Love on the Run

by Zuri Day

  She obliged, for not only the black two-piece but for a bright yellow iridescent, and even a pinstriped version of the same design, along with a daring one-piece for which Choice had borrowed from 1920s bathing suits for inspiration.

  “Which style do you think would best suit the relay team?” Choice asked, as Shayna stood in the last look, a deep burgundy two-piece with bright pink satiny stripes up the side.

  “Definitely the black or navy,” Michael interrupted. “I want the bright flashy colors to be Shayna’s signature, and that swimsuit-inspired design worn by her alone.”

  18

  Michael pushed away the plate containing a half-eaten steak as he leaned back from the table. Along with his ability to get to sleep last night, had Shayna taken his appetite as well? He hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind, that’s for sure. Last night, he’d tossed and turned as visions of the one-woman fashion show danced in his head: her coy smile, graceful neck, perky boobs, taut abs, svelte hips . . . and that ass. Lord have mercy, that ass!

  The waitress came over to refill his tea. “Mr. Morgan, would you like to see the dessert menu?”

  “No, just the check, please.” There was only one kind of dessert on Michael’s mind and the restaurant couldn’t deliver it. He reached for his wallet as the phone rang. “Yes?”

  “Hey, boss. I’ve got Erin Bridges on the line. She wants to confirm your attendance at tonight’s benefit, as well as the RSVP for two persons.”

  “Dang, I’d forgotten all about that.” Since Shayna had become his client, Michael seemed to be forgetting about a lot of things. Not like him. Not good. Not to mention the women on his electronic address book that up until a month ago he’d sexed on the regular. But this event was important. Proceeds from it would benefit some of the inner city sports programs. And his date was the marketing director for XMVP, the newest player in athlete shoes and sportswear giving Nike, Jordan, and other classic companies a run for their money. He planned to use the evening to pitch Shayna as the next spokesperson for the company and model for their running shoes. “Yes, tell Erin I’ll be there, along with a guest.”

  Later that evening, Michael arrived at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, squiring an extremely attractive woman on his arm. Dina DeVore was a known force to be reckoned with in the world of retail, with clout that went far beyond Fifth Avenue and Fashion Week. Like Erin Bridges, Dina DeVore came from a wealthy, influential family. She was a strong, powerful woman who knew what—or in this case more specifically who—she wanted. They were less than an hour into the evening when Michael got the memo. Figuring he’d use this obvious interest to his advantage, he steered their conversation into the reason for their meeting.

  “As you know,” Michael said to Dina after they’d settled into dinner, “Shayna Washington made quite a name for herself at the London Olympics. I represent her now, and think she’d be a great addition for the XMVP brand.”

  “I don’t know, Michael,” Dina said, flirtatiously twirling a fiery red lock around her finger. “We’re interested in showcasing new faces and the track world is definitely a place to look. But our research has shown a larger popularity among male athletes. Currently, we’re considering Usain Bolt, of course, along with Tyson Gay, Richard Thompson, and others.”

  “Great choices,” Michael quickly agreed. “But what if I told you that a couple Hollywood execs are eyeing her for a breakout role in an upcoming movie, and what if I said that in Tinseltown one of them is the number-two man? In less than two years, Shayna Washington will be a household name. And when she takes all the gold at the next Olympics, what if she’s locked into a multiyear lucrative contract and your company appears genius?”

  “I’d say that you’re living up to your reputation.” Dina placed a suggestive hand on Michael’s thigh.

  “Darling,” he drawled, deftly moving her hand by lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “You have no idea.” Then he tried to summon up the Morgan Mack, the kind he would use to seal the deal. Michael wasn’t for sale, but in business deals he’d often given off the suggestion that he could be rented. That possibility alone often helped seal the deal, before the associate learned that he never mixed business with pleasure. But tonight, beyond the perfunctory kiss on the cheek upon greeting and this kiss on the hand before it moved to places off-limits, Michael couldn’t seem to drum up a flirt for the life of him. With a sigh, he thought about long, toned legs, a tight, high booty, and a coy smile. Shayna. And he knew the reason.

  Man, you’re not going to be able to get that woman out of your system until you take her and do what comes naturally. And just like that, it was decided. He would make sure she understood the parameters, could handle a casual fling, and then he’d scratch the itch that had been bothering him worse than a poison ivy rash ever since she’d graced his home. Michael would break his own rule. He’d sleep with America’s next sports sensation, Shayna Washington. That was the bottom line.

  19

  “I wouldn’t sleep with him if we were the last two people on earth, it was subzero, and he was my only source of warmth.” Shayna paced the room as she presented a convincing argument to her audience, the girls. The roommates who were acting crazy, and daring her to seduce her manager. Why? Because she’d finally let them in on her crazy attraction and increasingly frequent fantasies. She admitted to them that for the last week she simply hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. “He’s too arrogant, too used to having everybody run when he snaps his fingers. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.”

  “Forget about him,” Talisha argued. “Sounds like you need to give yourself some.”

  “You’ve admitted that you like him,” Brittney added, “and that you’re feeling rhythm between the two of you. He’s also single, gorgeous, and powerful. What more reason do you need?”

  “I don’t want to be like all the other women he’s met. I’m sure most throw themselves at him.”

  “Then don’t throw yourself,” Talisha calmly replied. “Walk over to his ass all ladylike and request an appointment with his penis. I’d do him in a New York minute, faster than Trell Kimmons could run the one hundred.”

  “That would be some quick nooky,” Shayna countered, “since brother man Trell is keeping it one hundred in less than ten ticks.”

  “I doubt anything about a romp with Michael Morgan would be quick. . . . ” Brittney’s dreamy expression made Shayna get up and deliver a playful punch to her friend’s shoulder. “What?” Brittney continued in mock chagrin. “He looks like one of those long and strong kind of brothers. . . .I’m just saying.”

  Talisha leaned against the bar stool. “Shayna, you keep saying that you need to get over Jarrell, that you are over him, right?”

  “I am over him!” Two pairs of eyes showing skepticism held her gaze. “I’ve forgiven him, but I haven’t forgotten him,” Shayna admitted. “I’ve known Jarrell over my whole life, dated him for almost ten years. We were best friends forever, and I’d be lying to say that words he’s pounded into me over the years aren’t still playing in my head—that no one would love me like him, treat me better than him. Just before we broke up, he reminded me of the promise I made him when we graduated high school.”

  “You were just a kid,” Brittney insisted. “We all make promises when we’re in puppy love. But as a woman, you should know that you have the prerogative to change your mind.”

  “I know, and I agree that I’m tripping, y’all. I’m messed up! Still trying to please a mother who isn’t looking out for my best interests, still thinking about a man who scratched up my face. We’ve only been broken up since June. That’s hardly time to get over what he and I had.”

  “Considering that his controlling, possessive, insecure ass cracked your ribs and bruised your face up, I’d say it was more than enough time.”

  “Not to mention that he seems to have moved on.” Belatedly, Talisha realized that she may have just delivered a little TMI. “At least that’s the word on the street. That he’s
dating some chick from his job.”

  “I don’t care,” Shayna said, in a voice that suggested she cared very much. “I know who she is and also know that he’s been sleeping with her for months, from way before we broke up.” Which pissed her off. That she knew, that he knew she knew, that he was trying to get back with her while still sleeping with one of the women who helped break them up! How can I still have feelings for an abuser? And why can’t I seem to get past this relationship and move on? But Shayna knew the answer to that. Her mother, Beverly. As long as she was married to Larsen, Jarrell would be in Shayna’s life, as a brother-in-law at least, even if one only recognized from a distance. The situation was jacked up, but it was what it was. “Maybe y’all are right,” Shayna said with a sigh, walking over to the couch and crushing a throw pillow against her chest as she sat down. “Maybe I should have Michael Morgan sex me real good, pump Jarrell Powell, and this crazy hold he and Mom have on me, right out of a sistah’s system.”

  Brittney jumped off the bar chair and slapped Shayna a high five. “Check out that Master P, girlfriend,” she said with unabashed relish. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  Shayna laughed at Brittney’s use of their code word for penis. “Okay,” Talisha said, her natural planning skills bubbling to the surface. “Since we’ve decided that you’re going to do the damn thing, let’s make some plans. Where and how are you going to seduce him?”

  “Geez, Tee, I don’t know! It was only five seconds ago that I decided that I would.”

  “Well, a woman has to know these things.”

  “And like Brittney says, a woman has a right to change her mind. Which I think I’m doing right now.”

  “Why?” Talisha demanded.

  “Because I don’t want to be like every other woman he’s met and been able to get in his bed. I think my not giving in to him is what will make me different.”

  Talisha gave Brittney a surreptitious wink. “Hmm, and you want to be different because . . . ?”

  “Because I’m his client, and I don’t want to cross that line. I told you guys that and now, instead of helping me be strong and stand my ground, you’re trying to turn me into a . . . a . . . a floozy!”

  “Ha! That’s Big Mama talking right there,” Brittney said, having spent enough time at Shayna’s grandmother’s house to know when the dear woman had gotten in her friend’s head. “Big Mama wouldn’t be mad at your trying to be happy,” she continued in a softer tone. “That’s all Tee and I want for you, Shay. We want to see the smile that these days is so rarely on your face. We want our girl back!”

  “So if she was going to seduce him,” Talisha continued as if Shayna hadn’t changed her mind, “where would it be?”

  “Why not his house, after a scrumptious meal created by the chef?” Brittney shrugged. “Sounds like the easiest, most logical choice.”

  “Not at all,” Talisha argued. “You never want to meet the man of your mission on his home turf. You want to choose someplace neutral and impersonal, where you can be in total control.”

  The room was silent as each woman pondered alternatives. Then Brittney spoke up. “Shay, didn’t you say that Michael was going to the Cape Cod Classic?”

  A squiggle went from Shayna’s core to cootchie as she answered. “Yes, he’s supposed to come and bring a potential sponsor, someone from XMVP Shoes and Sportswear.”

  “Hey,” Talisha sang, dancing around the room. “Michael’s going to the Cape Cod Classic and the brother’s going to get some Cape Cod cootchie!”

  Shayna deadpanned at Talisha. “Shut. Up.”

  “Cape Cod cootchie,” Brittney sang, joining in with Talisha and dancing across the living room floor. “Some Morgan booty and some Cape Cod cootchie.”

  “Y’all have no sense,” Shayna said with a frown. “I told you that I changed my mind. I’m not going to eff that man.” But she could only hold it for so long. Soon, she was laughing along with her roommates and later, thought about “Morgan booty” and “Cape Cod cootchie” well into the night.

  20

  “Hey, Mom.” Shayna raised her voice so that it could be heard through the speakerphone on the other side of the room. She’d been trying to pack for the past hour with what seemed like one interruption after another. This one, if the past was any indication of the future, was particularly one she could do without.

  “Shayna, I left you a message two days ago. Why haven’t I heard back from you?”

  “I’ve been really busy, Mom, getting ready for the meet this week.”

  “Well, if you’re too busy to call your mother back . . . you’re too busy.”

  Shayna swallowed the sarcastic comment that threatened to spill out of her mouth. She knew where it had come from. On occasions too numerous to mention, Shayna recalled Big Mama saying that very thing to Beverly, when she’d gone too long without contacting mother or daughter. How many times had Shayna’s mother been too busy for her daughter? How many times had Beverly Washington Powell put her own needs, desires, goals ahead of those of her child? Did Beverly care that Shayna had found it embarrassing that her mother was dating her boyfriend’s older brother? Being seven years older than Jarrell put Larsen just at a decade younger than her forty-three-year-old mother, but still! Had her mother once thought of how it felt for Shayna to find out from Jarrell and not Beverly that she and Larsen had married in Vegas? Did she ever think of the repercussions of a daughter feeling that her own mother was more of a competitor than a confidante? That the sexy good looks and vivacious personality of the mother had not only not been visited down on the daughter, but had made that daughter withdrawn and insecure, traits that she was still trying to shed in her midtwenties? No, Shayna didn’t think her self-centered mother, Beverly, had ever considered such truths. Just like Jarrell had never placed her considerations before his own. Jarrell was quite a piece of work and as far as Shayna was concerned, her mother and Larsen were quite the pieces too.

  “Shayna, what are you doing?”

  “I told you, Mom. I’m packing for the meet in Massachusetts. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning.”

  “So when were you going to call me back about Thanksgiving?”

  “Mom! We haven’t even gotten to Halloween yet. What’s the rush about the holidays?”

  “I just want to make sure you’re here, that’s all.”

  “I hear that, but why?”

  “Does a mother have to have a reason to want her daughter home for the holidays?”

  When that mother’s name is Beverly, then, yes, as a matter of fact. “As far as I know our schedule is clear that weekend, Mom, but it depends on Coach. He sometimes comes up with drills at the last minute and if that happens, then I’ll need to be here.”

  “Hold on a minute, Shayna. Someone wants to talk to you.”

  “Mom, wait!”

  But she’d already handed over the phone. “Hey, Shay.”

  Shayna didn’t try to stifle her sigh. “Jarrell, what?”

  “How’s my baby girl?”

  “I’m not your baby girl—”

  “You’ve got a brother on lockdown or what? Can’t get you to pick up the phone when I call directly.”

  “There’s a reason for that, Jay. I don’t want to talk to you. Damn! Sounding like a broken record is getting old!”

  “I know you need time to cool off from what happened. I understand that. But we’re going to get back on track, girl. By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, you’ll be ready to take me back.”

  Whoa, back the bump up. Did this man just say “Thanksgiving?” Has Mom invited Jarrell to the same dinner she’s inviting me to, knowing how I feel about him and how much I’m wanting, no, needing to move on from his grasp? Seriously? “Jarrell, tell Mom I’ll call her next week, after the meet. I’ve got to go.”

  Shayna finished packing, then went into the kitchen.

  Brittney was already there, making chicken salad. “Did I just hear the name Jarrell when I came out of my bedr
oom?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Shayna reached for a celery stick, leaned back on the counter, and munched it as she relayed the conversation with Beverly and Jarrell to Brittney. “I can’t believe she’s choosing Jay’s side over mine, when I’ve told her that all I want to do is move on!”

  Brittney stopped, looked her roommate straight in the eye. “Yes, Shayna, you can believe it. Your mother is a stone cold trip. I keep telling you that you don’t have to stop loving her, but that you might need to do so from a distance.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “I can understand it, though; you only have one mother and she’s it.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “So are you going to do it? Are you going to spend Thanksgiving in Vegas, playing one big happy family with the Powells?”

  “Right now, I just have one thing on my mind,” Shayna responded. “And that’s playing one big happy family with Michael Morgan in Cape Cod.”

  “So you’re going to do it! Ha! Now you’re talking, sistah,” Brittney said, reaching into the cabinet for another plate. “You want some, right?” Shayna nodded. “Did you pack that dress that I gave you?” Shayna nodded again. “And the eff-me pumps?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Shayna sarcastically replied. “Anything else, Mommy?”

  “Just hoping that you got the bikini wax that I suggested. A brother doesn’t need to take a dive at the Y and encounter grizzly fur!”

  “Britt, you are a fool!”

  Brittney winked, picking up her plate and bottle of water in the process. “I love you, too.”

  21

  The Lighthouse Sports Center, a state-of-the-art indoor sports facility constructed on a picturesque piece of land in Falmouth, Massachusetts, bordering the Cape Cod Canal, was an athlete’s dream. A multistory, multi-winged building often thousand square feet, the facility was now home to the state’s preeminent sports teams, including several baseball franchises, the volleyball league, flag football, and the hockey team, the Cape Cod Clubs. The California Angels track team, including Shayna, had taken full advantage of their top-of-the-line exercise facility, and after a full body massage, she was feeling a little less antsy about what would take place in about twenty-five hours.