting more frantic as the time wore on.

  When he saw Amber’s Audi racing down the hill to the left of his town house, he turned abruptly and jumped on the elevator. He wanted to be waiting when she got here, so he could shake her or something like that.

  Tank opened the garage door. The casual pose he struck belied the anger, annoyance, and relief he was fighting.

  Amber pulled into the bay and shut off the car. Tank’s ire built as he watched her blasé exit. His worry had morphed into some crazy ire he wasn’t used to experiencing.

  “Hey,” she said as she shut the door.

  He studied her from his post. She didn’t seem particularly excited to see him. She ducked his gaze, finding all sorts of interesting things on the floor and in her car as she shuffled around to the tailgate and pulled it open. His vision of a movie scene where she hurdled into his arms as soon as she saw him disappeared like a rabbit in a magician’s hat. Instead of excited, she looked defiant, like she had a reason to be mad.

  “Thought you’d be here sooner,” he said. He tried for detached and uninterested, merely an observant boyfriend.

  She glanced at him through the back windowpane of her small SUV. “Sorry,” she muttered, the word muffled in the space between them. “Something came up at work.”

  He waited until she had her bag and then felt like an ass for not helping her with it. Ambling toward her, he grabbed the straps from her dangling hand. He dropped the bag at their feet and reached up to cup her chin with both hands. He stared into the chocolate depths of her eyes. His thumbs stroked along the line of her jaw. Tank’s hands curved around, trailing lazy touches against her nape before delving into her hair.

  He tugged her head back before he dropped his mouth onto hers. He tested her response with a touch and a retreat. Her mouth followed his, and when they met the second time, he pressed a little harder. Her lips parted on a sigh, and her to
ngue tentatively licked against his mouth, begging for more. He didn’t hesitate to open up for her. The kiss, a familiar dance, grew more urgent as their bodies craned to get closer. Increasingly desperate and needy, they clung to each other.

  Tank’s hands couldn’t decide what they wanted to touch. They roamed with a mind of their own, untangling from her hair, following the line of her spine, caressing the curve of her ass. His hands were relentless creatures, ever so needy and greedy as hell. His fingers were agents of touch, her delicate curves their prey. While his mouth plundered hers, his hands pillaged her body.

  Regretfully, he pulled away from her mouth. They both gasped, like they’d just realized they needed air to breathe. Tank’s hands never stopped perusing her body, but he took a moment to look her over, to lap up the sight of her.

  “It’s so good to feel you,” he murmured, their eyes locked on each other.

  She shuddered against him, his wayward fingers finding the outline of her breast and ghosting over it, even as he waited for her to say something. Her heavy-lidded eyes shut.

  “You have no idea,” she muttered.

  He dropped his head and nuzzled his mouth up against the hinge of her jaw. “Oh, I have an idea.” He continued to eat at the skin below her ear. “I have a number of ideas.”

  “Take me inside,” she said.

  He scooped her up and carried her into the house. He didn’t stop to pick up the flowers he’d worried about all day. Instead, he sprinted up the stairs and burst into his bedroom. He gently placed her in the center of his bed.

  Leaning over her, his hands fisted by her side. She stared up at him, desire infusing the air between them. Having her in his house, in his bed was everything he wanted and needed.

  “I’m getting rid of these clothes,” he said.

  She nodded. “Yours, too.”

  He unbuttoned and unzipped her jeans with deftness. As he pulled them down her legs, his gaze gobbled her up, and he dropped tiny kisses on her navel, the top of her thigh, her knee, her ankle. She squirmed against him, eager for him. Her panties followed. Impatiently, she sat up and pulled her shirt over her head, whipping it across the bed so that it landed on the edge, dangling daintily.

  Tank smiled wickedly, enjoying the mutual shedding of their clothes. They were naked in record time.

  He looked her over, thirsty for the sight of her. “Ah, Sunny, you’re killing me.”

  His fingers then followed his line of sight, touching all the places he’d visually caressed. Down from the top of her head, his two hands drifted lazily—framing her face, sweeping down her neck and across her collarbone, circling her belly button and finally coming to rest in between her thighs.

  Staring into her fathomless brown eyes, he murmured, “So ready for me.”

  “Always.”

  He wanted to worship and savor her, to somehow communicate the longing

  He smiled as he climbed up her body. But it was short-lived as he slid inside her. He could only drop his head into the crook of her neck and breathe deep. Amber’s legs wrapped around him, and her hands clasped his back, pulling him closer. They moved together—slowly yet desperately, as he buried four weeks of pent-up lust and longing inside her perfect body.

  He wanted to go deeper, slide so fully into her that she’d take him with her when she left. Even wrapped up in her, he couldn’t get far enough in. He pulled out of her arms and untangled her legs from his waist. Going up onto his knees, he grabbed her hips and pulled her up to meet his thrust.

  “Oh God!” she moaned.

  He chased their release, pounding into her, taking in her flushed body, her half-slit eyes. He saw it all, and he wanted more. He wanted all of her. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He wanted to run his tongue along her jaw, but he couldn’t get to it from this position.

  He gripped her waist again and drove in hard. Two thrusts were all it took for them to crash over the edge. Tank lowered her hips and then collapsed onto her. He stayed there, allowing them both to catch their breaths.

  When his heart stopped attempting to beat out of his chest and the air in his lungs came out in a slow, even rhythm, he rolled, taking Amber with him. She immediately snuggled into her spot underneath his chin.

  “Hi,” he murmured, kissing her head and running his hands up and down her back.

  “Hi yourself.”

  He could hear the smile in her voice.

  “You were late,” he remarked.

  She tensed slightly. “Yeah, work.”

  He needed diplomacy for his next sentence. “Maybe you could let me know if you are going to be late. I was worried.”

  He waited for her to give him shit, but she merely sighed, “Yeah.”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  She didn’t say anything for a bit. The sun had set while they made love, and the color of twilight filled his room. He got still in the silence, trying to figure out what the hesitation was about.

  He shifted out from under her, maneuvering her so that he could look down on her and see her face. “Hey,” he nudged, “you okay?”

  Amber looked up at him, her eyes searching his for something. She reached up, her hand curving around the back of his neck, her blunt nails tracing some indefinable pattern. She drew his head down and lightly brushed her lips across his. “Now, everything is perfect.”

  Amber perched on the edge of the chair, her chin resting on her fist, as she studied Keira across the bistro table. Keira looked stressed and tired, the dark circles staining the skin below her eyes, a sign of strain. Worry had skirted Amber’s consciousness since her last trip to Atlanta. But she needed to have this conversation face-to-face, so she’d waited, allowing Keira’s vague answers and convenient missed calls to permeate their friendship over the last couple of weeks. But, now, she could ask the nagging questions that had been circulating in her head like gnats on a humid summer day.

  The waitress dropped their plates in front of them, and Amber gave Keira time to pour ketchup onto her burger, arrange her fries just so, and daintily take her first bite of her lunch before she allowed herself to start the inquisition.

  “You never told me why you ditched me the last time I was in town,” Amber began.

  She reached over and plucked a fry from Keira’s plate. Keira smacked her hand and then reached for her lemonade. She took a sip, set the glass down, and began toying with her food.

  “Yeah, I just decided to go to church with my parents. Kind of a last-minute thing.” Keira seemed to be concentrating hard on rearranging her fries.

  “Oh. Have you been doing that often in the last couple of years?”

  Keira sighed. “You know I haven’t.” She spun her plate around, her preoccupation with her food continuing to keep her eyes cast down.

  “Huh.”

  Keira finally looked up. “You are not subtle,” she remarked drolly.

  Amber shrugged. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

  “Right.”

  “Do you want to talk about what’s going on with your parents?”

  Amber had always been the reluctant talker in their relationship. She got it—the need to hold some things close to the chest. But she also understood the value of being able to share the burden. It was a lesson she’d learned too late—too late to save herself a lot of misery. She didn’t want Keira to experience that sense of regret and the persistent what-ifs that tended to knock around in your brain when you had misgivings about your actions.

  Keira didn’t answer her.

  Amber was navigating unfamiliar ground. “I know I’m not one to talk,” she ventured, “but I think I’ve learned the value of having someone listen when you can’t quite figure things out for yourself.”

  “You’re going to think I’m crazy. Or maybe a coward. I’m not sure which.” Keira looked beyond her, as if her eyes connecting with Amber’s would give something away.

  “Try me,” Amber suggested.

  Keira took a deep breath. “I didn’t think it wou
ld matter. Ya know, the last three years, I thought my parents had come around. I mean, I knew they weren’t loving the idea of me and Tilly, but I thought they had come to at least understand that we meant something to each other. Ya know?”

  Amber couldn’t tell if it was a rhetorical question or if Keira was expecting a response, so she nodded her head and mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

  “I thought they knew it would happen. That Tilly and I would want to get married. But they were shocked. I wish I could explain the looks on their faces when we went to the house to tell them. It was like I’d told them I was a drug runner and had just been arrested and was going to jail for the rest of my life. Their faces…they just looked…horrified.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Amber whispered. She already knew this part of the story, but she refused to interrupt.

  “And their reaction appalled Tilly. He was so hurt because he’d thought they’d accepted him.” Keira reached over and drained her drink. “Anyway, since then, things have been pretty awful. They don’t want Tilly paying for the wedding. They insist on paying for it, but they only want to pay for it if we do it their way. Part of me wants to elope. Part of me wants to just give in. Part of me wants to call the whole thing off.”

  Amber’s eyes got wide, and she tried to hide her dismay by grabbing her own drink.

  “This is where I get crazy. Are we always going to have to deal with this kind of narrow-minded bullshit? Yes, he’s black, and I’m white. What the fuck does it matter?” Her voice got higher, and she waved her hand around like she was batting away flies. “Except, all of a sudden, it does matter. I look for people’s reactions to us. I anticipate snide looks and ignorance. I feel defiant all the time. And I think, What about our kids? What will they have to experience? Who is going to judge them because they are interracial? It’s been driving me insane. I just…” She looked away, out the front window of the restaurant. “I just don’t know if I can live like this.” Turning back to Amber, she said, “I think I might call off the wedding.”

  Keira could have run a knife through Amber’s heart, and Amber wouldn’t have been as shocked as she was at Keira’s pronouncement.