A Sinful Calling (10 page)

F
rom the time Dillon had left the church, he'd told himself that one drink was all he needed. But as he'd gotten closer to Porsha's, he'd decided that maybe it wasn't such a great idea. Then, just as quickly as he'd made up his mind to forgo it, he'd driven past a bar that was no more than ten miles from Porsha's house. Still, he'd kept going, but the more he thought about his father and the stressful day he'd had, he found himself making a U-turn in the middle of the street and heading back in the direction he'd come from.

Now he sat in the parking lot of Benny's Tavern, debating whether he was doing the right thing. If he went in, it would only be for a few minutes and just to have one drink. He'd told himself those same words over and over, so he wasn't sure why he still hadn't gotten out of his car. Maybe it was because a small part of him did worry that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. But at the same time, he did believe he was cured. If he hadn't been, he never could have gone two years without drinking at all. He also hadn't attended more than ten AA meetings before leaving Atlanta, and that was only because his inpatient treatment counselor had insisted on it. His counselor had told him that the most successful alcoholics joined AA and attended meetings regularly. He'd also stressed that meetings needed to be a part of Dillon's life from now on. Dillon had heard him, but it hadn't been long before he'd realized he didn't need them. He'd discovered that he could stay sober on his own, and then when he'd become a minister, he'd decided that if he ever got weak, he would simply pray about it. But when he'd moved back to Mitchell and founded New Faith, he'd known for sure he wouldn't be attending any AA meetings—ever again. For one, he didn't want his family to know he'd once had a drinking problem, and secondly, he didn't want his parishioners to know that their pastor had been labeled an alcoholic. There was no way members of any congregation could respect a leader such as that, and it was the reason he'd also never as much as told Raven about it.

Dillon breathed deeply and stepped out of his vehicle. He walked past three rows of cars, and while it was a Thursday night, the parking lot wasn't full. This was likely because it was only six in the evening, because Thursdays at a bar tended to be just as busy as the weekends. His hope had been to leave the church early so he could head over to Porsha's a lot sooner, but Brenda had reminded him about a meeting he had with the president of a local organization. Dillon had wanted to cancel it, but because he had a huge place in his heart for all nonprofits that helped underprivileged children, he'd kept the meeting on his schedule. He hadn't known what he was going to tell Raven, because there was no way he'd be home from Porsha's before ten or eleven o'clock. But to his surprise, Raven had called him, saying that if he didn't mind, she and Dana were running by a couple of shoe stores. After that, they were going to dinner and a movie. Her call had been too good to be true, but she'd mentioned something about Dana having to work the entire holiday weekend, so they were having a girls' night out this evening. Dillon hadn't cared what the reason was and had just been relieved he could still go be with Porsha.

As he pulled open the glass door and walked inside the bar, he glanced at his watch. It was a quarter after six, so if he was in and out of there within the next half hour, he could be at Porsha's by seven. He could spend time with her for a couple of hours, take a shower, and be home by eleven. From the way it had sounded, Raven and Dana were going to the movie theater last, which meant whatever they were seeing probably wouldn't start before nine. If for some reason she got home even a few minutes before him, though, she still might question where he'd been, so he pulled out his phone and texted Vincent the following: “I should be home by eleven.”

This was code for
I'll be home by eleven, but if Raven calls you before then tell her I just left your house and I'm stopping by the store on the way home.

From the time Dillon had begun seeing Porsha, he'd set up that particular text arrangement with Vincent, just in case he needed an alibi. Whenever he got together with Porsha, he sent Vincent that same message, and the only thing that ever changed was the time. He always entered the approximate hour he was planning to arrive home. Then, once he hit Send, he deleted it.

Dillon strutted farther inside the bar and looked around. It was a nice establishment, but he hadn't been to a place like this in a long time. Not once since he'd left Atlanta, and he hadn't wanted to. He'd had his moments of wanting to drink, but even then he'd only wanted to buy something from a store.

He walked past a few tables, unbuttoned his classic gray suit jacket, and sat at the bar. ESPN aired on two flat-screen TVs behind it, and there were multiple rows of liquor bottles. Vodka tonic had always been Dillon's go-to cocktail, and tonight would be no different.

A gentleman with a thick salt-and-pepper beard stepped in front of him. “What can I do you for?”

“Vodka tonic.”

“You got it.”

Dillon glanced around the place, which wasn't huge but wasn't small, either. There were patrons of all ages, and they were mostly men. That is, with the exception of the two thirtysomething-looking women in the corner. One of them smiled at him, and Dillon returned the gesture.

“Here you go,” the bartender said. “Enjoy.”

Dillon pulled money from his wallet and set it on the counter. “Thanks.”

Back in the day, he would start a running tab because he knew he'd be drinking for a while, but tonight the drink in front of him would be his only one.

He sat there with his hands clasped together on the bar, staring at his glass. Did he really want to do this? After going this long without taking one sip of alcohol? Maybe he should just leave and head over to Porsha's the way he'd planned and call it a day. He had so many reservations, but already just the smell of the vodka that the bartender had prepared for him was drawing him in. The smell was so intoxicating that he could almost taste it.

Still, was it truly worth it? Especially since his out-of-control drinking was the reason he'd lost job after job and lost his aunt Susan's home? He hadn't lost it because of lack of payment, but he'd sold it to get the money and then squandered every dime of it away. She would have been so disappointed in him. But this was all a result of the way his father had rejected him. Curtis had pretended to accept and love him, but he'd never shown it in the right way. He'd never made Dillon a priority over his other children, and for whatever reason, that had been the one thing that had bothered him most. His father had owed him that, and after all this time, he still wouldn't give him the love and respect he deserved…and then today, he'd talked about him on national radio as though it were nothing.

Dillon's body heated up with anger, and his heart began to race. It was then that he loosened his tie, lifted the glass to his lips, and took his first drink. He hissed and frowned from the bitter taste and loved it at the same time. He took another gulp of it, and then another…until the glass was empty. He hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast, so it didn't take long for the liquor to calm his nerves. This was the reason he'd wanted a good, strong drink in the first place. Being calm was what he needed, and this vodka tonic had done the trick.

He was fine now and ready to leave for Porsha's. Until the woman who'd smiled at him walked over. Dillon turned and looked at her long, flowing black hair and deep-cappuccino skin, and there was an immediate attraction.

“Want some company?” she said.

“Actually, I was just on my way out.”

“So soon? You just got here.”

“I know, but I have someplace to be.”

“Well, that's too bad,” she said, eyeing him up and down.

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“I was planning to sit down and keep you company.”

Dillon looked over at her table. “It looks like you already have some.”

“That's just my sister. She and I decided to meet after work for a drink, but she has to get home to her husband. I, on the other hand, don't have one,” she said, looking down at his wedding band.

“I think I'd better go.”

“Couldn't you just stay a little while? You know, just to have another drink, maybe.”

Dillon wouldn't tell her this, but the more he felt the liquor taking effect, the more he thought about maybe having a second one.

“Come on,” she said, touching the top of his hand. “One drink together, and you can leave.”

Dillon thought about Porsha and how she was surely wondering why he hadn't arrived at her house yet, but he'd be on his way as soon as he finished his final drink. This one would definitely be his last. He was sure of it.

W
hen the woman slid farther down his body, Dillon shut his eyes, moaning. Just three hours ago, he hadn't even known who
Taylor Thomas
was, but what he did know now was that she certainly knew how to pleasure a man. In more ways than one. So now he lay there, enjoying himself and letting her have her way with him. He'd known by the way she'd strolled up to him at the bar that she was bold, aggressive, and knew what she wanted. She was the kind of woman who didn't ask a lot of questions, didn't require a long introduction, and just simply wanted to have a good time. Dillon had wanted the same thing, so when she'd asked him if he wanted to “go someplace a little quieter to talk,” he'd drunk the last of his third drink and walked out with her. She lived about twenty minutes away, and Dillon had followed her to her condo. Interestingly enough, he could tell he was slightly drunk but not in a staggering kind of way, and he'd driven his car with no problems.

The woman continued on her mission, and Dillon wasn't sure how much more he could take. So he pulled her up toward his chest so she could give him the rest of what he'd come there for. She smiled, clearly eager to oblige him, and the more he watched her move, the more excited he became. She was good, and now he knew why he'd been so attracted to her. There was something about the way she looked and the way she smiled that had turned him on, and now she was showcasing all her bedroom skills. She did everything a man could want, and he knew at this very moment that this wouldn't be the last time he saw her.

When they were both fully satiated and quietly relaxing next to each other, Dillon looked over at the clock on Taylor's nightstand. Time had flown by quickly. It was already just after nine p.m., and Dillon would soon need to get dressed.

Taylor turned on her side, facing him. “Did I satisfy you?”

“And then some,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

“Same here, and I needed that tonight.”

Dillon had no idea what she meant, but he didn't say anything.

“I'm also sure that by now, you think I'm the tramp of the week.”

“No, why do you say that?”

“Please. I don't even know you, yet I walk up to you at a bar and invite you to my home?”

“Yeah, but who am I to judge? I didn't know you, either, but I'm here.”

“It's different for men, though. They can get away with that kind of thing.”

“Still, I'm not judging you. Some people just like to have a good time. No strings attached.”

“True, but this isn't something I normally do. You might not believe me, but I've never picked up a stranger in a bar and then brought him to my home to have sex. For all I know you could be a serial killer.”

Dillon laughed. “Yeah, okay. But I can assure you, I'm not. I'm harmless.”

Now Taylor laughed. “So you say, and for my sake, I hope you're telling the truth.”

“And anyway,” he said, looking at her, “maybe you're the one who's a serial killer. I could be dead in no time.”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint you. Just an average woman who found out yesterday that her fiancé has been sleeping with another woman. For more than a year.”

“Man, I'm sorry to hear that.” Dillon wasn't sure why, but he genuinely felt sorry for her. Maybe it was the alcohol in his system, because he felt her pain.

“I was devastated and humiliated out of this world. I just couldn't believe it.”

“I can imagine.”

“Anyway, I felt like drinking my problems away, and I asked my sister to meet me at Benny's.”

“You go there often?”

“Not really. Only every now and then. I like it because it's always quiet and I never see anyone I know.”

It did seem like that kind of place, and that's what Dillon had liked about it also. He couldn't even fathom what would happen if anyone in Mitchell, specifically his congregation, discovered he'd been hanging out at a bar, and worse, drinking hard liquor.

“It's a pretty nice place,” he said.

“Was that your first time? Because I've never seen you there before.”

“It was.”

“You said you lived in Schaumburg, right?”

“Yeah.” When Taylor had asked him about that at the bar, it was the first place he thought of. He certainly wasn't going to tell her he lived in Mitchell, but he also had to think of somewhere within a thirty-mile radius to make his lie believable.

“That's not that far, but it's too far to come to a bar you've never been to. And to come by yourself.”

“I was in the area for something else and just decided to stop.”

“I'm glad you did. I was so tense and stressed, and you made me feel so much better. Better than I was hoping.”

Dillon locked his hands behind his head. “Is that right?”

“Yep.”

Dillon wasn't sure what it was about her exactly, but he liked Taylor. Any man could see how beautiful and shapely she was, but maybe it was the calm, kind demeanor she exuded. He wouldn't tell her this, but normally, he would see a woman like her—someone who slept with a man she didn't know—as some skank who had no respect for herself. But for reasons he couldn't explain, none of that mattered to him.

“Well, I'm happy to have been of service,” he said, smiling.

“I'm sure you are, but I also know you're married.”

“That I am.”

“When I saw your ring, I almost walked back to my table.”

“But you didn't.”

“No, and I'm not proud of it, either. I've never been married, but I won't lie. I would never want to know what it feels like to have my husband messing around on me. Having a fiancé doing it was bad enough.”

Dillon didn't see where there was anything he could add to that, so he didn't.

“Can I be honest about something else?”

Dillon looked at her again. “Go ahead.”

“You're not going to like it.”

This made him nervous, but he didn't react. “Well then, maybe you shouldn't say anything.”

“I wouldn't, except I was sort of hoping I could see you again.”

“Is it something bad?” he asked.

“No. Although I guess it depends on how you look at it. I don't think it's bad, but you might be upset when you find out that I wasn't completely honest with you.”

Dillon was getting a little irritated. What if this woman had AIDS or some other contagious disease? Because it wasn't like they'd used any protection. He never bought condoms, because he didn't have a reason to use them. It wasn't that he was being careless when he slept with Porsha, but he and Porsha had ordered two at-home HIV testing kits, taken their blood samples in front of each other, and mailed them in. They'd purchased the express version, and they'd received their results the next day. Then, as far as Raven, she was his wife. She loved him, and even if she wanted to mess around, he didn't believe she would because she had too much to lose.

Dillon sat up and stacked the two pillows he'd been lying on against the leather headboard. His head felt a bit woozy, but he leaned backward. “So are you going to tell me or what?”

Taylor sat up as well. “You're already upset, aren't you?”

Dillon stared at her, and she was right. He wasn't happy.

She stared at him, too, and then said, “I know your name isn't Marcus.”

A nervous wave swept through his stomach. “Really? Then what is it?”

“Dillon Black.”

It was actually Dillon Whitfield Black, with no hyphen, but that was the least of his concerns.

He folded his arms. “And who are you?”

“Taylor Thomas.”

“No, I mean who
are
you? Did someone have you follow me? Are you trying to set me up?”

“Wait a minute. No, it's nothing like that. I was in the bar before you, remember? So, how could I follow you?”

He couldn't argue with that, and actually, her response gave him a slight sigh of relief. “Then why did you act like you didn't know who I was?”

“Because I knew it would be awkward. Especially when you told me your name was Marcus. If I'd let on that I knew you were Dillon Black, you probably would have left me sitting there.”

“Yeah, that's a fact.”

“I'm sorry. But if it's any consolation to you, I don't care that you're Curtis Black's son, and I won't make any trouble for you.”

Dillon hated being caught off guard, especially in situations like this. He was the pastor of a future megachurch, and he couldn't afford to be involved in any scandals. He needed his reputation to stay clean and on the up-and-up, and he couldn't keep making these kinds of mistakes. He still felt a little tipsy from the alcohol he'd drunk, but he'd been well aware of what he was doing. Nonetheless, had he not decided to take a drink, he never would have stopped at Benny's. He wouldn't have met Taylor, and he would have gone to Porsha's the way he was supposed to.

Dillon swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked back at her. “I really wish you'd told me.”

“So does that mean we can't see each other again?”

“Do I have a choice? For all I know you're planning up some sort of blackmail scheme right as we speak. Probably can't wait to tell the world that Curtis Black's pastor son was in a bar drinking. Not to mention sleeping with you.”

Taylor crawled across the bed and sat next to him. “I promise you, I'm not. I wouldn't do that, and if you want to know the truth, I could barely breathe when I saw you walk into that bar tonight. You look even better in person than you do in some of those online photos I've seen.”

At first Dillon had wanted to ask her what photos she was talking about, but when he'd first met Curtis, he'd gone on a local TV station in Mitchell and exposed his dad as a deadbeat. Dillon had done it for his own personal satisfaction, but because of who his dad was, it hadn't taken long before the tabloids had plastered the news all over social media. Then when he'd returned to Mitchell and founded New Faith, a number of magazines and newspapers had done features on him. They'd all been fascinated with the idea of Dillon founding his own church and following in his famous father's footsteps.

“I think I'd better go.”

“Please don't be mad at me,” she said. “I know we just met and you have no guarantee that you can trust me, but I'm really not trying to harm you. I like you, and I want to spend more time with you,” she explained, taking her hand and turning his face toward her. “I'm serious. I'm not one of those women who will suddenly think she can be your wife.”

Dillon half believed her, but he also knew the dangers of starting up too many affairs. As it was, he was sleeping with Porsha and had to keep her as content as possible, but if he kept this thing going with Taylor, he wasn't sure what would happen. What troubled him, though, was that just three days ago, when he'd been with Porsha, he'd thought he might be falling in love with her. But now, after spending only a couple of hours with Taylor, he knew his obsession with Porsha was purely about sex. She made him feel extra good in bed, and he'd confused that with emotional feelings. But as he gazed into Taylor's eyes, he felt a different kind of connection with her. It was almost similar to the way he'd felt about Raven when he'd first met her, except with Taylor, the sex was perfect, too. She was a mixture of Raven and Porsha all in one.

Taylor caressed his back and then stood in front of him. She leaned his body back on the bed. “I know you don't think you can trust me, but you can.”

Dillon wanted to tell her he didn't, but he also didn't want to stop her from what she was getting ready to do.

“I really need to go,” he said.

“All I want is to make you feel good again. I want us both to feel good.”

Dillon wanted to tell her no, but then she kissed him.

He reluctantly and yet willingly kissed her back, and there were no more words between them.