by Shelly Ellis
“I didn’t forget it,” Evan mumbled as he tossed the suit jacket over his forearm. “It was stolen from me.”
Terrence chuckled.
One of the strippers had ripped Evan’s suit jacket off as soon as they had descended on Evan like a pack of locusts. His necktie had been removed too when one of the other strippers used it to bind his hands behind his back when he kept struggling. Another had smothered his verbal protests by shaking her double-Ds in his face.
“Come on! Admit it!” Terrence prodded, looping an arm around Evan’s neck in brotherly affection. “You had fun, didn’t you?”
“It was . . . interesting,” Evan said, just as one of the guys behind them leaned over and vomited on the walkway not too far from the club’s red carpet.
“Oh, hell no!” the burly bouncer boomed, hopping off of his stool in front of the door. “Y’all better get his ass outta here!” he ordered, making one of the guy’s companions nod and grab his sick friend around his shoulders. Another helped guide him toward a car that was parked at the end of the block.
Evan and Terrence shook their heads in disgust as they watched the trio walk off.
“Is your friend gonna make it?” Evan asked.
Terrence waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll be fine. One of them will get his sorry ass back home tonight. I don’t know what his wife will think when she sees him like that but,” Terrence shrugged, “that’s his problem.”
Evan narrowed his eyes at Terrence. “You had plenty to drink yourself. Are you going to be okay driving back to your place?”
“Me?” Terrence pointed at his chest and laughed. He had a slight buzz but that was about it. He could remember being in far worse states than he was now. “Man, please! I am far from drunk. Trust me. I’ll be fine. ”
“You sure about that?” Evan asked again just as a black Lincoln Town Car pulled up to the curb. Evan’s driver climbed out and quickly walked to the rear door and held it open for him. Evan paused before climbing onto the leather seat. “I could give you a ride, you know.”
Terrence waved him away again as he started to walk in the opposite direction in search of his Porsche. “I’ll be fine, Miss Daisy. Just give Lee a kiss for me. All right?”
“Oh, I most certainly will,” Evan said with a wink before climbing into the sedan. The driver shut the door behind him.
Terrence turned and walked down the block back to his car. He raised the collar of his wool coat to block out the chill and rubbed his hands together to warm them. He bet Evan would give Leila a kiss as soon as he got home. Thanks to the erotic performance the men had witnessed tonight, he bet Evan would give her a lot more than that.
After a few minutes, Terrence spotted his silver Porsche two-seater and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“There’s my baby,” he whispered, almost with reverence.
The strip club hadn’t had valet parking and he had been loath to leave her parallel parked along the curb in this neighborhood, but he’d had no other choice.
Terrence inspected his car with a careful eye and whispered a prayer of thanks when he saw no dents or scratches. The paint on his Porsche still glistened and the rims still sparkled from the wash, waxing, and buffing the car had gotten earlier that day.
If the love of Evan’s life was Leila Hawkins, then the love of Terrence’s life was certainly his 2014 Porsche 911 S Coupe. A close second was maybe the DeLonghi ESAM6700 Gran Dama Avant Touch-Screen Super-Automatic Espresso Machine on the granite kitchen counter back at his condo in Chesterton, Virginia. If he could be buried with that thing, he would.
Terrence didn’t have a love of the female variety and he had no desire to fall in love with anyone. Oh, he was no monk; he dated often. He had his fair share of girlfriends and one-night stands. But so far, no woman had made him want to put a ring on it, so to speak. Terrence had seen the ravages married life could have on a person by witnessing his parents’ horrendous marriage for decades and the trials Evan had gone through for the five and half years he was married to his soon-to-be ex, Charisse.
Though Evan often encouraged him to finally settle down, Terrence couldn’t work up enough optimism about love and relationships to try his hand at anything permanent with a woman. He’d rather live in the moment and collect honeys like they were Pokémon trading cards.
He opened the door of his Porsche and climbed inside. As he drove, he listened to his voice messages on his iPhone. Unlike Evan, he had turned off his cell while inside the club, not wanting to be disturbed.
“Hey, Terry,” a female voice cooed over the phone’s speaker as Terrence merged onto a roadway. “It’s Asia. I’ve texted you three times today, baby! Where are you? I was hoping we could meet up this weekend. Give me a call back when you get this. I miss your fine ass. Byeeeeee!”
Asia was a waitress at Cuban restaurant downtown. She had full lips, big thighs, and a beautiful smile, but lately she had been kind of clingy. Terrence wondered if he should call her back or cut her loose.
“Bonsoir, mon ami!” Terrence heard next, instantly making him smile. “Ça va?”
He knew that throaty purr from anywhere. It was Georgette, a blond Victoria’s Secret model based out of Montreal whom he had met back during his modeling days. He loved Georgette because of her good taste in food and wine, her French accent, and because she understood the true definition of “no strings attached” sex. They had been hooking up off and on for the past six years.
“I will be in the city for a few weeks,” Georgette continued. “Let me know if you wish to meet, eh? I packed the lace teddy you like and the . . . you know . . . the stuff that you lick . . . qu’est-ce que c’est? Ah, who cares! I show you, Terry! Je te veux! Can’t want to see you, mon ami. Au revoir!” He heard kissing sounds and then the line clicked.
Oh, hell yeah, he thought. He was definitely calling her back. As soon as he got home he was going to check her schedule and make reservations at their favorite spot. After dinner, he’d take her back to his place and they would definitely try out “the stuff that you lick.”
“Terry!” a voice suddenly screeched from his iPhone, snatching him out of his sexual reverie and making him wince. “Terry, you know who this is. Don’t play like you don’t! I saw you with that chick yesterday. Yeah, she was all up on you. Is she your new girl now? How dare you dump me like I was yesterday’s trash, you son of a—”
Terrence reached over the arm rest and immediately pressed a button on the phone’s glass screen to delete the message.
Oh, Monique, he thought with exasperation.
Now that was a girl who definitely did not understand the definition of “no strings attached” sex. Monique Washington had given off alarm bells the moment he met her—she had been high-maintenance, constantly checked her reflection in mirrors, and wanted to talk endlessly about trips to Europe and trust funds. But he had pushed his misgivings about her aside. So what if she was a little shallow. He wasn’t a deep man himself. And besides, she was good in bed and when he had told her that he wasn’t ready for a real relationship, she seemed okay with his revelation. But he should have trusted his first instinct. She had turned out to be a real nut case. She went past clingy and straight to Fatal Attraction, showing up at his condo at all times of the day, threatening other women he was dating. When he had tried to shake Monique off, she started blowing up his phone, leaving pissed off and threatening messages.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. If he sensed that a woman wasn’t up to staying at a distance, then he wouldn’t bother to start anything with her. For now, he would just have to block Monique’s number.
“On to the next one,” Terrence murmured as he pulled to a stop at a stop sign.
“Hey! Heeeeeeey!”
Terrence frowned and turned to find two women smiling and waving at him from the sidewalk. Despite the temps being in the low thirties, both women were wearing short skirts and flimsy shawls. One had flowing dark hair. The other looked like she was wearing an auburn w
ig. They both seemed to be heading home from a hard night of partying.
“Hey, cutie!” the dark-haired one yelled, motioning wildly for him to lower his car window. Terrence obliged her.
“Evening, ladies,” he said in his smoothest Billy Dee Williams voice.
They ran toward his Porsche—or more like stumbled—holding on to each other for balance. “Is that your car, baby?” the auburn-haired one slurred, leaning on her friend.
Terrence inclined his head. “I’m driving it, aren’t I?”
“Where you headed?” the other asked eagerly, sticking out her chest.
“Home,” he answered.
The dark-haired one licked her red lips and smiled. “Well, it looks like we’re headed there, too.”
“Home with me?” He raised his brows.
The two women nodded in unison. “Yeah! Let us in!” the auburn-wigged one shouted before groping for the passenger door handle and missing it by several inches. She fell back onto the sidewalk instead and landed on her rear, making her wig shift askew. Her friend burst into laughter.
Terrence shook his head. “I’m afraid not, ladies. But get home safely, okay?”
Terrence waved at the comedic duo and floored the accelerator, unaware of the Mitsubishi Galant that was simultaneously plowing through the four-way-stop in the opposite direction. It hadn’t paused or stopped.
“Hey! Watch out!” one of the girls shouted.
Terrence turned in just enough time to see the bright headlights of the Mitsubishi coming toward him, but not in enough time to brake before the two cars collided.
Tires squealed. Metal crunched. Glass shattered in all directions. That’s when the women began to scream.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2015 by Shelly Ellis
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-6177-3399-4
ISBN-10: 1-61773-399-7
First Kensington Trade Paperback Printing: September 2015
eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-400-7
eISBN-10: 1-61773-400-4
First Kensington Electronic Edition: September 2015