Crazy Love (16 page)

J
ackson and Stacie were in Just Desserts, a small café he drove past every day. He was intrigued with the oversize muffins, giant cinnamon buns and flaky croissants that the customers munched as they sauntered out the door. Something about the name and the tables and chairs on the sidewalk told him that the place was classy enough for Stacie. He was right.

They were tucked into a corner, a tiny U-shaped nook in the back of the shop. It wasn't a privacy issue, the little shop was almost empty with only four of its twelve tables filled; Jackson picked it because of its coziness. She was sitting so close to Jackson that she was almost on his lap.

Jackson gave Stacie a sidelong look out of the corner of his eyes. It'll take only a minute for me to lift her up so that she can wrap those long legs of hers around my waist, he mused.

Keeping a close eye on him, Stacie waited until Jackson finished his coffee and ordered a second cup before she felt it was safe to talk about what had been bothering her.

She took a deep breath, then said, “I don't mean to keep repeating myself, but I just have to say it. I didn't mean to run out on you that morning.”

Jackson brought his coffee cup up to his mouth to hide his smile; he'd wondered how long it would be before she brought that night up again. Taking his time, he took a long sip of his coffee. “I know, you told me on the bus. But it's cool. All we did was hit it a couple of times. It wasn't a big deal,” he lied. It was the best sex he'd had in his life. Ever since that night, it replayed itself over and over in his head.

“What!” Stacie yelled. “So you think all we did was ‘hit it'? That's a shitty thing to say,” she hissed, slumping down in her chair.

“Isn't that how you saw it?” he asked. “Or maybe I was just a piece of dick? Or maybe I was a stress reliever for you? Or maybe it was something to do until the next movie came on.” Stacie didn't respond, but she sat up, crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “It had to be something trivial like that, otherwise you wouldn't have just walked out on me afterward,” he finished.

“I admit what I did was tacky as hell. But it didn't mean that what happened between us didn't matter.”

Jackson studied her over his coffee mug. “So what I'm hearing is that you liked what happened between us?” he asked, surprised. He could barely suppress the smile that had snuck onto his face.

“Since when did you become a Dr. Phil knockoff?” She laughed at her own joke, then said shyly, “I liked what happened between us. I
really
liked it,” she giggled nervously. She felt bold and vulnerable at the same time. The only person she had admitted her feelings about Jackson to was Tameeka. “But it wasn't all about the dick—oops!” She clamped her hand over her mouth and her face flushed hotly. Ugh, I'm such a potty mouth! Jackson nodded for her to continue.

“Well…like I was saying, it's not about the…dick with you. It's big and everything and you can whip it on a sistah, but you have qualities that a lot of brothers lack.”

Jackson smiled mischievously, then reached over and traced his finger down her jawbone. “Like knowing what makes you hot?”

“I didn't say skills, I said qualities.” Stacie sighed softly as her nipples hardened, and a throbbing started between her legs.

“Oh! So you're saying that I got over-the-top skills too?” Jackson seductively asked as he leaned over and blew warm air in her ear; Stacie let out a soft moan as her eyes closed.

“Do that again,” Stacie pleaded as she gripped his thigh. “Ooh, I love that,” she purred as she snuggled against him. Jackson glanced down at her face and immediately got hard. Her expression was total sex.

Jackson gently probed her ear with his tongue. “So when am I gonna get that replay?”

“Whenever you—”

“Excuse me!” Stacie's eyes popped open to find their waitress wearing an amused expression; embarrassed, Stacie quickly shoved Jackson away. “There's a motel, three blocks down,” the waitress announced before sauntering away.

“Isn't it funny,” Stacie began in a shaky voice, “that whenever we're together we can't keep our hands off each other. My apartment…the bus…here.”

“We're fire, baby,” Jackson answered, giving her a quick kiss.

“I need to straighten up,” she said, then made her way to the bathroom. Halfway across the room, she looked back at Jackson, who was calmly sipping his coffee. He looked in her direction, then gave her a sexy wink.

“I'm just sorry about what I did,” Stacie said when she was back in the booth. Her statement was met with silence. Jackson was pouring himself a third cup of coffee. “Well…” She looked at him imploringly.

“What?” Jackson set his coffee down, confused. “You don't have to apologize just because we almost sexed in public.”

Stacie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Not that. I'm talking about when I ran out on you. Do you accept my apology?” she repeated.

“I accept your apology,” he said, then a thought occurred to him. “You apologize, you tell me how much you admire me, but you still haven't told me why you ran.”

“Huh?” Stacie asked, pretending that she didn't hear him. When she knew that he wasn't buying her deaf act, she said, “Aw hell…why does anybody run?” she asked, then answered her own question. “People run because they're scared. And you scared me,” she admitted in a soft voice tinged with embarrassment.

“Me?” Jackson was so shocked that he pointed to his chest. “Me?” he repeated. All he remembered was the smart-ass lady who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Nowhere in the picture was she a cowering mass of nerves. “I told you then, I didn't mean to hit your arm—”

“No-no-no, that was me. I was all attracted to you and didn't know how to act. I had this fine man up in my apartment and my brain went to mush. I think I fell for you the first time I saw you…at Houston's. I didn't want to admit it to myself and then when you turned out to be Tyrell's best friend…” She laughed softly, remembering. “Then when we went out to dinner and you kept coming at me with stuff, I wanted to kill you. Then later at the apartment, after we made love, I was completely blown away. You touched my heart,” she admitted. “So do you feel better now? Miss Spoiled Brat has feelings,” she said, and lost her face in her mug of hot chocolate.

“I do,” Jackson whispered, and Stacie snapped her head up. “Because I feel the same way,” he admitted, and Stacie broke out in a smile. “So what does all this mean?” Jackson probed.

“Well, we definitely like each other,” Stacie said slowly, unsure of what he was asking.

“That's apparent,” Jackson said. “Do you think it would be a good idea for us to hang out and see what happens?” he asked.

“I'd like that.” Stacie blushed, then looked up.

“Me too,” Jackson whispered and grinned. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her all about his baby momma drama, but not wanting to damage their newly found friendship, he decided against it.

H
ey Meek!”

Startled, Tameeka whirled around to see Mohammad standing on the other side of the register. She hadn't seen him since she had taken her key back from him.

“Damn, Mo, you shouldn't sneak up on a sistah. How the hell did you get in here?”

“I'm magic.” He grinned at Tameeka's scowl. “You left the door unlocked,” he explained. “You'd better keep it locked. You know Mr. Wang? Well, he was robbed a couple days ago.”

“Oh, no!” Tameeka exclaimed. “How's he doing?” She liked Mr. Wang and loved browsing in his store; he had the most exquisite knickknacks.

“I heard he's okay, but he had to stay in the hospital overnight. The robber did a number on him.”

“Oh boy. You're not safe anywhere.”

“I don't like it that you're here by yourself in the mornings.”

Now that you're not spending them with me, Tameeka wanted to say. Instead she said, “I usually have the door locked and the alarm on. I don't know why I forgot today. But anyway, Bea is coming in early.” Just then, Bea walked in and pleasantries were exchanged before she went into the back to her locker.

“So how's your thing going?” Mohammad asked nonchalantly once they were alone again.

“Tyrell is not a
thing
. And it's—we are going very well,” Tameeka boasted. “We have direction, we're on a path.”

“That's funny, sounds like you two are Lewis and Clark.”

“What do you know about Lewis and Clark? You told me you slept through history,” she teased.

“I learned a lot in school, especially about keeping away from snooty women like you,” he retorted.

“Snooty!” Tameeka shouted, then plucked up a bar of soap and lobbed it at him. Mohammad ducked and it dropped at Bea's feet just as she stepped onto the selling floor. Tameeka flushed deeply. “I'm sorry, Bea,” she stuttered, then glared at Mohammad, who was biting back laughter.

“No problem,” Bea said, then plucked the soap off the floor and tossed it to Tameeka. She dropped it in the bin, then looked down at her watch; she still had a snatch of time to meditate before the store opened.

Foregoing the mat, she sat in the middle of the floor and got into position. Mohammad quickly followed suit and settled down next to her. Tameeka closed her eyes and ignored him.

“I'm sorry if I got you in trouble,” he whispered. Even though Bea was on the other side of the store, he didn't want to risk her hearing him.

“I didn't get in trouble,” Tameeka bristled. But she thought: Even though I had to promise to stop seeing you. “Like I said earlier, we're cool.”

“I made a mistake,” Mohammad admitted.

“I hope you aren't talking about the crotch thing…that's over with. It's forgotten.”

Mohammad shook his head. “Not that,” he started, then said softly, “Open your eyes.” Tameeka's heart fluttered, but she kept her eyes closed. “Open sesame,” Mohammad coaxed, and Tameeka reluctantly lifted her lids. He reached out and cupped her face between his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. “I made a mistake with
us
.”

“What do you mean?” Tameeka asked, confused. “You don't want to be my friend anymore?” she asked.

A smile danced around Mohammad's mouth. “I do…but I want for us to be more. I want you back in my life.”

Tameeka vigorously shook her head while pushing herself off the floor. “No! We've been there, Mo. We both know that we make better friends than lovers.”

“I've grown up,” Mohammad answered. “I'm ready to settle down. And I want to do it with you.”

“No!” Tameeka repeated, then went to the counter, where she absentmindedly arranged lip balms. “You only want me because I'm in a happy relationship.”

“If it's so happy, why didn't you tell him about me?” Mohammad countered.

“I did tell him…I just forgot to tell him that you worked right above me. Besides, our
thing
didn't mean anything.”

“Is that so?” His eyes suddenly darkened. Bea was forgotten as he leaned in and outlined her lips with his tongue. Tameeka felt a rush between her legs. Kissing Mohammad was like kissing a tornado; he'd suck you up, then leave you swirling for days. Tameeka opened her lips and Mohammad tenderly slipped his tongue in and she tentatively welcomed it. Mohammad slipped his hands up into her hair, running his fingers through it. A sigh escaped from between Tameeka's lips; Mohammad remembered that she loved to have her scalp touched. Her arms snaked around his neck as she deepened the kiss. Mohammad backed her up against the counter, and slowly and deliberately ground his hips against hers. He pulled away and looked into Tameeka's desire-drenched eyes. “So that didn't mean anything?” he demanded.

“It didn't mean anything,” Tameeka squeaked.

1. I have a bazillion bills to pay
   
2. I'm not sure if I can do anything else
   
3. I can do it with my eyes closed
   
4. I've been a receptionist for eight freaking long years
   

S
tacie stared out of the bus's window at the traffic. Atlanta's traffic problem was legendary, but this? In front of her were two lanes of traffic that stretched four miles long. Jackson's dispatcher had called with the bad news: an overturned tractor-trailer had dumped hundreds of gallons of gasoline on I-75, Atlanta's artery, and closed it down. Everybody and their momma was taking the surface streets to downtown Atlanta.

She glanced down at her watch and swallowed a scream. She had less than ten minutes to make it to work, and her building was nowhere in sight. Stacie fixed her gaze hopelessly on the lines of cars. The street was packed tighter than Pamela Anderson's bra.

Staring out at the parking lot of cars, Stacie could feel her job slipping further out of her grasp. Every couple of minutes the bus would inch forward a few yards, just enough to raise Stacie's hopes, only to have them shot down when the bus was forced again to stop.

Frustrated, Stacie blew out a stream of air. Andre's threat hung heavily over her head. She
had
to keep her job. The stack of bills that were due this month flashed before her eyes and her stomach tightened nervously. “I can't lose my job,” she whispered.

“I'm sorry, baby, I can't go anywhere. We're stuck like pigs in a pile of quicksand,” Jackson said hopelessly. He didn't mind the traffic, he was used to it, it came with the job. But he hated what it was doing to Stacie and he wished that he could get her to work.

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror to see how she was faring. She was a far cry from the carefree lady who, thirty minutes ago, bounced on his bus giggling and talking like she owned the world; now she looked like she could crack at any minute. Her eyes darted nervously from her watch to the traffic. “It'll be okay,” Jackson murmured. His words of comfort sounded inadequate even to his own ears, but he didn't know what else to say, much less do. If he could make the bus fly for her, he would.

He relaxed in his seat; it didn't look like they were going anywhere soon. Suddenly an image of Stacie with her head thrown back and her legs slung over his shoulders burned in his head. It was so realistic that he could almost taste her. He was jarred back to the present by Stacie's voice.

“No it won't,” she said glumly, shaking her head as a picture of Andre handing her a pink slip flashed before her eyes. “I'ma get fired,” she said dejectedly as she glanced longingly down at her sneakers. The urge to sniff was so strong that she momentarily forgot that she was going to be late for work. “Maybe I should walk,” she thought out loud. She peered out of the window. The bus hadn't moved in five minutes. It would be a good fifteen-minute walk. “But if I ran—” she mulled it over, but stopped when the bus moved forward, then just as quickly stopped again. Stacie groaned out loud. “Is there a short cut we can take?” she innocently asked, and people within hearing distance laughed. Jackson bit back his amusement as he motioned Stacie closer to him.

“Baby, trust me, if I could get you out of this mess, I would,” he said, gently palming her face.

“I know, sweetie.” She sighed against his hand. The simple gesture made his heart thud.

“Would you call this a date?” he blurted out.

“What?” Stacie asked, pulling away from him. “That's a funny question to ask. But no, I wouldn't call my bus rides dates.”

“How many dates you think we've been on?”

Stacie shrugged. “I don't know. It's not like I've been keeping track,” she said, but mentally counted off five dates they'd been on since Just Desserts, just as Jackson was doing his calculating. When they were done, they grinned at each other.

“How come your girl isn't driving you?” Jackson asked, and the smile fell off Stacie's face.

She didn't answer right away; instead she looked out the window, then said, “We had a fight, well, more like an argument, and we're not talking to each other. But she did tell me that she won't drive me anywhere until I apologize,” she admitted in a hurt voice. She missed their talks and the closeness they shared.

“Deep. So when are you gonna say the words?”

Stacie crossed her arms over her chest. “How do you know it's my fault?”

Jackson reached over and uncrossed her arms. “Don't hide your breasts from me,” he drawled. “Baby, I'm still getting to know you, but I know the princess caused it. So be a woman and say the words.”

“I will. I just want to make sure she's ready to receive it when I give it to her. I said some mean things to her.”

“I believe it. You can cut a person down with that tongue of yours,” Jackson said as he nosed the bus forward a couple yards.

“I'm scared…I don't want to get fired,” Stacie moaned.

Traffic was still inching along when Jackson said, “Why are you worrying so much about getting fired? It's not like you're late every day,” he joked.

Stacie smiled crookedly and shrugged, then looked worriedly out the window. Time evaporated whenever they were together. Work was the last thing on her mind when they saw each other. She never told Jackson she was in a precarious situation at work. “Well, I am kinda…sorta…on probation,” she admitted.

“Oh,” was all Jackson could think of to say. He didn't know how things worked in Corporate America. “Still, I don't think that they'll fire you,” he reassured her.

“I don't know…” Stacie said doubtfully and Andre's face flashed before her. “People get thrown out on their asses every day.”

“Trust me on this, okay? They won't fire you. The worst they'll do is write you up. And that paperwork will go into your file where it'll never be seen again. It'll be eaten by the big bad Corporate America Boogie Man,” he joked in an effort to make her smile. She managed a weak one.

“Okay,” Stacie halfheartedly agreed, then gave him a quick kiss. But Jackson's confidence and lame attempt at humor did little to alleviate her nervousness.

Thirty minutes later, Stacie jumped off the bus and ran to her office building. It had never looked so beautiful to her. She hopped off the elevator and ran down the corridor as fast as her sneakered feet could take her. She burst through the glass doors and stopped dead in her tracks. Misti was sitting at
her
desk, answering
her
phone and using
her
headset. Stacie's mouth dropped in amazement. Who gave her permission to use my phone? Nobody has the right to touch my equipment, much less sit in my chair.

Stacie couldn't take her eyes off Misti, who looked like she had been doing
her
job forever. The greeting was flawless, the transferring of a call went effortlessly and she didn't at all seem frazzled when the phone rang off the hook. A sudden movement made her shift her gaze to the left, where it landed on Andre Peppersong. He was sitting in a chair next to her desk. Stacie had the feeling that he wasn't sitting there to greet her with a big hug and kiss when she walked through the door.

He didn't smile nor did he say hi. He crooked his forefinger and said, “Come with me,
Miss
Jones.” He turned on his heels and swished down the hall to his office with Stacie in tow. He pointed to a floral-printed armchair outside his office door. “Sit there,” he demanded. “I'll let you know when to come in.”

She heard him on the phone and five minutes later Thomas Kimble, one of the senior partners, was walking toward her. She knew immediately that she was in trouble. His usual kind face looked like it was cut from stone. He breezed past her, after acknowledging her with a short nod and a terse greeting. He stepped into Andre's office and quickly closed the door behind him. Stacie nervously played with her hair as she mentally calculated her bills and her head reeled at the amount. She needed this job, desperately. For the second time in an hour she glanced longingly down at her sneakers. Just one whiff…She was debating whether to slip one off and take a sniff when Andre poked his head out and motioned for her to come in. She slid into the same chair she'd sat in the last time she was in Andre's office.

Tom cleared his throat as he opened up the red file folder with Stacie's name written on it. “Stacie, Andre has given me some disturbing news. I know that he's spoken with you already. Let me first start off by saying that you've done an excellent job. You've handled the front desk like no other. I don't know how you did it,” he rambled on, and Stacie couldn't help but notice he kept referring to her in the past tense. “You're such a nice person and I enjoyed our working relationship. That's why this is so hard for me to do.” He gulped, something that Stacie'd never seen him do and her chest tightened with fear; she knew what he was going to say next. “We're going to have to terminate your employment,” Tom finished.

Even though she knew what he was going to say, the words didn't register at first. But as soon as they sunk in, she felt lightheaded and the blood roared in her ears. I'm fired. I've been fucking fired!

“We need somebody who's going to be on time,” he hurriedly explained. “And not only that, but they must be reliable and dependable. And,” he nodded to Andre, who was trying very hard to look sad, but was failing miserably, “according to Andre, you're not. You're not getting here on time, and this morning is a prime example. And he also noted that on several occasions your lunch breaks exceeded the allotted hour.” He shook his head as he studied the form. Pulling his eyes away, he looked into Stacie's eyes and she didn't like what she saw: disappointment, arrogance and indifference. “Your conduct is unacceptable.”

“It wasn't my fault,” she argued. “There was a big traffic jam. The tractor trailer that flipped over on I-75? I'm sure you heard about it. Traffic was jammed up everywhere.”

Tom continued talking as if Stacie hadn't spoken a word. “We like you, Stacie. But that front desk position is a very integral part of our business. That person is the first contact ninety percent of our clients have with the company. And if that chair is left empty or the phones are unmanned, it doesn't bode well for the firm.”

“Please,
can't I stay? I can't lose my job. I like it here! My car will be ready soon. Then I'll be driving again. Until then I can have Tameeka bring me to work. She won't mind, she's my best friend.” She knew she was babbling, but she didn't know what else to do. Her face was flushed and a sheen of perspiration covered her face. Stacie was ashamed of herself for allowing them to see her this way. For allowing herself to beg.

Mr. Kimble shook his head. “If we break the policy for one, then we'd have to do it for others. After all,
we are a law firm
.”

“I've been with this company for eight years. Y'all know my work. I've always been here and on time, except for recently, when I started having car trouble,” Stacie choked out. The tears were falling now and had melted her mascara and two streaks ran down either side of her face.

Tom gave Andre an uncomfortable glance. He didn't enjoy doing this to Stacie, she was the best receptionist the firm had ever had. Eight years ago he had hired her, which made it even more painful for him to do what he had to do. But if Andre reported to him that she wasn't doing her job, well, she had to be taken care of. He tuned out her pleading as he gazed out of the window at Atlanta's skyline. He was relieved when there was a knock on the door. Andre popped out of his chair and hurried to open it. Misti stood there holding a box, which she diligently passed over to Andre. Andre closed the door and placed the box next to Stacie's chair.

“Here are your things,” was all he said, before slipping back into his chair. Stacie numbly glanced down at the box through swollen eyes and they widened slightly when she recognized that it was filled with her personal belongings. Her eight years with the firm were thrown inside a box. She grabbed the box and bit back a fresh round of tears as she made her way to the door. There wasn't anything left to be said. “Stop!” Andre called, and Stacie froze in place. “Contact Human Resources about retrieving your last paycheck and information on your health insurance. Now, I need to call Security to escort you out.” Andre reached for the phone and that's when it hit Stacie.

“You know what, Andre? I don't need Security to escort my black ass out. I know my way. Hell, I've been walking in and out of this office for the last eight years!” she yelled, and it felt good. She swiped at her eyes, smearing her mascara even more. “And you, Mr. Kimble, firing me? Come down here with your holier-than-thou attitude. All righteous and shit. Your ass wasn't fired when you were arrested for beating up on your wife.” She gave a wicked laugh at his shocked expression. “Huh, think I didn't know about that, did you? Well, half the fucking office knows. But of course, this is a
law firm,”
she snickered. Then she rounded on Andre, who had scooted into the corner. His eyes widened when Stacie turned toward him. “I don't know what the hell I did to you to make you hate me so much. But I hope you rot in hell. You're an evil, dickless man,” she spat, then turned on her heels and stalked out of the office and out of the building.