Hot Boyz (27 page)

“I’m not downplaying your gig, dude. You are serious,” Claude said.

“Are you okay, man? You look a little tired,” Torino asked.

“Yeah, like I said, that office is going to be the death of me.”

“You don’t want any coffee?” Mason asked.

“No, just some fresh air.”

A woman walked by wearing a short, tight business suit. “Hello, Mason. Good to see you,” she said with a girlie voice.

“Hey, how are you doing?” Mason said with a smile. She walked away.

Torino remarked, “Damn, man. It’s like all of the women in here stopped at the beauty shop and nail salon and then came out dressed like they’re going to the club. How do all of the fine ass women end up right here?”

“Looking for men like us,” said Mason.

“Well, here I am,” Torino said, holding up his right hand.

Claude left him hanging. “You don’t want any of these women. Most of them have husbands at home who ignore them so they stroll on in and order a venti something so we can boost their egos with our stares. We’re just falling into their trap, phone numbers or not.”

“Well, trap me,” Torino said like he meant it.

“Hi, handsome,” one lady said to Claude.

He nodded.

“See now, Claude, don’t tell me you don’t want to get to know that,” Torino told him.

“Do you mean do I or will I?” Claude replied.

“Both.”

“Yes, and no.”

Torino examined his brothers. “You two are sitting up here acting all faithful.”

Claude said, “Try getting married, Torino, and you’ll see. You’ll find that you don’t have to order anything just because it’s on the menu.”

“You’re both ordering, just like I am, or was.”

“Speak for yourself,” Claude warned.

“Sounds like you’re wavering in your fidelities already, Torino,” Mason said.

“It’s tough, man, but I don’t think so. Not this time. Sequoia is wearing my ass out. That girl can ride it all night long, any way I want it.”

Claude looked amazed. “Sequoia? I can’t even imagine that. She seems so demure and reserved.”

“Sequoia? Shit,” said Mason. “Mercedes used to tell me about her.” He noticed Torino looking at him funny. “Okay, now, I said used to.”

“She’s wild, huh?” asked Claude.

“Big time, until the break of dawn,” Torino volunteered. “It’s cool as long as she’s a freak in the sheets with me and class in the streets.”

“It’s all good then,” Mason agreed.

Another hottie walked by. She took off her leopard-patterned Foster Grants. “Well, if it isn’t the million-dollar hot boyz. Hi, Mason,” said the young, sexy woman, as if she knew him personally.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“You, baby. My name is Craylonte.” She approached the table.

“Hi, Craylonte,” Torino said for Mason, looking everywhere on her but her face.

“Can you sign this napkin for my son? He’s nine years old and
he’s been to the driving range a dozen times already. Wants to be just like you.”

“Oh wow, sure, what’s his name?”

“Jesse.”

“That’s my dad’s name,” Mason said, taking out a pen and writing a quick hello to Jesse.

“And my middle name,” added Torino.

“Hey imagine that. His middle name is James. I call him J. J”

“That’s good,” said Torino, trying not to notice the large breasts when she leaned down.

“He’s named after his father. Trick ass Negro. He ain’t good for nothin’.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Mason said, handing the napkin back to her. “Make sure you take good care of little Jessie.”

“I will. It would be better if I had a man around. Like a role model.”

Mason advised, “Not all men are role models. Take your time and find a good mate. Then he can be Jesse’s friend once you’re sure he has the traits of a role model.”

“Are you still married?” she asked, looking hopeful.

“Yes. Happily,” Mason replied.

“But is your wife married?” Craylonte joked, and then looked serious as hell.

“Funny.”

She looked at Torino and Claude. “How about you two chocolate drops?”

“No, I’m taken,” Claude said, almost wondering if he really was after all.

“Me, too,” said Torino.

“Oh well. You all be good.”

Torino watched her switch her double-dutch butt on to her blue Honda Accord.

She yelled back to them. “And if things change, I’m here every day around this time. Look me up.”

“Will do,” said Torino, enjoying the humor of her statement.

Mason changed the subject. “Hey guys, on a serious note, I want you both to know something.”

“Yeah,” said Torino.

“I’ve got both of your backs, no matter what, bros. I just want you to know that. I’ve been wanting to say that for a while now.”

Claude spoke up immediately. “And we’ve got yours, Mason. And we’ve got yours.”

“Brotherhood on a real way,” Torino added.

Mason answered the home phone in the kitchen just as he walked in the door from his Starbucks run. “Hey, Mason. It’s the Reverend.”

“Hey, Rev, how are you?”

“I’m glorious, and you?”

“I’m good. Doing all right, I suppose.” Mason replied, leaning back against the wall.

“You know, I was able to connect with an old friend of mine named Dr. Ron Little. He’s a real cool brother who works wonders in marriage, family, and child issues. I told him you would give him a call.”

“Oh, Rev, I know we talked about this, but I’m sure we don’t need anything like that. We’re working things out through prayer and faith. And we’re spending a lot more time making a point to bond and just do things together whenever we can.”

The Reverend replied, “I know you are and I hope you don’t mind my intervention, but I’ve talked to many people who were helped in learning the how-tos of working through issues inside the home. There’s nothing wrong with seeking guidance from a counselor. Our kids have counselors on-site in schools all the time, but as adults, we seem to think we can handle it without the knowledge that a qualified therapist can bring. And this guy, man, he’s like a black Dr. Phil. He breaks it down and doesn’t waste your time trying to make you think you have every right to feel and think whatever, blah, blah, blah. He will call you on it, wake you up and send you on your way to work on it together, with God’s guidance and protection of course. Don’t say no, Mason. I’m telling you, you won’t regret it.”

Mason felt the easiest thing to do would be to wave the white flag. “I’ll ask Mercedes to set it up. What’s his number?”

Mercedes walked along with the packed crowd of onlookers in Mexico as Mason approached the ninth hole of his tournament. Because it was a weekday, Star and Rashaad stayed home to go to school. Anna, the part-time maid, stayed home with them. Mercedes wore a matching golf hat, the same color as the Tideist shirt Mason was sporting. Silence was in overdrive, not even a whisper or clearing of a throat.

If Mason made the long putt for birdie, it would mean one hundred thousand dollars for the day at thirteen under par. He’d had two eagles so far in this tournament and felt he was on a roll.

Mason’s caddy, Winton, handed him his putter. Mason eyeballed the distance between the ball and the cup, envisioning his stroke and the angle of the ball, imagining the exact trail of the ball necessary to make this a birdie. His fixed, brown eyes looked down toward the ball, and then to the cup, down at the ball and again at the cup, and over again until he sealed the next move in his head. He pulled back his club and gave a good solid putt, all the while keeping his head down toward the green. The ball rolled with a curve and then cut back toward the exact location of the cup. His caddy raised the pole with the blue flag blowing in the generous wind, and even without touching the circumference the tiny ball sank right inside and disappeared.

Mercedes jumped up and down with excitement. Mason looked over at her and tipped his black golf cap in her honor. She gave him the peace sign and he returned the gesture with a loving smile.

The crowd cheered and followed Mason and Winton toward the tent where he and the other players went over their scorecards. A reporter from ESPN approached Mercedes.

“Mrs. Wilson, you must be thrilled to death that your husband was able to pull off this win.”

“Yes, it was pretty close for a minute. Vijay Singh is an excellent golfer and he gave Mason a run for his money. I’m happy he was able to keep his concentration and win by a stroke.”

“Yes, that’s all it takes and he did it. His game has improved so much recently, especially since you’ve been on the sidelines I’d say. Am I correct?”

Mercedes was humble. “You are correct that his game has improved. I’m not so sure that it’s been because of my presence. I won’t take that much credit. I think all of the elements must be considered—the competition, the course, the weather. This is just a really great time for my husband and we are definitely going to celebrate.”

Mason walked back toward the crowd with his caddy at his side. He whispered to Winton and then made a beeline back toward Mercedes, greeting her with a hug.

Mercedes smothered him with kisses. “You go, boy. You hit that with precision. I’m so proud of you.”

Mason looked fairly reserved, considering. “Thanks, baby. By the way, do you know what today is?”

“Today is the day you won your seventh tournament of the year, that’s what today is.”

“And?”

“And today is the day…” Mercedes paused with her mouth wide open while her eyes spotted a gentleman walking up behind Mason.

“Mason, do you know who that is?” she whispered.

“Yes.”

“Mercedes?” the distinguished gentleman said.

“Yes, oh my goodness, Mr. Rogers. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“I understand today is a special day.”

She disbelievingly responded. “Oh, yes it is. Do you know my husband?”

“Yes, and he tells me it is your sixteenth wedding anniversary today. Is that true?”

She rushed her words, sounding very confused. “Well, actually it’s eighteen years together, but, oh yes, it is today. Why?”

“Because this one’s for you, Mrs. Wilson.”

The gentleman who was in on the little greeting set up by
Mason was Kenny Rogers himself He began to sing, “I can’t remember when you weren’t there, when I didn’t care, for any one but you.” Mercedes’s jaw dropped.

He continued to sing the entire song, “Through the Years”, all the while he held Mercedes’s hand while Mason stood next to her.

He wound down the final note and gave Mason a nod and Mercedes a smile. Mason turned to hug his wife. The crowd cheered and clapped for them.

Still in shock, Mercedes said, “Thank you so much. That was beautiful. I will never forget that.”

“I guess that really was your song, huh?” asked Mr. Rogers.

Mercedes said, “You can say that again.”

“I’m glad I could be a part of your celebration. And congratulations, Mason. Hang in there now.”

“We will. Thanks, Kenny.”

“No problem,” he said, walking away with a couple of security-looking men.

Mercedes looked dreamy. “Baby, I was not ready for that.”

“I know. You deserved it though. You’re always there for everyone else. Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary, Mason.”

At home on a Sunday, a couple days later, Sequoia actually got Torino to go to church with her. They went to her Catholic church, St. Jerome’s, for the noon mass. But when they got back home, Torino needed a nap, having been up late after working the night before. While he lay on his stomach, barely into his much-needed shut-eye, Sequoia decided to engage in a little love in the afternoon.

She pulled down his dress pants and underwear. She firmly rubbed her hands along the shape of his rump, pressing her fingertips into his brown skin, giving deep tissue strokes with penetrating pressure, kneading his firmness all the way from his lower back to the curve of his butt cheek. Her pleasing touch and massaging expertise awakened him and caused his nature to raise him right on over to his back. He looked up at her as if she’d started something.

“Out of those clothes,” he demanded, and she obliged.

Right away, he took over and turned her on her stomach. She rose up on all fours. He mounted her. And he did not hesitate to enter her full on and deep. She was in for it now.

“Baby, that feels so good,” Sequoia said immediately, bucking her hips.

“Keep it up,” Torino demanded.

“I am,” she acquiesced, moving to his sexual demands.

“Oh, yeah, you like that, huh?”

“Yes, Torino, I like that.”

“Is this your favorite position?”

“Yes, baby.” Sequoia purred and worked her hips until she felt Torino about to build up. She reached behind herself and behind him to grab his firm, muscular butt cheeks and pushed him deeper inside. “I want to feel every inch of you,” she squealed as he penetrated her deepest point.

“Oh no, not yet,” he said. He pulled out and put his face in between her legs, eating her with his pointed tongue from her front door to her back door as she poked her rear in the air.

“Ohh, yes,” said Sequoia, with her face buried in the pillow. Her rush flowed like warm molasses.

Torino came back up and entered her again with his rigidness. “This feels so good, baby. I’ve never had it like this. I just want to disappear inside of you and… damn it, Sequoia,” Torino screamed, grunting and groaning as he pumped up against her firm rear end. His peak sounded like the build-up of a sneeze. And then he let it out, loud and strong, squeezing his eyes closed and jerking his head.

“Oh damn,” Sequoia exclaimed through her own orgasm. She braced herself to come down from her high and regain her senses but another wave pulsated through her soul. The sensation of her multiple orgasms had grown to be very common when it came to Torino. She fell onto her stomach, no longer able to prop her body upward.

“Get yours, girl,” Torino panted as he excreted his last bit inside of her. He froze to allow the extreme muscle tension to subside. He lowered himself and lay on her back.

A minute or two later she looked to the side toward his digital clock. “Damn, I think it’s time for us to get up and head outside for the party,” she reminded him.