by Shelly Ellis
She loudly groaned and covered her eyes with her hands.
That was not the response he was hoping for.
“Shit! Bina warned me this might happen,” she whispered.
“What?”
“My friend Bina. She said we shouldn’t blur the lines, that it would only get confusing. But I told her we were okay. That we could handle it. Damn it, I thought we’d be okay!”
“Melissa, what are you talking about?”
“Don’t do this to me. Don’t corner me like this by telling me you love me! Don’t ruin it, Jay. Please?”
“How is me professing my love to you ‘ruining it’? What the hell does that mean?”
She removed her hands from her face and sat upright. He watched as she raised the bedsheets to cover her breasts. “I mean what we have is good. What we just did was really good! I enjoyed it. You did, too, right? I get that after you were shot, you decided to live life to the fullest. And I think you should! I do. Embrace it. But why complicate what we have? Why not just . . . enjoy life? Let’s just be what we are, Jay. No more, no less. Let’s just . . . you know . . . enjoy each other.”
Enjoy each other?
Jamal was no longer offended; he was hurt. Ricky was right: Jamal was her side piece—no more, no less. Jamal had worried all along that Melissa didn’t love him like he loved her, that she would never feel anything for him that was remotely close to what she’d felt for Derrick, her ex, but it was eviscerating to hear it out loud. He slowly rose from the mattress, pushed aside the sheets, threw his legs over the side of the bed, and climbed to his feet.
“Oh, come on, Jay!” she called after him as he stalked across her bedroom to the en suite bath. “So now you’re pissed at me? Now you’re leaving?”
“Yeah, I’m leavin’,” he muttered as he stepped onto the bathroom tile and removed the condom, tossing it into the wastebasket. He could barely hold up his head. He thought he’d felt like crap after the interview, but now he felt ten times worse. He was so ashamed and heartbroken. He felt like a cheap one-night stand. Like his condom, he had been used and discarded.
“But why?” she asked.
“You wanted some dick, and you got it. Now it’s time for me to go!”
“Oh, stop it! Stop acting like this! You know you’re more to me than just ‘some dick’!” She climbed off the bed, wrapping the bedsheet around her. “You’re my—”
“Your homie?” he shouted over his shoulder before lifting the toilet lid and seat, using the word she’d often jokingly called him. He started to pee. “Your friend? Your side piece?”
She furiously shook her head. “You’re not gonna do this. Damnit, you are not gonna do this to me!” She stomped her foot. “You’re not gonna make me feel bad for being honest with you. I never lied to you! Not once.”
He finished and flushed. “No, you didn’t. I will admit that,” he said, turning to the sink to wash his hands.
“Jay, I was in a relationship for damn near two decades. We were engaged. I thought Dee and I were going to spend our lives together—and he cheated on me!”
“I’m not Dee, Lissa.”
“I know. I know you’re not! I’m just not ready to start another relationship. I’m gun-shy, okay? I’m not ready to tell someone that I love them or open up like that again. Not yet. The ache finally started to ease up. I don’t wanna go back to the highs and the lows, and that hurt. That hurt sucked so much! I don’t wanna go on that roller coaster ride again. It’s nothing personal against you! It’s just . . . I’m just . . .” Her words drifted off as he finished washing his hands. He turned to her.
He could tell from the desperation on her face that she wasn’t trying to be cruel, that she really was trying to explain herself to him, maybe even to spare his feelings. It was one of the many traits that he loved about Melissa: how compassionate and thoughtful she was. But no matter what she said, she couldn’t spare his feelings tonight. Her rejection still stung. She didn’t understand that he was already on the very roller coaster ride she didn’t want to be on. He was experiencing the highs and the lows of falling in love. She said she wasn’t ready to try a relationship with someone else, but when would she be, and would that person ever be him?
Probably not, he realized.
“I get it,” he said, now resigned to the truth. “I don’t like it, but I get it.”
She took a step toward him, then another. She took his wet hand, laced her fingers through his. “Then please let’s just be friends.”
“Friends who have sex,” he said cynically.
“We can do that—or not. We can go back to the way things were before, if that’s what you want. But I need a friend, Jay, not another man to fight with, cry over, or keep me up at night. I’ve been a good friend to you, right? I held you down, and I’ll continue to. I’ll support you in whatever you need, but . . . I’m just not here for a love thing. I’m sorry. That doesn’t mean you’re not important to me though, because you are! I care about you. I always will. That won’t change!” She gazed into his eyes. “Trust me,” she whispered.
She was saying all the right words, doing all the right things. Despite his misgivings and disappointment, desire flared up again. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to tug her into his arms and make love to her again right against the bathroom wall. If she couldn’t love him, at least he could fulfill his need for her. She was willing to grant him that. And she cared for him. He believed her when she said that.
But “care” wasn’t the same as “love.” Jamal wasn’t lovesick enough to not realize how pitiful it all sounded, how sad it was that he was willing to take every little handout she gave him because he was so eager for a piece of her. But the truth was he wanted more from Melissa—much, much more. He wanted all she had to give because he was willing to give the same. Any less wouldn’t do. She hadn’t lied to him, but he had been lying to himself all this time. This unrequited love for Melissa Stone wasn’t healthy. It was bordering on masochistic.
I can’t do this anymore, he thought.
“And I’m sorry, but I have to go,” he said, making her expression change. She looked disappointed as he tugged his hand out of her grasp and walked around her. “I have to get out of here.”
She stood in the bathroom doorway as he gathered his clothes and put them back on. Five minutes later, he walked out of her apartment, unsure of when or if he would ever speak to Melissa again.
Chapter 20
Ricky
Ricky cocked an eyebrow as he watched the two undercover cops in the elevator compartment. The blonde, whom he was supposed to call Vanessa, finger-combed her hair into place as the elevator ascended, checking her reflection in the gold-plated double doors. The buxom black one, who called herself Candy, leaned forward and shoved her hand into the lace cups of her bra. She lifted one breast then the other. She jiggled them around, making her caramel-hued skin quiver. When she was finished adjusting, she stood upright, smoothed down the front of her low-cut blouse, and met Ricky’s assessing gaze.
“Can I help you?” Candy asked, glaring at him when she realized he’d been staring at her the whole time.
Ricky shook his head and stifled a laugh. “Nothin’. Don’t worry about me, sis.”
“I’m not your sis,” Candy hissed. “And you look like you had somethin’ to say. Go ahead and say it!”
This time he did laugh. “You’re so worried about your tits, but you might wanna focus on that wig on your head instead. It’s on crooked.”
She frowned and glanced at her reflection. Her short auburn wig was off; it sat too far back from her brow by about a quarter of an inch, showing her real hairline. She shifted it forward and glanced at him again. “Good attention to detail,” Candy mumbled. “Thanks.”
“No prob,” Ricky said. “Happy to help.”
The elevator dinged and came to a halt. A few seconds later, the gold doors opened, revealing the cream-colored hallway leading to Dolla Dolla’s apartment.
“It�
��s showtime,” Ricky whispered and then gestured toward the open doors. “Ladies first.”
At those words, the undercover cops’ demeanors changed. They pushed back their shoulders, painted on smiles, and strolled out of the elevator in front of him. He took a deep breath and followed them into the hall, letting the elevator doors close behind them.
When he’d met the two women a few hours ago, he hadn’t been convinced that they were right for the job. One of them had come in wearing sweats and a baseball cap. The other looked like she’d just rolled out of bed and wore no makeup. Her hair had been in a sloppy bun. Seeing how they looked, he had pulled Detective Ramsey aside.
“You motherfuckas are tryin’ to get me killed,” he had whispered shrilly into the detective’s ear. “If that was the case, you could’ve just shot me back in that field in Virginia. You didn’t have to make me come back here!”
“What are you talking about?” Ramsey had asked.
“I mean what is this shit? I told you that they had to be some bad bitches, or Dolla would never believe they used to work for me. This ain’t it, bruh!”
Ramsey had closed his eyes and held up his hand. “Don’t worry. They clean up nice. They both have worked undercover vice as escorts. Just let them get dressed and put their faces on. You’ll see.”
Ricky had paced the room for a good hour, waiting for the magical transformation Ramsey had promised. When the women stepped out of the adjoining room in their full regalia, he had braced himself for disappointment. But he was pleasantly surprised.
“What I tell you?” Ramsey had whispered to him with a smile. “They clean up nice, don’t they?”
Ricky now watched the women as they walked down the hall. The blonde stood at about six feet in her stilettos. She was all bust and no hips, but he could easily see himself hiring her to dance at Club Majesty. She would’ve gotten a decent share of tips. The black cop though was the real killer. She was all curves but with toned arms and legs. She also projected a saucy attitude that the male patrons would’ve loved at his old strip club. Her body and demeanor reminded him a lot of Simone when he’d first met her.
Simone . . .
At the thought of her, his heart tugged. It felt like a sharp stab to the chest. He wondered what Simone was doing right now. He wondered if she was eagerly waiting for him like he was waiting for her, counting down the days until their family would be together again. Or was she doing the opposite? Was she pushing him to the back of her mind and trying not to think about him because there was the possibility they might never see each other again? He didn’t know how long this would take or if they would even be reunited in the end. Would she get tired of waiting for them to be reunited and just . . . move on?
Don’t forget me, baby. I’m trying to get back to you, he thought desperately, hoping his words and devotion carried to her—wherever she was. I’m trying my damnedest.
When he and the undercover cops reached Dolla Dolla’s door, the cops stepped aside to let Ricky ring the bell. He heard the chime, and a second later the door opened, revealing one of Dolla Dolla’s bodyguards. The guard slowly looked both women up and down, leering at them openly.
“Pick your chin up off the floor,” Ricky joked, leaning against the door frame. “Dolla in?”
The bodyguard nodded. “Yeah, he waiting for y’all in the living room.”
“Cool,” Ricky said, gesturing for the women to step through the doorway.
They began to stroll toward the foyer but paused when the bodyguard called out, “Hold up, y’all! I gotta pat you down.”
The two women exchanged a look and laughed.
“Pat us down?” Vanessa asked. Her voice was light and playful. “I can’t fit a gun underneath this dress, sweetheart.”
“Me neither,” Candy said with a giggle, gesturing to her low-cut blouse, obviously trying to distract him with the breasts she had so carefully put on display.
The bodyguard shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t make the rules, girls. Face the wall.”
Ricky noticed that both of them hesitated before walking to the textured wallpaper and placing their hands on it while spreading their legs. His heart rate started to kick up.
He had expressly asked them not to bring weapons or listening devices, no matter how small. They had pushed back on that one.
“If we’re there to collect info to give to the D.A., how the hell do we document this if we can’t record anything?” Vanessa had asked back at the deserted office building where they had gotten ready.
“We’ll figure it out,” Ramsey had assured her, “but what he says goes with this one. You can’t bring a mike or a camera. It’s too risky.”
Vanessa had seemed annoyed at that answer. Ricky wondered now if she had ignored Ramsey and stashed something under her dress anyway. If she or Candy had, and the bodyguard found it, all hell would break loose. He was sure of it. And all the blame would fall on Ricky’s shoulders.
Ricky now watched nervously as the bodyguard began to pat down Vanessa. He didn’t do it as efficiently as he usually did Ricky’s pat-downs. He lingered on the obvious spots—her breasts, inner thighs, and ass—making Vanessa roll her eyes. When he finished, he stood upright and nodded.
“You’re good, baby,” he said before heading to Candy. “You next.”
Ricky watched as Vanessa stepped away and Candy spread her legs a few inches wider. She stuck out her butt and stared up at the guard, meeting his gaze with a sultry one of her own.
“Face forward,” he said firmly.
“Anything you say, big guy,” she murmured and locked her gaze on the wall.
He started to pat her down, sliding his hands along her hips and torso. When he got to her breasts, the bodyguard paused and frowned. He narrowed his eyes and Ricky’s heart rate went from a gallop to a mad dash.
Shit, Ricky thought. This chick wore a wire.
Despite his warnings, she had done it anyway. That must have been what she was shifting around in her bra back in the elevator. Ricky held his breath, bracing himself for what the bodyguard was about to pull from her breasts.
Candy looked up at the guard, licked her full lips, and grinned.
“Feel somethin’, honey?” she asked.
The guard ran his large hands over her breasts again. “You got somethin’ in here? What am I’m feelin’?” he asked.
“My nipples,” she said, making Vanessa laugh. “They’re hard right now, that’s all.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Do you need me to pull down my top? You can check yourself, if you don’t believe me.”
Finally, the bodyguard’s frown disappeared. Her deflection worked. He laughed, too, and his hands shifted to her arms.
Ricky exhaled with relief.
The bodyguard finished her pat-down a minute later and then did Ricky’s. He gave them all the okay.
“You can head in now,” the bodyguard said.
Ricky and the girls walked into Dolla Dolla’s sunken living room. When they did, Ricky saw that Dolla Dolla wasn’t alone. He had a few more of his guards standing behind the sofa, but on the other side of the sectional sat a short Latino guy with a handlebar mustache, wearing a gray suit. Behind him were two more guards—bald Latinos with broad shoulders and arms as thick as tree limbs. All their heads swiveled in Ricky’s and the women’s direction when they entered the room.
“Pretty Ricky!” Dolla Dolla boomed. “There your ass is! We’ve been waiting on you, nigga!”
“So these are the girls, huh?” the short guy asked. He shoved himself up from the sofa, buttoned his suit jacket, and staggered toward them with a glass in his hand. He stopped about a foot in front of Candy and Vanessa and began to circle them like a vulture, looking them up and down drunkenly with heavy-lidded eyes.
To the women’s credit, they weren’t intimidated by his outright inspection. They stood tall and stared right back at him.
“Yeah, this is Vanessa and Candy. They used to work for me at the strip club. And I’m Ricky.” Ricky in
clined his head at the man. “And you are?”
“It don’t matter who I am,” the man slurred, reaching out to grab Vanessa’s chin and run a hand down her neck. “Just know that I can make you a lot of money.”
“Hey!” Vanessa said, angrily swatting his hand away. “Don’t touch me like that.”
The man chuckled, then sneered at her. “You better get used to being touched by strangers, puta, if you’re plannin’ on sellin’ pussy. What the fuck you think you’re about to do? Give out handshakes?” He glanced at Ricky. “What kind of stuck-up bitches did you bring in here?”
Ricky’s jaw tightened. He watched as Vanessa’s and Candy’s faces changed, as their ready smiles disappeared.
The man turned to Dolla Dolla, taking another drink from his glass. “Do we get to try them out tonight, or what? Or do we have to take their word that they know how to fuck?”
Candy’s mouth fell open before she caught herself. She turned and glowered at Ricky, who shrugged at her, silently conveying, “I don’t know what he’s talking about!”
Dolla Dolla hadn’t mentioned anything about having sex with the girls tonight.
“Dolla,” he began cautiously, “you didn’t tell me that was part of the deal. I thought I was just introducing them.”
“And that’s all we doin’ right now,” Dolla Dolla said, then held up a hand when it looked like his partner was about to voice his displeasure. “Yo, José, chill, man! They just got here. Let them sit down and relax. Shit! Have another drink.”
José stared at the women a beat longer before staggering back to the sofa. Ricky gestured them toward the sunken living room and they walked ahead of him.
“Come on, ladies. Take a load off,” Dolla Dolla said. “Ricky, let me introduce you to José Palacios. José, this my nigga Ricky Reynaud. He used to run a strip club for me.”