Hittin' It Out the Park (30 page)

“Well,” Cheryl said, rolling her eyes, “if your only goal is to sound like a former drug dealer and second-rate rapper who's forever in and out of prison, then sure, the money we spent on diction was a waste.”

“T.I. is not a second-rate rapper,” Randy snapped.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Cheryl said with a smirk.

“And it wasn't money
we
spent on diction; it was money
I
spent on diction,” Randy sneered. “I don't remember you contributing any money to the cause.”

Cheryl's head jerked back in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, yeah, very serious! Like it was my money that bought all this.” Randy waved his arm around the room. “It was my money that paid for this furniture, wasn't it? I don't remember you using any money from your modeling gigs to buy even the curtains. Or am I wrong?”

“Randy—”

“And who paid for this fancy apartment, your car, your clothes, for you to get your hair done, your furs, your jewelry—”

“Randy,” Cheryl said through clenched teeth, “in case you don't remember, I had a place to live, my own car, my own clothes, jewelry, and furs before you met me.”

Randy walked over and bent down so that his face was only inches away from hers. “But none were anywhere's near as nice as what you got now, right?”

Cheryl was speechless for a moment. Was this really the same man who swore he would love her forever? Who said he would never hurt her? Who said he wanted a woman like her whom he knew wasn't after his money? But then again, this was the same man who said he wouldn't cheat on her. And exactly how had that turned out?

“Randy,” Cheryl said finally. “Maybe my things weren't as nice then as they are now, but they were mine. And I hate to remind you, but you were the one who didn't have a car, a real place to live, and barely more than the clothes on your back when we met. But I fell in love with you anyway. Or, should I say, the person I thought you were.” Cheryl stood up and walked over to the window and looked out onto the city street. “If the person I thought you were met the person you turned out to be, he'd beat the hell out of you.”

She was so lost in her thoughts that it took a good five minutes before Cheryl realized that her last words had hit a mark. That's when she realized that she no longer heard Randy talking, or moving around. She turned back toward the room to find him sitting on the bed staring at her. “What's wrong, now?” she asked wearily.

“Nothing. I . . . I . . .” He hung his head down. “I don't know. I can't figure out how we got here, you know?”

Cheryl gave a small smile. “I know.”

“You didn't marry me for my money, Cheryl. I don't even know why I said that.”

“I do. Because Sexy suggested it, right? She also said she liked your homey style and that I was trying to change you because I was ashamed of you, right?”

“Cheryl—”

“And, it was Sexy who first made you suspect that I was taking birth control pills behind your back, wasn't it?” Randy said nothing, confirming Cheryl's suspicions. “But,” she continued with a sigh, “even though I wasn't, there's no way I can prove it. Sexy's winning this one. In fact, I'd say she's hitting it out the park.”

Randy shook his head, but said nothing.

“Somehow, Sexy has arranged everything. What a smart little skank.”

Randy bit his lip. “Cheryl, don't.”

“Want a drink?” Cheryl stood up without waiting for an answer. “I want a drink. Scotch, in fact.” She went in the living room and returned carrying a tray with a bottle of scotch, ice, and two glasses.

“Are you moving in with her?” Cheryl asked after she poured them both a drink.

“I don't know,” Randy said in a low voice.

“You don't know. Hmm, that's interesting.” Cheryl took a sip of scotch. “So, where, may I ask, are you heading to from here?” She shook her glass so that the ice tinkled against each other. “And tell me the truth, baby.”

Randy downed his scotch in one gulp, and then lay down on the bed, his hands crossed behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah, I told her I'd stay with her a couple of nights.”

“I see.”

“But, that ain't right, is it? I don't know what's wrong with me, lately,” Randy said dismally. “I'll call her and tell her I've changed my mind.”

“You've changed your mind?” Cheryl asked hopefully. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, it's only right.”

“Oh, Randy. Thank you, baby.” Cheryl put down her glass, scooted closer to Randy and stroked his head. “Thank you.”

Randy pulled her down to him and softly kissed her. “Cheryl, I'm so sorry I hurt you.”

“And I'm sorry for any and everything I've done to hurt you, Randy.” This time she kissed him—long and hard. “Randy,” she said when their lips finally parted, “I would really like you to make love to me.”

Randy swept Cheryl into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. As if she were capable of breaking, he gently laid her on their bed and slowly undressed her, and then removed his clothes. He embraced her, and Cheryl made a breathless sound, almost a whimper when their mouths touched. Lips and tongues fused, he caged her beneath his hard, muscled body, his soft lips and moist tongue now trailing down her neck while he gently squeezed her breasts. Cheryl's flesh tingled beneath Randy's soft kisses, and she gasped as she inhaled his familiar scent, so wonderfully masculine it made her dizzy with need.

“Oh, Randy, I miss you so much.”

He didn't respond with words. He didn't have to. He released a groan as he buried his face in her bosom, rubbing his cheek against her dewy skin, kissing and licking her nipples until they tightened into hard knots of desire.

Cheryl clung to him, writhing and whimpering as the heat from his skilled hands warmed her. All the while, his erection pressed into her shaven mound with an insistent, grinding rhythm.

She held her breath until she could bear it no more and then let out a long moan as he touched her intimately. “I want to feel you inside me,” she pleaded, aching to be filled with his hardness.

Lavishing her with all the tenderness he possessed, Randy caressed her face and whispered that he loved her as he gingerly entered her an inch at a time.

Cheryl's body clutched possessively at every delicious increment, and when he was fully inside her, she cried out, calling his name over and over as ripples of pleasure coursed through her. He made love to her slowly and with a gentleness that spoke volumes. Randy loved her as much as she loved him. His love was evident in every thrust—in every deep stroke, and the sensation that Randy was giving was unbearably intense.

Despite his deliberate and slow movements, Cheryl didn't last long. Pleasure throbbed through every limb, and to her fingers and toes. She seemed to be in an entirely different universe of dazzling sensations and powerful emotions. After receiving only a few excruciatingly pleasurable strokes, she felt an earthquake beginning to erupt inside her. And then, quite surprisingly, there was a catastrophic explosion that caused her to convulse and cry out in unbridled passion.

Eager to join Cheryl, Randy quickened his pace. “It feels so good to be inside you, babe. I love you, Cheryl, and I miss you like crazy.”

He sucked in a shallow gasp, and then his body went momentarily rigid right before a blast of molten lava spurted, causing him to howl a torturous sound that seemed to emerge from the very depths of his soul.

*  *  *

It's all going to be okay, Cheryl thought as she dozed off to sleep. It's all going to be fine. Sure it wasn't going to be easy to get her marriage back on an even keel, but she'd put in the work. The way she figured it, God had decided to punish her for selling the baby by sending Sexy to destroy her life. But then God had taken pity on her when he realized how much she really loved Randy, and how much he loved her. And she was going to make things right. No, she wasn't going to tell Randy that she had sold a child, nor tell Sexy that she was her mother. And there was no use lying; she had zero maternal feelings for the girl. But she was at least going to try to be friendly to Sexy, and maybe become a good influence on her. After all, it was apparent the girl needed guidance. Imagine, seventeen years old and spreading her legs for anything in pants. Yes, she was going to take Sexy under her wing, and become a role model for the girl. God had saved her marriage, so it was the least she could do.

She didn't realize she'd fallen asleep, but she awoke when she went to snuggle closer to Randy and discovered he wasn't there.

“Randy?”

His clothes were changed, his face newly shaved, and he smelled like soap. And he sat down next to her and placed his hand on her face.

“I'm not sure how these things work, Cheryl. Divorces, you know? I, uh, guess until it's all done and final we'll be considered separated. I don't know how long or anything, but of course, you don't have to go nowhere. The apartment is bought and paid for, and even though it's in both of our names, I don't mind you having it.”

Cheryl's eyes widened. Separated? But didn't Randy say he had changed his mind?

“Um, I know some guys do stupid things like cancel their wives' credit cards and stuff, but you know you don't have to worry about anything like that, right?”

But wait, Randy said he was going to call Sexy and tell her that he changed his mind. I know he did.

“I've called and made reservations at the Plaza Hotel, babe. You can reach me there if you need me, okay?”

He changed his mind about staying with Sexy, not about the divorce.
She felt as if she'd been punched in the stomach, but she struggled to stop tears from falling once again or springing to her eyes. She'd begged. She'd pleaded. She'd tried to explain. If he was going to leave, then he wouldn't be leaving a groveling wimp; he'd be leaving the proud sophisticated woman he married.

Randy leaned down and kissed her, then stood up, picked up the suitcase and duffel bag, and headed for the door. Right before walking out, he turned around and looked at her. With tears in his eyes he said in an undeniably sad voice: “Bye, Cheryl. I want you to know I'll always love you.”

“Bye, Randy. I hope she makes you happy.” Cheryl responded. “And by happy, I mean I hope she gives you syphilis.”

U
nable to get enough of Sexy's tight ass, Randy only stayed at the Plaza hotel for a week before moving in with her. Before long he professed his love for Sexy. Though admittedly, he still had feelings for Cheryl, he told Sexy he could never forgive his wife for duping him into believing she'd been trying to get pregnant with his child.

With the lucrative Coca-Cola deal and the Nike endorsement in negotiations, Randy had more money than he knew how to spend. Sexy, on the other hand, had no problem burning through Randy's wealth now that they were an official couple. Sure, he was still legally married to Cheryl, but that piece of paper was only a technicality. Randy was now Sexy's man and everyone knew it.

As an incentive for Randy to sign, Nike gifted him a beautiful Rolls-Royce Phantom, which he gave to Sexy. She seldom drove the car, however. It was terrifying the way New York drivers whizzed through traffic, making her feel as if her life was in peril every time she got behind the wheel. Still, it was nice owning such a super-expensive car.

But the biggest purchase she'd convinced Randy to buy was a seventy-foot yacht—a luxury vessel he named
Sexy.
The yacht soon became party central for the young and fabulous. When the news got out that Randy Alston named the yacht after his side piece, Sexy's popularity spiked like crazy. The number of her Instagram followers went from 409 to almost 500,000, seemingly overnight.

When Sexy and Randy weren't sailing and partying on their yacht, they were hitting up the New York club scene where the paparazzi knocked each other over, clamoring for a shot of Sexy. As if she were an A-list celebrity, they yelled her name trying to get her attention, trying to goad her into looking at the lens of their cameras.

Sexy had quickly shot to fame simply for partying hard and dressing in the height of fashion. Blogs and other gossip tabloids mentioned her name on a daily basis, and often ran stories that linked her romantically with various high-profile male celebrities. Luckily, Randy didn't pay the gossip rags any attention. He knew his girl was true blue, and unlike his relationship with Cheryl, where he indulged in threesomes to keep things spicy, Randy had no desire for a third party to join him and Sexy in bed. Sexy, he often told her, was all the woman he needed.

Tall, lean, and shapely, Sexy was a fashion designer's dream. Perpetually swathed in couture fashion, she accepted clothing from top designers, but declined with a frown when the same designers requested she walk the runway garbed in their latest apparel.

In Sexy's opinion, models were empty-headed mannequins, and with her high IQ and sharp sense of cunning, she was far from stupid. Hell, she'd outwitted a grown-ass, well-seasoned woman and had taken her man. Not too many people had the brains to outsmart Sexy. Although snagging Randy Alston had been ridiculously easy, she considered it the biggest coup of her young life. She was completely independent now and no longer had to worry about her stingy parents trying to control her with the miserly amounts of money they doled out. Now that she had access to Randy's bank account, her lying, pretend-parents could keep their money and shove it up their asses!

*  *  *

Sexy sat on the bed watching Randy as he placed extra toiletries into his luggage. He was going to be on the road for ten days as the Yankees did a swing through the Midwest and California.

“I wish you could come with me,” he said with a sad expression.

“I'm gonna miss you like crazy while you're away.”