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Authors: Cydney Michele; Rax Lutishia; Grant Lovely

Crush (20 page)

BOOK: Crush
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“Reverend Edwards.” The assault had happened so quickly, and felt so good, that Chaz’s reaction was delayed. But now that his upper head was catching up with his lower one, he knew this had to stop. “Reverend Edwards!”
“No,” she instructed, between licks, “call me Beatrice.”
“Beatrice, stop.” Chaz put a gentle, yet firm hand on Beatrice’s shoulder and pulled away from her. He placed his once again engorged shaft back behind fabric. It stood out like a sore thumb; a very big, long, sore thumb. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?” Still on her knees, Beatrice moved toward him.
Chaz moved farther away. “Because it’s not right. I understand your wanting to feel like a woman again, but don’t you think there’s a better way? Like finding a Godly man and getting married, the way it appears you’ve taught Lois to do?”
“Let’s leave my daughter out of this,” Beatrice said in a tone that brooked no argument. She sat on the bed and wrapped the sheet around her. “I’m a grown woman who thought long and hard before writing that first letter. Actually, I’d written dozens of letters before then. It took me months to gather up the nerve to send one. But I’m glad I did. And I’ll be even happier once we finish what we’ve started.” She unwrapped the sheet again, exposing her furry, unshaven mound. “Come on, Chaz. It’s my birthday. And I want you to be my gift.”
Meanwhile, in various parts of town, there were other people thinking about Chaz, and at least one other person thinking about birthdays.
Delicia sat in a movie theatre pigging out on hot dogs, popcorn, nachos, and fries. She’d gone by the law offices hoping to catch Chaz working late, but had driven into a near- empty parking lot and a security guard who’d firmly informed her that the offices were closed.
Gina smiled as she chatted with her date from Match. com. He wasn’t Chaz—her Mr. Right—by a long shot, but with his bald head, chocolate eyes, and smooth, dark skin, she believed that he might definitely end up being Mr. Right Now.
Liz sat across from Max at her parents’ dining room table, wondering where Chaz was and wishing she were with him. But as she watched her father, husband, and in-laws engage in political rhetoric, she knew that that was a wish that would never come true.
Jennifer sat home alone, having broken up with Antonio earlier in the day. Her husband bar had been set pretty high, and she wondered if anyone would ever come close to what she’d had. Her earlier call to Chaz had gone to voice mail. She reached for her phone, and it rang in her hand. It was the DJ from LIVE-FM. He wanted to be with her. She agreed. He was a capable lover. Jennifer needed loving, plain and simple, and tonight, would get it from him.
Naomi Stone had navigated O’Hare, secured her rental car, and now sang with the music as she drove toward Chaz’s house. She was sure that her visit would be as she’d stated, “when he least expected.”
And Lois sat in the church offices with Pastor Mack, trying for the third time to reach her mother.
“This is so unlike her,” Lois said as she hit her speed dial.
“Maybe she made her own celebration plans,” Pastor Mack suggested as he stared at Lois with newfound admiration. He couldn’t get over how good she looked. And that dress! Being twenty years older than the woman sitting across from him, this associate minister had never considered the possibility before. But now he thought he just might be ready to put his widowhood behind him, and put some sanctified moves on his reverend’s daughter.
“She never does anything special,” Lois countered. “She’s always here! And the one time I plan a surprise birthday party and have a dozen people waiting at the restaurant, she chooses to act out of character.” Lois put up her finger in a shushing manner. “Mom, where are you?”
“I see you’ve called several times,” Beatrice said, ignoring the question. “What’s wrong, Lois?”
At the same time Lois answered her phone, Chaz’s cell rang. He walked into the living room to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hey, baby. Where are you?”
“Naomi!”
“The one and only.”
Chaz spoke quietly. “Baby girl, it’s so good to hear your voice. Where are
you
?”
“In Chicago, across the street from your house.”
“You’re here?”
“Yes. I was planning to surprise you. Please don’t tell me you’re out of town.”
“Even if I were, I’d charter a plane to get back to you. As it is, I’m less than twenty minutes away. Your timing is
perfect
. And, baby,” Chaz said, his voice dripping with desire, “when I get there, I don’t want you wearing anything but a smile.”
Naomi laughed. “You want me to get undressed here, in my car, in public?”
“You’ve got a point. I guess I can wait until you’re one step inside my place. Then I’m going to wear you out.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s a promise.”
“Umm, I like the sound of it. But hurry up, man! You’ve got me wet.”
“And you’ve got me hard.”
“Then stop talking and start driving. I want you!”
“I want you, too, Naomi Stone, in more ways than one. And I plan to have you.”
Maybe even for the rest of my life.
From One Lover to Another
Cydney Rax
1
If a Man Calls His Own Mama the B-Word, He Cannot Be with Me
At first she wasn’t sure, but when Lorraine Eafford heard her ex call his mama the b-word
again
, she knew she’d made the most important decision of her life. She’d broken up with Posse late last year, but her ex kept dialing her number. It didn’t matter that she told him, “That’s not happening,” when Posse asked if she thought they’d hook up again one day. He still called her using the sexy voice she’d previously loved to hear, and tried to coax her back into his life. Posse couldn’t accept that when Lorraine moved away from her hometown of Dallas where
he
lived, to Houston where he
didn’t
live, it was an indication she meant business. They were through. Period. Her feelings were cemented even more on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
Lorraine was at home alone in her one-bedroom apartment in the Westchase area of the city. She had just started running some steaming hot bathwater. The bottom of her garden tub was scattered with tiny lavender-scented body-soaking beads that when melted softened the water and provided relaxation for her aching slender body. Lorraine believed in working hard and staying busy, but there were times when she needed to de-stress and pamper herself. Sunday was one of those days.
While the tub filled with water, she rummaged through her walk-in closet searching for a sexy nightgown to wear once her bath was complete. But before Lorraine could pick out a cute nightie, her phone rang. She rushed to her night-stand where she last placed her smartphone. She thought it might be Joanna, her sister who still lived in Dallas. But when she noticed it wasn’t her sister but an unrecognizable number, she answered anyway.
“What’s up, my lady?”
Lorraine cringed when she heard her ex’s raspy voice. “Posse? I am not your lady anymore.”
“Man, don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. I told you I’m all about pure truth now.”
“You need to get off the gas with dat new attitude, bring your fly ass back to Dallas, and chop it up with your boy.” While listening to him, she struggled with a mixture of desire and disgust. She pressed the phone against her ear and recognized Posse’s normal background noises. Familiar sounds that let her know that three months after their breakup, this guy was still caught up in the same old same old. Hanging out with five of his partners in a smoke-filled room. Playing dominoes. Getting high. Getting drunk. Talking shit. Wasting time.
Frustrated, she tried to respond, but he interrupted and ordered her to hold on. She heard a ringtone by Bushwick Bill of the Geto Boys, an H-town rapper who’d been known for his sexist and misogynistic lyrics. As soon as she heard the melody, she knew Posse’s cell phone was ringing. He’d obviously borrowed one of his boys’ phones to call her.
She listened in.
“Aw, Mama, you tripping. Nobody tearing up your damn house. Okay, okay, okay, we’ll turn down the music.
Damn!
” The background noise grew quieter. So did Posse. Lorraine heard his mother screaming at him through the phone.
“Mama, I ain’t trying to hear all dat, now I told you I—”
Mother and son continued to verbally sling it out. His volume increased a few decibels as he argued with the sixty-year-old woman.
Then Posse abruptly shut up.
Lorraine knew that, like a hundred times before, Posse’s mama had rudely disconnected the call and left him looking stupid.
“Fucking bitch,” she heard him mutter before he snapped the phone shut. He switched back to his boy’s phone and resumed talking to her in a normal tone. Color drained from Lorraine’s face. Posse’s disturbing encounter with his mama reminded her why she had to get away from him. It wasn’t that he’d ever referred to
her
by that awful name. But if a man called his own mother the b-word, she knew the name-calling wouldn’t stop at the woman who gave birth to him. And if a man had the nerve to talk about his mama with blatant disrespect, he wasn’t the man for her.
“Posse, may I ask you something?” she said, trying to shout over the din of all his partners, who began yelling and arguing with one another.
“Ask me anything, my lady.”
“Why do you talk to your mother so horribly?”
“What? Dude, don’t ask me something you don’t wanna know the answer to.”
Lorraine wanted to scream. He never answered a question directly. Or he’d often deflect her grilling. Lorraine wanted a man who wasn’t afraid to speak his truth even if it was something she might not want to hear. In her opinion, raw truth was always better than a dressed-up lie.
Exasperated, she blurted, “This is exactly why I had to burn out,” then realized her error. “I mean, this is precisely why I
broke things off
.” She hated herself for letting him influence her enough to talk his gutter language.
“Like I’ve tried to tell you a million times,” she continued, “we’re on two different pages. You know that. It was never going to work for the long term. I simply can’t handle your lifestyle.”
As she admitted her truth, her heart exploded with pain. She didn’t want to hurt him. But to not hurt him would mean hurting herself.
“So you sitting up here trying to tell me you didn’t like rollin’ wit me this past year, Lo? That you was acting fake all dat time we hung out, Lo?”
It hadn’t been that long ago when Lorraine had loved for Posse to call her by that shortened pet name. Back then she’d craved his slight Southern twang, his unique way with words. The fact that they were so different intrigued her and she was all ears. But she didn’t want to hear the slang anymore. These days she hated being called “Lo.” It sounded so
ghetto
.
Not that Lorraine wanted to be known as a snob. She just knew she wasn’t hood enough to feel comfortable dating a hood guy anymore. In the beginning of their relationship, Lorraine had a ball hanging out with Posse. He introduced her to a wild, adventurous, and borderline dangerous side of life that she had never been exposed to. The first time she visited him at brother Donnie James’s, she saw things that made her eyes widen. Young men barely out of their teens openly sold drugs in the presence of innocent five-year-old boys. She was amazed and repulsed at the same time.
Lorraine grew up in an upper middle-class family on the north side of Dallas. Her parents married each other a few months after they both earned master degrees. They obtained good jobs as educators, saved their money, plunked a hefty down payment on a ranch-style house, and then had their two children: little Lorraine Yvonne followed by Joanna Marie three years later. Lorraine admired her parents for their strong values, sense of responsibility, and no-nonsense approach when it came to life. They held high expectations for their daughters, and Lorraine didn’t want to let them down.
Of course, when she met Posse and began dating him, Lorraine was forced to keep their relationship a secret for months. If her Church of God in Christ mother knew she was hanging out with a man who wore his pants so low that everyone could see the color of his boxers, she’d have a fit, first calling on Jesus and asking him to save Lorraine from her sins, then pulling her eldest daughter to the side and asking her what her problem was.
“I didn’t raise my girls to lay up with any old man,” Francis Eafford would often say. But once Lorraine did start sleeping with Posse, she thought her mother didn’t know what she was talking about. The sex that Lorraine had with Posse was oh-so-good: hot, wild, freaky, noisy, sweaty, lengthy, messy, impulsive, painful, and all consuming, just how Lorraine liked it. Outside the bedroom, she became addicted to Posse’s streetwise ways, his playful swagger that kept her blushing and giggling. From his shoulder-length braided hair, to his piercing, light brown eyes that sparkled in the sun, to his chiseled jaw that made him look thug sexy—everything about Posse drew her. Because he was so unique, she felt that trying to explain her feelings to him was too overwhelming. And lately talking to him on the phone wore her patience. This evening she had had just about all she could take. Instead of hanging up in his face like she was tempted to do, she addressed his nonanswer.
“Posse, you talking bad to your mother has nothing to do with whether or not I enjoyed being with you.”
“So you saying you
did
love me? And you
are
gonna come crawling back to Big Daddy? I’m still here, Lo. I’m ready for ya, legs spread, waiting for you to crawl on top—”
“Stop it, Posse, don’t talk like that.”
“Why not? Your pink thong getting wet? You want me to come to Houston and fuck the panties off you?”
“Oh God, please be quiet.” Posse knew how much she adored pink undergarments; plus he knew all of her other likes and dislikes (NBA games, any movie with Angela Bassett, and sweet-tasting chocolate-covered strawberries). The fact he knew her so well sometimes surprised her. She didn’t think a man like him could be so in tune to her, but he was. He knew the right dirty words to say to get her turned on; turned on until there was no turning back.
When they were an item, she used to love when he’d talk his nasty talk, but she despised when he opened up his nasty mouth in front of his nasty friends. It made her feel cheap, like a run-of-the-mill whore he could find on any city corner. Lorraine knew she was more than just some chicken head he liked to screw. She was Lorraine Yvonne Eafford, a young, black, female architect in the state of Texas. She had a Master of Architecture degree from Texas Tech University and she was thriving in her career.
It broke her heart that she had tried to make something work that was bound to fail. In retrospect, she could admit she lowered her standards to be with a man who probably couldn’t truly appreciate a good woman like her. A man who didn’t understand that calling his own mother out of her name was an absolute no-no.
And the fact that he made this mistake on more than one occasion made Lorraine realize that you can take a man out of the ghetto, but the ghetto will always be a part of that man. He’d constantly be drawn back to the familiar, even when he knew it wasn’t good for him. And every single time that happened, Lorraine would lose hope that she and Posse could be together forever.
“Posse, I really wish you’d just answer my original question.”
“Which was?”
“Tell me why you call your mama the b-word.”

What?

“What kind of man calls a woman that?” she asked, almost shouting.
“A man whose long, tasty sausage you used to love to slobber on, dat’s what kind.”
“Ugh! Posse, this conversation is over. I’ve moved on. Don’t call me anymore.”
Hands shaking, Lorraine hung up. She rushed to the bathroom and felt grateful that her bathwater hadn’t overflowed and was still hot. She slid off her aqua jersey tank and matching running pants, stepped over the edge of the tub, sank her body deep into the water, swiftly closed her eyes, and dreamed of better days.
When Lorraine finished soaking and felt refreshed, she lifted herself out of the tub, thoroughly dried herself off, and applied scented lotion to her entire body. When she returned to her bedroom, instead of getting dressed in a nightgown, crawling into bed early, and calling it a night like she’d originally planned, she threw on one of her favorite dresses, an outfit that made her feel confident and beautiful every time she wore it. She still felt on edge after talking to Posse and had an urge to get away from her apartment. But before she walked out her front door, she returned to the bathroom and gazed at her reflection in the wall-length mirror. Even without a hint of makeup, Lorraine’s features showcased her attractiveness: round cheeks that expanded when she laughed, deep-set dark brown eyes that lit up when she felt joyous, and protruding soft lips that hinted of her occasional pensive nature.
With a quivering voice, she said, “I love you, Lorraine Eafford.” She tried not to flinch as her voice grew stronger. “I love you, Lorraine. I love you, Lorraine. Love you, love you, love
me
.” She gasped like she’d just spoken the most difficult words she ever uttered. But soon she detected an inner strength that had been missing from inside of her the past couple of months. She felt focused, centered, and more than anything, she believed she possessed the power required to move on from one lover to another.
Lorraine sensed that although it was true that she missed some of the unforgettable moments she’d shared with Posse, as good as things seemed during their best days, there was something greater ahead for her. Something she couldn’t see initially, but a good thing that would be revealed in time.
BOOK: Crush
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