by Kenya Wright
“Yeah.” I nodded with him.
Karan studied the dance floor like a scientist analyzed a sample under a microscope. Tonight, there would be no hope for any woman that caught his attention.
The pink-haired bartender put our shots in front of us. “Have fun, guys.”
“We’ll try.” I swallowed the fiery sensation of rum down my throat.
Karan grabbed his and finished in seconds. “I’ll be right back. I think I see my lucky lady over there.”
He headed off before I could throw out a smart remark.
“The women are looking insane tonight.” Tyson finished his shot and signaled for another. “I’m trying to take as many as I can home with me. I need the relief. These bills are fucking killing me, man.”
Tyson didn’t have the family money like Karan and me. His grandmother had raised him. His father was in jail and he never talked about his mother. Regardless, I had met his grandmother and considered her family.
I looked at him. “Are you going to ask Nana for money?”
He averted his gaze from me. “I might. I don’t want to stress her out. She’s already given me so much already. I have no idea where she gets it from, but she says she’s not hurting.”
I helped him when I could without making it a strain in our friendship. He never wanted to take money from me. He said he thought it would make him less than a man, so I secretly sent his grandmother money and she would give it to him.
“How much do you need?” I asked, trying to decide how big of a check I would write to Nana.
“So much, I don’t even want to talk about it.”
“I have your back anytime you need it.”
“Of course, but I’ll keep you as that emergency bar, man.”
“Okay.” I left it alone, knowing that it would be fine.
Tyson was a good guy, but I didn’t think other people got it. Sometimes he rubbed people the wrong way. We were both over six feet with muscles, but when we walked in the room, people reacted to us differently. Many women smiled my way, but when they glanced at Tyson, they grabbed their purses. Sometimes, they even stirred in their seats unsure if he was dangerous or not.
Race wasn’t something we discussed, but I knew he battled it each day. Every time I let Tyson drive my Bugatti, he was stopped by the cops and I had to show up to the scene and explain that he hadn’t stolen it.
“Damn, look at her.” Tyson gestured to the club’s front entrance.
Two women walked in. I didn’t know which one Tyson was referring to, but I’d found the one I wanted to take home that night.
That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.
It had to be her. I smiled at what had caught my eye. It was her shirt. Sure, there was no mistaken that she was beautiful. Lush, brown skin. High cheek bones. Curves for days. She wore her hair in a styled cut that gave her bangs, while the sides curled under her chin. Immediately, I wanted to mess up those strands.
But again, none of that sparked my interest.
She’s a fan.
It was the geeky Kingmaker shirt, form-fitting jeans, and heels. Classic tomboy sexy. I could’ve fucked her right there in the club. She had a mouth that was built for naughty, dirty things. My cock jerked in anticipation.
Every other woman in the club had on tight dresses and pants, super high heels or some torturous-looking sandals. She wore jeans and sneakers. And that shirt, it had me salivating.
Mulligan—the Kingmaker—decorated her shirt. He’d been my favorite character to date. Whenever a new book in the Kingmaker series came out, I stood outside the bookstore before it opened and waited. And even crazier, others did too. Sometimes they packed the blocks and had lines going down the streets.
This beautiful woman happened to have a classic image of Mulligan—all scarlet red and black lathered in flecks of gold. The shirt must’ve cost a pretty penny. Mulligan’s fierce face lay on top those perky, full breasts of hers. He had copper colored skin and green eyes. His thick dreads hung down his face and were beaded with gold at the tips. His chest was bare, showing off the scarred lines he’d cut into his chest himself, tallying every person he killed.
Miss Kingmaker lifted her head my way, and in the moment, our eyes met. I swore to God there was a spark—something hot and intense merging between us. But, it could’ve been the liquor or the heart-pounding music booming around us.
A blonde woman stood at her side and giggled at something she said. Blue eyes and the typical tight dress. Her big boobs pushed against the top, struggling to reveal her nipples. Nice body. Nice look, but the usual. There were fifty other Blondies, lining up the walls with even tighter outfits.
I turned back to Miss Kingmaker and smiled again at the shirt.
Damn. She’s such a nerd. I bet she fucks like a little beast.
I could see myself peeling off those tight jeans that damn near painted her voluptuous ass. I could squeeze that ass for days and probably still wouldn’t be tired.
“She’s fine as fuck, but you’re probably her type.” Tyson grabbed my attention. “The hot ones always go after you. I’ll take the friend.”
I stared at Miss. Kingmaker and was happy Tyson didn’t want to fight for her. “Good.”
“Yeah.” Tyson gestured for them to come over. “You take the fine one. I’ll grab the friend. We can take them back to my place, so your sisters won’t cock block.”
“I never take women back to my place anyway.”
Tyson gestured for them again.
Miss. Kingmaker raised her eyebrows and then looked away, probably not interested in walking over to two guys she didn’t know at a bar. Meanwhile, the blonde smiled at the both of us, grabbed her friend’s hand, and damn near dragged her over to us.
“Damn, you’re lucky man.” Tyson grinned. “She’s smoking hot.”
“Well, truthfully, they both are beautiful.”
“Yeah. Yeah, but you owe me.”
I nodded. “I sure do.”
Miss Kingmaker and Blondie arrived.
Tyson rose and gestured for them to pick a seat. For whatever reason, he turned to Miss Kingmaker. “What would you two like to drink?”
Dude, get the friend. I’ve got the hot one. Remember?
“No drinks for me.” Miss Kingmaker remained standing and shook her head. “I’m the designated driver.”
The blonde sat down next to me. “I would love a margarita.”
Why isn’t Tyson talking to the blonde?
“Sounds good. You can order whatever you want. The waitress will bill me.” I rose and walked over to Miss Kingmaker as Tyson was talking to her.
She turned my way and quirked her eyebrows.
I smiled at her. “I know you’re the designated driver, but you can still have a mineral water. Would you like that?”
“That sounds good,” she said. “But, I’ll get one later.
Tyson frowned.
Hey, man. You said I could have the fine one. Go talk to the blonde.
I shrugged at him, turned back to her, and pointed at her shirt. “That’s classic Mulligan. Are you a fan or a fronter?”
She laughed. “Super fan.”
“Prove it.” I smirked. “Can you name all the houses and—”
“Eh…man?” Tyson gave me an odd look, leaned my way, and whispered low in my ear, “What are you doing? I said you take the hot one, and I’ll take the friend.”
What is he talking about?
“I’ll let you two talk.” Miss Kingmaker grinned at us, walked over to the blonde, and sat down.
“What do you mean?” I scrunched my face in confusion. “What are you doing?”
Tyson gestured to the girls as they laughed about something. “You’re talking to the girl I picked. I gave you the hot one. I took her friend. Why not talk to the hot one?”
“What the fuck?” I held out my hands. “I was talking to the hot one. You picked the blonde.”
“What?” And then Tyson laughed. “Oh shit, so you think the l
ittle chocolate nerd is hot?”
“Hell yes. Once I spotted the shirt all I could think of was ripping it off.”
So, he thought the blonde was the hot one? Hey. We like what we like. To each his own.
Tyson laughed at me and looked like I’d lost my mind. “Dude, you can’t take the black one. Her and I are the only motherfucking black people in here. I’m taking her.”
I scanned the nightclub. He’d slightly overexaggerated that stat. There was one more black guy dancing near the DJ table.
“She’s black. I’m black. We’re the only ones in here.” Tyson shrugged. “We’re destined to fuck tonight. This can’t be helped.”
“Wait a minute. That makes no sense. You’re not pulling the race card tonight.” I took another look at Miss Kingmaker, taking in that lush ass. “You can’t do this to me, Tyson. Come on. She’s wearing Mulligan on her breasts.”
“Dude.” He laughed. “You can’t do this to me. You always get the girl you want. To tell you the truth, you can get all the females in here. You’ve got the all-American white boy look.”
“Whatever. You could sleep with most of the women in here too.”
Tyson shook his head. “It’s fifty-fifty with some of these hoes.”
“It’s probably a worse percentage, since you’re already calling them hoes.”
“Whatever.” He gestured to many of the women. “It’s definitely fifty-fifty. Some of them probably are down to try a brother. Others think I’ll rape them.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m sorry, man, but I’m taking the chocolate nerd.”
“You’re not—”
Tyson did a dick move. He rushed off and sat by Miss Kingmaker, returning to the conversation that I’d interrupted and blocking any way for me to squeeze in without looking crazy. I would’ve laughed at his audacity and the way he rushed over there, if not for being so pissed.
Did he just cock block me with the race card? Whatever.
Tonight was just supposed to be a fun time, nothing more, nothing less. We were in a nightclub, not looking for Miss Right, but Miss Right Now. We didn’t divide our friendship over women. We didn’t fight or chase after them. We had fun.
Whatever.
I walked by and caught some of their conversation.
“Wow. You just finished college.” Tyson shook his head. “Back in the day, Logan and I went to Bran University. Where did you go?”
“Chapman.” She extended her hand. “My name’s Mia by the way.”
“Tyson.”
I couldn’t help myself. I stopped and shook Mia’s hand too. “My name’s Logan.”
Tyson laughed. “Really, man? Can you let us finish a few words?”
Mia giggled.
“Fine. You fucking owe me,” I grumbled and walked over to the Blonde as she ordered her second margarita.
“My name’s Ashley.” She smiled. “It’s so crazy here! Do you come all the time? This is my first time. I like Black Cat bar. Have you ever been? I go every night. It’s fucking crazy. Balls to the walls crazy. Have you ever checked out Broadway? Bananas! They do this theme thing where there are midgets...oh no, I mean little people, and they bowl with them.”
Barely able to keep up with her conversation, I scrunched my face up in confusion. “They bowl with little people?”
“Yes.” Ashley clapped her hands. “They use the little people like pins and they roll these balls at them. It’s so hilarious.”
“That sounds fucked up to me.” I grabbed a new shot and finished.
“Oh well. It’s so funny. You should check it out. I like The Day Care too. Have you been? There’s baby bottles with the best rum drinks. I was so drunk once, I passed out in the bathroom. Mia was so pissed...” Ashley continued having a conversation with herself. I nodded, when expected, glancing at Mia every now and then.
For some reason, I couldn’t stop being pissed. Tyson hadn’t even thought Mia was the hot one. He’d just picked her because she was black. I got it, but still, it didn’t mean that black women should be off limits, and that he had an automatic right to every one of them.
Fuck it, man. It’s no big deal. This is just one night, one moment. I’ll probably never see Mia again, anyway.
The fast pounding music shifted to another hip-hop song.
“Get on the floor!” the DJ yelled.
“Yo, Logan. We’re going to dance.” Tyson gestured toward DJ and got up from his stool. Mia followed with him, swinging her hips.
“Oh,” Ashley said on my side. “You want to dance?”
I hadn’t even realized I’d jumped out of my seat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We followed Tyson and Mia out onto the dance floor, joining them. Tyson laughed at me and shook his head, flaunting his win in my face. Poor Ashley did too much, rubbing her hands on her breasts in some sort of snake motion. Plenty of other men enjoyed the show. Truth be told, on another night, I would’ve enjoyed it too, but annoyance had gotten to me. Either way, I pretended to like it, while taking small glances at Mia—who controlled the rhythm in lush twists and sways.
“Move it like you’ll die tomorrow. We get high, and you should follow.” The rapper’s lyrics rode the waves of the beat. “She’ll come too, if she will swallow. Move it like you’ll die tomorrow.”
Mia was beauty. There was no way around it. I had to stop looking at her, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. Drinking in her features, my gaze settled on her mouth. She had the kind that could probably give an excellent blowjob.
Fuck. Leave it alone.
All I could do was thank God this night would end, and there would be a new day where someone so beautiful and perfect as Mia danced in front of me, and she wasn’t off limits.
It’s no big deal. I won’t even see Mia again. One loss. One forgotten memory.
Damn, how I wished that had been true.
Chapter 1
Mia
Three months later
I have that huge wedding cake to make and a boyfriend to break up with. This day is going to suck.
My boyfriend, Tyson woke up and rose from the bed. I had my back to him and pretended to sleep.
I’m a coward.
Last night, I didn’t break up with him. I had to get to it this morning. I couldn’t help it, but I felt guilty. That was why I didn’t have the balls to do it.
I wish Ashley hadn’t gone out of town. She could’ve helped me with this.
Tyson hadn’t done anything. He just didn’t do enough. He said the right things but didn’t really do it. When we didn’t live together, he would come around to visit, but really wasn’t with me mentally and emotionally. Half the time we watched Netflix, ate, and had sex. And the sex hadn’t improved. And my interest was waning. And I couldn’t figure out why I was sitting in the relationship to begin with.
Because he’s been a good guy, and I wanted a good guy, but he’s more of a...boring, mysterious good guy.
Even crazier, something odd was going on with me. When Tyson touched me, it just didn’t feel right, but I couldn’t point to anything. While he acted like a decent boyfriend, I kept thinking he was lying.
Tyson said he loved me, but I didn’t feel it. If one looked at our social media, we appeared like the perfect couple—cute selfies together, images of us going to the museum or park, and picture comments filled with the appropriate vomit-inducing hashtags. Sometimes I thought he was just with me for the appearance. But, maybe it was my own insecurities.
Tyson yawned on the side of the bed. I remained still, dreading this morning. His footsteps sounded to my side of the bed. I kept my eyes closed. He must’ve stood in front of me for two minutes or so. He’d been doing this for a month now, waking up before me, checking if I was sleeping, and then going off into the closet to scribble stuff down.
The first time I’d caught him doing this, I’d woken up. He realized it, finished what he was writing, dropped the notebook somewhere behind him, and came to me.
I had rise
n from the bed and rubbed my eyes. “What were you doing?”
He threw something in the closet and shut the door. “Nothing.”
“It looked like you were writing—”
He walked off to the bathroom. “It’s nothing.”
But I didn’t think it was nothing and didn’t like that he wouldn’t share whatever this moment was with me.
That night, I stopped having sex with him. I remembered him kissing me and feeling dirty like I needed a shower, but again, I couldn’t put my hand on it. So, I feigned being sick and not up to it.
My gut said, “Abort. Something’s wrong.”
And the whole time I kept second guessing my gut, thinking I might be paranoid or imagining things.
Weeks had passed, and he didn’t ask me to make love again, but he continued to sneak off to write, hiding it the whole time. And I began working on breaking up with him.
“Sis, you’re too fucking nice,” my twin brother, Rob had said on the phone. “He’s been good to you. So, what? If you don’t like him, then get rid of him.”
“Of course. I get ready to tell him, I call him over, and I swear it’s like he’s sensed that I’m going to break up with him.”
“Why?”
I sighed. “So, two weeks ago, I called him over to say I wanted to talk. He came over and before I could tell him, he tells me his favorite aunt passed. He holds me and sobs the rest of the night.”
“Oh, so he hit you with the dead relative?” Rob chuckled.
“Stop it. There is no ‘dead relative’ excuse that guys come up with.” I got ready to shake my head and stopped. “Wait. Right? There isn’t a ‘dead relative’ excuse?”
“Hey, I’m a man and I’m telling you that some of us are garbage and will tell a woman anything to get our way.”
I chewed on the end of my pen.
“Didn’t he move in that day?” my brother asked.
“Yeah. He said he was depressed and thinking about death and—”
My brother snorted.
“You think he lied about his aunt?”
“I don’t know. All I’m saying is that when you first met him...in a club, by the way—”
“I know. I know. Meeting a guy in a club doesn’t usually work.”