In These Streets

by Shelly Ellis

  Derrick just couldn’t wait any longer. He’d planned to leave the Institute early to beat Melissa home. When she arrived at their apartment after a long day of battling it out with fourth graders, he wanted her to find rose petals leading to a warm bubble bath surrounded by candles. A medley of her favorite neo soul artists would be playing on their stereo and a platter of chocolate and fresh fruit would be waiting for her on their bedspread, along with massage oil on her night table. Where things went from there was totally up to Melissa, but he hoped it would be a memorable night—memorable enough for her to forget the argument they’d had a couple weeks ago.

  Derrick reached for his satchel and tossed the strap over his neck and shoulder. He walked across his office, gave one last glance at his desk to see if he’d left anything, and turned off the overhead lights. He stepped into the hall, shut the door behind him, and began to lock it just as he heard the rapid thump of footsteps behind him. He turned slightly and saw a woman jogging down the hall.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” she shouted.

  Derrick frowned as his eyes scanned over her.

  The woman was tall and lean with the athletic build of a track star or basketball player. She was wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and a white T-shirt. Her curly hair bounced around her shoulders as she ran. When she skidded to a halt in front of him, she pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes, revealing jade green irises and long lashes.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late, Mr. Miller,” she said breathlessly. Her cheeks were flushed pink. A light dew of sweat was on her brow. “I took the metro to get here, and it was a big mistake. One of the trains broke down. I tried callin’ to tell you I’d be late, but couldn’t get reception in the subway tunnels and well . . .” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and flapped her arms helplessly. She gave a sheepish grin. “Anyway, I’m here now!” She extended a hand to him for a shake.

  “I’m sorry but . . . who are you?” he asked, squinting down at her hand.

  She blinked and barked out a laugh. “Umm, I’m Morgan. Morgan Owens! We had an interview scheduled at 2:15.” She paused. “You are Mr. Miller, right?”

  He stared at her, genuinely surprised. When he saw the name Morgan on her resume, he had assumed that she was . . . well . . . that “she” was a “he.” Morgan supposedly had been crafting furniture for years out of a private cooperative studio in Bethesda, and had a degree from the Rhode Island School of Design in furniture design. Based on her resume, he had expected a big hulking dude in overalls and work boots with weathered hands and strong arms. Instead, he saw the lithe, feminine specimen in front of him.

  “Yes, I’m Mr. Miller, but you can call me Derrick,” he said, finally shaking her hand, which had a few callouses, but was far from weathered. “And we did have an appointment thirty-five minutes ago, but I’m afraid I have to go now.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking crestfallen.

  “But we can always reschedule . . . uh, maybe sometime next week?”

  Her smile returned and she eagerly nodded. “I can do that. Sure, next week would be good!”

  “Okay, I’ll shoot you an email to set up another time.”

  “And I’ll make sure I’ll drive next time and not take the metro,” she replied, making them both laugh.

  “See you, Morgan.”

  “See ya’ next week,” she said with a wave.

  He began to walk down the hall in the opposite direction than she came, but paused to turn back around to face her.

  “Umm, you know the Boys’ Institute isn’t a regular school, right? It’s all boys, like the name says, but a lot of them have criminal records . . . some for serious offenses.”

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding, “I looked you guys up online before I applied. I saw you do a good job rehabilitating them though. Only a thirteen percent recidivism rate.”

  “Well, most of them are good kids,” he continued, hoping that she was getting exactly what he was trying to say. “But we do have a few bad apples in the bunch, and I can’t vouch that you won’t run into—”

  “Derrick,” she said, holding up her hands, “why are you telling me this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean . . . do you not want me to work here?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “No, you didn’t say it, but you’re not selling the job well either! It’s like you’re trying to . . . I don’t know . . . trying to scare me off.”

  “I just want to make you aware of what you’re really getting into if I offer you the job and you accept. That’s all.”

  “I’m aware of what I’m getting into. I wouldn’t have applied if I wasn’t.”

  “I’d just hate for you to feel like you were in over your head.”

  “Why would I feel that way?” She paused, dropping her hands to her hips. “Wait. Are you saying all of this because I’m a woman? You think I wouldn’t be able to handle myself with all those big, bad boys? Is that it?”

  “No, we have female instructors who work here already, but . . .”

  She inclined her head. “But . . . what?”

  None as pretty and as young as you, he wanted to say, but didn’t.

  Derrick didn’t want to offend her, but he could easily anticipate how some of the older boys would react to having Morgan in their classroom. And even though they may be sixteen and seventeen years old, they had the height and builds of grown men. Some of them could get very aggressive. He didn’t want to put her in harm’s way.

  “Listen to you!” a voice in his head chided. “You were defending those same boys to Melissa more than a week ago, and now you’re acting like Morgan needs to be protected from them?”

  Okay, I’m a hypocrite, he conceded, but all the same, he didn’t know if he wanted a problem like that on his hands.

  “Hey, I don’t have a clean rap sheet either, if that makes you feel any better,” Morgan argued. “I did my dirt back in the day too—a long time ago. I could tell you some stories. Don’t let the green eyes fool you!”

  He pursed his lips, still hesitant.

  “Look, the truth is, Derrick . . . I really need this job. The studio I work out of is closing and needless to say, there aren’t too many companies clamoring to hire a twenty-nine-year-old black woman who makes furniture for a living. Let’s just do the interview. If you want to hire me after that, we can try me out on a trial basis. And if I can’t hack it, then I’m out. No problem, right?”

  After a few seconds, he nodded. “Okay, we’ll do the interview. I’ll see you next week.”

  “See you!”

  * * *

  “Dee, are you home?” Derrick heard Melissa call out. He then heard the sound of her keys landing in the ceramic bowl they kept on their hallway console and the sound of the front door slamming shut.

  He hurriedly lit the last candle, swiped his hand over the bedspread to fan out the rose petals some more, and stood back, surveying their bedroom. The scene looked pretty damn romantic, if he did say so himself. The space had a soft, orange glow to it thanks to the dozen candles perched strategically around the bedroom on the dresser and night tables. The smell of vanilla wafted in the air.

  “Why are all the lights turned off?” he heard her mumble. She sucked her teeth as she made her way down the hall. “Are you in bed, Dee? You’re not sick are you, baby? I can make you some—”

  Her words trailed off when she shoved open the door and entered the bedroom. Her big brown eyes widened.

  He pressed the button on the remote to cue their stereo. D’Angelo’s croons suddenly filled his ears.

  “What is this?” Melissa exclaimed, dropping her purse to the floor. He walked around the bed and wrapped his arms around her waist.

  “What does it look like?” he asked, leaning down to kiss her earlobe then her neck.

  “Did you total your car?” she joked. “Forget to pay the rent this month?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to show you that you’re special.
I wanted to let you know how much you mean to me,” he said, drawing her close and tugging her shirttail out of the back of her pencil skirt. He lowered his mouth to hers just as she cocked an eyebrow and leaned back to gaze up at him, keeping her plump lips out of reach.

  “That’s sweet, Dee, but why does you showing me how special I am require me to spread my legs?”

  “It doesn’t, baby! It can if you want it to, but I’m cool with you just taking a bath, giving you a massage, and letting you chill for the evening. I swear . . . it’s all about you.”

  “Well . . .” Melissa rubbed her hands up and down his arms. “I’ll be honest. After seeing how you went all out to surprise me, and with you looking as fine and sexy as you do, I wouldn’t mind if a little leg spreading was involved in between that bath and massage,” she whispered, making him laugh.

  “That’s my girl!” He dropped both hands from her waist to her behind and grabbed her bottom. He lowered his mouth to hers again.

  This time she didn’t pull back when he kissed her. Her tongue danced with his. She let out a soft whimper and he tugged the rest of her shirt out of her skirt and began to unbutton it. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and lowered the zipper at her back, shimmying her skirt down her hips.

  “Nu-uh,” she murmured against his lips, “I was promised a bubble bath. And that’s what I’m gonna get.”

  He watched as she stepped back and walked across their bedroom, pushing her skirt down the rest of the way so that it pooled at her feet. She then removed her bra and tossed it to the floor before continuing to the bedroom door wearing only a lace thong and a broad smile.

  Brownie trotted over to the pile of clothes and sniffed them.

  “You coming?” Melissa called over her shoulder, hooking her finger.

  Derrick began to walk toward the bedroom door, taking off his clothes as he did it. He tripped over Brownie along the way, who was also following Melissa to the bathroom.

  “Oh, hell no!” he said, tugging off his shirt and nudging Brownie aside before he stepped through the bathroom doorway. “She was talking to me, not you.”

  He then shut the bathroom door behind him. He heard their cat mewl his displeasure on the other side, but Derrick didn’t care. He watched as Melissa tossed aside her black thong and climbed into their bathtub. She sank beneath the cloud of bubbles and saucily stuck out her tongue. She flapped her hands, making the water lap dangerously close to the edge, almost spilling onto the tiled floor.

  “You better get in here before the water gets cold!”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice.

  Derrick let his pants fall to his ankles and did a little hop and a kick to send them sailing across the bathroom and smack against their walk-in shower glass, making her snort and laugh at his enthusiasm. He then tugged down his boxer briefs.

  “I’m ready,” he said, stepping into the warm water.

  She glanced at his burgeoning arousal; he was already almost fully erect. Her laughter tapered off as she licked her lips. “I can see that! Come over here, baby,” she said, reaching for him. Within seconds of sloshing into the water, she was on top of him.

  Ricky had once asked him how he could stand having sex with the same woman day after day, year after year.

  “Don’t you get bored, man?” Ricky had asked with a puckered face, like he had been sucking on a sour lemon.

  Derrick had explained that there could be some monotony that came with sex with the same woman. But he and Melissa always tried to switch things up—and that didn’t have to mean using lots of toys or twisting themselves into crazy sexual positions. It meant just making an effort, enjoying sex in a slightly different way each time. And it wasn’t like predictability was always a bad thing. Hell, this was the same woman who had lost her virginity to him when she was fifteen years old. He knew her body almost as well as he knew his own—every beauty mark, scar, and dimple. He knew what to do to make her moan and what tricks made her yell. He knew the sharp breaths and yips she let out when she was close, and the face she made when she came. Ricky might not understand it, but in many ways, Derrick took comfort in those things, in the predictability of being with someone he knew so well.

  Right now, she was moaning as he licked the bubbles off her right nipple then her left. She was straddling him in the water as he did it. Her hands were braced on his broad shoulders and his hand was in between her legs. He moved his fingers fast then slow, doing it in the way he knew she liked. She started panting. She started to squirm. He felt her shift against his fingers, urging him to keep going not with her mouth, but with her body.

  He took her nipple into his mouth again and began to suck it, tease it with his teeth. All the while, his fingers continued to move. The sharp bursts of breath were coming now. He heard a yip, then another. She started to rock her hips, making the water lap dangerously close to the tub’s edge again. The yips turned into yells. She dug her nails painfully into his shoulders and threw back her head, begging him to stop then keep going. She cried out before falling against him. A few seconds later, she raised her head from his shoulder and gave him a dimpled grin.

  “That was a good one, baby,” he murmured against her ear.

  “That was a big one. Now your turn,” she whispered before bringing her mouth to his.

  They kissed languidly, sucking on each other’s tongues, nibbling on one another’s lips. In one fluid move, she held his dick, adjusted her legs to center him in between her thighs, and lowered her hips. He slid smoothly inside her and shuddered at the sensation. They both began to move in the water. The tempo was slow at first, but gradually it increased to a frenzied pace that did make water spill over the edge of tub and onto the tiled floor. It made them groan and scream. Melissa shifted her hands from his shoulders to the tile wall. She grabbed the soap dish to steady them, to keep them from rising out of the tub and falling to the floor themselves. They didn’t come simultaneously, but it was close enough.

  When Derrick did, he closed his eyes and swore he saw stars. He cursed, cried out her name, and jerked liked he’d been tased. He fell back into the water, overcome with a sensation of pure ecstasy.

  * * *

  An hour later, Melissa rolled onto her back and smiled up at him.

  After they had left the bathtub, they’d shifted the festivities to their bedroom. As it turned out, she was the one who ended up giving him the massage, but that had only lasted fifteen minutes before he grabbed her hand and tugged her back on top of him. Within seconds, the moaning and groaning started up again.

  Now exhausted but deliriously happy, Derrick gazed down at the woman he’d been in love with for almost two decades. He knew he wanted to be with her for two decades more, and two more decades after that. Hell, he wanted to spend his life with her.

  “Let’s get married,” he said, gazing into her eyes.

  “We are getting married,” she said with a giggle, holding up her hand, showing her engagement ring. The emerald cut diamond caught the dying light from the candles and sparkled in the dark.

  “No, I mean, let’s just get married, Lissa. Let’s just do that shit! Elope at the courthouse. Do it in front of a judge. We can do it by the end of the week.”

  She lowered her hand. “What? Are you serious?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m serious!” he shouted, making her laugh again. “We don’t need a big wedding. We’ve been saving up for one for more than a year. Keep that money in the bank, baby. All we need is just our family and friends there.” He kissed her, feeling buoyant with excitement. “We can invite my mom. She can be a witness. We’ll have your mom there and your dad and—”

  “We’re not inviting my dad, Dee.” Her face had changed. The giddy smile disappeared. “That’s out of the question.”

  “Come on. He’s your dad. You can’t get married without him. It wouldn’t be—”

  “I said no! After what he did to Mama, there is no way . . . no way in hell I would disrespect her again on my wedding day by mak
ing her stand next to that man, let alone make her play nicey-nicey with him.”

  That man? She was talking about her father like he was a total stranger.

  Derrick had felt like he was floating on a wave of euphoria only seconds ago. Now he felt like he he’d gotten a hard smack back down to earth thanks to Melissa’s blunt words.

  “Baby, your dad didn’t do anything to your mom. He told her the truth about how he felt, about how he’d been feeling all those years they were together. He didn’t—”

  “What the hell do you mean, he told her the truth? He cheated on her with another dude, Dee!” Melissa yelled, pushing herself up to her elbows. “He humiliated her and lied to her!”

  “No, he didn’t. Mr. Theo said he didn’t hook up with Lucas until after he and your mom separated. He never cheated on your mom, Lissa. He never would have done something like that to her.” He held her hand. “Look, I know it was a shock to find out your dad is gay. It would be for anybody, but—”

  “Wait a minute! Back the hell up! You . . . you talked to my dad about this?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

  Derrick fell silent. Shit, he thought as Melissa pushed herself upright completely, yanking her hand out of his grasp. She climbed off the bed and glared down at him in all of her naked glory.

  “Did you talk to my dad about this, Dee?” she repeated louder, slowly enunciating her words. “Did you talk to him about my parents’ fucking marriage? About him cheating on my mom?”

  “Yes, I . . . I talked to him.”

  He watched as Melissa balled her fists at her sides. As she sucked in a breath and pushed back her shoulders, making her breast rise then fall.

  “Look, I wasn’t trying to start anything, baby. I just told him that you were hurt . . . that what happened between him and your mom really affected you, and he explained where he was coming fro—”

  “That wasn’t your job, Dee! You shouldn’t be talking to him about me . . . about my mom . . . about any of it. None of this shit has anything to do with you!”

  “Yes, it does. What affects you, affects me. You know that!”

  “And you know that I don’t talk to my dad anymore, and you deliberately went behind my back and did it anyway!”