Hittin' It Out the Park (22 page)

He disengaged her arms that were looped around his neck. “You're nothing but a dirty tramp,” Yusef spat.

“How can you say that when you know how much I love you?” she said with a little giggle.

Yusef shook his head. “You can't even say those words convincingly. I want you to pack your shit and get the fuck out.”

“And go where?” Sexy asked in a loud, screechy voice. “You sold the condo in Philly, so where the fuck am I supposed to go?”

“Bitch, I don't know and I don't give a fuck. All I know is the lush lifestyle you've been enjoying with my hard-earned money is over. You're Randy Alston's side chick, so let that nigga foot the bill and take care of you.”

The steely look in Yusef's eyes and the way his nostrils flared, informed Sexy that there was no reasoning with him. And so, with a nonchalant shoulder shrug, she whirled around and began filling her luggage with her belongings.

“Oh, yeah. You can hand over that credit card,” Yusef said with his hand stuck out.

Sexy dug into her Prada bag and reluctantly retrieved the card from her wallet. She started to place it on the top of the dresser, but in a moment of sudden rage, she flung it across the room.

“Fuck you, Yusef, with your little-dick, no-fucking self,” Sexy snarled. “You're doing me a favor by kicking me out because it's been torture having to sleep with a pussy-bitch like you. Fucking another woman would be more fulfilling than putting up with more bad sex from you.”

Yusef exhaled in a long stream, his shoulders sagging forward as if Sexy's attack on his manhood had knocked the wind out of him.

Sexy smiled, pleased that she'd struck a nerve.

While Yusef sat slumped in a chair, Sexy put in earphones, and finished packing while singing along with “Wrecking Ball” by Miley Cyrus. By all appearances, she seemed unfazed, but she was livid. Sure, it was only a matter of time before she left Yusef for Randy, but that big-mouth Cheryl had no business running to Yusef and being a tattletale. Cheryl's interference had caused Sexy to get thrown out on the streets with nowhere to go.

In Sexy's eyes, Cheryl, the so-called model, appeared to be somewhere in her late twenties—too old to be relevant in the world of modeling. Modeling was a young girl's game, and that washed-up, over-the-hill, old-ass bitch was going to deeply regret fucking with Sexy Sanchez.

*  *  *

Sexy had had access to Randy's phone number since the night of his surprise birthday party when she'd slyly found it on his phone and quickly memorized it before his bitch of a wife had snatched his phone from Sexy's hand. Although she and Randy had texted back and forth, she'd never called him in distress.

With a sneaky smile on her lips, she tapped the screen of her phone. “Hello, Randy?” she said, sniffling, and with a question mark in her voice. “It's Sexy. I hate to bother you, but I didn't know who else to call.”

“What's wrong, Sexy? You sound like you're crying. Is something wrong?”

She turned on the waterworks. “I don't know how Yusef found out, but somebody told him about you and me. He stormed into our hotel suite, calling me names, shaking me, and pushing me around.”

“He put his hands on you?” Randy yelled so loud, Sexy had to pull the phone away from her ear.

“Yes, but he didn't slap or punch me or anything. He mainly roughed me up and scared me with threats of violence before he kicked me out like I was a piece of trash,” she said shrilly.

“Where are you?”

“I'm standing outside Penn Station, and that's why I'm calling you. Randy, would you loan me some money to buy a train ticket? Yusef was acting like a madman. He dumped out the contents of my purse and took all my cash and credit cards.”

Randy groaned in dismay. “Don't worry. I got you, Sexy. Stay right where you are. I'm heading for my car now, and I'll be there as fast as I can.”

“Okay, Randy, but please hurry,” she said in a tiny, broken voice. “I'm so upset, I can hardly breathe. Feels like I'm having a panic attack.”

“Maybe you should go inside and have a seat. I don't want you fainting or anything.”

“I can't go inside,” she wailed.

“Why can't you?”

“It's hard to explain, but whenever I get upset and have a panic attack, it's like I can't catch my breath,” she said, making gasping sounds. “I can't breathe and I can't move. All I can do is stand here. Oh, Randy, I'm so scared,” she sobbed.

“All right, all right. Try to calm down.” Randy's voice took on a frantic tone. “I'm in the car, now, and I'm breaking speed limits, baby. Don't you worry about anything . . . I'm coming to get you.”

“Okay,” she murmured pitifully, and then hung up the phone and broke into laughter.

In less than ten minutes, she saw Randy's Maybach coming to a screeching halt behind the row of taxis that were waiting at the curb. On cue, Sexy slumped against a pole. Head hanging low, her chest heaved as if gasping for breath. The sound of Randy's pounding footsteps racing toward her, put a huge smile on her face. It was a good thing her hair was hanging in her face, concealing the smirk on her lips and the glint of triumph in her eyes.
Cheryl can kiss her husband goodbye. I'm through with fun and games; this muthafucka is mine!
It took every ounce of willpower for Sexy not to pump her fist in victory.

“Sexy! Sexy!” Randy approached, calling her name.

Pretending to be woozy, Sexy teetered on her feet, and didn't respond.

“I'm so sorry this is happening to you. But don't worry; I'm here, now, and I'm gonna make sure you're all right,” Randy said, lifting her in his arms, and then reaching down and grabbing her overstuffed, designer duffle bag. “Excuse me, coming through. Excuse me,” he called out, weaving through pedestrians and parting crowds as he made his way to his car, carrying Sexy and her heavy luggage effortlessly.

Gingerly, he placed her in the front seat, and adjusted it to a reclining position. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Yeah, I'm starting to feel a little better.”

“I don't know anything about panic attacks. Uh, do you need to see a doctor?” Randy asked as he pulled away from the curb and merged into the flow of traffic.

“No. It's not a physical condition. It's psychological, and only happens when I'm extremely afraid. The way Yusef was acting, I feared for my life.”

Angry, Randy clenched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel tightly. “If Yusef so much as looks at you the wrong way, I'll break his jaw and bust a couple of ribs. I swear if he thinks about hurting you, I will fuck him up.”

Sexy had never heard Randy use profanity, and she glanced at him in surprise. He was obviously feeling some kind of way over the thought of Yusef manhandling her.

Sexy managed to work more tears into her eyes. “I couldn't imagine how he found out about our little fling, and to be honest, I initially thought you had bragged about it in the locker room.”

Randy shot Sexy a look of horror. “I would never do anything like that. I don't know how he found out, but he didn't get it from me.”

“Somebody told him. Did you have that talk with your wife, yet? You know, uh, did you confess about what we did?”

As Randy drove aimlessly through the streets of Manhattan, he suddenly slapped a hand on his forehead. “Cheryl! Oh, my God, she went to Yusef and told him. But why would she do that? That information should have stayed between me and her. I explained to her that I was sorry that I messed up, and I promised it wouldn't happen again. I can't believe she ran her mouth to Yusef and put your life in danger.” Scowling, Randy shook his head in disbelief.

“You're driving in circles, Randy. Where are you taking me?”

“I don't know. I thought I'd drive around until you calmed down, and then buy you the train ticket.” Eyes filled with remorse, he gazed at Sexy. “But this is all my fault and I have to man-up and take care of you.”

“It's not your fault. We were both to blame. Listen, I care about you, Randy, but I couldn't live with myself if your marriage fell apart because of me.”

“You're the sweetest little angel I've ever met. You know that, Sexy? You always put the happiness of others before yourself, and that's one of the things that I dig about you.”

Sexy gave him a weak smile. “I try my best to be a good person.”

“And you are.” With a determined look in his eyes, he steered the car along Lexington Avenue. “I'm gonna get you a room at the W hotel, but as soon as I have some free time, we're gonna look at apartments and find you a nice place to live. And if anyone even thinks of trying to kick you out of your new home, they're gonna have to answer to me.”

*  *  *

After settling into a plush suite at the W, Sexy complained of aching joints from being manhandled by Yusef. Randy offered to give her a relaxing massage and with the sexual chemistry sparking between them, one thing quickly led to another. Taking charge, Sexy sucked Randy's dick like her life depended on it, and he responded to her skillful blow job by calling for Jesus. Next, she rode him like he was a stallion, and then, stretched her body like a contortionist, putting to use the gymnastic training she'd had as a child. Sexy worked Randy over, fucking him until he conked out, and was sprawled on the bed, and snoring like a bear.

She thought he'd be sleeping contentedly through the night, and she was surprised when he jumped up a few hours later, rushing into the bathroom to wash up, and then hurrying to put on his clothes.

“What are you doing?” Sexy asked, doing a superb job of keeping the annoyance out of her voice.

“Look at the time!” Randy gawked at the bedside clock. “I gotta get home. Cheryl is probably worried sick.”

That bitch ought to be worried; her marriage is hanging by a thread,
Sexy thought contemptuously, and then looked at Randy with a patient smile. “Your thoughtfulness is one of the things that I love about you.” She picked up a hairbrush and pointed to his hair. “I don't want you going home looking like you just rolled out of bed,” she said, handing him the brush.

“Thanks.” He quickly brushed the wayward strands of hair, checked out his reflection in the mirror, and brushed his hair once more before heading for the door. He stopped suddenly and turned around. “Don't worry about where you're gonna live. I'm a man of my word, and I'll be back tomorrow so we can find you a nice place to live.”

“You're so sweet, Randy. I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Aw, it's nothing,” he said, blushing.

“It's everything to me. I want you to know that you're my hero, Randy Alston.” Sexy plastered on a smile that was so angelic, the only thing missing was a halo and a set of wings.

“Stephen? You heard anything yet?”

“No, girl, and believe me, I've been keeping my ear to the ground. All I know is what you know: Yusef kicked her little skank ass out, but I can't find out what happened to her. She probably dragged her little slutty ass back home.”

“Yeah, maybe so,” Cheryl said into the telephone. “I wish we knew for sure. But I have to give it to the little ho, she's smart. And sneaky, too.” Cheryl paused, and then added, “Sneaky as all hell.”

Cheryl couldn't get over the feeling that there was something terribly wrong. The uneasy emotion had overwhelmed her ever since she'd talked to Yusef, the day after meeting Sexy at the hotel. She hadn't planned on actually telling him that Sexy had slept with Randy; she only wanted to warn him that his little girlfriend was acting up, and he needed to keep a better eye on her. That, she thought, would be enough for him to go home and read her the riot act, and make Sexy think it was better to keep the bird she had in hand rather than lose it chasing after another she might not get. But Yusef dismissed Cheryl's suspicions, saying he knew all about the outrageous lap dance Sexy had given Randy at the club, but that she was drunk, and anything else—like her slipping Randy a mickey—were merely rumors. She then had no choice but to pull out the big guns. She told him that Randy had confessed having smashed Sexy, and in the hotel bed she shared with Yusef, no less. She actually had no idea where Randy and Sexy had fucked, but it couldn't hurt to rile Yusef as much as possible.

Yusef's face turned crimson while she talked, though he maintained an obviously fake grin. By the time she finished talking, his face was purple, and the grin had turned into a crooked grimace.

“Well, look at the time,” he said, getting up from the table and throwing down a hundred-dollar bill to cover what couldn't have been more than a thirty-dollar tab. “I really have to be going.” And with that, he was gone.

On the drive home, she couldn't help but wonder if she had pushed Yusef too hard. For a moment she questioned if it was some kind of maternal instinct kicking in—her worrying about what Yusef might do—but then convinced herself that couldn't be it. She simply didn't want Yusef to kill Sexy; then there would be a scandal, and Randy might get pulled into it.

She hung up, and sat at the kitchen table, perusing the newspaper and drinking her coffee, an expensive, special blend called Ethiopian Fancy, imported from Africa and which she had become addicted to since marrying Randy and being able to afford it. What if Yusef threw Sexy out, but then later went after her and really hurt the girl?

“Hey, babe, whatya doing?”

Cheryl had been so absorbed in her thoughts that she hadn't heard Randy come in the door. She hurriedly jumped up, and then scurried to close the newspaper before realizing that there was nothing she had to hide—except the guilty look on her face.

“Nothing,” Cheryl said with a light laugh. She walked over and put her arms around his neck. “I talked to Mila this morning.”

“Oh? And, uh, what did you two girls talk about?”