New Year, New Boo?
(a holiday short)
Alexandria House
Pink Cashmere Publishing, LLC
Arkansas, USA
Copyright © 2019 by Alexandria House
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing 2019
Pink Cashmere Publishing, LLC
[email protected]
1
Langston
Blowing out a breath, I peered through my windshield at what could only be described as a mansion, big and beige with huge trees surrounding it and a manicured lawn. The driveway crowded with cars, was the size of a modest parking lot. This was the CEO’s home—i.e., my boss’s home, and I wanted to be anywhere but here.
Scanning the cars crowding the driveway, I sighed and grabbed my phone from the passenger seat of my cluttered Dodge Challenger, firing off a text: You here?
I didn’t see his car, but he could’ve Ubered there, something I should’ve done, because I was pretty sure I’d have to get drunk to survive this company party.
While waiting for a reply to my text, a knock at my driver’s side window made me yell, and then I had to fight not to roll my eyes. Letting the window down, I greeted my perky coworker. “Hi, Paisley!”
Too enthusiastic?
Probably.
“Hi, Langston! Girl, what are you waiting for? Come on inside! We’re about to start karaoke, and Bill Stinson is already sloshed! So you know what that means!” Her blue eyes were wide with amusement, her face flushed.
“Yep! Somebody better cue up Born to be Wild!”
“Bingo! Come on in before you miss it!”
And who would want to miss that train wreck? Me, it’s me. I’d want to miss it. I’d LOVE to miss it.
“I’ll be in there in a second, girl. Just checking my makeup,” I said. I fucking hated her. I also hated Bill Stinson. Shit, I hated just about everyone at Allerton Properties, to be honest.
“Oh, you look perfect, as usual. I wish I could tan to your color. I mean, you’re so…brown!”
Oh, hell. I’m not gonna make it. May as well turn around and go home.
“Uh, thanks?” I offered.
“You’re welcome, girlfriend! See you in there!”
I rolled my eyes as I watched her flutter into the house.
Another couple of minutes passed before I got a reply to my text: Look up.
I smiled at my work buddy standing in front of my car. Fumbling with the handle, I swung my door open and hopped out like Crew Shabazz was the love of my life rather than the one and only coworker I didn’t despise. We were the elite two, the only black employees who worked at company headquarters. Crew was the onsite attorney, and I was the HR manager.
“It took you long enough, Solicitor,” I said.
He grinned, showcasing gorgeous dimples. “I’m not British, Ms. O’Neal.”
“So? Anyway, I can’t believe I got here before you. You’re the king of arriving early.”
“That’s the slow-ass Uber driver’s fault, but I’m here now. Appreciate you waiting for me. I don’t feel like being stared at, and if I walk in there alone, everyone will be staring at me.”
Taking the arm he offered me, I said, “That’s because they all want to screw you, Counselor.”
“Even the men?”
“Especially the men, but you’re a handsome man, so who can blame them?”
“Aw, thanks. You gonna cut me another bonus check then?”
“You ain’t that damn handsome.”
He chuckled. “You look beautiful, by the way.”
Shyness suddenly hit me as I replied, “Thanks, sir.”
Crew
I hated these types of gatherings, but after Langston told me she’d been the only black attendee before I was hired earlier in the year, I just couldn’t leave my buddy hanging, especially since she and her boyfriend had split up, which meant she would be by herself without a buffer. I’d worked in the corporate world for years and was all too familiar with how it felt to be the only brown face in the room. It didn’t keep me from succeeding at whatever I chose to pursue, but it was always nice to run across someone in the workplace who got it, particularly when they looked like Langston O’Neal. She was the definition of beauty and so damn smart. Plus, she was witty. Yeah, I kind of had a crush on her, which was ridiculous considering I was a forty-three-year-old man with a divorce under my belt and a teenage son who was occupying every bit of patience in my body. Nevertheless, I liked her. A lot. But she was getting over a bad breakup, had her own child to raise—a little girl—and I was sure she didn’t see me as anything more than a friend anyway, someone to share an occasional lunch and a laugh with.
Once we’d crossed the threshold of Ava Allerton’s house, I asked, “Food or liquor first?”
Langston grinned up at me. “Food. I need to put something on my stomach before I get drunk, because I’m definitely getting drunk, Esquire.”
I chuckled. Langston was just as funny as she was smart. We’d become fast friends after I attended my first meeting at Allerton, because every time something stupid was said by a coworker, our eyes would instinctively find one another, although we hadn’t even met yet. And when we did formally meet, it was like I’d finally found my corporate other half. I could relax around Langston, didn’t have to code switch, and I loved her sense of humor.
As we both grabbed plates and stood in the buffet line, I took her in. That silver sweater and tiny black skirt fit her petite body perfectly. Her hair, which she’d divulged to me months ago was a weave, cascaded down her back, and those silver shoes gave me a view of her pink-painted toenails which matched her long fingernails. As she used tongs to grab what looked like a miniature chicken salad sandwich, she turned that beautiful mahogany face to me, and said, “You’re not eating, Juris Doctor?”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Yes, I am. Just trying to figure out what I want.” Besides you.
“They got meatballs. Meatballs are usually a good bet.”
“I like meatballs. Might give them a try.”
A few minutes later, Langston and I were sitting at the bar in the back of the vast living room, feeding our faces as Tiffany Oberon mutilated Madonna’s Like a Prayer.
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry,” Langston mumbled. “She just sounds so…bad.”
“Worse than bad. Shit, worse than worse,” I said with a grin.
“So, worst?”
“No, worster.”
We both laughed and then ate in silence until I felt her eyes on me.
“What?” I asked. “I got something on my face?”
“No—yes, your dimples. When you chew, I can see them. They’re—”
“They make me look like a damn kid,” I groaned. “I know.”
“No, Barrister, they’re—they’re nice.”
“Thank you, and what do you do, read thesauruses for a hobby?”
“Basically.”
I shook my head, tossed a cube of cheese in my mouth, and let my eyes survey the room. I almost choked when I saw another brown face. “Somebody must’ve brought a black date. There are three of us in here.”
Langston frowned. “What?! Where?”
“Over by the piano, next to Chloe Jankowsk
i.”
She turned and searched the room with her eyes; then her mouth dropped open and she muttered, “Liquor. Now.”
“Huh?”
“I-I need a drink. That’s my damn ex.”
2
Langston
I wasn’t sure what upset me more, the fact that Lucky was there or the fact that he was holding fucking Chloe Jankowski’s hand. She was a commercial property manager with the company, the same commercial property manager I’d put my then boyfriend in touch with when he was looking to relocate his sports bar to a better part of town. Was Chloe why he’d grown distant? Was she the reason he’d started spending more time at “work” and less time at home? Was she why I’d come home three months ago to find all his stuff gone from our townhouse? That was how this motherfucker broke up with me. He moved his shit out of our place while I was at work and left me a damn note saying he was unhappy and was moving on.
Moving on?
After four years, one daughter, and countless declarations of love, he was just…moving on? I was thirty-five years old. How the fuck did I let myself get played like that?
I threw a shot of some special holiday concoction back and shook my shoulders. It actually wasn’t half bad, so I asked the bartender, “What is this called again?”
“That’s the Auld Lang Syne,” he returned.
“Well, hit me again so old acquaintance can be forgot up in this bitch,” I mumbled.
“Excuse me?”
“Another one, please.”
“Coming up!”
The great thing about this company gathering was that everyone put in overtime to get drunk, so if I ended up stumbling around the place in an intoxicated stupor, I’d fit right in.
Crew took a sip of bourbon, I think, and asked, “You okay?”
“No, but I will be.”
“Okay…”
I threw my second shot back, licked my lips, and gave Crew my full attention. “I can’t believe he’s here with her. How did I miss this shit? Oh, I know, it had to be that he was always obsessed with my ass and Chloe doesn’t even have one. Got damn, I wanna leave!”
“Then let’s go,” Crew offered.
“But if I go, it’ll look like I’m running from him, like I’m hurt.”
“Aren’t you?”
“No, I’m just pissed at my own stupidity and his audacity. I mean, his dick ain’t even big enough for him to cheat on me. I can’t believe I had a baby with him, but at least I had a girl who couldn’t inherit that training dick.”
“Damn, that’s cold, Lang—”
“Langston?”
My eyes amplified at the voice that had interrupted Crew, and I tapped my glass on the bar, locking eyes with the bartender who quickly gave me a refill that I slung down my throat before turning to face my ex. He was over six feet tall and handsome, and apparently, a cheating-ass piece of shit!
“Lucky? What are you doing here? I didn’t know you worked for the company now,” I said, eyes wide with fake surprise. “How’d I miss your hiring paperwork?”
He gave me a lopsided grin. “Nah, a friend invited me. I didn’t know you’d be here, or I probably wouldn’t have come. I know you don’t like to come to these things alone, so I thought…”
“Oh, she’s not alone. Crew Shabazz.” I watched as Crew offered Lucky his hand.
Lucky’s eyes shot from me to Crew. “Uh, Lucky Howard. Lang’s—we used to—uh…”
“Crew, sweetie, Lucky’s my ex. He’s also Baldwin’s father. Lucky, this is Crew, the company’s attorney,” I said.
“Oh?” Lucky asked with raised eyebrows. “You two work together?”
“Mm-hmm. We do. Don’t we, Crewy?”
Crew dragged a finger down my nose and smiled. “We sure do, Langy.”
It was a good thing the company didn’t have a policy prohibiting employee fraternization—I mean, half the people in the room were fucking the other half with no regard to their marital status—because Crew and I were acting like we’d been cast in a Hallmark Channel holiday movie.
“Oh…” Lucky muttered.
“What friend did you come with? I don’t remember you being friends with anyone other than me at Allerton,” I queried.
“Babe, let’s go see what there is to eat.” That was Chloe, who’d sidled up to Lucky and grabbed his arm, acting like she didn’t see me standing there.
“Uh, sure,” he replied, and then they left.
After throwing back my fourth shot, I started wondering if this bitch had been spending time with my daughter when Lucky picked her up.
“We can go. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings a bit,” Crew offered.
“No, he seems uncomfortable, so why leave?”
“I see your point. Why not torture him?”
“Eggggzactly! Hey, thanks for playing along, Crew.”
“It was my pleasure, Langy.”
I laughed and then sighed. Why couldn’t we really be a couple? Crew was…he was everything—smart, handsome, fine, single, and just an all-around good guy. “So how’s the dating thing going for you? Still making matches on the Black Singles Hub?”
He shook his head. “After the date with the chick who wore a human teeth necklace to dinner, I deleted that damn app.”
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from cackling, not that anyone would hear it over whoever was strangling the life out of Don’t Stop Believing. I didn’t even chance a glance at the little spot in the middle of the room where those who dared performed their favorite hits. Ms. Allerton’s stereo equipment was too nice for this shit.
“Yeah, I made a profile after Lucky first left and deleted it within hours of getting some pretty disturbing messages. My favorite was the one who asked if I sold pics of my feet,” I shared.
“Damn. Well, I just kept getting messages asking if I eat ass.”
“What?!”
He nodded. “Like seven women asked me that.”
“What’d you do? Ignore them?”
“Nah, just told them I reserve that for when I’m in a committed relationship.”
“Oh…”
“I also told them I prefer to eat the box. That’s my favorite thing in the world to do.”
My asshole was already tingling from the liquor, and now my pussy was liquefying. That bourbon had really loosened Crew’s tongue up.
“Crew, are you drunk?” I asked.
He frowned. “Hell, no. I went to Duke. All we did was drink there. It’ll take more than this to put me on my ass,” he said, pointing to his empty glass.
“Well, maybe I’m drunk, because I could’ve sworn you basically just said you like to eat pussy.”
“You might be drunk, but you heard right.” He leaned in close to my ear. “I do like to eat pussy. Matter of fact, I love to eat pussy.”
With my mouth hung open, I questioned, “Crew, are you…are you flirting with me?”
He smiled, torturing me with those dimples again. “Yeah, I am.”
Crew
Her mouth was still hanging open, but no words were coming out of it. I guess I’d surprised her, and shit, I’d surprised myself, too. I wasn’t sure why I’d decided to shoot my shot at that moment. Maybe it was because the liquor had relaxed me or because I saw that her ex wasn’t shit and knew she deserved better, better like me. Or perhaps it was that she looked so damn sexy when she was mad. I don’t know. I just, shit, I wanted her more than ever at that moment. Yeah, she was on her way to being pretty damn drunk and would most likely not remember this conversation later on, but I couldn’t stop myself, so I leaned in close to her ear again, and whispered, “If you were sober, I’d eat your pussy right now, slide a finger in it and work you until you melted all over my face.”
She closed her mouth, those big eyes of hers still glued to me as she turned to the bartender, and said, “Can I get some water?”
After chugging the water, she grabbed my hand. “Come on. I need some bread to soak this damn liquor up. I’m getting sober even if
it kills me.”
With a grin, I followed her back to the buffet table, making a plate of my own.
Everyone was drunk. Well, I wasn’t, and Langston was almost sober after gorging on yeast rolls, but virtually everyone else was stumbling around the CEO’s home, knocking shit over, giggling, and attempting to dance, but according to Langston, this was par for the course for the annual New Year’s party, the only company party of the year. We’d finally reached the point where Ms. Allerton, an aging but still attractive white lady, pulled names from a hat and gave out prizes. This was why people actually attended the party. That and the free booze.
Of course, Ms. Allerton was drunk too, so her significant other, a woman known only to us as Gilly, actually pulled the names and announced the prizes: “The winner of two nights at the Calliope Resort is…Troy Danvers!”
“God, I hate him and that damn comb-over of his,” Langston hissed. “He can never get my name right. Keeps calling me Latifah or Lasheka, or Ladonna. Anything but Langston.”
I frowned. “He does? Asshole.”
She gave me a grin.
“The pair of Sea-Doos go to Wendy Soba!”
“I woulda sold those,” I said.
“Same,” Langston agreed.
“David Trachtenburg, you have won two round-trip tickets to Mykonos!”
“Fuck! I really wanted thoooose,” Langston whined.
“I’ve been there. It’s not all that,” I advised.
“For real?”
“No, I’m lying. It’s gorgeous.”
She gently punched my arm. “Shut up.”
“The seventy-two-inch smart TV goes to Chloe Jankowski!”
“Lucky’s going to love playing Xbox on that thing,” Langston said, crushing a water bottle in her hand.
As Chloe threw her arms around Langston’s ex in celebration, I leaned in, and asked, “You still love him?”
She closed her eyes and grabbed my hand again. “Let’s go outside. I need some air.”
New Year, New Boo Page 1