Cake (2 page)

The biggest bone of contention, for both of us, is our choice in men, aesthetically and intellectually. Madison likes her men gritty, blinged-out, wannabe gangsters who can barely carry a coherent conversation where my choice of men is summed up in two words: Trent Moss, a kind, caring, loyal, humanitarian with a tortured past that gives him depth and understanding. Okay, so his looks caught my attention first, as I’m sure it does every female. His shoulder-length curly brown hair is always pulled back, highlighting his soulful brown eyes and a lean muscular build that any female would want to wrap her body around. But in all honesty, it was what was on the inside that made him my first, and so far last, love. Mads thinks I’m crazy and a sadomasochist, because he, obviously, doesn’t feel the same way. Ugh, not going there.

At the squeal of tires and the sound of Madison’s loud cursing, I automatically brace myself against the car’s dashboard. My whole body jerks harshly forward, but my seatbelt snaps me back against the seat and into the present.

“Fuck me. I missed the turn,” she says, whipping the car around in the middle of the road.

“Slow down, Danica Patrick,” I comment, sarcastically referring to the famous female racecar driver.

“We are late again. Damn it! Dray will have a field day. That man and his big mouth. And I don’t mean that in a good way.”

A small laugh escapes me at her remark. The only person that hates Dray Savage more than me is Mads, simply because of the condescending way he always treats me and the sexual innuendos he loves to shock me with.

I can’t think of Trent without thinking of Dray. It’s funny when I think about it. I met Mads the day before I met Trent Moss and, subsequently, the bane of my existence, Dray Savage, star college running-back and now NFL star. Arrogant asshole would be an apt description. I cringe when I think how the womanizing whoremonger just had to be associated with the one guy, who is the epitome of everything he is not. These three have been the closest to me, other than my own family, for the last seven years. Since Trent and Dray were foster brothers, Trent would drag him everywhere he went, and Mads was usually left alone since her parents were never home. As a result, they all spent nearly every summer and holiday with us. That is until, luckily, Dray was drafted to the NFL after his junior year. I had Trent mostly to myself that last year of college. Too bad he considered me more of a valued sister figure than a girlfriend.

Pulling up to our friend Tamara’s lake house, we park behind a multitude of costly vehicles, mostly belonging to the Atlanta Eagles football team. Tamara’s husband, Gavin, is the star quarterback of the team and an all-around really great guy. Tamara and I met two years ago when she was debating over buying a Fendi beaded bag in my boutique, which she smartly did because it was fabulous, and since then, we’ve become close friends. Grabbing the bottles of wine from the backseat, Mads and I make our way to the front door.

We hear the old school rap pulsating through the front entrance as both of us stroll up to the doors. Inviting ourselves in, we see scores of people hanging about. Most are lounging around talking with a large group playing video games on a giant screen. Mads and I smile as we say our hellos and make our way to the kitchen. We almost make it unscathed before the unfortunate sound of Dray’s deep voice lands in my left ear.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Kylie Lord who has come to bless us with her presence. All hail the holy crotch.” Drays smiles, his dark brown eyes twinkling at me.

Slowly turning around, I plaster a fake smile on my face and reply, “I am holding a full wine bottle in each hand. I would really think carefully about your next words before speaking to me.” I finish narrowing my eyes directly at him.

Moving up on me, he softly states, “I’m all down for licking some wine off of you. I’m sure the ice-princess can keep it chilled for me.”

“You wish, Asshole.”

Grinning like an idiot, he stares back. God, he gets off on our verbal sparring. He’s sick and needs professional help. And why does he have to be so damn good looking? It infuriates me to no end to notice this. Today he is wearing a white t-shirt and red board shorts, emphasizing his immaculate physique. His African heritage gives him the most beautiful brown skin which compliments his short black hair and thick eyebrows. He stares me down, and I can’t help but notice the most interesting dark eyes and his machine-like body with muscled arms, a strong neck, thick barrel chest, hard thighs, and perfect backside. And dammit! He has a lone left dimple in his cheek and black ornate tattoos decorating both arms, the two most deadly sins for a woman to have to fantasize about. Damn! Him!

Glancing over towards Mads, he starts in on her, motioning his head backward saying, “Your new man, Lil Rip, is out back on the boat. I believe he is giving everyone a preview of his new rap song,
My Bitch’s Brain is Bigger than her Booty.
” He turns his back to us and starts shaking his butt dancing while spanking air. Winking at her, he finishes, “It has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?”

Mads smirks back and turns her middle finger up, giving him a not so nice hand gesture. “Yeah, it’s follow up song,
Dray has a Dinky Dick,
is going to be a top 100 hit. All the women agree.” Turning around, we high-five before heading to the kitchen with laughter following us.

“Oh yeah, Mads,” I comment, laughing at her.

“I hate that, Fucker!” she yells.

“There are my girls,” Tamara says as we walk in. Her red hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she looks more like the girl next door, which endears her to me even more. Setting the wine on the counter, I reach over to give her a hug.

“Sorry we are late. I was in the middle of a bidding war on a John Galliano pink backless gown that I have been salivating over.”

“And did you get it?” Tamara asks. This time a genuine smile covers my face as I nod.

“My aunt is going to love it! I can’t wait to show her.”

Patting my arm, Tamara replies, “I’m sure she will.”

Right after we graduated, my favorite aunt, Leigh, who had been in remission with breast cancer, received the news that we all dreaded to hear. It had returned. Around Atlanta, she is known as this avid wearable art collector and historian of fashion. All the Southern genteel want a peek at her closet.

Twenty years ago, after her husband died, she opened an upscale resale boutique named Decadent Darling in a trendy neighborhood in the northern suburbs of Atlanta. Having never had children of her own, she would let me travel with her to purchase from predominately private collections. In turn, igniting my own love for fashion. Her reputation of being able to procure couture pieces designed by Dior, Versace, Valentina, and Givenchy made her shop an immediate success.

Having been a part of Decadent Darling all my life, it was a no-brainer for her, when she could no longer physically handle the store, to deed it over to me. In college, I had initially thought to pursue some type of career in biology, but after a year, I switched programs and received my Bachelor of Science in Business Administration. I’ve continued to uphold the shop’s status and have made it even more successful in this bad economy thanks to online shopping. Actually, Mads is also a large part of my success because, since college, we both wear inventory which boosts sales.

“Speaking of…” Tamara says, “I love this white eyelet mini dress you are wearing. Very vintage and very you. Sex and innocence all wrapped up in a nice bow. I want it!”

“Thanks. I thought it would be perfect for today. It just arrived, and I love it too!”

She pours Mads and me a huge glass of wine and hands them to us. For about half an hour, we catch up on local gossip and events.

“Excuse some of my guests today, mainly the football players. This is their last hoorah before preseason camp begins. Things may get a little wild out there tonight. The boys work hard but play even harder.” Tamara grins at us. “You know, I’m sure you single ladies can find one of these lucky guys to work hard for you, if you get my drift. Damn, I’m jealous,” she says, joking because she loves her husband.

Mads looks at me and then Tamara, “For the moment, my fine ass is spoken for.”

Rolling my eyes at her, I look over at Tamara, “Her newest bad boy rapper. She says you can actually have a conversation with this one, unlike the last, so she’s moving up in the world.”

“You’re heartless,” Mads states, acting offended. “He couldn’t help that he had a slight speech impediment. I would be ashamed if I were you.”

“Mads, he didn’t have speech issues. He said everything twice and mumbled, ‘You feel me’ after every sentence. Be honest. Was there ever a meaningful moment between you two?”

Devilishly grinning, she answers with a twinkle in her eye, “Oh yes. He meant it every time he was ten inches deep in me.”

“Ten, huh?” Tamara asks wide-eyed, actually pondering the fact.

“Mmm-hm. And let me tell you, there is nothing
little
, about Lil Rip.” Leaning in closer, she whispers, “A solid twelve.”

“Ouch! That just sounds painful. I’m going to have to start a save the va-jay-jay campaign.” I jokingly reply, making Tamara laugh.

Looking at me, Madison says, “Kylie Lord, you are a jealous little ‘ho’.” Turning to walk outside, she calls, “Later, my bitches,” as she tries to pinch my chest on the way out.

I slap her hand away, “Go find
Long Duc Dong
to play with.”

Tamara laughs at our antics. Glancing back at me, she says, “What about you? Anyone special I should know about?”

That is such a loaded question when it pertains to me. Is there someone for me? No. Yes. Maybe? How do I explain how much in love I am with someone who doesn’t love me back? Other women look at you like you are the scuffs on their Jimmy Choos. Worse actually, the bubblegum that is stuck on the scuffs of their Jimmy Choos. They call you “wishy-washy” or echo the most hated words of the South, “Bless her heart.” Everyone knows, that
bless her heart
really means
that stupid bitch
. So I answer, what I always do.

“No. Hopefully one day.”

I mean, that is the truth. I’m young and allowed to live my life how I want. The only thing worse than being a single woman in love, is being a single woman who, God forbid, wants to get laid outside of a relationship. What century are we in? I should be able, since I don’t have a ring on my finger, to go out and flirt or fuck without question. In fact, women of this world should support this instead of calling each other petty names. The only name calling that should be allowed is if they are hysterically funny. That’s why Mads doesn’t piss me off. One: she doesn’t mean it, and two: well, she makes me laugh.

Someone calls for Tamara, and she excuses herself. Not wanting to bother her, I walk outside towards the back patio. A large stone pool with an even larger lagoon at the end dominates most of the space. I can see people inside, sitting on barstools in the water, watching mounted plasmas behind the small bar under the waterfall. On the other side, there are several large grills with more plasma TVs attached to every available wall space. A couple of men, including Gavin, stand grilling the food while drinking their beer. Smiling, I wave as they callout their hellos. Once I reach the rail, I lean over, looking at the peaceful view of the lake and letting the breeze cool my skin for the moment.

For now, my Aunt Leigh lives several miles down on this very same lake. She hired a personal nurse over a year ago. Being the stubborn lady that she is, she refused to let myself or my mother take care of her, which we begged to do. She states that she wants us to have only happy memories. So, I visit as much as possible, which lately hasn’t been enough.

Staring down at the docked houseboat, I notice Madison standing at one end and kissing on her new minute man. “Minute” meaning that’s how long they last in her life. Now that I think about it, she changes men about as fast as Dray changes women. Nah, that’s not possible. She would kill me for the comparison.

“Hey, Kylie.”

Looking over my shoulder, I notice Jason Silas standing behind me. He smiles down at me as I stare up at the almost seven-foot behemoth and his All-American good looks encased with blonde hair and baby blues. He is one of the best, and biggest, offensive linemen in the NFL. I attended a Luke Bryan concert with him several months ago that I agreed to last minute. It was due, in fact, to Dray. He made a comment about me being the ice-princess, and a veiled comment was made about me saving myself for someone who didn’t want me. Angry and hurt, I agreed with a little too much enthusiasm when Jason asked me in front of him. I could tell it surprised Dray, and myself, when I accepted.

The date was very casual, and to my astonishment, I had a great time. Jason is a very intelligent man who is a gentle giant at heart. Evidently, he loves country music and had procured tickets for most of the major concerts for the summer series, to which he invited me. Not wanting to be labeled a tease, I made things clear between us when I casually mentioned that I wasn’t interested in a relationship with anyone at this time in my life. He said he felt the same. Win! Win!

So, we enjoyed each other’s company, and the end of the season concert was last week. I had such a great time this summer that, since I didn’t have a date for a black-tie benefit I was hosting and we had developed this comfortable companionship, I asked him to join me last Friday night.

For months, I had been planning to host and help raise money for Trent’s program, Clean Water Project. Jason ended up being a marvelous dancer, and afterwards, with way too many drinks consumed between us, we, well, we ended up making out like horny teenagers in the car on the way to take me home. He swirled his tongue when he kissed, and it got me to thinking how useful that could be elsewhere, which led me to inviting him up. Actually, I don’t remember how we made it up to my apartment, but the next thing I knew, we were naked in my bed that was banging against the wall. My year-long sexual drought had ended, and I’m sure my vagina thought
so that’s what I’m here for
. It was great sex, but that was it. Sex. Well, and the twirly-tongue thingy - that was kind of spectacular. There was about two seconds before awkwardness invaded the moment of bliss. You know that moment, when you come to the absolute conclusion that this shit is not happening again. It took me thirty minutes and an extensive workout to keep his octopus hands off of me and to get him out of my apartment.