The Eleventh Commandment (24 page)

“B
o, let me in!” Darius growled, his voice low yet forceful as he stood outside the door to his husband's Biltmore suite. It had cost him a lot of money to get the cleaning lady to reveal Bo's exact suite number and after a month without sex and—aside from five minutes in the lobby during the DJ exchange seeing his soul mate—he had no intentions of being denied. “I mean it. I'm not going to go away until you open this door!”

“Well, I'm not going to open it,” Bo said from the other side. “And if you don't leave, I'm going to call security.”

“Fine, because I've sold the house and moved out all our things. I guess I'll just put your shit in storage and let you try and find where that is. Good-bye!” Darius moved out of sight from the peephole that he was sure Bo watched him from.

The door flew open behind him. “Don't you touch my—” Too late, Bo realized the ruse and stepped back inside the suite. But not fast enough to close the door before Darius got inside.

“I knew that would get you,” Darius said, as pleased with himself as he was with the sight for sore eyes that stood before him. Even if said sight resembled a thundercloud before a hurricane. “It hurts to know you care more about your clothes than you do your husband.”

“Husband? Nucka, you need to choke on that word.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, Bo. How many ways? I'm sorry!”

“I'm sick of your sorries,” Bo chided. But the way Bo was devouring him with his eyes, Darius could tell that his wife was glad to see him too.

“So what are you going to do? Divorce me?”

Bo crossed his arms. “Been thinking about it.”

Darius walked over to the couch, sat down, and rested his arms across the back of it. “I miss you, baby. It's been a month. A lot has happened and I need to share it with you.”

“Why don't you share it with the man I caught you sharing your dick with?” Darius sighed. “Uh-huh . . . I thought so.”

“The realtor has been showing the house while you've been away,” Darius said, deciding to ignore Bo's outburst and focus on something more important, like their future together. “She thinks we might have an offer by the end of the week.” A pause and then, “I'm moving back to LA, boo.” His voice softened. “I can't imagine being there without you with me.” Bo snorted. “The other night, I was reminiscing about us, about the night we met . . . our first date. We went to the Patti LaBelle concert, remember? Her, Babyface . . . and who else?” Bo shrugged as though he didn't remember. But his eyes twinkled. “We sipped your beloved Courvoisier all night and you refused to come to the house unless I stopped by IHOP for the Grand Slam breakfast that you ate too fast and then promptly threw up in my car!” No comment, but Bo slid his eyes in Darius's direction before sitting at the dining room table. All ears.

“I took care of you that night,” Darius continued. “Remember? Bought you 7Up and crackers, bathed you, tucked you into my bed. I lay there watching you sleep, for a long time, noting your curly eyelashes that fluttered when you breathed, and how you have a tiny mole on the left side of your mouth. I couldn't resist, and I kissed it. And then your lips. You swatted me away like an annoying fly—”

“Yeah, and I should probably swat your ass away again—”

“Before turning on your side, curling up almost into a fetal position and then sleeping like a baby. I think that's when I fell in love with you, watching you sleep. And then you woke up the next afternoon and fixed one of the best breakfasts that I'd ever eaten—that omelet with the spinach and mushrooms that you topped with orange slices. I thought that was so crazy, but it was so good. You know, that's how I feel about you. You're so crazy, but you make me feel so good. If I could, baby, I'd take back those five, ten minutes that I was alone with Paz.” Bo tensed at the name, but remained silent. “I never should have gone up those stairs. Hell, never should have gone to the party.”

Bo stared straight ahead. “So you knew he'd be there.”

“Yes. I knew. I thought I could handle it. I thought flirting with him was”—Darius shrugged—“fun, different.”

“Fun, hell. You had a full-blown crush on him.”

“I did.”

“And now?”

“After what it may cost me, I'll be all right with never seeing him again.”

“Yeah, well, since y'all are getting ready to do a movie together. . . good luck with that.”

“I walked away from it, Bo.”

For the first time since he entered, Bo looked directly at Darius. “What do you mean?”

“What I said. I'm not going to score the film. I told Paz that I'd made a terrible mistake, and that I was prepared to do whatever it took to rectify it.”

“You'd give up something like that for me? Something that could provide you with an even bigger crossover audience, take you to yet another level?”

Darius stood, walked over to the dining room where Bo sat. “I can get another movie,” he whispered. “But I can't get another you.”

That did it. Bo was out of the chair and in Darius's arms in an instant. “I'm sorry I hurt you, baby.” Darius rained kisses on Bo's face, his hands roaming over the body whose absence had caused him sleepless nights. “So sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“You cut me deep, Dee,” Bo said, his eyes wet.

“Me? You were the one with the scissors. And my ass has a gash to prove it!”

“You know what I mean,” Bo said with a laugh. “You hurt me to my heart.”

“I'll make it up to you. Will you forgive me?”

Bo reached around and cupped Darius's butt. “I'll think about it.”

“Will you think about it while you're living back with me, coming home, like . . . right now?”

Bo looked around the room. “I don't know. I'm growing used to room service and folks turning down my bed and putting chocolate treats on my pillow.”

“I'll be your chocolate treat,” Darius said, rubbing himself against Bo. Bo reached back, and could feel Darius's quickly hardening erection. “It missed you,” he said, nibbling against Bo's ear. “We can spend the night here, baby. I want you so badly.” Darius began unbuckling his pants. “Did you miss me?”

“Maybe a little.”

“Then come get a little taste.” He pulled himself out of his pants, hard and ready.

“Uh, that would be a negative. We've got to take a shower first.”

Darius's brows creased. Bo loved to perform oral sex, had never turned him down. “I took a shower before I came here.”

“Did you use Clorox?”

“Huh?”

“Pine-Sol. Lysol. Boric acid. Lye? 'Cause that's probably what it's going to take to wash that muthafucka's stank off the dick that belongs to me.”

“Ha! Baby, do you want to wash it off or burn it up?”

“I'll wash it tonight. But if you ever cheat on me again, I'm going to set that stick on fire. And I'm not playing.”

Darius followed Bo into the shower, where every part of his eight-inch shaft was washed, first with a washcloth and then with Bo's tongue. The makeup sex was at first tender, then explosive, and lasted well into the night, until both men were fully satiated and Bo rolled over into the fetal position, falling into a deep sleep, the way he'd done on their first date.

“ G
ood morning, brother.” Stacy stood in the kitchen of the condo she was renting temporarily, placing her phone on speaker while waiting for her tea water to boil.

“Good morning,” Brent said. “How are you?”

“The same as I've been the last few hundred times you've asked me. I'm fine, Brent, really.”

“Has he called?”

“No, and he isn't answering my calls either.”

“There's a reason.”

“Which you refuse to tell me.”

“Stacy . ..”

“Brent. You're my brother and my protector, and I love you for it. And I know that it's killing you not to put a foot in Tony's behind for what he did to me. But—”

“But what?”

Stacy paused as the kettle whistled and she turned off the heat. “I've forgiven him.”

For seconds, the sound of water being poured over tea bags was the only thing to be heard.

“Please tell me that I didn't hear what I think I heard.”

“You heard correctly. I forgave him, Brent. It was the Christian thing to do. But,” she hurried on, over Brent's objection, “that doesn't mean that I've forgotten what he did. I'm not saying that I'll get back with Tony.”

“Sounds like you're not saying that you won't either.”

“Honestly, besides taking it one day at a time? I don't know what I'll do. I'm in counseling with the pastor's wife at our church, and that's helping a lot.” Stacy knew that Tony was also in counseling, both with her counselor's husband, Derrick Montgomery, and also with a licensed professional whose expertise was in rehabilitation from steroid use and anger management. But she didn't think Brent would appreciate these facts, so she kept them to herself.

“Here you are asking me all of these questions, but you still won't tell me what happened when you guys confronted Tony.” A friend of Stacy's had been at the restaurant when Brent and the other three brothers had “encouraged” Tony to step outside for a conversation.

“He lived to tell about it. That's all you need to know.”

“I wish you guys had kept out of it, let me handle it.”

“Couldn't do that, baby girl. Wasn't no way a brothah was going to put his hands on our sister and there not be a discussion. Be glad that that's all it was.”

“Look, it's my life, Brent. I have a right to know how you're affecting it.”

“I'll tell you this much. I told Tony that to get to you, he'd have to go through me. Which means if he wants to talk to you, wants to so much as
look
at my baby sis, he's going to have to prove to me that he's changed, that he's got his head on straight and that what happened was a one-time occurrence. If he does all that then he may be able to
look
at you in my presence. And then we'll go from there.”

The conversation shifted to other family matters, including the upcoming Labor Day picnic they planned to have at the beach, Stacy's nieces and nephews, and whether or not Serena would win another US Open.

“She's like a fine wine, getting better with age,” Brent was saying as Stacy's doorbell rang.

“I know that's right.” Stacy walked to the door and broke into a big smile when she saw who was waiting for her. “Brother, I've got to go.”

“Okay, sis. But don't get Tony in trouble. Stay away from him.”

“Mind your business.”

“You are my business.”

“Bye, Brent.”

“Bye.”

Stacy threw open the door. “Little Bo Peep!” she said, throwing her arms around him.

“Spacey Stacy,” he said, as they rocked back and forth in a dramatic hug. “Girl, you so crazy,” he said when they parted. It was the first time they'd seen each other since Bo and Darius's reconciliation and both their relocations. There was a lot to catch up on.

“I just made tea. Do you want some? And before you ask, no, I don't have any cognac.”

“I wasn't going to ask, heifah. Tea will be fine, thank you very much.” He followed her into the kitchen. “Where's DJ?”

“Over to his uncle's house, bonding with his cousins.”

“Ooh, I bet he's glad to be back in LA.”

“No more than me.”

“Or me.”

“So when did y'all get back from the tour?”

“It was over a couple days ago, but we spent some time in New York with my family.”

Stacy placed the tea on the island in front of Bo. “Sounds like you guys are back on track.”

Bo tried hard not to smile. Failed. “We're doing all right.”

“Is ‘all right' what has you turning red from the neck up?”

“Girl, I ain't blushing. Get out of here.”

“Whatever. You're preening like a peacock.”

“Hell, I can't even front. You know that man knows how to pump a penis.”

“Yes,” Stacy deadpanned. “I remember.”

“Ooh, sounds like somebody is overdue for some pumping. What's going on with you and crazy man?” He blew on his tea and waited expectantly.

“Nothing. My brothers have him on lock; he hasn't called, won't return mine.”

“You say that like it's a bad thing.”

“You sound as bad as my brothers. I'm not saying I'll get back with him. But he's my husband, the man I was married to for three years. I haven't seen him or said a word to him since that night. I want to talk to him, find out what happened to make him snap like that . . . for my own healing.”

“I thought you said he left you messages about taking steroids.”

“He did but . . . I don't know . . . I just need to talk to him. That's all.”

“What conversation is there to have with someone who left an imprint on your face?”

“I guess the same kind to have with the man who stuck his junk in somebody else's trunk.”

“Whoa!” Bo sat back in the chair. “I guess I deserved that. I shouldn't be judging how bad one thing is over another. Wrong is wrong.”

“Exactly.” She joined Bo and sat at the island. “He wants us to do couples counseling.”

“How do you know this?”

“He told me in an e-mail.”

“I don't know, Stace,” Bo said, slowly shaking his head. “I just don't know.”

“Me either.” They were silent, sipping their tea and listening to strains of classic George Benson. “What about you? How was it getting back with Darius after... all that happened?”

“Strange. But good. In some ways it's better than it's ever been. But I probably shouldn't tell you that.”

“Oh my goodness! I totally forgot about what you did—stabbing him in the butt with some scissors. Bo, that was some straight-up ghetto madness.”

“It was what it was and is what it is.”

“So . . . did it heal okay? I mean, does he have a big scar or anything?”

“Child, please. That man don't have a scar.”

“He doesn't?”

“No,” Bo calmly replied after a sip of tea. “He has a reminder.”