by Kate Stewart
“I’ve loved him a long time and let stupid things keep us apart. We never meant to hurt you, and were trying to work out the best way to handle the public finding out about you and Grip since your relationship became such a huge part of everything.”
“He should have told me it was you.” Something beyond anger rises in the heated glance Qwest flicks my way. Resentment. “He’s just like all the rest of them. He couldn’t choose someone who really understands him, what he’s been through, and how he’s struggled.”
“What makes you think I don’t understand him?”
“He needs a sister who knows how to fight. Who’s ride or die.”
“You’re right. I’m not ride or die.” I look at her frankly. “Dying wouldn’t be an option I’d ever entertain. For Grip, I would find a way.”
Surprise flits across her face, and she actually laughs. Genuinely laughs at my comment.
“You sure you ain’t just a little bit black, Bristol?”
We share a brief, uneasy smile.
“It makes it worse that I’m white?”
“You damn right it does.” Qwest dispenses with what’s left of her smile, bitterness in her voice. “You have no idea what it’s like seeing the best of our men always choosing you. As soon as they get a little something, make something of themselves, they need to go get a white woman to feel validated.”
“That isn’t Grip. That isn’t what this is.”
“Oh, please tell me what it is, Bristol, because you know so much about being rejected.”
“I have experienced rejection.”
“Not by a whole culture, you haven’t. You haven’t been told outright and in a million subtle ways that you’re not good enough, not beautiful enough. These athletes and musicians, actors—most of ’em raised by single black women, and when they find success, do they choose someone from their own community? No, they want someone who’s nothing like the very women who struggled and sacrificed to make their success possible.”
As she articulates it, I see not just her pain, but the pain behind what Jade and Ms. James said. What Shondra didn’t voice to me, but felt.
“I hear you,” I tell her. “But that isn’t what this is. Not what we are. We aren’t a statistic or a trend. I’ve had these feelings for years, and Grip wasn’t successful or rich or famous when I met him. He was just . . . himself. And I loved that about him.”
“I do, too.” Qwest blinks at the tears accompanying her soft response.
“I’m so sorry it happened this way.” Tears come to my eyes, too. I look down at the carpet to hide them. “I know you care about him.”
“I do. That’s why it hurt to think that he . . . well, that he cheated.” Her bark of a laugh cuts into the air. “It still hurts that I lost out to a white chick. Maybe it shouldn’t make a difference, but it does.”
I can’t change or apologize for what I am anymore than she can change who she is.
“Qwest, I—”
“Your five minutes are up.” Her voice wavers just the slightest bit. She sneaks a finger under one eye to catch a tear.
“Okay. Thank you for listening.” I stand and grab my purse. “Grip is doing an online interview with Legit tonight to address all of the craziness that’s been going on. I wanted to let you know that he’ll be telling his side of the story. He’ll be completely honest and tell everyone the timeline I just shared with you. I’m giving you a chance to get ahead of that and retract the misinformation you’ve put out there about how things happened. That’ll be better for you than to be on the defensive and in a position where you have to contradict him.”
“You’ve got all the bases covered, don’t you, Bristol?” Qwest’s eyes remain averted, her mouth pulled tight.
“That’s my job.”
She looks up and sees right through me.
“Only Grip’s a lot more than your job, ain’t he?”
She knows he is, or I wouldn’t have made this risky move. There’s nothing more to do here, so I head for the door.
“Bristol,” Qwest says, causing me to turn at the door. “You’re a very lucky woman. Any woman, black, white whatever would be lucky to have a man like Grip.”
I don’t think anything I could say would be the right thing, could ease the pain I see behind her eyes, so I just nod and close the door behind me. But in my heart, despite all the crap we’ve waded through over the last few days, I agree.
I just might be the luckiest girl in the world.
Chapter Thirty-One
Grip
BRISTOL’S IDEA FOR me to address the rumors and misunderstandings directly in an online sit-down with Meryl from Legit helped a lot. It was short and to the point, mostly me laying out that I didn’t cheat on Qwest and made sure to end one relationship before beginning another. There are still some #BlackLove and #QueenWithNoKing haters who call me a sellout, but I think most people get that it isn’t about the color of our skin.
I wish my mother was one of those people. We’ve gone from me dodging her calls, to her ignoring mine. After the Legit Exclusive aired, I reached out, but she hasn’t called me back. It’s always been us. We’ve never fallen out this way, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt. I keep telling myself I’ll go to the house Sunday for dinner and we’ll chop it up. Work it out over her sweet potato pie, but there’s a part of me that knows it won’t be that easy.
All of that aside, right now I can’t pretend I’m not excited for my first night out with Bristol. Even if it is just a charity dinner, not a real date. I was scheduled to appear at this fundraiser weeks ago. After the Legit interview, Bristol wants me to be business as usual and show people I have nothing to hide. Of course I insisted that if we really have nothing to hide, she’ll attend this event with me. It’s been over a week since the footage leaked, and a few days since the interview. Surely people have moved on to something else. Something that has nothing to do with me and my girlfriend.
Who looks so damn gorgeous tonight.
I come out of the shower, towel tied at my waist, to stand behind her, settling my hands at her hips as she’s putting on makeup in my bathroom.
“I’ve changed my mind.” I kiss her neck. “This event’s a waste of time. We should stay home and make love.”
She smiles at me in the mirror, pausing in applying mascara.
“I could stay home and you could go.” There’s hope on her face and in her voice.
“No way. I thought we had a point to make tonight.” I squeeze her waist. “That we have nothing to be ashamed of or to hide.”
I turn her around to get a proper look at her. She’s wearing this green dress that cuts low between her breasts. The quarter length sleeves cling to her arms, and the rest of the dress flows freely to her knees. A fragile gold chain adorns the bare strip of skin just above her cleavage.
“This is pretty.” I lift the delicate gold links.
Her breath catches when my knuckles brush against the warm satiny swell of her breast. Looking into her eyes, I slip my hand into the bodice of the dress, cupping the weight of one breast, bringing the nipple taut with my thumb.
“Grip, don’t start or we’ll be late.” Her voice is husky, her eyelids half mast over the desire building in her eyes.
“Uh huh.” I squat until I’m level with her chest, pushing the dress aside to expose one full, berry-tipped breast. I lock eyes with her when I take the nipple between my lips, sliding my hands down her waist and spreading both palms over her ass.
“Grip, stop.” Her hands contradict her words, pressing my mouth deeper, urging me to scrape my teeth over the nipple.
My hand wanders under her dress, skates over one silky thigh and into her panties.
“Shit.” I massage her clit, plumping it between two fingers before slipping them inside of her with shallow pumps. “How am I supposed to get through this dinner knowing your panties are soaked?”
“I’ve got a solution for that,” she says breathlessly. She reaches under her dress and s
lides the panties off, letting them ring around her bare feet. “No more wet panties.”
I step back, gripping the knot of terry cloth at my waist, and pointing a warning finger at her.
“You know you’re getting fucked so hard when we get home.”
“Promises, promises.” She turns back to the mirror with a smile, her cheeks and the soft skin of her throat and chest still flushed.
I’m dressed when the buzzer sounds. It’s probably Amir. As much as I typically discourage him from “guarding” me, there will be a lot of people at this event tonight. For whatever reason, much of the shade seems directed at Bristol. I want him along more for her safety than for mine.
“That’s Amir.” I kiss her cheek on my way to the bedroom door.
“I’ll be down in a sec. Just finishing my hair.”
“K. We’re downstairs.”
Amir comes in, surveying my black dress shirt, gray slacks and short black boots hidden under my pants.
“Nice.” He nods like I pass inspection.
“I try.” I walk back into the loft. “Bris’ll be right down. You want something to drink before we hit the road?”
“Nah.” He glances up the staircase at my closed bedroom door and then back to me. “I do have an update on that thing we talked about.”
“What thing?” I ask absently, strapping on my old black plastic watch. It’s become a habit I can’t break, and it feels good to wear it again even if it does seem cheap and out of place.
“You know,” he says, voice barely audible. “The thing.”
I sit down on the couch across from him and give him a puzzled look.
“Why you talking in code?”
“Corpse, dude.” He looks cautiously up the stairs again. “I talked to my cousin.”
“Oh.” I lean my elbows to my knees, now on high alert. “And?”
“I just asked him if he was still, you know, handling things for people.”
“And is he?”
“Yeah.” Amir looks like I’m pulling his back teeth. “But on a very limited, exclusive basis.”
“I can be limited and exclusive.” I pause to catch his eyes. “You know I’m not asking him to kill Parker, right?”
“Man, are you crazy?” Amir eyes the corners of the room, searching the ceiling, I presume for cameras or other devices. “You can’t be saying that shit out loud.”
“It’s my house,” I say wryly. “I think if there’s anywhere we can safely talk about this, it’s here. And I just want options. It would be a drastic situation. He’d have to do something pretty stupid for me to need Corpse, but I just want to know what’s out there.”
“Well you may have provoked him in that Legit interview,” Amir says, mild reproach in the look he gives me.
“I just told the truth.” I shrug. “When Meryl asked about Parker I said I’m the only man Bristol’s in a relationship with. End of story. It’s true. What was I supposed to say?”
We shut the conversation down when the door above opens and Bristol comes out on the landing. For a moment it’s just the two of us, her smile for me and me alone. Yeah, Corpse is just insurance, but I’d use him and anything else at my disposal to protect her. I glance back to Amir, wondering if he can read my mind as my girl comes down the stairs. The grim set of his mouth and the concern in his eyes tells me that he can.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Bristol
“INTEREST HAS DIED down, huh?” I throw that lightly in Grip’s face as we pull up to the charity dinner where there’s a small mob of fans and media behind the ropes flanking the red carpet.
It isn’t a ball or gala, thank God. Just your standard sit-down, five-thousand-dollar plate dinner. Grip was invited to talk briefly about the importance of giving back to the community. Meryl included parts of his talk at his high school in the Legit piece, along with a clip from her phone of him playing basketball with the student. Between that piece, and all the publicity “Bruise” is getting in the debate over tensions with law enforcement, Grip’s being perceived as an artist with a conscience. I love it because I think it reflects who he truly is.
“It is crazy out there.” Amir considers the crowd lining the red carpet leading to the hotel where the charity dinner is being held.
“It’ll be fine.” Grip gives Amir a pointed look. “Stay with Bristol if we get separated.”
“He’s here to guard you, not me.” I adjust my dress before the door opens and we have to get out. I’m terribly conscious of the decision to leave my panties on the bathroom floor. I’ve been exposed enough without flashing my naked girl parts to the world.
“Amir, you heard me.” Grip looks from me to his friend. “I’ll be fine.”
“Gotcha, bruh.” He looks at the throng of people pressing closer to the car with cameras and microphones. “Bris, stay close.”
I roll my eyes, but nod. I know it bothers Grip that a lot of the hate has died off for him, though some of the more vocal critics call him a sellout, but the lion’s share of the vitriol seems to be for me. They’ve called me so many names, I may as well be doing business as “That White Bitch” by now.
“You ready?” Grip grabs my hand and doesn’t wait for me to confirm.
We’re on the red carpet sooner than I want to be. I don’t answer any of the questions hurled at us, but one question makes me stiffen, and has the same effect on Grip.
“Bristol, what about Parker?” one reporter yells. “How does he feel about your new relationship?”
I hope I’ve adequately dealt with Parker. All of his messages were the same. I want you. You’re mine. We’re meant to be. You will marry me. Blah, blah, fucking blah. I left him a voicemail telling him to seek professional help and leave me alone. I haven’t heard from him since, even after the police footage was leaked, but that doesn’t mean anything. This man has persisted for years. We’re into decades now that he’s believed some day we’ll get hitched and endure years of miserable matrimony just like our parents have. I’m not naïve enough to think one voicemail will kill that delusion.
“Bristol, are you with both of them?” another reporter asks.
I ignore the horrible question, but Grip turns in the direction of the reporter, glaring, his hand still holding mine, tightening around mine.
“What did you ask her?” His voice, a dark growl, has the reporter looking like a mouse caged with a snake. “Does it look like she’s with him? She’s with me.”
“Grip, don’t.” I tug on his hand, pulling until he’s walking with me. “Let’s just go in.”
The hotel entrance is a blessed end to a walk that only took a minute, but felt like forever with the glare of the spotlight. As soon as we’re inside, I pull him into the nearest discreet corner. I reach up to frame his face, undeterred by the irritation stamped there.
“Hey, don’t let those stupid questions get to you, okay?” I whisper. “You know I’m with you. You know what happened with Parker. That’s all that counts.”
“I know.” He closes his eyes, turning his head to kiss the inside of my wrist. “But the Parker thing . . .”
Displeasure rattles his throat in a low rumble.
“You’re mine. You’re with me.” He squats a little to kiss me, his lips possessive and commanding. He presses me into him, splaying his hand across my lower back. Even though we’ve stepped to the side, I know there have to be people watching us, but I sense he needs this, so I tamp down my self-consciousness and surrender. His kiss slows, his tongue doing a languid sweep inside like he’s marking my mouth. He drops his forehead to mine.
“I know I’m overreacting.” He sighs, tipping his head back and studying the chandeliers dotting the high ceilings. “I just hate that anyone would even think he has a claim on you.”
“Hey, from their perspective, it was a blur.” I take both of his hands in mine. “All of this—you and Qwest, me and Parker—it’s all really tangled in their heads. They don’t know I’ve been in love with you for years.”
“You think you can charm your way out of that hard fuck you have coming tonight, don’t you?”
“When have I ever run from a hard fuck?” My voice comes out low and sultry, my smile slow and only for him. “I’m earning it.”
A hand on Grip’s shoulder pulls us out of each other.
“They’re going in,” Amir says, eyes discreetly lowered. “Just letting you know.”
“You ready for this?” Grip asks.
“You’re the one who has to speak. I just look pretty and eat rubbery five-thousand dollar chicken.”
Apparently I know my stuff, because that is all that is asked of me for the rest of the night. Our table is full of people much older than we are, community activists who probably couldn’t give a flying fig about what’s trending on Twitter. I doubt any of them know what a “thot” is either. And I’m so grateful.
Grip is extraordinary in this context. His background and childhood mean that he is in touch with real need like many celebrities aren’t. It isn’t just something he shouldn’t forget. His mother still lives in the house where he grew up. His cousins and aunts and family are all still in that community. He talks about how he would have gone hungry at school if there hadn’t been a free lunch program, and about the years when he was younger and his mother was on welfare. He smiles when he tells us how proud she was when she no longer needed it.
I marvel again at how we found each other, at how natural it has felt with us from the beginning, considering how vastly different our lives have been. Like someone gave him the answers to a test, as if he had a Bristol cheat sheet that no one else received. I can’t take my eyes off him. He thought I watched him before. Now that he’s mine, now that we’re together, it’s even worse. He rivets me, and it doesn’t scare me anymore. Maybe I do love him too much and don’t have boundaries. I don’t care. This love is the stuff of magic, of fantasy, but so raw and real I can touch it. I can taste it. If for some reason I fall, how many can say they soared this high?