Read He's Just A Friend Online

Authors: Mary B. Morrison

He's Just A Friend (7 page)

BOOK: He's Just A Friend
7.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Why not?”
“I have to get up early.” Fancy lied, then said, “I promised my mother I'd go with her to Cache Creek. She loves that casino.”
“Well, tell your mother I said gambling is wasting money on someone else's dream. Never gamble. Always invest. Remember that. Like you. You're an investment.” Byron kissed Fancy on the cheek. “I'll have my driver take you home. I'll call you next week.”
Yeah, hopefully about her check. Fancy smiled and kissed Byron on the cheek, close to his ear. She kissed square on the jaw when it was innocent. She kissed close to the ear or lips when she wanted to send sexual undertones. At the moment her clit was riding her thong like a jockey on a racehorse.
Darius walked by with Ashlee, patted Byron on the shoulder, and said, “See ya at the crib in a few, man.”
Damn. She couldn't change her mind without being obvious. The ride back to her place was a blur.
Shaking her from her thoughts the driver announced, “You're home, Ms. Taylor.” Fancy glanced around the neighborhood and noticed Adam's car parked across the street. She hurried to her door pretending she hadn't noticed him since the driver waited for her to get inside. Adam banged on the door.
She jumped like he'd startled her. “Damn! What's up with the banging?” Fancy asked, letting him in.
“Who was that? Why are you dressed up?” Adam asked.
Fancy wiggled her naked ring finger in front of his face, then unlocked the door. Adam proved having money didn't always make the man. Although he owned a construction company, Adam often spent more hours on his job sites than his employees.
Fancy laid out the bath towels. Adam knew the routine. He showered. She showered and lotioned her body and slipped into her lingerie.
Leaning back on the down-feather pillows, she ran her hands over her feet. Adam shifted his eyes to the corner of his sockets and eyed her silver pole. Not tonight. In fact, not ever again. This was a new year and Fancy wasn't starting any unwanted habits. She softly scratched her inner thighs. Her body tingled. She parted her legs. Inserted her finger into her vagina. Tasted herself. Imagining she was fucking Darius, Fancy repeated the motion several times. Before turning on her vibrator, she let Adam suck her fingers. Fancy inserted the humming tip at the mouth of her vagina as Adam sucked the juices from her clit. Adam took control of the vibrator and massaged her G spot.
Fancy rotated her hips and moaned, “Oh, Adam. I want you. I want you to fuck me. Fuck your pussy, Adam.” For a moment, Fancy's mind was like a puppet performing for a ventriloquist. Empty. She performed his song, “Adam. Adam. Oh, Adam,” as she ripped open Adam's pants. Sat on his lap. Straddled him. Moved up and down on his dick now mimicking a puppet on a string. She glanced over at her clock. Adam would finish in about fifteen more minutes but five minutes would be better so Fancy said, “I've been a bad girl, Daddy! Spank me! Spank me until I cum all over your big hard dick.” Adam's dick wasn't nearly as big as his wallet. Each time Adam's hand landed on her ass Fancy jumped and yelled, “Yes, Daddy!”
Please hurry up and handle your business so I can go to sleep,
Fancy thought, but her lips said, “Oh, baby, you feel so good I can't stop cumming. You're the best big daddy.” Fancy moaned his name again. She grabbed the headboard and slammed her ass into Adam's pelvis. Fancy switched positions. She mounted Adam and rode him fast, pressing and curving her shoulders, waist, and hips into every movement. “What's my name!” she yelled, grinding harder.
Cum on! Hurry up!
Fancy bounced on his dick.
Hurry—the—fuck—up!
Fancy worked up a sweat. She worked Adam as fast as she could until he'd exhausted each of his three condoms. Pretending Adam had worn her out, Fancy collapsed on her bed.
Adam showered, then placed twenty one hundred dollar bills on her dresser. He kissed her forehead and said, “I love you, woman.” Fancy didn't move, so Adam stumbled up several stairs into her foyer and out her front door.
Fancy grabbed the yellow Lysol can and began fumigating her room. She opened her patio window. Showered. Pampered herself with body oils and lotions. She sat on her vanity stool, tilted the mirror, and checked Miss Kitty. All was well—no irritations, redness, or swelling or abnormal discharge—so she snuggled under her covers, and gazed at the lake, fantasizing about Darius Jones until she fell asleep.
CHAPTER 7
S
aVoy Edmonds best described herself in two words: Daddy's girl. For two reasons: one, unlike some people who didn't know their father, SaVoy never knew her mother. Secondly, she loved how her father spoiled her. Any man who wouldn't treat SaVoy equal to or better than the way her father did would never share her heart, her mind, or her body.
SaVoy worked part-time cashiering at her daddy's grocery store, and went to church every Sunday. Well, almost every Sunday. Most guys who knew she was a virgin practically auditioned to be her first lover, especially the ones at church. They couldn't figure out why she was so happy about celibacy. But SaVoy read straight through them. They weren't interested in her. They merely wanted bragging rights to pronounce their conquest.
Glad it was Wednesday and almost time for Tyronne to deliver her order, SaVoy smiled at the neighborhood regular customer when he walked up to her cash register with a bag of potato chips and an orange soda.
SaVoy opened her hand and said, “That'll be two dollars and ten cents.”
He unfolded a roll of two twenties that covered about forty one-dollar bills. As he placed three singles in her palm he held on to SaVoy's hand.
SaVoy frowned and pulled away. “Don't do that.”
“Let a broth holla.”
“Why should I?”
He licked his lips and replied, “ 'Cause you look good. That's why.”
“You think so?” SaVoy said, dropping his change in his hand.
He smiled and said, “Fo sho,” chasing her hand's every move.
“Why?” SaVoy asked, knowing she wasn't interested but curious to hear what he'd say. James wasn't her type. He didn't have a job. Wasn't looking for a job. Always had lots of cash and he still lived at home with his mother.
He kept smiling and replied, “ 'Cause you get it from your mama? Hell, I don't know, girl. So you gon' give me the digits or what?”
SaVoy drew a letter C followed by a down stroke and ended with a period. He walked away singing his usual tune. “ ‘I'm gonna make you love me. Oh, yes I am . . .' ”
SaVoy didn't feel she was better than him or anyone else. She enjoyed trying to outthink everyone. Thinking was something SaVoy believed not enough people did. At least not very well.
Someday she'd meet a guy who was down to earth and down with her. SaVoy wanted to marry a black man who loved her. Not the facts that she looked white and was still a virgin. She loved black men. The way they sagged their pants. The way they dipped one hip lower than the other while walking. The way they articulated their words and wove slang throughout their sentences. She found most young black men were sharp. Intelligent. They could talk politics, sports, and play her favorite video games. SaVoy could beat any guy's butt when it came to playing Madden football. With the Rams as her team she seldom lost a game. Papa had bought her the network adapter and ordered DSL so she could whip her opponents on-line from the convenience of their family room big screen TV.
The hum of Tyronne's truck engine shutting off commanded her attention. SaVoy leaned over her counter and watched him unload six of the ten cases of sodas she'd ordered. He'd have to make a second trip for the remaining cases.
“Hey, you. What's up?” Tyronne asked, opening the cooler.
SaVoy especially enjoyed whenever Tyronne stopped by the store to “shoot the shit,” as he said. If he agreed with her he'd nod real slow and say, “Jeah,” instead of yeah. Or if he asked her a question, and she responded incorrectly, Tyronne would say, “You're fired!” and then he'd place his hand flat in front her face with his fingers spread wide apart. SaVoy intentionally got fired at least once a week.
“Nothing much. Just studying.” One more semester at San Francisco State University and SaVoy would complete her bachelor of arts courses.
Tyronne would be gentle. SaVoy could tell by watching how meticulously he stocked each soda, rhythmically twisting all the labels face out. His head bobbed like a song was playing inside. It didn't matter that Tyronne hadn't been to college. Tyronne had dreams. Big dreams! They sometimes dreamed together. He had an honest job so SaVoy made sure every week she placed an order with his company. And on his delivery day she insisted on working alone at the store.
Tyronne closed the cooler, rolled his dolly over to her register, and said, “You're fired!”
“Why?” SaVoy asked, not caring. “I didn't even do anything.” Tyronne had no idea how many times she'd wanted to kiss his hand. His lips. Ears. Neck. Tyronne aroused things inside her she'd never felt. Her nipples tingled. Her stomach churned. Her heart palpitated at the sound of his deep penetrating voice. Although SaVoy didn't know much about sex, she felt like sexing Tyronne.
“Because your backpack is on the floor and it's closed. So you can't possibly be studying, woman.”
As Tyronne walked away SaVoy thought,
Oh, yes I was. I was studying your muscular biceps, triceps, quads, hamstrings, and tight behind.
Tyronne never tried to impress her with what he had or what he was going to get. He didn't seem to have much but he was thoughtful. Unlike her friend Fancy, the way SaVoy saw it, whatever material possessions Tyronne owned, belonged to him. She didn't want it. If he cared to share, that was cool but that was his choice.
SaVoy's dad always said, “If you can't put it in your pocket and take it with you, don't worry about it.” Made a lot of sense once she was old enough to understand. So she thought about Tyronne often when he wasn't around but she didn't worry about him.
She didn't worry much about her mama, either. Daddy said, “You can't miss what you never had.” SaVoy disagreed because she missed her mama. Especially when she saw other mothers and daughters holding hands. Laughing. Shopping. Dining. She missed her mama on Mother's Day. On their birthdays. So she said a special prayer every night hoping that God would someday answer. SaVoy didn't know her mother's birthday. Age. Nationality. She didn't know if her mom was dead. Alive. Sick. Well. She wondered if her mom thought about her at all.
SaVoy couldn't comprehend why her best friend Fancy disliked her mother so much. But she realized she wasn't in Fancy's position. Just seemed as though Fancy should've loved her mother while she could instead of hating her mother for what she didn't do.
“Love. Love. Love,” SaVoy whispered as she wiped water from the conveyor belt. “The cemetery is no place to start loving anybody.” One day Fancy wouldn't have a mother to hate or to love.
Tyronne returned with a floral bouquet filled with tulips: white, lilac, deep red, and yellow. “You got a stapler?”
“Sure,” SaVoy said, handing him the black stapler.
Tyronne took an Almond Joy, that he hadn't paid for, from the candy rack and stapled it to a card that read “2 Remember the Times.” He handed her the flowers and said, “Peace. I'm out. See ya next week.”
SaVoy placed the card and the candy bar inside her backpack. Tyronne had never asked her to be his lady. Maybe he already had one, but if he did he never talked about her. And if he did, he probably wouldn't have given her flowers.
SaVoy loved Papa. That's what she called her daddy, and he called her Baby Girl. Tyronne was the first man, other than Papa, to give her flowers. Papa gave her flowers all the time. SaVoy was his only girl but she had an older brother, Samuel. They were ten years apart. Samuel came home every Easter and SaVoy visited them every Christmas. Samuel lived in Chicago with his wife and two kids.
Papa also said, “People will only do what you allow them to do.” He never said, “Baby Girl keep your panties up and your dress down.” Or “Don't get pregnant.” Sure, they talked about sex. He said the choice was hers. But to remember that there would only be one first of anything in life and seldom would she have control over choosing someone to be first. Daddy emphasized how losing her virginity was special. He said, “It's one of the most important decisions you'll ever make, Baby Girl.”
Tyronne wasn't as tough as he pretended. Maybe she'd choose him to be her first. SaVoy knew what it felt like being first. In her senior year, she was voted the first African-American female most likely to become a minister. Not because she lived a holy life, at least she didn't think so. She simply treated people the way she wanted to be treated. She briefly considered Theology school. Realizing choosing such a direction wasn't her duty, she practiced sitting quietly for thirty minutes every morning, waiting on God to give her an answer. And He did. And it wasn't ministry in the traditional sense. She also prayed about Tyronne and was pleased God hadn't said Tyronne wasn't the one.
So SaVoy continued to share love. Lots of love. From her heart. To children. Seniors. Family. Friends. SaVoy couldn't make anyone love her in return but she demanded respect. She spoke her mind, always seeking to bring out the best in others. Not condemn. Or gossip. But Fancy was her hardest challenge. She refused to give up on Fancy because there was hope. Fancy just didn't know how to love herself, so she had sex with all those different guys believing she was getting over on them because they gave her money. SaVoy didn't like her best friend's lifestyle so she tried teaching Fancy how to invest the money instead of throwing it all away on material things that could never increase her self-worth.
SaVoy remembered one day she'd told Fancy, “You may look like a runway model on the outside but your self-esteem needs a boost.” She saw right through Fancy's hard exterior, always pretending she had it all together.
“You are not my second counselor. Mama. Whatever,” Fancy had protested.
But SaVoy didn't feel she tried to be any of those things to Fancy. “I'm not. I'm your friend. Desmond is your friend, too. He cherishes the ground you walk on and all you ever do is trample all over him. One day you'll see, and one day he'll wise up, because the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. And that means people, too.”
SaVoy smiled as she sniffed her flowers and watched Tyronne drive off in his truck.
BOOK: He's Just A Friend
7.89Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

Cuando un hombre se enamora by Katharine Ashe
Elven Lust by Eva Slipwood
I Married a Billionaire by Marchande, Melanie
Clemmie by John D. MacDonald
The Crooked House by Christobel Kent
My Story by Elizabeth J. Hauser
Chessmen of Doom by John Bellairs