Young, Rich & Black

by Nia Forrester

  “He has over two hundred people coming. He’s not going to be thinkin’ ‘bout me.”

  “You’re his son. I think he’ll notice if you’re missing,” Zora insisted.

  “Maybe.” Deuce sighed. “So, what’re you really wearing?”

  “A dress.”

  “Yeah?” he prompted. “So … tell me about it.”

  Zora looked at the phone for a second and smiled again, shaking her head. He meant it, too. He wanted to hear about her New Year’s Eve dress.

  At first, she thought for sure this trait had to be part of his technique—active listening to make girls think he gave a crap about what they were saying, drawing them in with displays of false interest. But he had already drawn her in.

  Just about every time they saw each other, they wound up in some quiet corner, pawing each other, his hands down her jeans, under her shirt, his mouth on her neck or behind her ear. And once, with his entire extended family only about a hundred yards away in the great room, he’d pulled her into the coat-room and backed her up against the wall, crouching, lifting her leg over his shoulder and giving her the best head she had ever received in her young life. In the coat-room. As though he couldn’t even withstand the amount of time it would take to get her upstairs.

  Wait, Zora had whispered, her heart pounding with the fear of being discovered. Wait, Deuce. Later. We can … later.

  No, he whispered back, his voice urgent. Not later. Now.

  And then with his mouth and tongue, his hands gripping her thighs hard, he made her come in forty seconds flat. The sex, the laughter, the fun, the recklessness of being with someone who was clearly wrong for her. If only it wasn’t so damned … addictive.

  “It’s white,” she said now, of the dress she planned to wear.

  “Long, or short?”

  “Short.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s good. Easy access.”

  Zora laughed. “Shut up. Have me actin’ like a complete ‘ho.”

  “Just can’t get enough of you, that’s all.”

  Zora swallowed. If that was just a line, he sure as hell delivered it convincingly.

  “So …” She cleared her throat. “I have to get home around five a.m. or so. I need to spend some time with my family this Break.”

  “We got a whole week after.”

  “Well. No. Not really. At least, I don’t have a week. I’m thinking of heading back a little early.”

  “Why? What’s up?”

  “BLM business,” Zora said, trying to sound casual.

  “How you getting there?” Deuce asked. “I could …”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Zora said short-circuiting the offer. “I … I’ll get another ride. Because, you know, it’s earlier than … earlier than planned.”

  Smooth, Zora. Very smooth.

  The silence on Deuce’s end lengthened.

  “How’re you getting there?” he asked again. This time he was more than curious, he was almost … demanding.

  “I’ll get a ride,” she said again.

  The unasked question hung there like a gray storm-cloud above both their heads.

  “I’ll swing by ‘round eight to get you tonight,” Deuce said. He sounded different.

  “Yup. I’ll be ready.” Zora tried to resurrect the lighthearted tone from earlier in their conversation. “Carrying my short, short white dress.”

  Deuce laughed, but it sounded false. “Alright,” he said. “Rest up. It’ll be a long night. And don’t forget to bring something to wear for brunch tomorrow too.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Was that weird?” Zora asked.

  She was in Deuce’s room at his father’s house, lounging around in front of his large-screen television, half their attention on a movie they had both seen before, and the rest on each other. They hadn’t said much, but Deuce’s head was in her lap, and Zora was idly raking her fingernails across his scalp while his eyes grew heavy.

  It was almost nine-thirty, and downstairs, the house was aflutter. Caterers were bustling back and forth, the first guests were arriving and the loud pulse of music could be heard from the open terrace as the revelry got underway. They planned to get dressed and head down around ten, when things would be in full swing.

  “Was what weird?”

  “The way my father and brother grilled you.”

  When Deuce came to get her, the usual routine of her running outside to meet him at the car hadn’t worked. This time her brother was lying in wait, and the minute she grabbed her things, he’d clamped a hand on her shoulder and said he thought it would be better if he invited her “friend” inside.

  Zora knew better than to refuse. So Deuce came in, and for forty excruciating minutes, Zora watched her father and brother take his measure. Her mother had ducked in to say hello, but didn’t participate in the third-degree. She was the only one in the family who wasn’t in denial about the fact that Zora wasn’t exactly living the life of a good, Muslim girl. Hell, she even ate pepperoni on her pizza.

  “Nah. I mean, we’ve been hanging out a lot, right? And sometimes I bring you home like around three in the morning. I get that they’d want to know who this dude is who doesn’t even come up to the front door.”

  “I just want to make sure you know it doesn’t … mean anything,” Zora stuttered. “Just like I’ve met your parents, it’s not like I’ve ‘met your parents’, y’know what I mean?” She made air-quotes with her fingers.

  On her lap, Deuce’s eyes suddenly became alert. He sat up and shifted so he could look her in the eye.

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean …” She cleared her throat. “It’s just the circumstances, right? But soon we’ll be back at school, and …”

  “And?” Deuce prompted. His dark eyes had grown darker still and his brow was furrowed.

  Zora wasn’t even sure what she was about to say, but something told her it was certain to be the wrong thing. Then, thankfully, there was a quick series of knocks on the door and Deuce’s step-mom stuck her head in.

  She was a very pretty woman, with a girlish air about her, like someone who loved their life and just about everyone in it. And why wouldn’t she? Because even though she had a full house of guests, and a baby on her hip pretty much constantly, she also had a husband and extended family who obviously adored her.

  Tonight, she was wearing an emerald green sateen dress with demure cap sleeves a square neckline, and short bell-skirt. Accessorized in gold, she looked luminous. This was a woman who clearly knew what colors accentuated her honey-toned complexion.

  “You two look way too comfortable for a couple about to go to a party,” Robyn said. “C’mon and get ready.” She clapped her hands as she spoke, to denote urgency. “We want the entire family downstairs.”

  Deuce was still looking at Zora like he had something to say, but she was relieved for this chance not to hear it, and quickly stood.

  “I still need to take a shower, so half an hour?” She glanced at Deuce and he nodded, though slowly as if his mind was elsewhere.

  “What are you wearing?” Robyn looped an arm through hers as they walked together down the hallway in the direction of the guest suite where Zora had been installed.

  “A white mini-dress. Something I recycle every once in a while, for big occasions like these.”

  “Sometimes you have to go for those old favorites,” Robyn agreed. “The ones that make you feel beautiful no matter what. This dress is five years old.” Then she put a finger up to her lips and made a shh sound.

  “I won’t breathe a word,” Zora laughed.

  “Okay. See you downstairs, love. And please, don’t let Deuce get in front of that television again. He’s just like his father … never met a party he didn’t want to get out of.”

  Zora smiled politely, not wanting to burst Robyn Scaife’s bubble. Deuce’s rep was exactly the opposite. But hell, everyone had an alter ego that they presented to the family.

  And not ju
st the family either, Zora thought as she shut the door behind her. To friends as well. The Zora Diallo who would be returning to school in a few days didn’t feel like the same girl as this one, who was giddy and silly every single day just at the prospect of spending time with a guy whose deepest preoccupation wasn’t the state of the world, or race, or politics, but just … her.

  Chapter 8

  “She’s pretty chill, huh?”

  Deuce turned to look at his friend, Stevie who had draped an arm over his shoulder and was leaning on him a little heavily. Stevie was one of a handful of friends from Bedford who he had invited to his father’s New Year’s Eve parties for years now, since the days when he had to sneak a couple of drinks, instead of walking around openly with a glass of amber-colored liquid like he was doing now.

  Standing on the edge of the dance floor, he watched Zora dance with Kaden. With each clownish move his little brother made, Zora laughed and mimicked it, which only made Kaden amp up his antics. Now, he was doing a strange twitching move, crossing his hands on his knees and flinging his head back and forth. Zora studied him for a few moments then did the same.

  On the other side of the dance floor, Deuce saw Robyn watching them as well. She caught his eye and smiled, giving a small shrug. Feeling his face warm, Deuce wondered whether he was that transparent.

  “Yeah,” Deuce said, turning his attention to Stevie. “She’s pretty chill.”

  On the dance floor, Zora was making flapping motions with her arms, following Kaden’s lead. With each upward motion, the hem of her dress lifted, exposing more of her long, dark, shapely legs. On her feet were delicate, silver high-heeled sandals. Even her toes were sexy.

  The music changed to something slower and Zora smiled down at Kaden, using her hand as a fan and making an ‘o’ with her lips as if to say, ‘phew, that was hard work!’ Kaden grinned back up at her, his eyes filled with the kind of adoration that you can only get away with displaying openly when you’re not yet ten-years old and in the throes of your first crush. Deuce wished he had that luxury, because the way he wanted Zora, the way he craved her made every other time he’d wanted a girl seem false, and dim by comparison.

  Striding out among the swaying couples, Deuce put a hand at Zora’s waist. She spun to see who had made the contact and her face opened into a wider smile.

  “Scat,” Deuce said to Kaden, before pulling Zora closer.

  Putting both her arms up and about his neck, she shook her head. “Scat?” she said.

  “He’s taking up my time.”

  “It’s only eleven thirty-nine,” Zora pointed out, glancing over to where a large digital clock had been set up above the deejay’s station. “You’ve got a whole twenty-one minutes left to spend with me in 2015.”

  “What’re we doin’, Zora?”

  Deuce felt her tense in his arms.

  “We’re shedding expectations,” she said eventually, her voice tense. “Enjoying each other. Aren’t you? Enjoying me?”

  Deuce closed his eyes. “Don’t say shit like that,” he said, holding her closer.

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “And I don’t know what we’re doing, either.”

  “How’re you getting back to school?”

  “I told you.” She tensed once again, confirming what he had already guessed at.

  “Why you leavin’ early?”

  “Deuce. I told you that too.”

  “BLM business,” he said. “With your co-chair?”

  At the nape of his neck, Zora was lightly raking her nails back and forth. She was trying to soothe him, the way she did when they were falling asleep together and he fought it, because he wanted more of her. Always more.

  Since that night after Pat’s party, there had been three others when they managed to spend the entire night together. She fell asleep in his arms and he awoke the next morning, opening his eyes and studying her. The curves of her face, the slope of her hips, the length of her legs, the linear, manicured patch of hair between her legs.

  Once, Deuce had even pulled back the sheets and traced every detail of her body with his eyes—the obsidian circles of her areolae, the impenetrable dark-brownness of her skin, her smooth, flat stomach, full thighs and lush ass; and back up to her face, staring at her long, curled-at-the-ends eyelashes and vaguely puckered lips. And then before she even came fully awake, he had grabbed a condom and putting it on, moved above her, parting her knees with one of his and sinking between them.

  Your libido is out of control, she murmured sleepily before opening up to welcome him in.

  “Yes,” she said. “With my co-chair.”

  Deuce wrinkled his nose and sniffed. It was a habit he had when he was angry and had no outlet to express it. But why should he be angry now? This was what they had signed up for, both of them—something that would pass the time over Winter Break, a diversion until they returned to their real lives and the expectations that came along with that.

  Despite all this—whatever this was—she was still Zora Diallo, campus revolutionary and young-woman-on-the-move, and he was still the resident aimless, rich kid.

  “Fifteen minutes, folks!” The deejay’s voice interrupted the music. “If there’s someone you love, someone you’d like to welcome 2016 with, I’d suggest you find them right now.”

  There was a flurry of activity on the outskirts of the dance floor as people scurried around to follow those instructions, but Deuce didn’t move. He was precisely where he wanted to be.

  “It’s almost 2016,” Zora said, smiling up at him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

  Though the music sped up, they remained wrapped around each other, for one song, two, and then the third. And when the countdown began, Deuce leaned in to kiss her. They were still kissing, still in each other’s’ arms when the ball dropped and the room erupted in cheers.

  Zora was asleep when Deuce staggered out of the bedroom Robyn had put her in. It was down the hall from his own suite, where he was supposed to have slept after the festivities were over. He was halfway there when he collided with his father, making his way upstairs.

  Glancing over Deuce’s shoulder toward Zora’s nearby room and then down the hall to Deuce’s, he narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth to say something, then stopped.

  Relieved, Deuce nodded a wordless acknowledgement and continued toward his room.

  “Deuce.”

  He stopped at the sound of his father’s voice. Turning, he waited.

  “You being careful?”

  Giving a barely perceptible nod, he averted his eyes and continued down the hall. The truth was, last night, after the first two dances of 2016, Deuce and Zora had escaped to her room. And there, for the very first time ever, they hadn’t been careful.

  Standing in front of him, Zora had raised her arms, at the same time lifting her wisp of a dress over her head and letting it fall at her feet.

  You said you wanted me in nothing for the New Year? she asked. Well, here’s your chance.

  They were both a little drunk—Zora on champagne, and Deuce on all the drinks he’d been knocking back most of the night trying to take his mind off her impending early departure, and who she would be departing with.

  Advancing toward her, Deuce had unfastened her bra and peeled her underwear over her hips, crouching as he did. There, on his knees in front of her, he shoved her thighs apart and tasted her, energetically lapping until she grabbed his head, pressing herself against his mouth. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her, ever. But more so last night. He didn’t stop until she issued a deep groan, that wracked her entire body, and her legs buckled.

  He loved going down on Zora. Loved it. The way she tasted, the way she felt and most of all the feeling that he had complete control of her in those few minutes. And the control was important, especially with this girl for whom he was beginning to have feelings that were uncontrollable.

  He and Kal joked about it
all the time—their infantile scoring system for how much a girl had spun them out. Man, they might say. I even ate the yum-yum. Because if a girl made you want to do all that, she was definitely something.

  With Zora, it was an every-single-time deal. Because she deserved it, and he wanted it.

  Holding her up, Deuce stood, and pushing her back onto the bed, he stripped down to nothing. Zora watched him as he did, with rapt attention, the rise and fall of her chest visible. Once between her legs, he didn’t enter her right away. Instead they kissed, grinding, and sliding back and forth against each other. She tasted so good, and her lips were so soft that for a long time, Deuce lost himself in just the kissing. And when, purely on instinct, he lifted his hips and slid effortlessly into her, unsheathed, it was too late to turn back.

  Zora clutched his ass, her fingers biting into him. She groaned and spread wider, hooking her legs around his to anchor herself, and to give him the leverage he needed to push even deeper. Lips still locked on hers, Deuce pressed himself against Zora, as though he wanted to disappear inside her. And why not? Because he was already long gone, and long ago lost.

  Even when he felt his approaching climax, the idea of pulling out, and pulling away hadn’t even occurred to him. In that moment, Deuce couldn’t have done so even if someone had flung the door wide open and invited the entire party inside to witness their coupling.

  So, no. He hadn’t been careful. But he couldn’t make himself regret a second of it either.

  Across the table, Zora was yawning hugely. Lifting a hand to cover her mouth, she smiled apologetically.

  “I’m sorry,” she said to the general company. “I think I probably need a few more hours’ sleep.”

  Robyn laughed. “I can appreciate that. I think I could use a few more myself. After you get something to eat, feel free to crash until you’re in fighting form again.”

  “Thank you,” Zora said graciously. “I appreciate the offer, and it’s been so much fun. But I really should get home to see my family.”