Cheaters (28 page)

He came toward me and said, “You’re late.”

“My parents called right as I was leaving.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Those lovebirds are going to end up staying in Europe another month or so. Daddy’s working on something major, and negotiations are dragging out. Why are you looking at me like that? I look funny or something?”

He said, “That Pam Grier Foxy Brown Black Momma Coffee Get Christi Love thang you did with your hair really works on you.”

“Thank you. I think.”

Stephan said, “No jacket?”

I pointed at my shoulder. “My butterfly has to breathe.”

We walked up the stairs, and he re-introduced me to Rebecca. The middle-aged, potbellied, gray-haired Hispanic

man in the plaid shirt and jeans was Juan, his downstairs neighbor. He had flirty eyes and seemed pretty cool.

“Did you eat?” Juan asked me.

“Lunch. Had some popcorn and a soda. Why?”

He beamed. “Rebecca cooked beef and pork ribs.”

She said, “You’re more than welcome to some of it.”

“They’re good, too.” Juan grinned. “Muy bueno.”

I replied, “I’d like to try some. I haven’t had any decent barbecue since my daddy FedExd me some ribs from Chicago.”

Rebecca actually smiled. “Some of my peoples are from Chicago. You know any Gauses that live on Polk and Independence?”

“Afraid not. I grew up in the ‘burbs, but my parents sold the house last year and moved to a loft downtown.”

Juan yawned, said good night and went back downstairs.

Rebecca went into her apartment and made a plate of ribs; I asked Stephan to put them in his fridge until we made it back.

I folded my arms across my chest, walked behind Stephan.

“Rebecca always like that?” I asked.

Stephan waved her off. “She’s just lonely.”

Shelly’s was sarong city. Blues, oranges, light greens—some of my sistas wore their material as mini skirts, others as long skirts, some as cover-ups. Men had on either jean or linen shorts and sandals.

Stephan parked and we went our separate ways, like we were strangers. He strolled up the walkway between Shelly’s and the Cuban restaurant; I followed the seafood aroma and the sweet sounds of the saxophones, sashayed around the side of the building and passed by Cucamonga Yogurt and Rose’s Caffe Luna.

Too Saxy for You went on break, and I bumped through a crowd being consumed by the wall-to-wall body heat. I stopped under the neon Heineken sign to flirt with the band members. I asked the drummer, “When are you going to stop wearing those red leather pants and eighty-six the Scary Curl?”

He kissed my cheek. “The day after you marry me, Miss Thang.”

“Buy me some sin juice.”

He told the bartender to give me a glass of Cristal, gratis, then leaned into my space, gave up a crooked gotcha-now grin, and asked me for my phone number; I told him I’d take his; he asked if I’d call him; I told him he’d have to wait and see.

The rest of the band wanted to know where Tammy was, because they had an offer for her. A paid gig.

I asked, “A local gig?”

“Not really. She’d be on the road for a month.”

I laughed. “You know Tammy ain’t leaving Hollywood.”

“That’s what Karen said.”

“When you talk to her?”

“She was—she was dancing, but I don’t see her now.”

“You sure it was her?”

He winked at me. “I bought her a glass of wine.”

I looked around, went to the ladies’ room, and came back to the same spot. No Karen. I did see Stephan. And he saw me.

The band went back to work. I dumped the drummer’s number on the bar, and went to shake my moneymaker with a stranger.

Damn. Thaiheed swaggered his ass in the place. That’s the problem with living in an area with very few black people and very few black clubs; we all ended up at the same watering holes.

He was in my face, standing in my space, before I knew it. The crowd kept bumping him closer than he needed to be.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.” He smiled. “I hope this doesn’t sound too strong or too sudden.”

“And exactly what have you been thinking?” I asked him.

He was anxious. I stayed unemotional.

He said, “Wondering if me and you should be together.”

Stephan was in the crowd talking, but he was watching me. I moved a few inches away from Thaiheed, let my body language be my signal. “Really, now?”

“You have a minute?”

“Sixty seconds.” I looked at my watch. “Clock’s ticking.”

He fell into a song and dance, apologized for whatever

happened between us. I listened but didn’t care. He was trying to make an excuse for an inexcusable act.

He asked, “So, what’s your status?”

My eyes went toward Stephan. Watched his every move as I answered, “Content and pending.”

“Wanna dance?”

I smiled. “Yeah. But not with you.”

He laughed nervously. Then his eyes darkened. At least I think they did. I was almost nervous, but his eyes went back to being soft and gray, radiating a warm, hypnotic gaze.

I laughed at my imagination and walked away.

Every few minutes me and Stephan ended up facing each other, or gazing from across the room, but still acting like we were strangers. In the ladies’ room I’d changed the style of my sarong, funked it up and made it into a mini, and gave full view of my tanned legs, dark brown swim top, and the earring that sparkled in my belly button. Stephan laid his eyes on my body and held them there unrelentingly, like he was a voyeur.

My eyes dared him to follow up on what he was thinking.

He let out a short laugh, shook his head, turned away.

I held back a silly girlish giggle, shook my head too.

Stephan was dancing with a big-breasted beige sista, and I was trying to party with a lanky man who thought aerobics moves were en vogue. Stephan and I came back to back on the crowded dance floor, and for the entire song our butts grazed against each other. Our asses rubbed so much that it felt like I was doing a forbidden dance with him instead of the faceless man in front of me.

His ass on my ass. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

I turned around, danced on his ass, raked my fingernails across his arms, pressed my breasts against his back, stared at the sista he was dancing with while I blew a long stream of air into his ear. That jarred him, and he lost his rhythm and almost dropped his drink.
Gotcha.
I did that for shock value. Stephan turned around, real smooth and slow.

I winked at him.

The sista he was dancing with was ready to kick my ass.

Without a word I claimed my prize, took his hand, and pulled him along, abandoned both that sista and my lanky dance partner.

He said, “Why’d you do that?”

“She had skinny legs, lopsided breasts, and was shaped like a mailbox. You can do better.”

He said, “Why’re you playing jealous?”

“I’m protecting you, as a friend.”

“Protecting me?”

“That’s what buddies do.”

I told him I was craving a cup of cappuccino, and we took the long route, through the tunnel between Shelly’s and Havana Hut. But we never made it to Rose’s Caffe Luna. Somewhere along the way we stopped in the darkness and he kissed my eyelids, licked around my butterfly, and we crept from putting soothing kisses on each other’s face and neck into a closed-mouth kiss, then his tongue broke through my lips. I tried to keep his tongue out, but he slipped in the way I know he wanted to let his penis glide deep inside my abyss.

My hand came up, touched his face, outlined his square chin, admired the texture of his brown skin, his manly smell, his mystery, rubbed his hairline, caressed his earlobes.

I drew his face close to mine. My breath mixed with his; our lips were close enough to kiss, but we didn’t. His hands grazed my breasts, then squeezed.
Ohhh, what are you trying to do.
My hands wandered down between his legs, massaged and measured and womanhandled that bump that was swelling in the name of Chanté.

My back was to the stucco wall. His hand went under my skirt, pulled my thong to the side, and traced the opening of my vagina, massaged the little slice of hair I had down there, drew small circles on my flowering lips, gently squeezed my slit between two fingers. He put his fingers inside his mouth, licked them, made them moist, then teased his way inside me.

The entire time we were eye to eye. Staring each other down.

Nobody was hiding the passion, but nobody was giving in.

Reality yanked me away from my forbidden thoughts. Made my heated body want to stiffen up and turn cold. I had to be real.

This wasn’t the way to do the do.

Yet I was turned on. Extremely turned on.

He whispered, “What do you want me to do?”

“Do anything, just don’t lose that rhythm.”

“What do you like?”

“You. I like you.”

That moment was coming on strong, the tingling was everywhere, surges of electricity raced through me, but the baggage that my soul carried started to get heavy, and my head was getting clearer. I took my hand away from his penis, pushed his moist hands from inside me. I kissed his fingers, one by one, put those damp fingers in his mouth, moved them in and out, deeper and deeper, broke his skin, became the ruler of this affair, made him taste the candy-coated juices of the soul that he had teased.

I stopped. Moved away.

I said, “We’re friends, Stephan. So, back off.”

He was panting, on fire. I headed back to the club first. I was on the floor, two couples over from Thaiheed—who couldn’t keep his eyes off me—putting on my best smile and laughing, before Stephan came back inside. I guess it took him a while to get that hard-on to soften up.

This was unbelievable. I finished dancing, turned around, and ran right into Craig Bryant. He had on fresh khaki shorts and a bright yellow tank top. I could tell they were new because the creases were still in the material.

He frowned like he wanted to spit in my face. Some old feelings were still roosting inside me, but I was ready to spit in his too. Yep, he was mad. The lines in his forehead and the way he talked out of one side of his face told me that. He tried to sound cool. “That’s messed up what you did.”

“What on earth are you jabbering about, partner?”

“Play stupid. But that’s cool. I’ll get my revenge.”

“What revenge?”

He almost smiled. “You’ll be the last one to know.”

My words were jittery. “What
revenge
?”

“I take pleasure in making somebody else uncomfortable.”

“You know what, Craig,”—a rabid feeling was taking over me—“whenever I see you, my bullshit meter shoots off the scale.”

I was face to face with that moron; the band was jamming a saxy version of Vanessa Williams’s “Dreaming.” I jumped

when I felt warm lips on my butterfly, a strong hand gently caressing my butt.

Craig’s eyes shot behind me. The floor was crowded, so no one could see what I felt, no one saw whatever Craig had seen.

I turned and faced Stephan Mitchell. Our gazes locked.

Stephan shot Craig a harsh look, then asked me, “You okay?”

I blinked a few times, then said an unconvincing “Yeah.”

“He bothering you?”

“Yeah.”

Stephan made eye contact with Craig. “What’s up?”

Craig tilted his head back. “‘Sup?”

He walked away, bumped through the crowd.

And you know, I didn’t care. Stephan made me feel safe. I stared at his brown eyes and felt nostalgic for something that I’d never had, for something that might never be a part of my life. Since the day we’d met, I’d longed for more than he was offering me, craved to get comfortable in a place where I felt connected.

Stephan strutted away without uttering a single word. He was bold. And I was daring.

I followed Stephan to his car.

I glanced behind me once, saw Craig standing in the crowd, watching me with wicked eyes.

Stephan asked, “Who was that?”

“Nobody.”

He bobbed his head. “Nobody with an attitude.”

My hands drifted to my tummy, asked, “Did you see Karen?”

He nodded.

I asked, “Where’d she go?”

He shrugged.

“Was she with Tammy?”

Again he shrugged.

“What, you’re not talking to me now?”

He didn’t say a damn thing.

Stephan opened my door. I glanced around the parking lot, spied left and right to see if I saw Karen’s buggy. Then I slid into Stephan’s Mustang without a complaint.

He leaned over and kissed me. So much passion.

My insides tingled, my breasts were swelling. That stimulating

feeling rushed back in and overwhelmed me just like that. Sensations that were aflame in the bottom of my belly stayed with me as we drove by the strawberry fields on Haven.

I’d left the memories behind.

Stephan put his hand on my leg, then slid his fingers down where my legs formed a V. My eyes closed. I shivered. He touched me there while he took a mellow drive up the 10 freeway. I reached over and massaged his hardness through his pants while he merged from the 10 to the 71 expressway.

Merge. That’s what he wanted to do.

I make the choice. He can only do what I let him do.

Sweat was growing on my breasts as I told him, “I’m going home when we get back to my car. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Back at Phillips Ranch, he parked. I followed him up his stairs. He was still silent. Hadn’t said a word.

Step by step I was giving in. Surrendering to kismet.

We went out on his patio. Touched and kissed. He turned me around, rubbed his hardness on my butt, moved in circles, up and down, kept putting his hands between my legs, stirring me.

“Why are you teasing me?” I moaned, tilted my head back and kissed him, sucked his lips in a hungry and easy kind of way.

He finally whispered, “Say you want me.”

“Negative. I don’t want you.”

I stopped stroking him and turned back around.

“Good night, Stephan. I’m going home now.”

He didn’t say anything.

I mumbled out my true feelings: “Okay, I want you.”

I put my hands on his shoulders, pushed him downtown. He eased to his knees; my back moved up against the door to his storage room. My sarong had loosened and risen, my damp thongs were pulled off in a move so smooth it felt illegal. My eyes went to the sky, gazed through the pine trees up into the stars. I felt so high that I’d have to take an escalator down a mile to get to heaven. Each one of those celestial bodies envied me.