All This Time

by Marie Wathen

  Pulling my hair into a low ponytail, I adjust my off the shoulder, pale yellow top with the silver camisole under it and expose the bruise I have from Lourdes slamming me against the wall. I use much less make up, still dark and dramatic, but the foundation is a mineral powder, allowing the richness of my purple cheek to glow through. I slip on a pair of worn dark brown Uggs over my dark blue skinny jeans.

  Russ knocks on the bedroom door. “Ready?”

  With that we are out the door for our first night working at the drug house.

  A steady stream of customers flow through the door all evening, people from every walk of life; different colors, ages and backgrounds stop in for their weekend party favors. With a little bit of eye flirting, several men hit on me, but I shoot them all down, telling them I belong to Rad.

  One high school guy whispers into my ear, offering to take me off of the old guy’s hands if I ever decide that I want to try someone my own age. The kid is maybe eighteen, just about my twin brothers’ age. I seriously can’t suppress the shudder that rolls down my spine and he notices. Smiling proudly he adds that he would rock my world. Russ, who is watching the entire exchange, growls as he approaches, draws me into his arms and kisses the hell out of me right in front of the guy. The kid’s apology follows as he bolts out the front door.

  Lurching out of his grasp, I turn around and watch the kid sprint toward his car. I laugh and Russ peaks over my shoulder, seeing the car dash out of the driveway.

  “That kid will dream naughty thoughts about you tonight.” Russ chuckles.

  “Squad car,” I say, pointing out the window at the slow moving marked unit passing in front of the house.

  I spot an elderly lady ambling out her front door in the house across from us. She waves at the officer and takes a seat in an old rocking chair. She probably called the police department to report suspicious activity from all the cars stopping by here continuously. God bless the neighborhood watch. Unfortunately for sweet little nosy-pants, she is just wasting her time calling it in. This patrolman won’t make a move on us.

  For reasons other than possibly knowing that this house is under task surveillance, his department just doesn’t have the man power to shut down every nefarious operation going on in this area. These short-lived, ghetto drive-thru houses are like playing whack-a-mole, they pop up overnight all over the city and disappear just as quickly. Sometimes the police department can hit them, but soon enough they relocate and come back with a vengeance.

  The average citizen would probably ask what good we’re doing if we are inside promoting drugs. It doesn’t make sense to do the very thing we are trying to stop, but infiltrating the upper management division of drug lords means temporarily forfeiting morality, becoming something we despise. Unfortunately, where we’re at in this game, for the time being, is the ground-level grunt work and that means selling. If the guys and Lourdes don’t find me as a threat, Russ will be brought in on a transporting level soon, another step closer to the inner circle. I pray this job doesn’t take as long as Russ fears it will.

  Nearing midnight the guys arrive from their college party. They are high as a kite and laughing their asses off when they bound through the front door. Decks strolls over, glancing at the bruise on my cheek he lifts a hand and tenderly slides the back of his cool knuckles over it. “You okay Angel?” he asks staring into my eyes like he might possibly give a damn.

  Nodding weakly, I softly affirm, “Yeah, thanks.” I hold his magnetic stare a moment longer and he graces me with a sexy smile.

  Murph strides over, followed by a couple of new faces and they also check out my partially covered injury. Wincing playfully, Murph mumbles softly, “Ah, it doesn’t look too bad.”

  Russ charges over and pulls me away from Decks, who keeps his gaze locked on me. “So how was the party?” Russ asks, a bit of jealousy flowing with his question.

  Sitting in a wingback chair, Decks gloats. “We sold out.” Minder, one of the new guys, takes a seat on the old, flower patterned sofa, lights up a fat-ass joint and takes a long drag from it before passing it to Decks. Decks puffs a few times and then says to Russ, “Those greedy little bastards even pre-ordered shit for tomorrow night’s social gathering.”

  “Sweet,” Russ declares, licking his lips as Decks shoves the tight rolled blazing marijuana toward Murph who’s sitting next to him. Murph shakes his head, passing on his turn so Decks thrusts it at me. I glance up at Russ for permission and he nods. I pretend to pull in the illegal substance softly twice before faking a long drag and then mimic choking immediately. I hate the smell of marijuana and getting high, but appearances are everything in this world. The next time they offer me some I’ll just throw out the old standby cover and tell them I’m on color code. Works every time.

  “Damn. Girl likes her reefer,” Decks croons, a devilish grin forms on his dark red lips.

  Forcing my words out, I fake a couple more coughs and giggle, “Good shit.” All the guys laugh, and Russ finishes off the first pass around handing it back to Minder.

  “How was business here?” Minder asks, rolling a second joint up and I zero in on his masterful skills. It’s mesmerizing watching how he crinkles the paper into a V shape, sprinkles a little of the dried cannabis into it and then slowly slides the tip of the paper across his tongue.

  Dammit, I’m fucked up from a contact buzz.

  Minder glances up at me, catching me staring he winks and I smile shyly. Realizing that I am drooling, I wipe my thumb on the corner of my mouth and now his eyes zero in on my lips. Thankfully the other guys draw him back into their conversation, and I sneak off toward the bathroom.

  Upon reaching the doorway I hear a soft murmur coming from the room beyond the bathroom. Momma has been asleep for several hours, and it sounds like she’s having a bad dream. I pop into the grimy bathroom and out just as quickly after splashing water on my face. Entering the hallway I hear the sound again, louder this time. I knock on her door, but there’s no response. Opening the door, I see Momma sleeping soundly in the bed, but I pause to see if she is the source of the noise.

  “Martin?” Momma whimpers.

  I sit on the edge of the bed beside her which creaks under my weight. I softly slide my hand over her cold arm and she shifts around slowly. Smiling up at me with glistening eyes, she grips my hand weakly with frozen fingers.

  “Just a bad dream Sugar. I’m alright now. Go join your friends.” She rolls away, pulling the thin cover over her shoulder before adding, “Good night dear.”

  My heart crushes for the sweet, old lady who is being used by her friends as a cover for their illegal operations, but she is completely unaware that her fleabag house will soon be taken from her because of them. Yes, in this business even the innocent people lose big.

  Chapter Six

  May

  “Dance with me,” Decks whispers into my ear, ordering me rather than asking, “I am the birthday boy after all.”

  Standing over me, he leans back to look me in the eye teasingly. His dimples pierce deep into his cheeks with his playful smile while his dark brown eyes smolder just a little darker with lust. Knowing that he won’t give up, I take his offered hand and allow him to guide me out on the dance floor.

  Tonight marks five months since I joined Russ in this assignment we jokingly refer to as “Busting Kennedy’s”. Yes, it is a completely lame ass name, but we struggled with it for over a week, and as clever as we are we still couldn’t come up with a better title. It is the Kennedy name (no, not those Kennedy’s), and their money, backing most of the suspicious activity, and controlling all of these players. Plus, busting criminals is our game. Okay, yes again I admit, it is weak.

  “Happy birthday, Decks,” I say, drawing my hand up to his shoulder as he pulls my body against his for the slow Coltrane song that just began playing on the old jukebox.

  The club in North Atlanta, Holidays, named after the famous jazz singer, who the owner claims he’s related to, is the place to go when yo
u want to be serenaded by sultry jazz and blues tunes. They are the only selections available in the neon, coin-operated record player too.

  He slides his warm hand down my back and slips it under the hem of my shirt. His hot fingers begin a slow circling above the waistband of my skirt. His head drops down so that his mouth hits just above the top of my ear. His breathing is heavy and his breath is saturated with the woodsy scent of whiskey.

  “Do you mean that Angel?” he asks, his voice husky with desire.

  Confused by his question, I pull away slightly, looking into his eyes for understanding before nodding. “Sure.”

  “Goddamn Angel,” he growls low inciting shivers down my spine. He draws me tighter against his chest again and the vibrations hum through my thin top, straight through to my breast. “If you weren’t Rad’s ol’ lady I would fucking take you up on that offer and it would be a very happy day.” What the hell did he think I offered him?

  Decks and I have a really flirty and hot relationship going. He flirts, gets hot and then I get going, meaning I usually just walk away from him. Tonight I’ll let him slide since so far he hasn’t done anything beyond the previously mentioned, although we have never danced together before and tonight his flirting combined with our proximity is apparently affecting him. I can feel his hardness pressing against my stomach.

  “But I am Rad’s,” I remind him looking up at his hooded eyes with a sweet smile plastered on my face. “So let’s keep this thing between us cool. Okay?”

  “Yeah,” is all Decks can say gloomily, swaying our bodies through the last notes in the seductive song. His wayward hands are beginning to piss me off.

  Decks is a beautiful man and if he cut out the crudeness he wouldn’t be a bad catch. Like so many others in this lifestyle, he has thrown his life into the shitter when choosing to distribute illegal narcotics instead of working a normal job. I can’t imagine any self-respecting woman falling for someone like him.

  Walking back to our table, I hear the small jazz band warming up for their set. I take my seat facing away from the stage beside Russ and wind my hand around his arm, claiming my territory for all the watching eyes. This is our first display in public so I plan on making it a good show. I just hope that Decks is the only guy I give a stiffy tonight. Taking up the large front corner booth, our group consists of Wise, his wife Natalie, Decks, Russ, me, two new guys and their dates.

  “Damn Decks, don’t tell me you’re alone on your birthday brother?” Wise asks jokingly.

  Dark, haunting eyes narrow on me forcing me to feel his desire and I can’t help noticing how attractive Decks is before he responds, “Haven’t made my birthday wish yet.”

  Oh the man is good, but he isn’t for me. Decks is way too much of a player, not that there’s anything wrong with playing around. I’ve had my share of one-night stands and actually prefer them over relationships. They are a whole lot less messy than dating and all the bullshit pleasantries that go along with working out your differences for the sake of…whatever. I shiver. Just the thought of two people in a committed relationship makes my body convulse with repulsion. That’s one thing I would never have to worry about with commitment-phobic guys like Decks, settling down isn’t an issue. However, when it comes to Decks specifically, I will pass on one-nighters for a year before I let him seduce me into his bed.

  “Is your sister stopping by for the festivities?” Natalie asks Decks.

  “She comes by for the set every weekend.” Shrugging, Decks plucks a whiskey off a serving tray from the waitress as she approaches with a fresh round of shots. “Can’t see why tonight would be any different.” Everybody takes their glasses, clinks them and then cheers for the birthday boy.

  “Angel,” Natalie catches my attention smiling between me and Russ. After downing my shot, I turn her direction. “How long have you and Rad been dating?”

  “Only a few months,” I tell her, bumping my shoulder against Russ’. “Right hon?”

  Bobbing his head, Russ agrees, “And each day is equal to ten years in heaven with my Angel.”

  Natalie, a woman well into her eighth year of marriage, swoons at his sugary sweet response, but it makes me want to throat punch him when he lays it on this thick. Instead, I bite down on my lip while forcing a smile and suppressing an exaggerated eye roll from hell. Natalie or Nat, as she has instructed me to call her, which I refuse because it just doesn’t suit her, is around twenty-seven and is a fucking bombshell beauty with her long straight blonde hair, high cheekbones and hazel eyes. The woman could give Mrs. America a run for her money in the beauty segment of their competition; talent and intelligence remains to be seen.

  The nosy, sweet housewife continues asking ridiculous couples questions over the next half-hour, only taking a break when the set ends and she shares, rather loudly, that she needs to pee. After turning down Natalie’s offer to join her, I catch a break from our acting jobs when Russ offers to be my potty-chaperon replacement.

  “I need to take a piss anyway.” Russ escorts her away after giving me an understanding wink.

  Feeling like the world is lifted off my shoulders, I relax leaning against the back of my seat and lazily turn my head toward the stage, noticing the instruments placed carefully on stands abandoned temporarily by their owners. Caught up in Natalie’s game of one million outlandish questions, I didn’t get a chance to observe the band while they played, but their seductive tunes quelled most of my natural fight or flight instincts, keeping me from telling her to go find another Barbie girl to play with.

  The rest of our little group disbursed sometime during the Natalie Inquisition, disappearing into the large crowd and dark corners of the smoky club. And I can’t blame them in the least. Truthfully, if I could’ve squeeze out passed Russ earlier, I damn sure would have, but he was deep into the tunes bellowing throughout the club so there was no escape.

  Sipping on my fourth tumbler of Kentucky whiskey, I see Decks pressing against a cute brunette, seated at the bar. He turns his head slightly, his eyes latch onto mine holding my stare deliberately. With his right hand, he pushes away a few flowing strands of her hair, tucking them securely behind her ear before leaning in and pressing his mouth against it. Remaining locked on me, Decks’ eyes heat fiercely as his lips brush against her sparkling earring. Either the contact of his mouth on her flesh speeds along his lust or he’s imaging that it’s my ear he is nibbling. The unsuspecting woman, stroking a hand up and over the hills of his wide bicep, nods her head and then picks up her small clutch. He winks at me while escorting her out the front door.

  Decks may not get his birthday wish, but it looks like he’s going to unwrap his present. I laugh silently and close my eyes, relaxing more when the blaring sounds of the jukebox is once again turned down allowing the live jazz music to saturate the darkened corners of this ultra-fab club.

  With each note of the saxophone my body begins a slow moving dance with the sexy vibrating hums, like each puff of wind across the reed is a lover’s caress along my flesh, teasing me to climax. The sound is hypnotic, and I am transported somewhere far away in my head. I stay like this, completely unaware of my surroundings, until Russ crashes heavily against me when he sits down again ruining my dreamlike state.

  “You look sleepy. Ready for me to take you home?” Russ asks, killing the last bit of the sexiness buzz I was tripping on.

  Sighing before answering him, I glance up at the man standing center stage, holding the golden instrument that was only moments ago my secret lover. He is a good looking man, in his late twenties, with dark hair and a body that I would love to use like a bottle of shampoo. I could spend an eternity lathering, rinsing and repeating with that finely chiseled physique. With each puff of breath, he squeezes his eyes tighter and my thighs begin mimicking them. His forehead glistens with the lightest sheen of sweat and I imagine placing my lips against it during a round of hot love making, sipping on the saltiness of him like I do with my favorite whiskey.

  What the fuck?
Bedeviled by his sexiness, I force my attention away from the stage and quickly glance around the table, hoping no one noticed my weird dazing over the sex-god front and center. Am I blushing? I never blush! The blistering heat I feel when I touch my hand to my cheek confirms it. Luckily for me, everyone is absorbed in the gorgeous saxophonist just as much and I squeeze by without embarrassing myself.

  Chapter Seven

  When the sensual song ends, the Holidays’ crowd whistles and applauds the solo performance, begging for an encore. He kindly declines them before hopping down from the stage. After several bar-trolls are peeled away from him by their dates and other friends, the sexy saxophone god tips back a tumbler of dark liquid offered from the bartender. While glancing between a few guys, he laughs and enjoys a celebration drink and smoke.

  I can’t pry my eyes away from him. Everything about this man is spectacular. Apparently I’m not the only one who thinks so because soon he becomes very popular and the group surrounding him begins eclipsing my view. Just before our inevitable separation, he twists his head my direction and searches the crowd until he finds me studying him. Catching my stare, he locks and holds it. His shimmering eyes slowly begin heating, taking my now combustible panties prisoner along with it. My breathing becomes labored as I imagine receiving that same look while he nestles between my thighs and against my core. Oh my god I need that.

  Tilting his head downward slightly, he looks at me from under hooded eyes and I feel like they are beckoning me toward him. My heart skips a beat in time. Dizzy from the lust stalking my body from just his eyes on me, I struggle taking in air. Suddenly his dark eyes shift to startle when someone near him shoves against his back. My focus instantly lowers to his lips as he speaks to the rude son of a bitch. His dark red lips, swollen from recently playing, needs only two words to describe them: fucking delicious. Damn. I can’t remember the last time I was this turned on. The satin material in my bra feels like sandpaper against my sensitive nipples, which are now tiny pebbles begging for his lips. Totally eclipsed by fans the sex-god disappears right in front of my eyes.