Love on the Run (10 page)

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Authors: Zuri Day

BOOK: Love on the Run
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15
“Hey, girl.”
Shayna looked up and smiled at Kim, the first-leg runner in the 4 x 100 relay and the only married woman in the racing quartet. Her husband, Patrick, ran hurdles and did the long jump. In both events, he'd taken the silver medal at the 2012 Olympics held in London, England. Shayna, Brittney, and Talisha hoped they could find a love like that experienced by Kim and Patrick.
“Hey, girl,” Shayna answered, once Kim had joined her on the grass.
“I've heard of trying to get out of practice before, but a bicycling accident? Seriously?” Her twinkling eyes belied the disbelief in her voice.
“I'd rather be running, trust me on that. I'd do hills, marathons, anything rather than deal with this discomfort.”
“You're still in pain?”
“It's getting better.”
“So, Shay. I've never heard of you riding bikes and even so, you know Coach doesn't like us doing anything that could compromise our health.”
Shayna hated being dishonest with her friend, but dutifully did as Michael had asked and relayed the lie that he called “spin”—that she and a bicycle rider had performed a get-to-know without proper introductions. “It was a freak accident,” she finished. “I'll be okay.”
“How long will you be out?”
“Just a couple more weeks.”
“That's good.” They fell silent, watching the various team members working out in their respective sports: high jump, long jump, triple jump, shot put, pole vault, hurdles, and running. Shayna rested back on her elbows and lifted her face to the sun, enjoying the gorgeous Southern California weather with its bright blue sky, fluffy cumulous clouds, and soft breezes. The grass was springy beneath her hands and in this moment, Shayna caught a glimpse at what contentment looked like. “Shayna.”
“Hmm?”
“What's this I hear about you being represented by Michael Morgan?”
“Where'd you hear that?”
“Patrick ran into Jarrell; he told him. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, sis, that's totally cool, girl! Athletes are doing flips to get with his agency. What'd you do for him to pick you?”
“Nothing. He came to me.”
“Word?”
“Yep.”
“Hmm. Jarrell said that's why you and him broke up, because you slept with Michael to get him to represent you.”
“What?” Shayna sat up quickly, forgetting all about her tender ribs and ignoring the pain that came with the sudden movement.
“Yeah, girl, that's the rumor he's spreading. He told Patrick that you've been trying to get back with him, but that Michael Morgan could have his leftovers.”
“He is such a liar.”
“I figured as much,” Kim said, offering a compassionate touch on Shayna's arm. “I told Patrick that Jay was lying, that I remembered you telling me about the breakup back in London. But if he said that to Patrick, there's no telling how many other people he's told, or what other kinds of rumors he's spreading.” Kim continued, her voice soft with concern. “Maybe I shouldn't have said anything.”
“No, I'm glad you told me. I need to let Michael know about this just in case Jay tries to take these lies public.”
“Girl, tell me this. Is Michael as gorgeous in person as he is on TV?”
Shayna's face softened as she remembered the night before.
 
 
She'd heard a noise, and thought it was either Brittney or Talisha. Her door opened and then he was there, wearing the same black shirt, faded jeans, black loafers, and bright smile that he'd sported at the restaurant. She said nothing as he approached her, wide eyed and waiting, and when he joined her in the bed, she did not protest.
No words were said and the moment he pressed his thick, soft lips on her equally full ones, none were needed. “You taste like blackberries,” he whispered into her mouth. She swallowed the comment, along with his desire. With lips still locked, he ran his hand up and down her arm, stroking the skin, squeezing her hand in his. His lips left hers to trail kisses down to her neck and collarbone. He looked deep into her eyes. “I don't want to hurt you.” She simply nodded, words blocked by a need, an urgency for her to throw caution to the wind and not miss this chance at what she was sure to be lovemaking of the highest skill. He shifted his body in order to continue his oral salutation, down to her shoulder and across to her chest. His intent gaze dropped to her nipples and they hardened under his perusal. He bent down and took first one in his mouth, and then the other, flicking the hardened pebbles with his tongue and then blowing on the wetness. Bypassing her wrapped midsection, he continued down her thighs, knees, calves, and back up again. Her stomach clenched when he paused, repositioned himself, and spread her thighs. “May I?” he asked, voice husky, eyes black with desire.
She nodded.
“I didn't hear you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss between her thigh, and another at the top of her bikini-waxed paradise.
“Yes,” Shayna gushed, in a voice that was foreign to her own ears.
A soft chuckle and then those lips. On hers. Down there. The perfect kiss. She hissed and spread her legs farther apart, totally oblivious to any pain except the exquisite ache in her honey pot, the throbbing nub that begged to be licked, and her clenching muscles that begged something long, and thick, and pulsing to squeeze. He parted her slick wet folds with his tongue, lapped her honey with swordlike thrusts and a fencer's precision, taking her nub into his mouth and causing it to bloom like a flower. “You taste good,” he said. And then went back for seconds. And thirds.
Shayna was beside herself with ecstasy. Her hands gripped the sides of his head, as her fingers rubbed the ultralight stubble underneath them. He chuckled as she held him there, captive between her thighs, grinding her heat against his open mouth and searching tongue, short gasps of breath coming from her slack mouth. He parted her with his fingers, totally exposed, and then licked her long and thoroughly, slowly as if time was on their side. Shayna felt the lioness of passion being unleashed, felt the coils of her core loosen as her body started to shake.
Awww!
Before the shuddering could cease, he'd rolled them over as gently as if she were a piece of priceless porcelain, had placed her on top of him and guided himself inside her. She gasped at the combination of agony and ecstasy as she widened to accommodate his massive girth, and the length as well. He held her still for a moment, until her nature fully welcomed his gift. And then he truly began the greeting, raising her up and down his moistened shaft, thrusting himself inside her with a ferocity she'd not known existed, twisting himself to reach parts of her insides that had never been touched, slamming into her soul with a wild abandon. They came as one, their cries a symphony.
It was the sound of her voice that had awakened her, and Shayna's heart had plummeted when she realized that her rendezvous with Michael had been in her dreams. As the fingers of dawn had etched themselves across the morning sky, Shayna had placed her fingers where she longed to feel Michael's manhood, trying with limited success to assuage the ache in the valley that her dream had caused. In these early morning moments she was all too aware that it had been almost four months since she'd had sex, and probably years—if ever—since she'd made love. It was here, in solitude and silence, that she remembered how real had been the vision even as she acknowledged her love for Michael, albeit only in her dreams.
 
 
“Shayna!”
Shayna shook herself out of the reverie. How long had she been daydreaming? It felt like moments, but the flashback had occurred in mere seconds. “I'm sorry, Kim. Just remembered something that I, uh, needed to tell Michael.”
“Well, if the look you had on your face just now is any indication, it will be a juicy tidbit you share.”
“No,” Shayna said, feeling a heat that had nothing to do with the sun overhead. “Michael doesn't date his clients and with my ongoing Jarrell drama, love is the last thing on my mind.”
“Hmph, whatever,” Kim replied, her voice disbelieving as she picked at a wildflower growing in the grass. “So is he?”
“Is he what?”
A great kisser? A phenomenal lover? Hung like a jury split at six and six?
“Gorgeous! Shayna, did you even hear me?”
“He's nice looking,” Shayna replied, trying to sound even toned as a flush rose from her neck to her cheeks. “With probably a list a mile long of females to remind him of this fact.”
Kim looked up, shielding her eyes against the day's brightness. “Here comes Coach,” she said, rising quickly. “Let me get going before he dreams up more exercises for me to do.”
Personally, Shayna was glad for the diversion. Better to deal with the dreams her coach might be having . . . than her own.
16
A week went by without Shayna seeing or talking to Michael. But he was never far from her thoughts. Ever since that stupid dream, she'd not been able to get him out of her head. It didn't help that Jarrell was back to his old habits, blowing up her phone and sending crazy texts. Seems his promise to leave her alone had a time limit. On a positive note, her ribs were healing nicely. She now only wore the bandage at night. She'd also started performing light stretches, and walking three to four miles daily around the track. If all went well, she'd be able to run in the Platinum Card Classics.. Not only was it an important event in the USTAF Series, but the prize money would add much-needed cash to Shayna's dwindling bank account. It helped to split living expenses with her roommates, but one of the main reasons she'd hooked up with Michael's firm was for the possibility of sponsor dollars. Running was her passion, and a sport, but it was also business, her livelihood. Michael had told her that he was the man for the job, and now she hoped that he was a man of his word. These were just a few of the thoughts running through her head on a rare evening where she had the condo all to herself. Until now, there'd been little time to miss Jarrell's companionship and while Shayna meant what she'd told Kim about no time for love, she'd neglected to mention the times of loneliness.
Having finished putting away her laundry, Shayna paused in front of the floor-length mirror hanging on her closet door. She was wearing baggy shorts and a loose, torn T-shirt. Lifting the shirt, she ran a hand over her midsection, pressing the areas that a short time ago had been in such pain. The swelling had vanished, along with the bruising, and while areas of tenderness remained, Shayna was pleased to see that she could move fairly freely without hurting. She finished her impromptu medical exam, but continued her perusal. Turning sideways, she eyed her profile, dispassionately and somewhat critically viewing her compact body, adequate breasts, and round booty. She faced the mirror, brought her face up close. When out with her friends she garnered her fair share of attention, she guessed. But her mother, a tall caramel beauty who looked more like Shayna's older sister than a mom, often derided her chocolate tone, and called her generous backside a “ghetto butt.” Jarrell was drawn to women with generous cleavage, even that which had been created with a surgeon's skill, and regularly stated—often while tousling her shoulder-length hair—how much he loved long flowing weaves. With a pang more real than her cracked ribs had produced, Shayna missed Big Mama, the one and only person on the planet who'd told her she was beautiful, and Shayna believed it.
“Don't matter who else loves you if you love yourself,” Big Mama had admonished Shayna more than once.
“But what about Mom? Why doesn't she love me?”
“She loves you,” Big Mama explained. “Just don't know how to show it, never did. And then something happened that made her shut off her feelings.”
“What?”
Big Mama had shook her head. “That's something she'll have to tell you. But she loves you, Shayna. In her own way, she loves you.”
“What about my father, Big Mama? Did you ever meet him?”
“No, never did.”
Shayna was seven years old the first time she asked about her father. Beverly told her he'd been “claimed by the streets” when Shayna was just a baby. Throughout the years, Shayna had often tried to learn more about her dad, but Beverly wasn't forthcoming. “Didn't really know him,” she'd told her. “We broke up before you were born,” she'd add. Beverly may have loved Shayna “in her own way,” but Big Mama had loved her in every way, and had given her the strength that at times Shayna forgot she had.
Tired of her own thoughts, Shayna trudged into the kitchen, fixed herself a simple salad, and plopped down on the couch in front of the TV. Her mind whirled again, this time with thoughts of Jarrell. As she surfed the channels, she remembered the events surrounding the fifty-five-inch flat screen, shortly after she'd won an event for a five-figure prize and Jarrell was more than happy to help her spend the money. He'd been as excited as a five-year-old when he'd purchased the big screen, had spent most of the night playing video games when he'd finished setting it up. Jarrell had changed over the years, become more aggressive and possessive. But there had been good times. Once.
Shayna was thankful when the phone rang, interrupting the inner dialogue that otherwise refused to keep silent. “Hello?”
“Hey, Shay.”
“Coach?”
“That's right.”
Shayna sat up as she muted the television. While John was a dedicated coach, everyone knew that the weekends not spent at track meets were committed to his wife and daughter. That he was calling her on a Saturday night meant something was serious. Her heartbeat quickened as she ran through the possibilities for this call, including her deepest fear—that someone was replacing her on the relay team or another event. “What is it, Coach?”
“I'm calling about the Cape Cod Classics coming up. We're going over the roster on Monday and I want to know if you think you'll be ready for that event.”
“I'll be ready,” Shayna answered without hesitation. Since high school, track had been the one constant in her life that never let her down, her salvation when life threw fast pitches and curveballs. She didn't want to contemplate life without it, especially since these points counted toward the World Indoor Championship happening the following March.
“What is your doctor saying?”
Even though it had been almost two weeks since Gregory had seen her, again, Shayna answered without missing a beat. “He said I was healing perfectly and on schedule. You saw the lightweight jogging I've been doing and yesterday I incorporated a few leg weights.”
“Nobody knows your body like you do, but I'd still feel more comfortable talking with your doctor. Coming back to work prematurely can result in permanent damage. As much as I'd love to have you participate, we have to make sure you're healthy. So if you'll give me your doctor's name and number, I'll call him first thing Monday morning.”
“I don't have it handy, Coach. Can I get it and call you back?”
“The wife and I are heading out to dinner. Why don't you call me with it tomorrow?”
“Will do.” Shayna ended the call and dialed Michael. She hadn't talked to him since he'd invaded her dreams earlier in the week, and felt a bit embarrassed at the prospect of speaking with him now. As if to do so would reveal her secret, that she'd enjoyed their nocturnal rendezvous and wished that it had been real.
After several rings, the sound of Michael's voice poured into her ear. “Morgan.” It sounded as though he were at a club or party; his voice was raised loud above the music.
“Michael, it's Shayna.” Her voice rose as well, to be heard above the din.
“Hold on a minute.” There was a rustling sound before his voice became muffled. Shayna's brow creased as she imagined him excusing himself from a foxy-looking female. “Hey, Shayna,” he said from a quieter location. “What's going on?”
“Sorry to bother you, Michael,” she said, though she felt not at all bad about taking him away from his date. “But I need your brother's number.”
“Why? Is something wrong?”
“No.” She told him about her coach's request.
“Oh, okay.” Michael gave her the number. “If you get his voice mail, leave a message. He got a rare weekend off and went to Vegas, so he might not answer his phone.” A pause and then, “So tell me . . . are you home alone on a Saturday night?”
Put like that, her reality sounded pitiful. She was at home and quite alone. Again, the dream flashed before her eyes and for a moment, more like a split second, she thought about inviting her manager over. “I'm taking it easy so my body can heal,” she replied, quite proud of herself for coming up with such a legitimate-sounding answer on the spot. “We have a meet coming up soon and I've got to be ready.”
“That reminds me. I need to see you this week. Choice will be heading back to New York soon and before leaving, she has a few samples she'd like you to try.”
“We just met with her. She has samples all ready?”
“Yes. Choice is one of the most talented designers in the business, not to mention a workaholic; the reason Chai Fashions is such a success.” A pause and then, “When's a good time for you to meet us?”
“Any day after six will be good. I'm at work until then.”
“All right, I'll call you. Stay sweet, Shayna.”
For moments, Shayna held the phone after the call had ended. His parting words had been delivered softly, almost whispered, like a caress. The gently spoken command stayed with her throughout the evening, as she watched a documentary on OWN and later, while soaking in a hot tub laced with healing salts. She thought of Michael. That night, again, she dreamed of him . . . fueled for sure by the last thought on her mind before slumber claimed her:
Stay sweet.

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