by Shelly Ellis
It was his day off and he had nothing to do. No dates. No plans with friends. But he couldn’t stand the prospect of being alone in his apartment with all that silence and his heavy thoughts, so he had come here in the hope of finding some distraction from his inner demons.
He was wearing ratty jeans and a T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved. He looked like some hungover grad student.
Jamal flipped to the next page in the newspaper, studiously avoiding the metro section that was folded up on the table. He usually did nowadays. He didn’t know what he would do if he stumbled upon an article about Phillip’s murder, or if he had to see a picture of him, though at this point it probably wasn’t likely. Nearly two months had passed and Phillip’s murder remained unsolved. The news of the shooting of the intrepid Washington Recorder reporter was likely already forgotten by most who hadn’t known Phillip personally, pushed aside for more recent crimes and splashier stories. But Jamal couldn’t forget. Every time he thought about Phillip he felt guilt, crippling guilt. And even worse, he knew the truth of what had happened to him and who was behind it—but he couldn’t tell anyone.
The door to the coffee shop swung open just as Jamal took another drink from his cup. He glanced up from the article he was reading to see what patron had walked into the shop. When he did, he almost spat out his coffee.
“Hey, what can I get you?” the barista asked with a smile.
Jamal watched as Melissa Stone, of all people, sauntered toward the counter. She was wearing her hair different now. Gone were the long braids that used to hang down her back. They were now replaced by a lion’s mane, a twist-out of coiled curls in shades of brown, red, and honey blond that haloed her face. She was wearing a slinky red sundress that hugged her curves and black Converse sneakers. She looked effortlessly urban chic and as beautiful as he remembered.
“Hey, can I get a mocha espresso, please?” she asked before pushing her sunglasses to the crown of her head and digging into her leather hobo bag for her wallet.
Jamal lowered his eyes back to his newspaper and turned slightly in his chair so that his back was now facing her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him.
He vividly remembered the last time they had spoken to one another. The kiss . . . her blistering rejection . . . and how heartbroken and humiliated he had felt after. He was not equipped for a hostile or awkward encounter with her today, not with what he was already experiencing.
A couple of minutes later, the barista handed Melissa her espresso. She nodded her thanks and walked to a table only five feet away from Jamal. He watched from the corner of his eye as she set down her cup, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She began to drink her espresso and scan through her phone, and he was relieved.
Good, he thought. If she was too preoccupied with her phone, she wouldn’t notice him. But he must have been projecting some psychic vibes her way because almost instantly, she looked up and locked eyes with his. Jamal turned away in alarm and returned his attention to his coffee. Thankfully, she did the same.
About fifteen minutes later, Melissa rose from her chair. Jamal pretended to be engrossed in his newspaper. He pretended to drink his coffee, even though the cup was practically empty. He was trying his best not to look up when she passed his bistro table and headed toward the counter to drop off her cup. But Melissa did something unexpected; she didn’t pass him. Instead she stopped about a foot in front of his table and loudly cleared her throat. He slowly looked up from his paper and stared at her, shocked to see she was smirking.
“I was going to keep pretending like we didn’t make eye contact a few minutes ago, but I figured that was stupid. I should just be a grownup and come over to say hi,” she said.
She smelled like citrus and the hair oil she must be using now.
He nodded and laughed nervously. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she repeated back, shifting her purse on her shoulder. Her smirk morphed into a smile.
Despite his dark mood and what had happened between them, Melissa’s smile still had the same effect on him it always did. He found it arresting. It made him want to smile too.
“So how have you been, Jay?”
“Umm, okay. I’ve . . . uh . . . been okay.”
She squinted. “Really? You don’t look okay. You look tired—and skinnier. Have you lost weight?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
She glanced at the lone empty seat at his table. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
That caught him by surprise. It was one thing to say hello, make polite conversation, and be on her way. It was a completely different thing to share a table with him. What was going on?
“Uh, sure. I mean, of . . . of course,” he said, quickly folding up his newspaper. He watched as she pulled out the chair and took the seat across from him. When she did, she took a sip from her cup, then licked her glossy bottom lip. Desire flared up inside him again, and the emotion felt almost like a betrayal. This woman had pure contempt for him—and he didn’t blame her. He had contempt for himself as well. Melissa was being nice now, but he would never forget how she really felt about him.
“So . . . I should tell you that I didn’t just come over here to say hi and drink coffee.” She paused to look down at her cup. “I . . . I also wanted to come over and . . . well, apologize. I feel like I owe you an apology, Jay.”
He blinked in surprise. “An apology? For what?”
“For how I behaved that night in December . . . for what I said to you.”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Lissa. You were right; I was in the wrong for kissing you like that. It was out of line.”
“Yeah, it was,” she said, finally raising her gaze from her cup. “But my reaction . . . all that anger, wasn’t necessary. We were friends, and you made a mistake. We had a lot to drink that night and dumb things happened.”
He didn’t recall them drinking that much, but he wasn’t going to correct her. This was obviously something she had wanted to get off her chest for a while. He wouldn’t speak again until she finished.
“Besides, I think I was more upset at what you said before you kissed me than the kiss itself. Let’s keep it real.” She shrugged. “You gave voice to what I’d been secretly thinking all along: that Dee and I weren’t right for each other . . . that the reason why we kept breaking up and making up over and over again is because we weren’t compatible, but we weren’t able to admit it. You said Dee was not the right guy for me—and you were right. I knew in my heart you were right, but I wasn’t . . . I wasn’t ready to hear it,” she said, choking up at the end.
He could see tears in her eyes. He grabbed a napkin from a nearby dispenser and handed it to her. She thanked him and dabbed at her eyelashes, smudging the napkin with mascara. His eyes drifted to her hands, and for the first time he noticed that she was no longer wearing her engagement ring.
“I’m sorry.” She sniffed and laughed.
“I told you. You don’t have anything to apologize about, Lissa.”
“This is not what I came over here to do. I’m so fuckin’ sick of cryin’.” She blew her nose and bit down on her bottom lip as the tears continued to fall. “It hits me at . . . at odd times. I try not to do it in public though.”
“What happened?”
She slowly shook her head and grabbed more napkins. “Ugh, I won’t bore you with all the details. But the gist of it is, I found out that Dee cheated on me, and we broke up. I moved out a couple months ago.”
Jamal frowned, now stunned. “Dee cheated on you? Derrick Miller?”
“I know, right? I never thought he’d be the type to cheat!”
“Shit.” He slumped back into his chair. “Me too!”
She burst into laughter even through the tears. “You have no idea how good it makes me feel to hear you say that, Jay! I thought I had been so blind and naïve but . . . but it’s good to know you thought that about him too. I wasn’t some dumb, clueless
chick that he could just manipulate and cheat on.”
“You’ve never been a dumb, clueless chick, Lissa.”
She tilted her head and winked. “That’s good to know. But enough about me and my screwed-up life.” She blew her nose again. “So what have you really been up to? How’s work, Mr. Deputy Mayor?”
He started to lie, to tell her that everything was fine and nothing had changed. He’d find the way to quickly segue back to her work and her life, but he stopped himself. He was so tired of lying.
“It’s . . . not good,” he confessed quietly. “Not good at all.”
She lowered the napkin from her nose. Now she was the one frowning. “What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . I’ve fucked up. I’ve fucked up royally and now I’m stuck. I have no idea how to fix the mess I’ve made because all the solutions are horrible. I feel like I’m in a prison and . . . and I can’t get out.” He ran his hand over his face. “And I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I mean . . . I’ve never really liked myself all that much, but it’s a struggle just to look in the mirror some days and not . . . not hate the man staring back at me. I . . . I’m a shitty human being and . . .”
He stopped when she reached across the table, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it.
“You’re not a shitty human being, Jay,” she whispered. “Please don’t say that.”
He shook his head again. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“No, but I know who you are. And I don’t think you’ve done anything you can’t come back from.”
“You really believe that?” he asked, surprised at how kind she was being, how understanding.
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it, Jay. I’m not fake like that. But,” she said, letting go of his hand, “we don’t have to talk about that heavy stuff today if you don’t want to. Let’s talk about something else. Tell me what else is going on with you. Don’t tell me anything that makes you sad. I’ll do the same.”
So they talked. They talked so long that Jamal lost track of time, and for a blissful few hours he forgot about everything that had been worrying him.
Chapter 23
Derrick
Derrick slapped the button on his alarm clock when it sounded, and stared at his bedroom ceiling, watching as the sunlight crept through the window blinds and splashed across the blades of his ceiling fan.
“Damn, is it six thirty already?” Morgan groaned, turning onto her side so that she flopped onto his chest, almost knocking the wind out of him.
He laughed as she snuggled against his neck, rubbing her nose in the stubble along his chin. “Yeah, it’s already six thirty. I set the clock fifteen minutes later than I usually do to give you more sleep. Remember?”
“Can’t we sleep a bit longer?” she whined. “The bed is so comfy.”
“No, we can’t sleep longer. We both have to be at work in an hour. We might be able to get away with an hour and fifteen. Maybe.”
“A hour and fifteen?” She blew air out of her cheeks, making him laugh again. “Oh, that’s plenty of time!”
“Plenty of time for what?”
“For sleeping in,” she said as her hand snaked its way down his bare chest to the waistband of his boxer briefs, “or for a couple other things.”
“What other things?” he asked playfully, cocking an eyebrow.
In response, she tugged back his waistband, wrapped her hand around his dick, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Let me show you, baby,” she whispered, before raising her mouth to his for a warm, sultry kiss. Within seconds, he shoved down his boxer briefs to his ankles and was on top of her while she moaned underneath him.
It had been a couple of months since he and Melissa had gone their separate ways, and Morgan was at his place all the time now, so much so that she had moved some of her things into the closets that were once filled with Melissa’s clothes. Her body gel was in his shower and some of her hair care products dotted his counter. She even had a toothbrush here right next to his.
It was strange how quickly and fluidly she had melded into his life. He thought the transition would be rockier. After all, he had known Melissa for two decades. There was a level of comfort in a relationship that came with that. He hadn’t known Morgan anywhere near as long but something just felt . . . right with her. He could chill with her like she was one of his boys and then make love to her at the end of the night. She didn’t mind the long hours he spent at the Institute. He didn’t get annoyed calls from her, like he used to get from Melissa, asking when he would finally come home. Hell, some days she stayed later than he did, working with the boys on some project in the workshop.
Sometimes it scared Derrick how right it felt to be with Morgan. Things had seemed perfect with Melissa for years too, before it all went wrong. But he told himself not to think that way, not to wait for the other shoe to drop, so they say. He told himself to just enjoy the moment.
Which was exactly what he was doing right now. Morgan was enjoying the moment too. His head was currently buried between her thighs and she was moaning and groaning beneath him, squirming and panting. He raised his head, licked his lips, and climbed back on top of her, gazing into her eyes. He saw a lot of love and adoration in those green irises and once again, instead of being happy, he was filled with doubt.
Would he disappoint her like he’d disappointed Melissa? Was he just a selfish asshole, like Ricky said, who was bad at relationships and doomed to break her heart in the end?
She must have noticed his hesitation, because she wrapped her legs around him, grabbed his ass, and nudged him forward.
“Don’t leave me hangin’, baby. Let’s do this.”
Derrick lowered his mouth to hers just as he thrust forward and she cried out. He did it over and over again and she rocked her hips underneath his, whimpering softly, begging him not to stop. The tempo increased and she unwrapped her legs from around him and spread them wider so that he could go deeper than before.
“Keep going, Derrick. Keep going, baby,” she urged breathlessly.
And he did. He braced one hand against the headboard and slammed into her even harder, until they were both moaning and screaming, until her nails dug into his biceps. When he came, his hold on the headboard went slack and he fell against her chest, gulping for air. A few seconds later, she flopped her legs open in exhaustion and wrapped him in her arms, gently kissing his cheek and neck.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, Derrick stood in his kitchen in a dress shirt, slacks, and tie. Morgan sauntered into the room, pulling her hair into a ponytail atop her head.
“You’re looking mighty dapper and sexy today,” she said with a smile before standing on the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek and reaching behind him to give his butt a good squeeze. She walked to the kitchen counter and pulled out a loaf a bread to make toast.
He glanced down at himself and sighed. “Yeah, I had to throw on a tie today. We have someone from the city stopping by to do a tour of the Institute. I’m the one showing them around. I’m hoping they can put in a good word for us to get our grant renewed, but they warned me it doesn’t look good. The city’s budget is pretty tight this year.”
She frowned as she began to load a couple of slices into his toaster before pressing down the lever. “So what does that mean for the Institute? Will you have to cut staff?”
“I hope not.” He took a sip from his coffee cup. “But that grant is a lot of money. I don’t know how we can operate the way we have been with that much of a shortfall.”
She leaned back against the counter. “Can we get money from somewhere else? Can you get another grant?”
“Maybe, but the application process can be a pain in the ass. And a lot of that stuff depends on who you know, and I don’t know a lot of rich white folks who run foundations.”
She cocked her head. “I do.”
Derrick stared at her in disbelief. “What do you mean?”
“I mean exactly what I said—I
know someone! Back when I used to make furniture in Bethesda, we had rich people coming through there all the time. In fact, I knew one lady who used to hold some education achievement benefit every year. She and her husband ran a foundation and everything. I can call some of the guys from the cooperative and see if they could dig up her name.”
He lowered his coffee mug to the kitchen counter. “Would you really do that for me?”
“Of course, I would! I don’t want you to have to let go of any staff or see the kids suffer. Why do you look so surprised?”
For the past four years, the Institute had been a burden he had carried alone. Melissa had even begged him to quit his job as executive director, arguing that he could find better, more well-paid jobs elsewhere. Even when she hadn’t been harping on him to quit, he knew she only let the subject drop grudgingly. And it wasn’t just her—even friends and old college buddies had offered him jobs, arguing that his talent was being wasted at that place. It was strange to finally have someone being so supportive, someone besides himself not only embracing the Institute, but wanting to see it thrive.
Derrick reached out and grabbed Morgan’s hand, catching her off guard.
“What?” she said, laughing nervously as he tugged her toward him. “What?”
He kissed her, long and hard, and basked in the sensation of her leaning against him like she was trying to sink into him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“Well, that was the nicest thanks I’ve ever gotten,” she said with a chuckle.
“No, I meant it. Thank you. You don’t know what something like this means to me.”
She raised a hand to her cheek. “I just wanna make you happy, Derrick.”
“Of course, you make me happy. Why wouldn’t you?”
“I know how hard it is to start all over again. I’m not Melissa but—”
“And I don’t want you to be.”
She lowered her eyes and he was surprised to see there were tears in them. “You said before that you had a hard time choosing between us, and as weak as it sounds, sometimes I wonder if you . . . you might feel like you made the wrong choice.”