Crazy Love (2 page)

P
eachtree Street was overflowing with people, the sidewalks stuffed tighter than Janet Jackson's breasts in a bustier. Rows of vendors and amusement park rides lined the street. In the midst of it all were Tameeka and Tyrell Powell, holding each others' hand, ambling along laughing and talking as if they were old friends, not two people who had just met three hours earlier.

Tameeka was smiling so wide that her lips were hurting, but she didn't care, she was ecstatic. The whole evening felt like a dream. But it was real, the cold wind that kissed her bones proved it, and she shivered slightly and tugged at her wrap. Three hours. That's how long she'd known Tyrell. Tyrell Anthony Powell.

She smiled crookedly. She couldn't believe it when he'd sauntered past half a dozen yardstick-size women and stopped in front of her. She had almost fallen over with surprise when he had asked her to dance.

After their fifth dance together something told her that he was a little interested. But after two hours of sticking to her like half a pound of barbecue ribs, she knew for sure he was feeling her. She shook her head, amazed that a man who looked like him wanted someone who looked like her.

A dead ringer for Gerald Levert, Tyrell was gorgeous. His full lips were totally kissable, but so were his cute ears and his ginger-colored eyes. For a man his size he was light on his feet—instead of walking he glided. She glanced down at his fingers and giggled softly; they were thick
and
wide.

Every couple of minutes Tyrell found himself sneaking peeks down at Tameeka. It was as though she had cast a spell over him, because each time he looked at her, his chest tightened and it felt as though he was breathing through a straw.

Tameeka was telling him a story about growing up with her grandmother. Her face was animated and she'd occasionally let loose a wild, raucous laugh that made him so hard that he felt like he could cut a diamond. She was the most beautiful lady he'd met in a long time, and by far the classiest. The silky fabric of her dress draped conservatively over her full breasts, then dropped down to the tip of her red sandals. Her locked hair was pulled up into a ponytail; a couple pieces had gotten free and gently caressed her cheeks. I'm the luckiest man alive, he thought, and poked his chest out.

Tyrell shook his head, amazed. Three hours ago he had asked her to dance and they'd been together since. He smiled and gave her hand a little squeeze. His smile deepened when she returned it.

They made a striking couple. At six-foot-seven and three hundred pounds, Tyrell dwarfed Tameeka's five-foot-five frame. He was big and cuddly, just the way Tameeka liked her men, and husky enough for her to snuggle in his lap if she so desired. She glanced at him and was shocked to find him eyeballing a group of ladies sashaying by.

Tameeka sucked in a breath of cold air, but it did nothing to cool her down. She exhaled slowly, then, “You like looking at people, don't you?” she lightly teased.

Tyrell chuckled. “Not really…why do you say that?”

Tameeka shrugged. “Your eyes seem to have a life of their own…at the party…walking down the street.”

“I like being aware of my surroundings. A man gotta know what's going on,” Tyrell answered as he reluctantly pulled his gaze off one of the women, whose legs ended at her chest.

“Oh, is that what it's called?” she asked, cutting her eyes at him. “So…” she nodded to the woman in front of them. “What are her legs telling you?” she snapped, arching an eyebrow at him.

“Come on, baby, it's not that serious. I only have eyes for you.” He winked sexily, then swiped his thumb over her bottom lip before slipping his hand into hers.

“Corny!” Tameeka retorted, but her grip on his hand tightened.

The blowing wind continued to slice through Tameeka's silk dress and cut her skin as though she wasn't wearing anything at all. She silently cursed herself as she pulled her thin wrap around her shoulders. Stacie had insisted that she wear the flimsy wrap and not the wool coat that she had originally chosen.

“You cold?” Tyrell asked, and immediately felt stupid. He could see her shivering. “We can go back to the hotel if you want,” he offered politely, but wished that they could keep walking forever.

“No,” Tameeka lied. She was freezing, but she didn't want the night to end. She felt like Cinderella; all they needed now was a horse-drawn carriage. At that very moment, her vision came to life and she giggled as a horse and carriage trotted by.

Tyrell laughed along with her. “Care to let me know why I'm laughing?” He looked down and beamed at her for the thousandth time.

“Oh nothing,” Tameeka chuckled, then decided it was too delicious to keep to herself. “Okay, I'll tell you…only if you promise not to laugh,” she said, peeking up at him through her eyelashes.

“I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a chicken bone in my eye,” he said somberly.

“Boy, you crazy,” Tameeka hooted. They both shared a good laugh. Then she admitted to feeling like Cinderella.

“Wasn't Cinderella the belle of the ball?” he asked, and Tameeka nodded. “Well, you're not only the belle, but you're the queen,” Tyrell said, his voice ringing with sincerity.

“That's very sweet,” Tameeka said, blushing; at that moment she felt as beautiful and regal as a queen.

“One day we'll take that carriage ride; it's too damn cold—” He stopped and stared down at Tameeka. “Girl, you are freezing your ass off. You killing me with trying to be cute. Here, take my jacket.” He slid his tuxedo jacket off and draped it over Tameeka's shoulders. She instantly felt warmer. She inhaled deeply, and her nose was filled with his intoxicating cologne. Thank you, God, she thought. She slid her hand back into his and smiled. His hands were big and strong, just like a man's hands should be, and it felt natural holding his hand, almost as if they'd done it before in some other life.

“You work out?” Tameeka asked. Even though he was big, he was muscular too. Muscles rippled underneath his tuxedo shirt. He sauntered jacketless through the cold as though it was a balmy summer evening instead of the middle of winter.

“Yep,” Tyrell answered, before stopping and flexing his biceps. “Wanna touch?” he whispered as his gaze swept over her body, then stopped on her mouth and Tameeka automatically parted her lips.

“Umm, yeah,” she answered, excited by the thought of Tyrell's kiss. Tameeka reached over and squeezed his muscle—it felt like a brick. “Wow, are you a professional body builder?”

“Naw, I'm a bus driver,” Tyrell said before he draped an arm across Tameeka's shoulders and resumed their walk.

“Cool, so I got the hookup…free bus rides,” she laughed up at him.

“I'll hook you up anytime.” Tyrell gave her a lazy grin, then squeezed her shoulder. “So what's your nine-to-five?”

“Heaven on earth.”

“Yes you are, baby,” Tyrell drawled.

“No, I
own
Heaven on Earth, that's my brainchild. I have two employees and I sell everything related to nurturing the spirit. People come to my store when they're stressed out. Last year I grossed—”

“Hold up,” Tyrell commanded. “I'm not trying to get in your bank account. Just wanted to know what you did, and I'm impressed. Not only are you a business owner, but you're sexy and smart,” he said. “Hey look, a merry-go-round,” Tyrell then announced, and pointed to their left. “Let's take a ride.” Tameeka hung back; she could see doll-size ladies stepping daintily into the teeny seats. No way me and Tyrell will fit in those little booths, it'll be like trying to squeeze a couple of whales into a Geo Metro, she thought. “Come on,” Tyrell insisted, then pulled Tameeka along.

They stood in line, and when it was their turn, she could hear snickers as she and Tyrell tried three different seats before they found one that barely accommodated them. All Tameeka wanted to do was jump off and hide. “Isn't this cozy?” Tyrell asked as he draped his arm around her shoulder.

“I guess,” Tameeka answered, embarrassed, but the music snapped up her words as the ride began. The whole time she sat as stiff as a mannequin, not even Tyrell serenading her with a Luther Vandross song loosened her up. As soon as the ride ended, she pulled herself out and hopped off ahead of Tyrell.

“I was feeling queasy,” she said in response to Tyrell's raised eyebrow. “Let's go,” she said, and gently pulled his arm until he fell into step with her.

Tameeka was enjoying their walk when, without any warning, Tyrell stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to her. “So what do you think about me?” he asked.

“You're wonderful,
fine
and smart,” Tameeka purred as she winked at him and his heart flipped-flopped.

“I'm feeling much love. But something's missing,” he said, putting his forefinger to his forehead and wrinkling his brow as if he was trying to solve a mystery.

“You're wonderful, fine, smart and
sexy,”
Tameeka whispered seductively.

“Jackpot! Give the lady a free drink.”

Tameeka giggled, then peeked up at Tyrell, expecting to see him looking down at her. Instead his gaze was locked on something else. It didn't take a detective to figure out what it was; all it took was one quick glance. She followed his stare; it was glued to the gentle swaying of a passing lady's behind. Ain't this some shit? she thought. He's doing it again!

Her eyes drifted downward to her dress and she felt like an oversize tomato. She fumed and her hand itched to slap the glassy-eyed look off his face.

“How are the
surroundings?”
Tameeka asked between clenched teeth.

Tyrell shot her a confused look, then grinned sheepishly. “It wasn't like that, baby, all I'm doing is looking.”

“So now you admit to looking, before it was being ‘aware of your surroundings,'” Tameeka shot at him.

“It's a little of both,” Tyrell admitted. “I am a man. Besides, you should be happy that I'm checking out chicks and not dudes.”

“What!” Tameeka hissed. “I should be happy that you're looking at women? What kind of messed-up logic is that?” she asked.

“Don't get it twisted,” he said in a heated voice. “There are a million women out here showing their asses for everybody and their daddy to see and you don't expect a man to look?”

“I…I…I…,” Tameeka stuttered, shocked at Tyrell's outburst.

“Come here,” he murmured as he drew her near, and Tameeka rested her cheek on his chest. “As I told you earlier, it's not that serious. Let's enjoy the rest of the evening,” he said, dismissing the incident.

Why spoil the perfect evening? Tameeka thought. “Oh, look what time it is,” she said, glancing down at her watch. It was one minute to midnight.

“This was nice…really nice. Usually I hang out with my boy J and his son Jam. We'd have our butts parked in front of the TV, watching the peach drop and sometimes we'd get adventurous and switch up and watch Dick Clark,” he joked, and Tameeka laughed.

“I hear you. I had a
really
good time tonight,” she said softly, and the way she said it made Tyrell think that she wasn't treated special on a regular basis.

The countdown to the New Year started and Tyrell peered down at her. “Hey lady, you know what that means, don't you?” he asked, and Tameeka shook her head no. “It means that you owe me a kiss,” he said, easing up to her so that her breasts kissed his chest.

“I always pay my debts,” Tameeka retorted sassily.

“Then call me Uncle Sam, because here I am to collect,” Tyrell announced, then abruptly gripped her waist with his baseball-glove-size hands.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, then gently caressed her face with the soft pad of his thumb. As he skimmed her lips, she caught his thumb and tenderly suckled it. She groaned softly. “I've got something else you can suck on,” Tyrell drawled, and burst out laughing when Tameeka's mouth dropped open. “Not
that,
at least not yet, but
this
.” He dipped down and brushed his lips against Tameeka's and her hands whipped up his back, clutched his tuxedo shirt and pulled him closer.

Tyrell slipped his tongue into Tameeka's mouth and she grasped onto it as if it were one of her favorite lollipops. Tyrell let out a soft moan, then pushed against her and Tameeka gasped with delight when his hardness pressed into her. His hands flowed underneath the tuxedo jacket to fondle her breasts, and her body rippled in response. Suddenly heart-stopping fireworks erupted and for a moment Tameeka wasn't sure if they were from her and Tyrell or from the City of Atlanta.

Panting softly, Tyrell pulled away. “Happy New Year!”

1. Honeymoon in Aruba
   
2. Redecorate the mansion
   
3. Have three beautiful hazel-eyed babies
   
4. Travel the world
   
5. Write a book on how rich people make marriage work
   

S
tacie took a sip of wine and glanced across the dinner table at her date. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the envious looks from the other diners. Her lips curved into a smug smile. She couldn't believe her luck. She had snagged one, and snagged a
f-i-n-e
one to boot. The only thing harder to catch than a professional athlete was a New York City cab. Unless you were a blue-eyed blonde, you rarely had a chance of catching either one.

She set down her wineglass and turned adoring eyes on her date, Crawford Leonard Wallace III. His sandy-colored hair had grown longer since New Year's Eve; instead of laying flat on his head, it had sprouted into a mass of tiny curls. Feeling her gaze, he winked at her, then went back to surreptitiously perusing the restaurant for the lucky lady who'd be his date for the weekend.

Coming up empty, Crawford took a sip of his wine and inconspicuously studied Stacie over the rim of his glass. He knew her type. The professional-athlete-chasing, gold-digging wench. The eight-by-ten glossy of her in a bikini that she sent him and the dozen calls to his office confirmed it. Yep, he knew her type.
She's a quick fuck, a disposable commodity
.

Stacie happily bit into a scallop and held back a giggle as an image of his ten-bedroom mansion flashed before her eyes. If all goes well, I'll be living there by the end of the year. I'll put it on him so good that he'll never want me to leave. Then we can start making curly-haired green-eyed babies. She stared dreamily into space, oblivious to Crawford's whore hunt.

The evening had started off like a page ripped from a romance novel. At precisely eight o'clock, Crawford showed up at her front door, looking as suave as Morris Chestnut. His tastes in gifts were impeccable; before Stacie could say hello he had presented her with two dozen red roses and a five-pound box of Godiva chocolates.

When they stepped out into the night, she wasn't at all surprised to see a sleek Jaguar arrogantly hogging three parking spaces. She would not have expected anything less from him. They slid into the cream-colored penis with leather interior and wood trim and he swept her off to one of her favorite restaurants, C'est Bon!

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Stacie questioned, pulling herself out of her daydream.

“What's that, baby?” Crawford asked, then profiled a little for his audience. Starring in a Nike commercial paid off in more ways than one; he moved his head, angling and tilting as if posing for an invisible camera.

“All this attention,” Stacie gushed. She loved it. I'm dating a professional basketball player. Na na na na!

As soon as they'd stepped into the restaurant, a hush fell over the place and every head in the restaurant had turned toward them. Occasionally a brave soul would stop over and ask for an autograph and Crawford would gladly give it. “How do you deal with it? I'd go crazy. The constant interruptions, the stares. You're in a freaking fish bowl,” Stacie said.

Crawford ignored his steak and leaned back in his chair, eager to be on stage. “It all comes with being a baller,” he sniffed. “It was worse when I was playing for the Lakers. Bit—oops,” he chuckled, then corrected himself. “I mean
women
would be throwing it at me
all
the time. I mean nonstop. One time some chick followed me into the bathroom. She wanted my sperm.” He tried to sound disgusted, but his lips curved up in a proud smile.

“Nu-uh! What did you do?” Stacie asked, enthralled; she loved hearing his stories. So far he had told her which NBA players “play for the other team,” and what
really
goes on in the locker room.

“I told her to get the fu—I mean, I told her to leave me alone. Naturally, we have security for people like her. But you always get some freaks who slip through,” he shrugged, then shook his head as if to say “whaddya gonna do?”

He threw her a devastating smile, then settled back in his chair and worked on his steak. I wonder if she'd do a three-way, I haven't had one of those in a couple of months, he thought. Every once in a while he'd pull his attention away from his dinner and covertly search the restaurant for his next toy. He was just about to give up his search when a life-size Barbie came sauntering toward him. The closer she got, the sharper the image became; he preferred the fuzzy version. Damn, it's ghetto Barbie, he thought when she stopped in front of him. She had a head full of fake blonde hair that touched the middle of her back and blue contacts that made her eyes look like two glass marbles. But it was her breasts that got his attention; they were the size of bowling balls.

“Yo, Crawford, can I have your autograph?” she asked with an air of familiarity that made Stacie sit straight up and glare at her. “I'm not gonna lie and say I'm your number one fan. You hear that shit all the time,” she said, and rolled her eyes as though that was beneath her. “But you're a fine-ass man and I would love to have something to remember you by.”

“Sure, baby,” Crawford drawled, then tossed Stacie a sheepish grin and she shot him an understanding smile, but watched the situation through narrowed eyes. Crawford plucked up a paper napkin. “Who should I make this out to?” Crawford asked.

He was bent over the napkin with his pen poised to write when he heard her say, “I don't want your autograph on a piece of paper. I want it here.” Without any hesitation she reached into her halter top and pulled out her right breast. Stacie sputtered wine over the table, and Crawford, who was still looking down at the napkin, glanced up and his jaw dropped down to his shoes. He thought he had seen everything.

“I can't sign that,” Crawford refused, but he was mesmerized by her breast. It was huge, and it was begging him to touch it.

“Come on, it'll take two seconds,” she persisted. “Just sign it, ‘To Taquanna, you are my first and forever love.'”

“What!” Stacie screamed. “Lady, are you crazy? Can't you see he's on a date?”

“And your point is?” Taquanna replied airily. “All I want the man to do is to sign this.” She jutted her breast out and the nipple almost grazed Crawford's lips.

“And all I want you to do is to take your stank ass away from this table and leave us the fuck alone,” Stacie hissed through clenched teeth as she began to back her chair away from the table. She was two seconds away from kicking off her shoes and pulling off her earrings and jumping on Taquanna's butt. “And you need to stick that basketball-size thing that you call a breast back in your top.”

Taquanna laughed uproariously, as if Stacie had just told her the funniest joke instead of insulting her. “Don't hate me because I've been doubly blessed.” She eyed Stacie's chest, then said snidely, “I see that you weren't so lucky.” She rolled her eyes and cocked her head at Stacie as if challenging her. People at nearby tables warily watched the action, not sure whether to run for cover or to eat and enjoy the free entertainment.

“Okay, everybody calm down,” Crawford said. “I'll sign it,” he said, then sighed deeply as though he was making a major sacrifice. He hid a smile as he grabbed the marker, then positioned himself so that his back was to Stacie.

Taquanna looked down at the message and she broke out into a grin. Crawford had given her a bonus, his phone number. With a wink to Crawford and Stacie, she stuffed her breast back into her top, then sauntered across the restaurant to her table.

“Why did you have to do that?” Stacie asked, pouting.

Crawford smirked. “I've got to, she's a fan. If it wasn't for her we wouldn't have anybody attending the games.”

Stacie rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything else on the subject. “I like watching you play. Me and my best friend Meek watch you whenever we get a chance. We were at Phillips Arena when you scored forty points. You're my favorite player,” Stacie announced. When we get married I can ditch my secretarial job. I don't think he'd want his wife to work, Stacie thought.

“I bet you say that to all the guys,” Crawford teased, then glanced down at his watch, and Stacie's eyes widened slightly. She had seen one exactly like it in a magazine, and Michael Jordan was wearing it. “So Miss Long,” he drawled. “Are you ready for some
dessert?”

“Huh?” Stacie asked, blushing. Dessert?

“You know, dessert. Cakes and stuff; what were you thinking about?” he asked. He meant it exactly the way she took it. He was testing her to see where her mind was. It was precisely where he wanted it to be.

“That's what I meant too,” Stacie lied, then reached for a glass of ice water and took a deep gulp.

“Sure,” Crawford joked. “Let's drive downtown and see what's jumping off.” He pulled out a wad of money that was as thick as his fist, peeled off some bills and threw them carelessly on the table. All the while Stacie's mouth had gone dry at the sight of all his money and an image of her spending it danced before her eyes. Sitting on the tip of her tongue and pressing against her lips was her desire to be his dessert. She needed a quiet place to think.

“I'll be right back. I need to use the ladies' room,” she said, flashing him a smile. She excused herself and hurried off to the bathroom; fortunately, it was empty. “So what are you gonna do?” she asked her reflection. “Be a good girl and call it a night. Or make crazy love with your future husband?”