Get Ready for War (24 page)

“Oooooooh, I almost forgot about that, girl. My name was Peaches. And your name was Cream. We was doin' it, boo. We were booty poppin' it, and they were making it rain.”

Spencer hopped up and giggled, then stood up in her chair and wound her hips. “Hustle . . . hard . . . hustle, hard . . .”

I gagged. These tricks were into more than I imagined. I thought that was them in that video. Now I knew for sure they were freaks. And this was not going the way I had hoped.

I let out a disgusted sigh, slamming a hand down on the table. “Why can't the two of you stay focused? When are we going to start talking about this party?”

Rich's eyes popped open. “Uh, excuse you, Miss Mess. We were talking about it until you came over here with your funky-behind attitude. So, annnnnywaaaay... as Spencer and I were saying, we should do it up lovely. This masquerade ball has to be the party of all parties. It needs to be hotter than the invitation party was. I want them gagging when we step up in there, dropping dead at the door. Spencer is going to handle getting us the party planner and all we have to do is show up being fabulous.”

“Works for me,” I said, shifting in my seat. The last thing I cared about was some party.

“And make sure you leave that ole nasty frown at home. We don't need that kind of ugliness around us, messing up our aura. You need to get your chakra together.”

Spencer blinked, blinked again. Tilting her head and staring at Rich real confused and crazy.

“What—what are you looking at me like that for?” Rich asked, frowning.

“I can't believe you were actually paying attention in spirituality class.”

Rich blinked. “Spirituality, what? Who? Girl, please. I got that from a line in a movie.”

Spencer gave Rich a blank stare. “Yeah, uh, anyway . . .”

Rich's phone started ringing. She pulled it out of her bag, then frowned at the screen. “Yeah, Fabulous here . . .” She got quiet, then her body stiffened. She looked nervous as she gathered her things from the table. “Uh, okay... When?...I guess...no, no... that's not true...” Rich tossed her bag up over her shoulder and walked off, leaving me sitting there with Spencer, dumbfounded.

I blinked. “Oh no,” I said, gathering my things. “I'm definitely not doing you.”

“You're right you're not doing me, ho,” Spencer spat, jumping up from the table as well. “I wouldn't do you even if I had two hairy buffalo balls.” She stomped off, swinging her hips and bouncing her hair. “Rich, wait up.”

Somehow, someway, I was going to make sure that that was the last time Spencer ran behind Rich. All I needed was a way to make it happen. And fast.

Why am I struggling like hell to be good?

Faithful.

And committed . . .

I've always wanted to be Mrs. Knox.

Always.

And yeah, in the beginning, I fought like hell
not
to love him.

But I gave in.

Turned around.

And then fought like hell
to
love him.

Openly.

I professed my love in public.

To my parents.

And I didn't care who cared.

I just wanted my destiny unveiled so that I could be his girl.

And it was.

And I was.

And we kicked it.

Hard.

Our love was as sweet as brown sugar . . . Oh wait, it was sweeter than that.

He did more than make my heart skip beats. He made my entire circulatory system clap. Made the colorful butterflies in my stomach flutter. Placed a rhythmic African switch in my wide hips.

Made me share sweet drool with my eiderdown pillow as I dreamed of the endless possibilities called Us.

Christian Knox and Rich Montgomery were the It Couple. And no, he didn't want the press. But we got it. Owned it. And rocked it. My e-mail and my snail mail were full of fan letters wishing us well and telling me how cute my cutie was.

We were a whirlwind romance. A boom-boom-we-are-in-the room wicked fairy tale destined to be cherry-topped with a storybook ending.

For the first time ever, everything in
As the Rich World Turns
was perfect. Diamond studded and six-inch Manolo Blahniks perfect.

And no, I wasn't worried about karma coming around and the universe not keeping my tiny white miscarriage lie a secret. The Goddess of Desperation and I had an understanding: I had to do what I had to do.

And so I did. Which was how my man and I got back to love jonesin' again. Revamped our high and got lifted off our own romantic supply.

We made love every other night.

Went to movie screenings.

Killed the arcade.

Shut down campus parties.

Bowled.

Ate pizza.

Played dominos.

Spades.

We did things that made me feel free. That made us free. Knox was the only person who could love me like that. The only one I would let love me like that. And from the time I was uncomfortably chubby, wore glasses that were too thick to scream cuteness, had the worst acne, wore braces, and strutted around with fake self-esteem, Knox had loved me.

So why, oh why, oh why in the hell was I not following the commandments of a virtuous girlfriend? Why was I allowing myself to tiptoe and tightrope over to the wild side by kicking it to Justice Banks on the sly?

And yeah, Justice was fly.

And a good kisser...

A great kisser
. . .

With the God-given hands of passion...

And yeah, I was a collector of finer things, and Justice was an exquisite piece of black art. But I already had one African statue. I didn't need two. Justice was supposed to be left at the club. Disposed of by way of a Dear John letter that simply read “Good-bye,” and left to be a drunken memory that I'd blessed with two one-hundred-dollar bills, left on the hotel's nightstand for the heartbreaking inconvenience I'd caused him.

He was not supposed to be around long enough for me to bring the crazy.net out of him.

He was downstairs, uninvited and unexpected. Getting his stalker on and squatting on me in the school's parking lot. And yeah, he'd texted me and told me that he needed to see me now... but still, that was so not the point...

I shook my head and tossed my dark brown, highlighted infusion weave behind my shoulders. My iPhone vibrated with back-to-back text messages like crazy.

I looked up and over toward where Spencer sat, hoping to get her attention. But, in true I'm-so-smart-that-I-must-pay-attention-to-every-godforsaken-word-the-teacher-says whack fashion, Spencer had her eyes glued to the teacher.

She was
sooooo
aggravating sometimes. Like who really listened to this dude? Duh, this was finance class. Something Hollywood High didn't even need, especially since everyone in here had an accountant. A How to Design Jewels class would've been much more beneficial to our needs.

Whatever.

I quickly wrote Spencer a note that instructed her to meet me in the girls' lounge. I folded it into a tiny square and passed it to the Rockefeller goth kid who sat next to me. He then passed the note up the underground railroad of note-passing; and once it landed on Spencer's desk, I eased out of the classroom and headed to the lounge.

A few seconds later Spencer walked in the door with her heels clicking and a worried look on her face. “Rich, are you okay? Is this a Mace day? Or a crampy, I-so-hate-my-period day?” She rummaged through her purse. “If so, I have . . . Mace and Midol.”

“Mace? I don't do weapons in a can. And Midol?” I frowned. “If I had cramps I'd be downstairs in the sauna or with the masseuse. I don't do Midol. How cheap and cheesy. That lil nasty pink package.”

“Sweetbloodofaswampmonkey, what the heck am I here for?” She wiped her brow in exhaustion. “And please, please let it be worth me leaving class, missing the end of Mr. Donte's lecture, and not knowing what I had for homework!” She stomped her feet.

I know this chick didn't have an attitude.
“Clutching pearls! Was that a tantrum, Miss Drama? Daaaang, it's only homework. Like, it's not that serious. And anyway, all you have to do is ask London for the assignment. She was sitting a few seats over from you looking all roach-eyed and crazy.”

Spencer twisted her pink painted lips. “Yeah, real roachi-fied.”

“Bates Motel to the max,” I snapped.

“Downright freakesque, coochie-burnin'-panty-liner nasty. And you expect me to talk to a weirdo like that? Really, Rich? Is that what you think of me? I don't speak the same language as freaks!”

“I never said that.”

“Look, would you just get to the point? Why did you call me in here?”

I paused. And then gave Spencer the innocent Barbie-doll smile that always melted my daddy and worked wonders on Knox. “I need you on patrol.”

“Patrol?”

I walked over to the windowsill and tapped it. “Posted right here.”

Spencer's eyes popped open and she blinked rapidly. “Patrol? For what?”

“Remember Justice from the Kit-Kat Lounge?”

Spencer tooted her lips and tapped her right foot. “Yeah, what about him?”

“Well, long story cut down to two sentences. He's. Crazy.”

“See, this is why you need to stay in class. Because what you just said made no sense. And I'm the dizzy one? I have no time for this. We have twenty minutes left before the day ends and if I leave now I can still catch Mr. Donte's recap of what we need to study over the weekend.”

“OMG. Why are you so far up Mr. Donte's behind? Dang. Could you crawl out of his anus, please? You know what, I don't know why I called you anyway, Professor Do-Good who's too good to leave class and help your good-good friend out. I should've just passed the note to London.”

Spencer's eyes narrowed. “Don't make me stab you, cut your tongue out, and then go back for your teeth and tonsils! Now nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“Nine-one-one, Justice has been sweatin' me for the past two weeks. I can't seem to shake him. Now he is downstairs waiting for me. He's crazy and I need you to make sure he doesn't try to kidnap me, force me in the car, and have his way with me.”

“And why wouldn't you want that? Isn't that what you did with the twins? Called it role play. A way to spice things up.”

Oh, she has lost her mind!
“Clutching pearls! You must want your face slapped. I know you don't want to go there, Spencer. Because I will go Joey on you! Don't bring up the twins. They no longer exist. Now as I said, I need you on patrol.”

“I don't do patrol.”

“Oh, yes you do,” I snapped.

“Umm, no, I don't. I have to get to class. So your hoein' will have to be put on layaway. You need Hoes Anonymous.”

“You need to kill the hoes.”

Spencer gasped and clutched the right side of her chest. “Kill the hoes? Rich, I can't believe you would suggest something like that! There are hoes that I love. Like you. Even Kitty.”

I rolled my eyes toward the glass ceiling.
Dumb, dumb, dumb...
“Look, I don't ask you for much. And I really need you to do this for me.”

Spencer sucked her teeth, walked over to the window, and looked down at Justice. “He is cute.” She popped her lips. “Smooth chocolate.” She licked her fingertips. “Nice and recyclable. But what about Knox? You told me you two were back together.”

“We are. Which is why I have to tell Justice to step.”

Spencer looked back out the window. “We might have to tag-team this one, Rich.” She blew Justice a kiss. “So go on, get your ho on. I'll be here when you get back.”

“Thanks, bestie-boo.” I hurried out of the lounge, eased past security and into the parking lot where my eyes drank in Justice in full view.

He leaned against the passenger-side door of his black Lexus coupe. The brim of his Yankees fitted fell down over his mesmerizing marble-brown eyes. He wore a dark blue pair of True Religion jeans and a crisp white Billionaire Boys Club T-shirt that highlighted and defined his hard, muscular pecs.

And on his myth-gratifying, long and big sexy feet were a pair of loosely tied Timbs that completed the sensual New York thug in him.

His muscular arms were folded across his chest as I walked over to him and he boldly licked his lips.

I tried to hold back the words I felt were destined to leave my mouth, but I couldn't, they just fell out: “Umm hmm, lil daddy. Look at you drooling. You like what you see?” I twirled around, confident that my tailored black Dior shorts lay perfectly over my curvaceous hips, complimenting my shapely size-twelve thighs, and of course my boom-boom-that-brought-all-the-boys-to-the-room gluteus maximus spoke for itself.

After I twirled around so that he could appreciate me in full view, I gave him a standing pose. Face forward, hands on hips, fierce weave in check and dangling over my shoulders. I watched my reflection in his eyes as they dropped from my one-of-a-kind hot-pink Louis Vuitton blouse with the plunging neckline that dipped perfectly into my bubbling cleavage, to the Chanel belt that draped around my waist. His eyes dropped below the belt to my hips and legs, and landed on my six-inch open-toe black Manolos. All I could do was smile as his thoughts telepathically told me what I already knew: I was fiyah.

After taking inventory of me, Justice said, “Nah, yo. I more than like what I see. I want what I see.” He gave me a lopsided smile and that's when it hit me that he resembled a twenty-year-old Idris Elba but taller; much taller.

We both bit into our bottom lips.

“C'mere,” he said sexily. His deep voice danced chills over my spine. Nervously, I twirled the end of my hair.

I swallowed and said, “You can want what you see, but you can't have me.”

“Yeah, whatever, yo. That's what your mouth says. But the last time I held ya body it clearly told me somethin' different. So front if you want.” He looked me over and I fought hard not to melt on the spot.

“Boy, please.” I prayed he couldn't hear my heart skipping beats.

“Yeah, I got your boy, a'ight.” He smirked and his biceps pumped with every word he spoke, seducing my eyes up the bulging veins that traveled along the sides of his arms and up his thick and kissable neck.

He continued. “Yeah, just what I thought, yo. Now who's droolin'?” He walked over to me and stroked my cheeks. “Yo, why you playin' so hard to get?”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right. College boy. I almost forgot about that dude. But I'm sure you understand me forgettin' 'bout that cat. Especially since you never bring him up durin' our nightly conversations.”

“We don't have nightly conversations.”

“Yeah, a'ight. There you go frontin' again. But it's cool. So every other night.”

“Like I said, I have a boyfriend. And I can't and won't be kicking it with you any longer. So you can leave now.”

He laughed.
And oh, what a cute laugh
. “Yo, spare me, ma. All that ish you just spit out ya pretty lil' mouth, you don't even believe it.”

I paused. Wondered for a moment if my conflicting feelings were that obvious or if he had a special gift that allowed him to see right through me. I continued. “Look. I don't do stalker and I def don't do uninvited guests. And it's creepy and rude that you would show up here without me asking you to.”

“Yo, hol' up . . . Like I told you last night when we were s'posed to go on our lil' date, if you stood me up—which you did—that I was gon' come through and check for you. Now I'm a man of my word, fa real fa real. And you need to be a woman about yours and tell me what's really good.”