Authors: Zuri Day
Love on the Run (12 page)
20
“Hey, Mom.” Shayna raised her voice so that it could be heard through the speakerphone on the other side of the room. She'd been trying to pack for the past hour with what seemed like one interruption after another. This one, if the past was any indication of the future, was particularly one she could do without.
“Shayna, I left you a message two days ago. Why haven't I heard back from you?”
“I've been really busy, Mom, getting ready for the meet this week.”
“Well, if you're too busy to call your mother back . . . you're too busy.”
Shayna swallowed the sarcastic comment that threatened to spill out of her mouth. She knew where it had come from. On occasions too numerous to mention, Shayna recalled Big Mama saying that very thing to Beverly, when she'd gone too long without contacting mother or daughter. How many times had Shayna's mother been too busy for her daughter? How many times had Beverly Washington Powell put her own needs, desires, goals ahead of those of her child? Did Beverly care that Shayna had found it embarrassing that her mother was dating her boyfriend's older brother? Being seven years older than Jarrell put Larsen just at a decade younger than her forty-three-year-old mother, but still! Had her mother once thought of how it felt for Shayna to find out from Jarrell and not Beverly that she and Larsen had married in Vegas? Did she ever think of the repercussions of a daughter feeling that her own mother was more of a competitor than a confidante? That the sexy good looks and vivacious personality of the mother had not only not been visited down on the daughter, but had made that daughter withdrawn and insecure, traits that she was still trying to shed in her midtwenties? No, Shayna didn't think her self-centered mother, Beverly, had ever considered such truths. Just like Jarrell had never placed her considerations before his own. Jarrell was quite a piece of work and as far as Shayna was concerned, her mother and Larsen were quite the pieces too.
“Shayna, what are you doing?”
“I told you, Mom. I'm packing for the meet in Massachusetts. Our flight leaves first thing in the morning.”
“So when were you going to call me back about Thanksgiving?”
“Mom! We haven't even gotten to Halloween yet. What's the rush about the holidays?”
“I just want to make sure you're here, that's all.”
“I hear that, but why?”
“Does a mother have to have a reason to want her daughter home for the holidays?”
When that mother's name is Beverly, then, yes, as a matter of fact.
“As far as I know our schedule is clear that weekend, Mom, but it depends on Coach. He sometimes comes up with drills at the last minute and if that happens, then I'll need to be here.”
“As far as I know our schedule is clear that weekend, Mom, but it depends on Coach. He sometimes comes up with drills at the last minute and if that happens, then I'll need to be here.”
“Hold on a minute, Shayna. Someone wants to talk to you.”
“Mom, wait!”
But she'd already handed over the phone. “Hey, Shay.”
Shayna didn't try to stifle her sigh. “Jarrell, what?”
“How's my baby girl?”
“I'm not your baby girlâ”
“You've got a brother on lockdown or what? Can't get you to pick up the phone when I call directly.”
“There's a reason for that, Jay. I don't want to talk to you. Damn! Sounding like a broken record is getting old!”
“I know you need time to cool off from what happened. I understand that. But we're going to get back on track, girl. By the time Thanksgiving rolls around, you'll be ready to take me back.”
Whoa, back the bump up. Did this man just say “Thanksgiving?” Has Mom invited Jarrell to the same dinner she's inviting me to, knowing how I feel about him and how much I'm wanting, no, needing to move on from his grasp? Seriously?
“Jarrell, tell Mom I'll call her next week, after the meet. I've got to go.”
“Jarrell, tell Mom I'll call her next week, after the meet. I've got to go.”
Shayna finished packing, then went into the kitchen.
Brittney was already there, making chicken salad. “Did I just hear the name Jarrell when I came out of my bedroom?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Shayna reached for a celery stick, leaned back on the counter, and munched it as she relayed the conversation with Beverly and Jarrell to Brittney. “I can't believe she's choosing Jay's side over mine, when I've told her that all I want to do is move on!”
Brittney stopped, looked her roommate straight in the eye. “Yes, Shayna, you can believe it. Your mother is a stone cold trip. I keep telling you that you don't have to stop loving her, but that you might need to do so from a distance.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“I can understand it, though; you only have one mother and she's it.”
“Lucky me.”
“So are you going to do it? Are you going to spend Thanksgiving in Vegas, playing one big happy family with the Powells?”
“Right now, I just have one thing on my mind,” Shayna responded. “And that's playing one big happy family with Michael Morgan in Cape Cod.”
“So you're going to do it! Ha! Now you're talking, sistah,” Brittney said, reaching into the cabinet for another plate. “You want some, right?” Shayna nodded. “Did you pack that dress that I gave you?” Shayna nodded again. “And the eff-me pumps?”
“Yes, ma'am,” Shayna sarcastically replied. “Anything else, Mommy?”
“Just hoping that you got the bikini wax that I suggested. A brother doesn't need to take a dive at the Y and encounter grizzly fur!”
“Britt, you are a fool!”
Brittney winked, picking up her plate and bottle of water in the process. “I love you, too.”
21
The Lighthouse Sports Center, a state-of-the-art indoor sports facility constructed on a picturesque piece of land in Falmouth, Massachusetts, bordering the Cape Cod Canal, was an athlete's dream. A multistory, multi-winged building often thousand square feet, the facility was now home to the state's preeminent sports teams, including several baseball franchises, the volleyball league, flag football, and the hockey team, the Cape Cod Clubs. The California Angels track team, including Shayna, had taken full advantage of their top-of-the-line exercise facility, and after a full body massage, she was feeling a little less antsy about what would take place in about twenty-five hours.
But she wasn't thinking about the relay or her two sprints. She was thinking about the seduction of Michael Morgan.
After a fitful night's sleep, Shayna stepped onto the track ready and focused. As always, running was both her sanctity and salvation. She blocked out everything but her competition and her lane, forgetting about Michael, Choice, and a representative from XMVP in the stand, and even about the fact that she was debuting one of the more subtle outfits . . . a fashion line that would roll out under Shayna's own labelâTriple Sâwhich stood for Shayna's Sprint Sensations. (Thankfully, Choice had agreed with Shayna and nixed the
Sprintress
idea.) While some of her teammates preferred the standard issue track uniform, others applauded her daring fashion statement. Tomorrow, during the relay events, she would wear the navy shorts and tank top with the iridescent strip down the side, along with the others on the 4 x 100 relay team, Talisha, Brittney, and Kim. But today, she wore high-rise boy shorts in a barely discernible pinstriped design, with a matching tank top. She also wore on her feet a pair of Right Flights, a lightweight running shoe that Michael hoped Shayna would be able to endorse. She was ecstatic about her performance since wearing the shoes and, in a nod to Michael Johnson, was considering having her shoes made in an iridescent motif.
Sprintress
idea.) While some of her teammates preferred the standard issue track uniform, others applauded her daring fashion statement. Tomorrow, during the relay events, she would wear the navy shorts and tank top with the iridescent strip down the side, along with the others on the 4 x 100 relay team, Talisha, Brittney, and Kim. But today, she wore high-rise boy shorts in a barely discernible pinstriped design, with a matching tank top. She also wore on her feet a pair of Right Flights, a lightweight running shoe that Michael hoped Shayna would be able to endorse. She was ecstatic about her performance since wearing the shoes and, in a nod to Michael Johnson, was considering having her shoes made in an iridescent motif.
After a morning filled with throwing sports, jumps, and hurdles, it was time for the relays to begin: the 4 x 100, the 4 x 200, the 4 x 400, and the mother of all relays, the 4 x 1500. As always, Shayna was a bundle of nervous energy, vibes she'd channel into power once her fingers wrapped around the baton. She was the fourth runner of the relay team, the anchor. If her girls did their job, and they always did, then all she'd have to do is keep the lead and bring it home. As the officials directed them onto the track, Shayna did a variety of stretches and a couple half sprints before taking off the warm-up that Choice had designed. Once rid of the jacket and leggings, she tapped her thigh muscles, shook out her arms and legs, rolled her neck around, and pushed short bursts of air from her lungs. She elongated her body as much as possible, reaching to the heavens while standing on her tiptoes, before bending her midsection until her fingers made contact with the ground by her toes. She wasn't aware of the picture she painted, and how when she stretched her legs like this her boy shorts rode high, exposing quarter-moon mounds of chocolate goodness.
But somebody was.
Â
Â
Michael casually stretched out his long legs in front of him, or tried to. The indoor stadium's bleacher seats weren't the best place to try and hide a hard-on, especially one that seemed determined to ignore its master's command that it calm the bump down. He forced his eyes away from the vision in front of him and looked across the track at the other runners. He noted the eight lanes filled with toned bodies, a virtual smorgasbord to a bona fide player such as himself.
Maybe I won't go after Shayna,
he decided. The waters would be less murky if his conquest resided in another state.
Maybe I won't go after Shayna,
he decided. The waters would be less murky if his conquest resided in another state.
“She looks good, doesn't she?” Choice asked, with a nod in Shayna's direction.
Well, so much for keeping my mind off the booty.
“Yes, she does. Those uniforms look nice on all of the women.”
“Yes, she does. Those uniforms look nice on all of the women.”
“Comfortable, providing ease of movement . . .”
Michael nodded, as his phone vibrated against his hip. “Right.” He looked down.
Felicia.
He never should have told that girl that he'd be on the East Coast. Good thing he'd left his exact location vague, otherwise she would have been on the first thing smoking to the Cape. He pressed the ignore button and had barely gotten the phone placed back in his pocket when it vibrated again.
Valerie.
He frowned. It had been a month since he'd been with any of his female crew and still they kept calling. Wanting to know what the deal was. Well, so did he.
Felicia.
He never should have told that girl that he'd be on the East Coast. Good thing he'd left his exact location vague, otherwise she would have been on the first thing smoking to the Cape. He pressed the ignore button and had barely gotten the phone placed back in his pocket when it vibrated again.
Valerie.
He frowned. It had been a month since he'd been with any of his female crew and still they kept calling. Wanting to know what the deal was. Well, so did he.
“Complications?” Dina drawled out the word as if she already knew the answer.
“Business.”
“Ha! If you say so.” Dina leaned over so that only Michael could hear her. “I have some . . . business for us to handle later as well.”
“I know. Shayna Washington. I've already arranged for our dinner tomorrow.”
“You are a naughty boy, Michael Morgan. You very well know I'm not talking about your latest . . . acquisition, although you have convinced me that she might make an attractive and popular spokesperson.” Her voice dropped even lower. “I'm talking about the matter that was so rudely interrupted at the benefit. As I remember, a phone call put an early end to our evening.”
Michael remembered. He'd texted Troy for one of their emergency deliverances. More than once the brothers had come to each other's rescue when females became too aggressive. Dina was a hot, vibrant woman, to be sure, but Michael's focus was elsewhere right now. As if to underscore the point, the official motioned for the first runner of each team in the relay to get down into their starting blocks.
On your mark!
Michael's eyes drifted from that runner, Kim as he remembered, over to the others, Brittney and Talisha, before finally coming to rest on Shayna, the one closest to where he sat. He watched as she nervously shook her legs and twisted her neck one way and then the other. At this moment, he had an intense desire to help her work out those kinks, those in her neck and those decidedly lower as well. Mr. Big threatened to make his presence known again, so Michael shifted his focus from sexual to sprinting, before leaning forward to watch the race.
On your mark!
Michael's eyes drifted from that runner, Kim as he remembered, over to the others, Brittney and Talisha, before finally coming to rest on Shayna, the one closest to where he sat. He watched as she nervously shook her legs and twisted her neck one way and then the other. At this moment, he had an intense desire to help her work out those kinks, those in her neck and those decidedly lower as well. Mr. Big threatened to make his presence known again, so Michael shifted his focus from sexual to sprinting, before leaning forward to watch the race.
“Set.” Michael noted that instead of watching the race's beginning, Shayna's eyes were temporarily glued to the track in front of her, as if she were mentally already running her leg in her mind. “Go!” The gun shot off and the race began. The crowd came alive, shouting, yelling, rooting their selective teams to victory. Michael was caught up in the excitement, his eyes glued to the speedy runners, watching lane three, which held the California Angels, quietly encouraging Kim.
Come on, Kim. Woman . . . run!
Kim's running was graceful, powerful, her five-foot-seven frame and long legs helping her eat up the distance between her and Brittney. As they rounded the curve, the women in lanes three, five, and six had established themselves as forces to be reckoned with. When Kim was about five feet from her, Brittney began moving forward, right arm back, palm up, waiting to feel the weight of the baton. As soon as she grabbed it she shot forward, trying to increase the lead between her and the other ladies. The runner in lane five wasn't having it. Obviously, the Angels weren't the only ones who wanted first place. The ponytailed blonde in lane one moved ahead of the sistah in lane six. Michael noted the determination on her face, her thin lips pressed into a straight line, her arms maintaining a one-two rhythm as she burned up the distance to the teammate handling the third leg of the race. Brittney reached Talisha, who began in second place. Now, he noted that Shayna was no longer staring ahead of her; she was nodding her head and waving Talisha toward her, calmly encouraging her friend to pick up the pace. Talisha read the telepathic text and by the time the baton was passed to Shayna, she and the woman in lane number five were separated by inches. Shayna put her head down, and later Michael would swear that a motor got turned on. Shayna hit the curve at around ninety, Michael reckoned, her movements smooth and purposeful, her body straight, her arms pumping, her feet barely touching the ground.
Come on, Kim. Woman . . . run!
Kim's running was graceful, powerful, her five-foot-seven frame and long legs helping her eat up the distance between her and Brittney. As they rounded the curve, the women in lanes three, five, and six had established themselves as forces to be reckoned with. When Kim was about five feet from her, Brittney began moving forward, right arm back, palm up, waiting to feel the weight of the baton. As soon as she grabbed it she shot forward, trying to increase the lead between her and the other ladies. The runner in lane five wasn't having it. Obviously, the Angels weren't the only ones who wanted first place. The ponytailed blonde in lane one moved ahead of the sistah in lane six. Michael noted the determination on her face, her thin lips pressed into a straight line, her arms maintaining a one-two rhythm as she burned up the distance to the teammate handling the third leg of the race. Brittney reached Talisha, who began in second place. Now, he noted that Shayna was no longer staring ahead of her; she was nodding her head and waving Talisha toward her, calmly encouraging her friend to pick up the pace. Talisha read the telepathic text and by the time the baton was passed to Shayna, she and the woman in lane number five were separated by inches. Shayna put her head down, and later Michael would swear that a motor got turned on. Shayna hit the curve at around ninety, Michael reckoned, her movements smooth and purposeful, her body straight, her arms pumping, her feet barely touching the ground.
Michael was on his feet before he even realized it. “Go, Shayna!”
And she did. There was a good two feet between her and second place. After crossing the line, she did what would become her signature dance, a little hop, step, and body twirl as she pointed her fingers to the sky. Her teammates rushed over to join her at the finish line. The foursome celebrated coming very close to breaking an indoor record.
“Impressive,” Dina said, once Michael had retaken his seat.
“Definitely,” Michael replied.
And the race was pretty good, too.
And the race was pretty good, too.
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