Forever. (This. Is. Not. Over. Book 3)

by Shannon Dianne

  “Circle my clit with your thumb while you do that.” She whispers. I do as I’m told. “Good job.”

  “Did D. West used to do this?”

  “He did.” We both let out a light laugh. “But he used to put his tongue where your thumb is.”

  “Oh shit, easy as pie.” I ease on top of her and slide my tongue between her breasts, over her stomach, in and out of her navel and over her lower lips until it rests on her clit. “Fuck D. West.” I mumble out as I circle her with my tongue and enter her with my fingers. We both laugh as she places her hands on my head.

  “Anyway, I was about to run down to Charleston and I told Laura and Dena-Jo as much. They both begged me not too, claiming that they had one more white guy that just may work out for me. Ya know, give me what I wanted.”

  “And that is?” I mumble out.

  “A good lay.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Laura says that you may fit the bill since she claims that Malcolm usually licks her dry. Dena-Jo says Nat makes her orgasm twice each evening when he’s in town.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Yeah, they think birds of a feather flock together.” She lifts my head so that I can look her in the eyes. I give her a wink, she gives me a smile. Her lashes are nearly covering those hazel eyes of hers, her signature red lipstick is all over my dick and that perfect hair of hers is all over her head. She smells like musk and oil. Sexy. Without even thinking, I quickly slide up the bed and lay beside her. Reaching over, I put a hand behind her head and bring her mouth to mine. She leans into me, drapes her leg over me and slides her hand over my ass before giving it a squeeze. “I’m an ass girl.” She whispers against my mouth. “And you have a nice one.”

  “I do ten to twelve squats per day.” I whisper back. She giggles against my mouth before I kiss her slow … my tongue against hers, my teeth tugging at her bottom lip, my mouth creeping along hers. Soft. I take another inhale of her before sliding my tongue back against her … gently … patiently … before catching myself. Within an instant, I inch back as if awakened from a nightmare and watch her open her eyes. What the hell am I doing?

  “Jacob? What’s wrong?”

  Jasmine

  (somethings.)

  “Well, you sound upset,” I hear Danielle say into the phone. “Your mother’s worried about you driving like this.”

  “Of course I’m upset, Red,” Malcolm says, cranking the heat up and rolling our windows down while we glide down Charles Street. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Malcolm angry before. I look at him and notice his five o’clock shadow, square jaw and flexing jaw muscles. Oh boy, I hope Danielle never crosses him. That’s one thing I don’t have to worry about with Marlon; he never gets angry. Bothered? Yes. But angry? Never. He’s quite composed—almost royal—in his disposition. He and I are a lot alike in that way. His dignified temperament is one of the things I love about him. Battles and quarrels are fought by commoners, not kings. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to live with someone who seemed as antagonistic as Malcolm just proved himself to be. It’s a little off-putting. He didn’t have to go and threaten Laura’s husband, he could have just done what Marlon would have done and ignored him. Plain and simple. Some people just aren’t worth your energy, especially common people. And let’s just face it, Lorenzo Gallo may be a senator but his family is new money. Common indeed.

  “Just let it slide; you know how she is,” Danielle says through the phone. “And Lorenzo was just trying to help her out. That’s what spouses do; they do anything to help the other out. He knows Laura has problems.”

  “No excuse.” Malcolm turns the corner, his face tight. “She’s on medication, she’s stable.”

  “There’s something wrong with her, baby.”

  “Red, there’s something wrong with everybody. Everyone has their something. So what does that mean? We’re supposed to let each other run around and flip off at the fucking mouth and do stupid shit just because of it? No. That’s not how life works. If you have problems, which if you’re human then you will, you have a responsibility to do everything you can to keep yourself together. And if you think your problems are bigger than you, too much for you to handle, then someone needs to step in and take your ass out of the picture.”

  “Oh Malcolm … what in the world are you talking about? Taking people out of pictures … I think you’re going overboard here.”

  “Am I, Red?”

  “You’re being really tough on Laura right now.”

  Is she saying this about the woman who sent that naked picture of me to a journalist at The Globe? Is Danielle serious? Laura has problems!

  “She’s disrespectful,” Malcolm says.

  “I understand. But I don’t think you should do anything while you’re upset.” Wow … well this exchange is interesting, to say the least. Wonder what got into Danielle? Usually she’s the one who’s full of redemptive fire. Malcolm takes a deep inhale and then a large exhale. “Better?” she says in a soothing voice.

  “Yeah,” he says quietly as he pulls up to a red stop light. “Where’s Nicky?”

  “Right here, gargling with Listerine.” I watch Malcolm close his eyes, smile and let out a light laugh. “Put him on the phone.”

  “Here, it’s Malcolm,” Danielle says.

  “Hey, Pop,” Nicky says.

  “Why are you still up?” Malcolm asks.

  “Opening night jitters.”

  “You’ll be fine, trust me.”

  “Well, now I’m worried about the bridge.”

  “When I get home, we’ll work on the bridge. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I won’t let you get up there and not nail your notes.”

  “Thanks. And don’t forget my tea. Tazo.”

  “I’m on my way to get it now. See you when I get there.”

  “Okay.”

  “Yeah,” I hear Danielle say as she gets back on the phone. “I was wondering, not that I care, but, do you think you can convince Jasmine to come tomorrow?”

  “I can try,” Malcolm says as he turns and looks at me. I look at him and then shrug before I roll my eyes and stare out of the windshield.

  “It’s just that I feel that she and I are our own Lola and Laura. Ya know?”

  “I get it.”

  “Of course Jasmine would be Laura.”

  “Of course she is, baby,” I snap my head around to look at Malcolm. This is why I hate your wife. He smiles but doesn’t look at me.

  “But … maybe she and I can just move on, or at least try to.”

  “Either you’re going to move or not, Red. No such thing as trying to. All that means is that you’re still standing still.”

  “Then we’ll move. At least, I will. I’ll move on and see if she will too.”

  “I’ll try to get her to come to the play.”

  “Alright … see you when you get home.”

  “Alright, baby.”

  “Love you,” she says in a near whisper.

  “I love you too,” he replies back in kind.

  He ends the call and slides the phone in his pocket.

  And for the rest of the ride back to the Ritz Carlton we don’t say a word.

  Jacob

  (oy.)

  “Jacob,” I hear my father, Mayor Preston Blair of the City of Cambridge, say as he walks into kitchen of the Four Seasons. Do yourself a favor and please make sure you address him by his official title when you speak of him. Trust me, you don’t want my mother to hear otherwise. “Doesn’t look good for the groom to be away from the bride at their wedding,” he whispers as he pulls out a barstool at the steel countertop. Sure there are waiters and waitresses buzzing around, chefs hollering about shrimps and temperature checks but this is the Four Seasons. If there’s one thing you can count on it’s discretion. Me sitting here at the countertop amid coq au vin, duck confit and pork loin isn’t strange at all. In fact, one of the chefs casually pushed a shot of bourbon and a saucer of roasted duck in front
of me because apparently they go well together. Everyone else is pretending they don’t even notice me in the room. I have yet to meet anyone’s eyes. I never thought I’d be happy about that, particularly on my wedding day. But trust me, I am.

  “Just give me a second,” I say to my father as I take a sip of bourbon.

  “You look shitty,” he says as he sits down on the barstool and faces me.

  “And better yet, I feel shitty.” I raise my glass of bourbon to him and then take a sip.

  “You know, son, you could be married to much worse than Winnie Yates,” he says as a glass of bourbon and a saucer of roasted duck get pushed in front of him. “Trust me.” He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes still on me.

  “I saw Jasmine today.” My father is the only person besides Malcolm, Cadence and Nat that I’ve told about Jasmine. Two months ago, I was home doing obligatory wedding shit with my mother. I had just gotten out of the shower and was getting dressed in my room when my father walked in and noticed a year-old back tattoo of mine: a ‘J’ with a royal crown hanging off of the top. “Nice. King Jacob?” he asked as he inspected it. “Queen Jasmine,” I answered back. Fuck it. I wanted out of this engagement with Winnie. “Interesting,” my father said as he took a seat on my bed, “let’s start at the beginning, shall we?” Thus began the conversation of who the hell Jasmine was.

  “And? Did you give her the pearls?” my father asks.

  “I did.” A couple of days ago, I took Cadence with me to pick and approve them.

  “And she took them, I suppose?”

  “She did.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Not a word.”

  “Where were you when you gave them to her?”

  “Her condo.”

  “Did anyone see you go up there?”

  “I brought Mac.”

  Dad nods and takes another sip of his drink. “You love her,” he says, placing the glass back on the countertop.

  “I do.”

  He pats me on the arm. “You know, I wish you could’ve been with her. Some men marry for power, some for love. I married for both. I won’t lie to you. Your mother was the package deal for me. Still is. I wanted her and I needed her. Still do.” He smiles and then gives me a light slap on the face.

  “Lucky you.” I take a sip of bourbon.

  “I gave you a way out, Jake.” He leans in and whispers to me. “You didn’t want to take it. I said I’d call it off.”

  “I need her.” I take another sip of bourbon.

  “Yeah you do.” He smiles. “If you don’t want me helping you after you get that law degree.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then Winnie’s the way to go.” He takes another sip of his drink. “She loves you.”

  “I know.” I take another sip of mine.

  “She’ll be loyal.”

  “I know.”

  We sit in the silence as we both sip our drinks, ignoring the sizzling sounds of kitchen grills and waiters rushing from one side of the kitchen to the next with champagne trays held high. God. Why did I marry her? Why did I do it? I close my eyes and run a hand over my face. Why did I do this?

  “I’ll stop the paperwork,” I hear my father say. I open my eyes and see that he’s taking a bite out of his roasted duck.

  “What?”

  “The wedding was just a ceremony; it meant nothing.” He shrugs and waves the nuptials off. “What counted was that sheet of paper Father Frankfurt made you and Winnie sign over dinner. He’ll take that and mail it to the state department in the morning. Without filing that paper, you and Winnie aren’t legally married. So I’ll get the paper from him. No big deal. I’ll get the paper, you’ll go back to law school, you’ll graduate, you’ll start your firm, you’ll do some shady shit to make it big, Nat will go with his father and brother because, as we know, when it comes to business, the Marchs are too good a people to fuck around with the shady ass Blairs, and you’ll marry Jasmine. It’ll be you, Cadence and Malcolm in business together. Cadence already has Lola and Malcolm will marry Laura. Hopefully he’ll be able to put that father of hers under his thumb because Cadence sure can’t. And before you know it Carlo Rossi will be your star client. Eventually you’ll get more.”

  “And while Malcolm wines and dines Rossi, what the hell will I be doing?”

  “Watching him do it,” my father smiles. “Malcolm has Laura, so he’ll get her connections. You have Jasmine, you’ll just get her.”

  “What is this, reverse psychology?”

  “No, it’s seeing where your heart lies.” He takes a sip of his bourbon. “Because this isn’t about loving Winnie or Jasmine. This is about power. That’s what you love.” He takes another bite of roasted duck. “So just give me the word. Do you want me to get the paperwork from Father Frankfurt?”

  “Well there you two are!” I hear my mother, Pamela, say before she walks over to my father and me, her tan ball gown floating behind her, her hair in one of those Dena buns, her gold earrings looking like they weigh a ton. “Winnie’s looking for you, Jacob. Isn’t she just beautiful tonight in that backless wedding gown that scoops all the way down to the top of her tailbone? And don’t you think it’s marvelous how she has that back tattoo of your name showing? And she’s so sweet! Always smiling, always doing some dance she calls ‘The Wop’. Oh, and to put the icing on the cake, I just caught her taking a picture while throwing up the ‘black power’ sign with one of her sorority sisters. By the way, I’m so glad Winnie demanded a DJ along with the band. And I’m even gladder that he’s playing the latest rap music! How wonderful!”

  “Cut it out, Pamela,” My father says as he tries to suppress a smile. She exhales loudly.

  “I just keep telling myself that the Yates are an old family with long ties.” She looks between my father and me. “What’s going on in here? A family meeting that your sisters and I aren’t privy too? I’ll deal with you two later. I just really need to vent about Angie right now.”

  “Pammy, Angie’s been doing her best to stay a hundred yards away from you,” my father says as he stands. “I know this because I’ve been seeing her counting. Now leave her alone.”

  “I don’t for the life of me understand why Wynston married that woman. Do you think they’re going to work out?”

  “Pammy, they’ve been married for twenty-four years, have two sons and currently live in London where Wynston is the Ambassador of the United Kingdom.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “Mom, leave Aunt Angie alone,” I say as I take a sip of my bourbon. The hatred will never end with those two. Supposedly their arch rivalry started over a corned beef recipe they both claim to have created.

  “I just hope that she doesn’t think she looks amazing tonight because she doesn’t. Yes, I know that gown is Chanel but it’s obvious that she needed a Chanel because let’s be honest here, she’s horrible looking. Yes, she cleans up well but she is naturally one of the ugliest women—dead or alive. How she bore those beautiful boys of hers is beyond me. That Cadence is such a charmer, he waltzed me around just now quoting Shakespeare. Jacob, why can’t you be more like Cadence? And that Malcolm is such the gentleman. Mom walked in front of him with her cleavage hanging out—can you believe my mother is seventy-four and still has her cleavage out?—and Malcolm gave her a wink. I smiled at Malcolm; that was so sweet of him. I told him so when Mom sashayed away. And do you want to know what he said to me? ‘Come on, Aunt Pammy, I’m never too good to make a pass at somebody’s mother. That’s just how I was raised’. Jacob, why can’t you be more like Malcolm? Anyway, this all goes back to my corned beef recipe because—”

  “Pammy, come on,” my father says as he links my mother’s arm in his. “Let’s give Jacob a minute before he has to return back to his wife.”

  “Oy,” she says as she rests a hand on the side of my face. “His wife … well just a minute, Jacob. We don’t want to incite rumors.” My mother smiles up at my father who looks her over and th
en raises an eyebrow. She giggles as he leads her away.

  “Jake,” he says over his shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “Just give me the word.”

  Jasmine

  (that. night.)

  Malcolm dropped me off at the door of my hotel room and said he hoped he’d see me tomorrow. But now that he’s gone I feel lonely. So many memories in one night are making me nostalgic for the past. And not just the past that involved Jacob, but all of it.

  There’s a wedding reception going on here at the Ritz. The Ritz is where Marlon and I married and had our reception. Every member of The Board came, as well as a boatload of fraternity brothers, sorority sisters, out of town family, Philadelphia society, Boston family, college friends … just everybody. Philly and Boston unite! We were crossing state lines and merging two empires. God, that was such a fun night. I look into the reception hall at another couple’s wedding and think back to my own wedding day.

  Among other things, I remember that Marlon and Matt were stepping with their frat brothers on the dance floor to “Atomic Dog”, sweat pouring from their faces. Their bodies flowing to the beat, as everyone crowded around them clapping and cheering them on. By this time Marlon’s bow tie was undone, his tuxedo jacket was off and the top button of his shirt was open. I was standing between Rena and Danielle, clapping, shouting out Marlon’s line name, which is Spooner, as in ‘silver-spooner’. Rena was shouting out Matt’s line name, which is Roxy-boy, as in ‘Roxbury’. Jon, better known by his line name of Seven Footer because of his height, was noticeably missing. Danielle was smiling but there was something wrong with her, I could tell. It was no secret that she starting to give Jon a lot of grief for being a hardworking black man. She didn’t like that at all.

  Earlier that evening Jon had left and was yet to be seen again. But that was normal; Jon wasn’t a stepper. You’d never see him standing in a line stomping to an organized dance routine. “Where’s Jon?” I asked Danielle after I couldn’t take it anymore. Nosiness was getting the best of me. “Have you two talked?”

  “He’s in his hotel room with Marla,” she said with a smile that had hurt written all over it.