Crazy Love (10 page)

J
ackson sauntered around his bedroom, wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his waist. He bent down to pick up a stray sock and the towel slipped off, revealing his body. He had an eight-pack that rippled, muscled arms that were bigger than Mike Tyson's and a butt that was chiseled to perfection.

He slipped into his pussy prowl outfit: black Prada turtleneck, black Marc Jacobs slacks and his Sean John black leather jacket.

Dressed, Jackson strolled down the hall to the living room where his grandmother, Ettie Mae, and Jameel were sitting in front of the TV.

“See ya, Jam!” Jackson shouted, and Jam absentmindedly waved at him. “See ya, Grandma.”

“Be careful driving,” Ettie Mae said as she did every time Jackson left the house, as though the very words shrouded him from an accident. Jackson slid behind the wheel of his SUV and headed toward downtown Atlanta to one of his favorite clubs. A glance at his watch told him that he'd make it to the club around midnight, the time when shit got popping.

Jackson let his mind wander as he drove. He smiled at his grandmother's words; she was his second mother. When he was barely eight years old, his parents were killed in a car accident and Ettie Mae had taken him and raised him.

Forty minutes later, Jackson was inside the club and sipping his favorite drink. He lazily surveyed the crowd over his glass, passing over women whose makeup was more than an inch thick. His eyes fell on one particular lady: she was sitting in a corner table along with four other ladies. Even though she was sitting down, Jackson could tell that she had legs that stopped at her chest.

He downed his drink before walking over to the table, stopping halfway to buy a single red rose. He stopped at the table and conversation ceased; five pairs of eyes locked on him and the rose he carried.

“I wish I had a rose for each of you,” he said, grinning sheepishly before he handed the rose to the lady who caught his eye.

He leaned down and whispered in her ear: “Can we go somewhere private?” After a hurried conversation with her friends, she nodded and gathered up her things and followed Jackson to a cozy booth. It took Jackson ten minutes to learn that her name was Tonia, she worked as a model part time, did temporary work the other half and had been in Atlanta over a year.

“Has anyone told you that you look like Keenan Ivory Wayans?” Tonia flirted.

“Is that a good thing?”

“Very good. I think he's sexy as hell. Have you ever thought about modeling?” she asked, taking in his smooth complexion and chiseled face. The turtleneck showed off his wide, muscular chest.

Jackson softly stroked her cheek. “Naw. I'm not the model type, but I can see how you are. You're very beautiful. What's someone with your looks doing spending Saturday night at a club?”

Flattered, Tonia gazed at Jackson, entranced. “It's better than sitting at home alone.”

“You need a man who'd give you a bubble bath, feed you breakfast in bed and give you nightly massages.”

“Mmm…that sounds delicious. Can you do all that?” Tonia coyly asked.

Jackson ran his finger over Tonia's lips. “I can do all that and more for you, baby. Wanna see?” he asked as he leaned in closer so that their mouths were only inches apart.

“Yeah,” Tonia breathed.

“Do you live close by?” Jackson asked, skimming his lips over Tonia's.

“About thirty minutes away,” Tonia said, then rapidly blinked as though waking up from a trance. “You mean now? You want to come over now?” she asked, then shook her head.

“I just met you. I don't do one-night stands,” she huffed, conveniently blocking out last month's.

“Naw, baby, that's what you think this is? Well, it's not. I'm feeling you. All I want to do is give you a massage. That's it.”

“Really?”

“Honest.”

Tonia hesitated, then, “Okay, let me tell my girls I'm leaving. I'll meet you out front. You can follow me.”

“Cool.” Jackson slapped a twenty on the table and followed Tonia. He glanced down at his watch. Thirty minutes; not bad, he mused. Jackson discovered that Tonia lived closer to the club than she'd said, and they were at her house in twenty minutes.

“You're leaving already?” Tonia squinted at the clock. “It's four o'clock. Stay and we can go out to breakfast.”

Jackson slipped into his pants. The scent of sex had simmered down to a funky sock smell. “Naw, baby, I can't. I can't sleep in other people's bed. I'm funny about that.”

“Are we going out later this week?” Tonia asked, her voice bordering on whiney.

“Let me check my schedule and I'll get back to you,” Jackson said as he tugged on his turtleneck. “Give me your number.” Tonia gave it to him and he programmed it into his phone. Tonia kissed him good-bye and watched her meal ticket drive off.

Jackson got home to find his house all lit up. His heart thudded as he jumped out of his truck and raced up the stairs. Ettie Mae was standing outside Jameel's room, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What happened?”

“He's having a bad asthma attack.”

“Why didn't you call me?” Jackson asked, panicked.

“I did, but you didn't answer.”

Jackson pulled out his phone. “Shit! I've had it on vibrate. Did you call nine-one-one?” he asked. Ettie Mae nodded. A couple minutes later the faint sounds of sirens could be heard.

Jackson ran out to the porch and frantically waved to the ambulance. “Over here! Over here!”

T
yrell had dragged his and Tameeka's argument from Heaven on Earth to his home. Their dinner lay cold on the kitchen table and Tameeka sat mannequin still on the couch. The only things moving were her eyes, which glared at him with deadly precision.

“What part of this don't you understand?” Tyrell asked in a deceptively calm voice, his temper simmering beneath his skin. “I asked you at the store, I asked you on the way here and I asked you twenty minutes ago. Now I'm gonna tell you, I want that motherfucker gone!” he roared, his temper erupting like a volcano, spewing over Tameeka and she jumped; she had never seen this side of him.

“I can't make him,” she whimpered, and Tyrell cocked an eyebrow at her. “He just renewed his lease,” she hastily explained.

“For how long?”

Tameeka mentally pulled up the contract, and did some quick calculating, “Five years,” she answered, and swiped at the tears that were beginning to fall.

“Break it,” Tyrell said coldly.

“I can't…I'll end up losing money,” Tameeka sniffed, and Tyrell walked over to the counter, snatching up a couple of paper towels and handing them to her.

“What's more important, money or us?”

“Us, of course,” Tameeka answered before she blew into the paper towel.

“Why didn't you tell me that he worked above you and had a key to your place?”

“Because I knew you were gonna react like this,” Tameeka countered.

“Do you blame me?” Tyrell asked. “Can you fucking blame me? You call out some other dude's name while I'm making love to you. You tell me that it's over…but you don't tell me that you see him every day and he has a key to your store—something that I don't even have!”

“You can have one if you want,” Tameeka offered.

“I don't want a fucking key,” Tyrell hissed. “I want him
out
of your store.”

“I can't just kick him out,” Tameeka argued.

“Yeah you can. Let me see that contract you have with him,” he said, looking around. He stopped when he realized they were at his place and not Tameeka's. She saw his confusion and smothered a giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Tyrell asked in a gruff voice.

“Yep,” Tameeka answered, then stood up and hugged Tyrell. “I don't like it when we argue.”

“Then get him to move,” Tyrell spat out as he disentangled her arms from around his neck, then stepped away from her.

Tameeka inhaled sharply and let it out with a loud smack of her teeth. “Oh, I get it…you don't trust me.”

“I don't trust
his ass
.”

“No, I don't believe that,” Tameeka said, her eyes refilling with tears. “You think that I can't keep my legs closed.”

“No, Meek, it's not like that. I
trust
you. I'm a dude, I know how we think.”

Tameeka sniffled. “How do y'all think?”

“We're all vultures, waiting until the boyfriend fucks up, then we swoop in for the scoop up.”

“So you think Mohammad is circling me?” Tameeka whispered as she batted her eyes at Tyrell.

“I'm not going to let him get my baby,” Tyrell said, then pulled Tameeka into his arms. She smiled against his chest.

They stood together like that until Tameeka's hand slipped down and cupped Tyrell's butt, and gave it a squeeze.

A jolt of excitement ran through him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Whatever you want me to,” Tameeka answered, then grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the couch. She gently pushed him down and immediately straddled him, then tenderly covered his face with kisses. Leaning forward, she began blowing in his ear, soft, misty breaths that made his heart beat double time.

“You're not going to make me change my mind,” Tyrell argued weakly. Tameeka smiled to herself as she gently tongued his ear. “That's not going to do it,” he said. With the tip of her tongue, Tameeka stroked the back of his neck. “Let's go to the bedroom,” he said, and carried her to his room.

Later that night, Tameeka slid out of bed and padded to the kitchen where she microwaved some food. She took two plates back to the bedroom for her and Tyrell. She nudged him awake.

“Who knew that eating wings at two o'clock in the morning would be the bomb?” Tameeka asked around a mouthful of poultry. She hadn't eaten in what felt like years, and any sense of decorum she usually had flew out the window.

“Hey baby, you're dripping sauce,” Tyrell said.

“Where?”

“Here,” Tyrell said as he leaned over and licked a dab of barbecue sauce off her breast.

“Um, baby, keep doing that and I'm gonna pour the whole bottle over me,” she drawled.

“Do it and I'll lick every drop off,” Tyrell promised, and Tameeka shivered with anticipation. Then her cell phone rang. “Who the hell is calling you this time of the night?” he asked, glaring at her.

“Don't look at me like that,” she said. “I don't know who'd be calling me this late,” she said as she ran to the living room. With barbecue-sauced hands she fished her phone out of her purse. With the phone at her ear, she wandered back into the bedroom and sat down next to Tyrell.

“Well, who was it?” Tyrell asked when Tameeka clicked off the phone and resumed eating her wings.

She continued chewing until Tyrell looked like he was going to grab the plate from her. She swallowed her food, then said, “Um, Mohammad. He was checking on me. That's all,” she shrugged.

“Is he afraid that I'll kick your ass?”

Tameeka hurriedly shook her head. “Nothing like that.”

“Don't think I've forgotten what we talked about. I don't want you talking to him again. I don't trust his shifty ass.”

“But Tyrell—”

“You my girl, aren't you?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts, Tameeka, either you're with me one hundred percent or you're not. I don't want you talking to him after he returns the key to you.”

Tameeka's blood boiled. “What happens if I
lose
my keys, who'll let me in? Mohammad was always my backup.”

Tyrell wrapped his arms around her. “I'll be your backup, baby. Just promise me that you'll get the store keys from him and never talk to him again.” He was met with silence. “Promise me, Tameeka,” he demanded.

1. Trust
   
2. Spontaneity
   
3. Communication
   
4. Adventure
   

D
o you ever get tired of it?” Stacie asked, peeking over her shoulder at Tameeka. They were standing in Stacie's bedroom and Tameeka was struggling to raise the zipper on Stacie's dress. The dress was one of Stacie's favorites; it was the color of a sunflower, it stopped at the middle of her thighs and it hugged every one of her curves. Unfortunately, it took two people to get into it. “You know,” she continued when Tameeka gave her a quizzical gaze. “Getting dressed up and everything.”

“I ain't the one. But you…I don't know another lady who dresses up, makes up and G it up more than you. You're like a freaking living Barbie doll. And just about proportioned like one,” Tameeka joked.

“Don't hate,” Stacie teased as she pulled away from Tameeka and admired herself in her full-length mirror. Her makeup was flawless, every hair was in place, and her fifty-dollar bottle of perfume made her smell like a million bucks. She looked better than she expected in the dress. After eating out four nights a week, she was afraid that it would take a toll on her body, but it had done the opposite. At least the food dropped in all the right places, she thought, admiring her Jennifer Lopez-size butt.

Stacie turned sideways and ran her hand over her stomach, which was still as flat as the bottom of a cast-iron frying pan. “I'm getting tired of all this. Dating ain't fun anymore. I keep hoping for my Prince Charming and all I'm getting are P. Diddy wannabes. I ain't feelin' anybody.”

Tameeka gave an exaggerated gasp of surprise. “You,” she covered her mouth with her left hand and pointed at her friend with her right. “Giving up on finding Mr. Right? Nooo way! Hell, you've based your whole life on rustling, roping and corralling him in. So what's really up?” Tameeka sat down on the bed next to her friend.

“That's not nice,” Stacie pouted. “Just my twenties,” she jokingly corrected her friend. Then her voice took on a serious tone. “I don't like all the hoping.” She gazed down and admired her toes. They twinkled in the soft bedroom light; the coral-toned polish still looked good after a week. “Hoping and wishing, just like a damn fool.” She stood up and began pacing around her bedroom. “Is he the one? Does he feel the same way about me? Every time I go out with somebody new, I have us married with children before the night is over,” she said, and she looked disgusted with herself.

“Ain't nothing wrong with dreaming. But you can't waste your dreams on every damn clown that you meet, 'cause you know that's all they are. Damn clowns. Take your time, girl.”

“I do…well, I want to…it's hard. Rather,
they're hard,”
Stacie joked, then tried to suppress a giggle, but was unsuccessful and it slipped out between her lips.

“So it all comes back to the dick?” Tameeka said smugly. “It's always the dick with you, isn't it? You're gonna die with a dick in you,” she teased. “You're gonna be like this when they find you.” She lay down on the floor, closed her eyes and spread her legs open as wide as they could go.

“Whatevah,” Stacie laughed, then tossed a pillow at Tameeka. Tameeka burst out laughing and jumped up and returned to her spot on the bed. “Meek, I don't want to grow old by myself. I don't wanna be like Momma,” she said, her voice becoming quiet, “Old, single and still living in a damn apartment.”

“You'll find somebody, just open your heart, head and eyes and he'll be standing right in front of you. You'll be happy with the person He sends you,” Tameeka assured her.

“I hear you,” Stacie replied. Then stepped on the balls of her feet and reached her hands up high to the ceiling. The full body stretch was exactly what she needed.

“Oh, girl! You're in bad shape. Come meditate with me. It'll unclog you. All those worries will seep right out,” Tameeka promised, and tugged at Stacie's hand as she sank to the carpeted floor. Stacie twisted away from her friend and sauntered toward the door.

“Nu-uh, you know I don't believe in that stuff. All it does for me is make me wanna go to sleep.”

“It'll help you perform better in bed,” Tameeka sang as she crossed her legs, then hid a smile when Stacie stopped in her tracks. Getting Stacie to try meditation was tougher than forcing Don King to get a haircut.

“No it won't,” Stacie scoffed, and Tameeka mockingly raised her eyebrow. “Okay, okay,” she said laughing. “Make a space for me, 'cause I'll be joining you tomorrow. But just so you know, I don't need any help in that department.” Stacie glanced down at her watch. “It's time for me to roll, girl.”

“So which one is it tonight?” Tameeka asked; she couldn't keep track of Stacie's men.

“The club owner. The six-incher. I'll be home early tonight,” Stacie sighed as she sashayed toward the door. Before she could make it over the threshold, her phone rang. The tune from the latest Usher song cut through the air.

“Why do you keep your ringer so loud?” Tameeka grumbled. “It's irritating.”

Stacie playfully stuck her tongue out at her friend, then clicked on her phone and was immediately showered with gut-wrenching sobbing. Her heart painfully beat against her chest. “Who's this?” she asked, and when she didn't get a response, she repeated it in a worried tone of voice.

When the caller identified herself, Stacie's legs threatened to buckle, forcing her to lean against the doorjamb for support.

Tameeka pulled herself up from the floor and hurried to Stacie's side. “Who is it?” she hissed, and Stacie shook her head, waving her away. Tameeka angled her ear next to the phone, but the words were so mushy that she couldn't make out what the caller was saying.

“Slow down,” Stacie encouraged lightly, although her heart felt as though it was going to burst against her chest. Her face was gray and her hands were shaking when she clicked off the phone.

“I don't believe it,” she muttered, her expression dazed. “I don't fucking believe it,” she repeated.

“What?” Tameeka asked. “Tell me!” she insisted when all Stacie did was stare through her.

“That was Momma. Carlos just burst into the apartment and snatched Nevia, and she doesn't know where he took her. I knew this was going to happen. I need to get over there.”

“Me too, I'll go with you,” Tameeka said, jumping to action. “You think he found out about the car?”

“Don't know,” Stacie said as she ran through the door with Tameeka on her heels.

“We'll find out when we get there.”