Alana
I DRIVE AROUND the city to find a dress for the gala. Never been to one, but from what Gunner tells me it’s a fancy ball where rich folks mingle, drink expensive champagne, and have a pissing contest over who can donate the most money.
After I get the perfect dress from Kohl’s, I go home and change into a yoga pants and neon yellow tank top and head to the gym on the first floor. I ride the bikes, lift weights and stretch. The truth is I hate working out, but I push through it because I want to be healthy. Now, if I can change my eating habits, then I will be straight.
After my intense work, my arms ache as I grab the antibacterial wipes from the cleaning station and wipe down the black machine.
One of the personal trainers—Linear, Luke, I can’t remember his name—comes up to me and says, “Hey, Alana, can I speak to you for a minute?” His azure eyes narrow.
“Sure.” I toss the dirty wipes in the wastebasket.
“I’m offering yoga classes for free on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You are welcome to join.”
“What time?” Beeping noises come from different machines as people work out on them. An older gentleman with black hair flexes his muscles in the wall mirror.
“Six thirty to seven thirty p.m.”
“Sure,” I answer. He gives me a business card, and I tuck it in my worn wallet. “You want to stretch together?” I ask.
He nods his head, following me to the stretch station. I pull my hand over my head and stand on my tiptoes.
“You are going to pull a muscle doing that. Straighten your spine.” He places his hand on the small of my back.
“Get your fucking hands off her or I’m going to break them.”
We both turn our heads. Darien, by the way, looks yummy in his gym shorts. Swear I can see smoke coming from his ears and the vein in his neck throbs. Jesus, Darien. From the way he looks, you’d think he was trying to get revenge on someone who killed his cat. Linear or whatever his name is throws his hands up in the air.
“Hey, man. Didn’t know you were dating her. Darien.”
I am livid as hell. Haven’t spoken to Darien since last night and he is claiming me like I’m his.
“We’re not dating.”
My words fall on deaf ears, and Darien is in Linear’s face. Darien balls up his fist and his jaw clenches and I am not sure if he is about to demolish Linear’s face. So I press my palms against his chest and fail to push him. He is made of steel. “Out, Darien. Now,” I yell.
Everyone looks at us. Darien is still staring at what’s his face.
Darien looks into my eyes and walks in the other direction. I turn towards Linear and mouth, “Sorry.” He shakes his head.
In the elevator, I lean against the wall, trying not to lose my cool. “What the hell, Darien Casey?”
“What do you mean? Your ass didn’t answer any of my calls or texts after you dipped out on me last night. What the fuck was that about?” He doesn’t give me time to answer. “You had me fucking worried that something happened to you and I saw the way that guy touched you and fucking lost it.”
“You can’t do that shit, Darien. You can’t threaten every guy I speak to.” His possessiveness is pissing me the fuck off. Not going to be with a man who won’t let me talk to or speak to the opposite sex. What is his deal, anyway?
“I can try.”
“How did you find me?” I cross my arms, pushing up my breasts.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, and says, “Crystal.”
I’m not even mad at Crystal for ratting me out because I haven’t told her anything.
I am so ready to get off the elevator. I glance at the orange lights right above the door.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
The doors whistle open, and I step out, and Darien is on my heels like white on rice. When I open my door, Ron and Crystal sit at the cheap round table, playing cards. Crystal begins to say something, and I wave my hand, letting her know that this isn’t the time. Darien leans against the granite counter, still looking mad as hell. I open the fridge, grab my bottle of cranberry juice, and unscrew the top, gulping it down like I’m dying of thirst.
“What the hell happened last night?” Darien demands.
“Nothing happened.”
“Bullshit, and you know it.”
“Crystal got sick so I went to see her.”
Partially true.
“You’re full of shit. If we’re going to keep doing this, you need to be honest about your feelings.” He looks at his watch and says, “Make sure you have your ass dressed by six.” He walks to the dining room and says, “Be here by six if you want to ride in the limo with us.” He slams the front door.
Ron’s and Crystal’s jaws drop, and I shrug my shoulders, heading to my bedroom.
I stand in the mirror in the bathroom, placing a strand of hair between the metal plates of the straightener, smoothing out my hair. Crystal sits on top of the toilet lid. She doesn’t want to go to the gala in fear of having a repeat of last night. Morning sickness is a bitch.
“Wow, you’re a stunning bitch, you know that?”
“Thank you. I wish you could come,” I say, sadly.
“Me too. So what’s up with you and Darien?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happened? He was so pissed when he left earlier.”
Exhaling, I say, “We had sex last night, and I kinda bailed on him.”
“Shut up! How was the sex?” Her eyes widen.
“The sex was amazing.” I spritz hairspray on my straight, thick hair, fogging the small bathroom.
“So what’s wrong?” She wrinkles her nose.
“I’m starting to feel things for him that I shouldn’t.”
She knows where I’m going with this conversation. “Just go with the flow and see how things turn out and who knows? You might find something meaningful.”
Doubt it. What romance novel got her living in a fantasy world?
The doorbell rings.
“I’ll get it,” Crystal says, before leaving the bathroom. I put my makeup in my pink bag and place my flat iron in the holder in the blue wall and hurry to the living room. Darien stands in the arch of the doorway, wearing a custom-made black tux. He loops his arms around me and pulls me into his arms, kissing the bridge of my nose.
“You ready to go, sweetheart?”
I nod my head.
When we get into the limo, Darien is speaking to someone on the phone about a bank. Thank God. I don’t feel like talking. Just want to get this night over with.
Twenty minutes later, the limo stops at a country club. Darien helps me out of the limo and cameras flash, making me see stars. Expensive cars park in front of the entrance.
As we make it to the entrance of a ballroom, I admire the charming paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. My heels click on the shiny marble floor as we take our seats at a table covered with a white cloth. Gunner and a woman with blonde wavy hair sit at our table. And her baby-blue eyes pop out of their sockets when Gunner introduces me as his sister. Little does she know that he will replace her as fast as he can.
She brings me into a hug as if she’s just joined our family. Gunner rolls his eyes and speaks to Darien about work. The blonde speaks to me about fashion. My eyes wander to Ron, dancing with a brown-skinned dude with honey-blond dreadlocks. He looks my way and winks, and I wink back. Darien follows my eyes and frowns.
“Are you with that loser Tate?” Gunner says. I look to Darien, and he has a sexy smile on his face. This is not how I want to tell my brother. Matter of fact, I was going to my grave with this secret.
“No. I dumped him. I’m with . . .”
“Me,” Darien finishes for me, lacing his fingers with mine under the table. My brother lifts his eyebrow.
“At least someone wants to date your tired ass,” Gunner says to Darien.
“My ass might be tired, but at least I don’t have a pencil dick,” he shoots back.
Did I miss something here?
“You’re cool with me dating Darien?” I ask, interrupting their banter. Men. They act like teenagers.
“Yeah. I am. Rather Darien than Tate. I hate that fucker.”
Darien has a devilish grin plastered on his face. He knew my brother wouldn’t care.
A young waitress sets chilled champagne and two bourbon glasses on the table, and I take a swig of the champagne as the bubbles tickle my nose. Gunner speaks with Darien about business. Classical music hums and the waitresses set a plate of finger sandwiches in front of me. Not in the mood to eat, so I push my plate away.
My phone chimes with a message.
D: You look gorgeous, but you look better with me inside your pussy.
I glance up at Darien. He sips his champagne as he continues to speak to Gunner. He needs to stop turning me on with his dirty mouth.
Ron makes his way to our table and sits next to me.
“Who is that guy you were dancing with?” I ask him, turning my legs towards him.
“Jason. I think we are hitting it off well,” Ron says, taking a swig of his champagne. Ron hasn’t had much luck in the dating department. The last boy who broke his heart didn’t want to go public with their relationship because the bastard was too ashamed to admit that he was gay.
My phone buzzes again and I slide my finger across the screen.
D: You can thank me with a blowjob since I told your brother about us.
My face flushes as I peer at Darien, and he has a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Are you going home with Jason tonight?” I ask Ron.
“Should I?” He cocks his eyebrow.
“Of course. You know what the saying is?” I drum my fingers against the table.
“What?”
“One good lay keeps a headache away.”
We both laugh.
Ron tells me he will be right back and disappears. A man in an electric wheelchair drives to the table. He has salt-and-pepper hair and dull gray eyes. On his left is an older woman dressed in a white dress with gray hair.
“Hey, Dad,” Darien says to the guy. I can see the same features—both have high cheekbones and sharp jaws, except his father also has a black beard.
“Hey, son, and Gunner.”
My brother shakes his hand.
The blonde woman holds out her hand and makes herself known she is my brother’s date. I don’t know if Darien wants me to meet his father, so I don’t say anything. This is our first real date, and I don’t know if we are going to go on another one.
“Dad, there is someone I want you to meet.”
My face freezes in place, and my stomach feels queasy. Darien and Gunner both look at me, and I take a big swallow from my glass and set it down on the table. I chew on the inside of my cheek.
“Alana. She’s my date.” Darien smiles.
“H-hello,” I say.
“Don’t be shy.” His father hits a button and drives to the side of my table. He takes my hands and kisses them, and I blush like a schoolgirl.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” I say.
“You are a beauty,” he says.
“Calm down the charm,” the woman who is with him says. “I’m Jade, his nurse.”
Darien sits next to me and wraps his arms around my waist.
I want to ask his father how he ended up in a wheelchair, but I refrain from asking. Don’t want to sound rude.
“Do you want to dance?” Darien asks.
I shake my head, still kinda pissed at him for the way he was acting at the gym. I don’t know why he introduced me to his father. I’m sure I’m not the only one who met him.
“I would love to dance,” the blonde woman says to Gunner.
“Fine,” Gunner says, grinding his teeth. And he leaves with her to the dance floor. I feel bad for her. My brother is being mean towards her for no reason. I wonder does he treat all women like trash?
Darien laces his fingers in mine, tugging me out of the brown chair.
“Where are we going?” I ask. We come to a set of silver elevator doors. He hits the up button and the door whistles open. A man dressed in a suit holds the doors for us as we step on. As soon as the doors close, Darien crushes his lips to mine and I melt like butter. He slides his fingers through my straight hair. His tongue is in my mouth and bourbon flavors his lips. The other hand holds his glass of bourbon. We both pull away, breathing heavily.
“Bathroom. Need to taste you. Don’t have much time,” he growls.
The door whistles open and a group of women step in, and Darien grabs my hand, leading me into the hallway. He pulls me in the women’s bathroom. He kicks the door open, and a few women fix their makeup while staring at the mirror.
“Get. Out,” Darien says, and the women glance our way with their mouths gaping open. “Now.”
They hurry out, and Darien locks the door and turns to face me with a devilish grin on his face. He scoops me up by my ass and sets me on the edge of the cold shiny marble counter. He gets down on his knees and hikes up my red silk dress, looking at my flesh. He moves my green lace panties to the side. His cool tongue licks my clit and . . . oh my gosh. I feel my orgasm build in my sex. My eyes roll to the back of my head as he sticks his tongue inside me and I come on his tongue. He sticks his finger inside of my sex and takes it out, smearing my come around the rim of his glass.
“Every time I drink from this glass, you will know that I am tasting you.” He brushes his lips across my forehead and says, “I have to go make a speech.” He stands up, pulling me off the counter, flattening out my silk dress.
“Go on, I need to freshen up.”
“You sure?”
I nod my head, and he leaves the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror as I finger-comb my hair. My cheeks are flushed and my lips are red and swollen. Man, this was a bad idea. No matter how many times I let Darien touch me, I feel things that I shouldn’t. The last time we had sex, I thought it was me being nervous, but now I know my feelings are real.
“What the fuck, man?” My voice echoes through the bathroom. Hate this feeling I have in my chest. Hate those flutters in my stomach. “I can do this. I can do this.”
I straighten my spine, tilting my chin up in the air, and put on a poker face as I leave the bathroom.
For the remaining of the ball, Darien introduces me to business owners, lawyers, and other rich snobs. As we sit at a table by an ice swan sculpture, a beautiful brown-sugar-haired woman stands next to us. I recognize her from the night I ran into Darien at that fancy restaurant. She was Darien’s non-date. Her long strapless black gown hugs her small frame and her hair is in an updo held together by small black combs with diamonds molded to them. Immediately, I grab Darien’s hand and rest my chin on his shoulder, inhaling his aftershave. My fingers trace the back of his right ear, and he turns to smile at me. Oh. My. Gosh. What the hell am I doing? Did I just subconsciously try to claim ownership of this man? I don’t do shit like this. I drop both hands into my lap and Darien rests his hand on my knee, squeezing gently.
“Darien, it’s time for your speech.” Her voice is soft, and I don’t like how she says his name seductively. Darien kisses my lips and heads to the stage. I watch him maneuver through the crowd as people stop and greet him. Darien walks like he owns the building.
“I’m Lisa. Darien’s PA.” She extends her hand, and I shake it softly.
“Alana, Darien’s friend.”
Our eyes both veer to Darien as we hear his voice through the mic.
“Ladies and gents, thank you for coming to support the Paraplegic Association.” He continues to speak.
“You’re the only one.” Lisa sits in Darien’s chair.
“Only one what?”
“Only one he ever sent flowers to. I’ve worked for Darien for two years and I never saw him so interested in another woman.”
I shrug my shoulders and say, “Are you jealous?”
Her eyes grow wide and she says, “No. But I think you are one lucky bitch, though.”
Not sure if I believe her.
The crowd erupts into cheers, and the live band starts to play jazz music. Darien makes his way back to the table.
“I’ll see you back at the office, Lisa,” he murmurs. She salutes him like a soldier and Darien pulls me off the chair and grabs his glass.
We walk around the ballroom, and it is damn near empty. A few people dance. An older, stocky guy approaches us, so I left Darien and head to the bar. Want this night to be over with. My feet ache from walking in these red heels and I need a stiff drink. I sit on a black leather stool and ask the bartender for a dirty martini.
“Having fun, pretty girl?” Ron asks. He slides into the seat next to me, ordering himself a glass of whiskey.
“It’s a bunch of snobs here,” I say, and we both laugh at my comment. God, I don’t want to be here with a bunch of people who think they are better than the poor people. They walk around like they own the world. The waitress sets both our drinks in front of us.
“Where is Jason?” I slurp on my drink.
“He’s writing a check for his donation.”
I gaze around, and Darien’s eyes are on me. He winks and places his mouth on the rim of the glass he smeared with my come. My cheeks heat and he turns his view back to the older guy.
“Dance with me, Ron,” I say. He gulps down his drink.
“Of course, as long as Darien won’t kill me,” he jokes.
I loop my arm through his and we walk to the empty dance floor. He places his hand on my lower back and pulls me close to him. I feel the rise and fall of his chest, and the band plays a slow classical song. Ron’s cologne filters through my nostrils.
“We should do this again,” he murmurs.
“Slow-dance?”
“No, silly. Hang out. You know, outside work hours. I need more female friends.”
“Okay, that sounds good. You have my number. Just hit me up and we can get a pedi or something.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Jason taps Ron on the shoulder and says, “You ready to go?”
Ron flashes his mega-white straight teeth. “See you later, baby girl.” He hugs me and leaves with Jason.
I walk to Darien and he continues speaking to the guy with the white hair.
“We will keep in touch, Mr. White,” Darien says.
The guy shakes his hand and Darien’s phone rings. He answers it, says, “Okay.” He tucks it into his breast pocket and says, “Our limo is here.”
I wake up in an unfamiliar bed, the most comfortable bed I ever slept in. The sheets are black silk, and the pillows are gray and fluffy. The bed is king-size, and the headboard is made of real oak wood. The room is open space. Sunlight peeks from the wide windows lighting up the room. Definitely not my bedroom.
I glance at myself and I am still in my gown that I wore at the gala. I jump out of bed, glancing around the room. It is just as bare as the rest of the condo.
The scents of coffee and bacon linger in the air, making my mouth water. I tiptoe to the kitchen, Darien’s pushing sizzling bacon with a spatula in a silver frying pan on the stove. Darien’s torso is wet like he’s stepped out of the shower and his basketball shorts hang loosely on his hips.
“Morning,” I say. He turns around and leans down to kiss my forehead. Have to be honest with him before we go any further. Let him know the deal so I can protect my fragile heart.
“Morning, how’d you sleep?”
“Well. Your bed is so comfortable.” I haven’t felt so energized in a long time from sleeping. I grab two square black plates from the top shelf and say, “What’s for breakfast?”
“Bacon, eggs, and toast.” He takes the plates out of my hand and dumps food on them. “Go to the living room and eat.”
We eat in silence, not speaking, enjoying the nice meal.
A part of me wants him to walk away because I’m too weak to do it and the other part of me doesn’t want him to because I need to take Crystal’s advice. But if I do get invested in him, and he doesn’t want to, then my heart might not survive. I inhale a lungful of air, and I exhale.
“Darien, I just got out of a really bad marriage not too long ago.” I play with the dirty napkin and continue, “So bad that I pushed him into the arms of another woman.”
Talking about it makes my eyes burn with tears. Fuck love. Darien is quiet, and his facial expression is unreadable.
“I don’t know what’s going on with us, and right now, I can’t afford to suffer from another heartbreak.”
He straddles me onto his lap. I don’t want his pity. He pushes my tangled hair to the side. “You can’t push a man into the arms of another woman. The coward cheated because he wanted to,” he says, popping a piece of bacon in his mouth. “You act like your heart is the only one that’s on the line. Mine is too.”
My eyes widen at his response. “I’m going to fuck up, a lot,” I blurt out.
“We are not in a relationship and I’m already fucking up. So there you have it.” Tilting my chin to meet his eyes, he says, “We’re not putting a label on what we are. We continue to fuck each other. When one of us is ready to take it to the next step, we will talk about it first.” He exhales. “Stop talking and eat. We have a busy day, and I’m not up to sharing my feelings like a chick.”
“We?”
He nods and says, “We’re running errands today.”
At Super Target, in the dairy aisle, I set a carton of eggs into the red buggy. Ever since Crystal got knocked up, she craves eggs.
We stroll to the furniture aisle, and I grab a painting of music notes playing from a guitar and a small black clock, the numbers replaced with music notes.
As we move to the baby aisle, my heart stops as I glance at the blue boy clothes, reminding me of my baby, Cole. It’s my fault that I lost him. Should have watched him. Should have checked on him, but I was too occupied with cooking dinner. My heart yearns and aches for him.
A tear escapes the corner of my eye, and I wipe it with my thumb, hoping Darien doesn’t see it. I grab a box with a car seat and tuck it under the buggy.
“It’s too soon for us to start having kids.” Darien scratches his head.
“No, silly, not for us, for Crystal. She is pregnant.” I hang my head down so Darien won’t see the pain in my face.
We head to the checkout line and fight over who is paying for the stuff. He wins that battle by distracting me with a kiss.
After running errands, I drop my stuff off at my apartment and head to Darien’s place. I open the door and Darien is in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.
I grab the nail, hammer, and the picture from the Target bag and hammer the picture to the wall, above the television.
“You’re decorating my place?” He turns his head sideways.
“It needs a homey touch to it; your place feels so lonely.” I grab the big musical clock and hang it above the breakfast nook. Turning to face him, I ask, “You don’t want me to?”
“You want to Martha Stewart my place? Go right ahead.”
Smiling, I tap my fingers on my chin, thinking what I should paint on the wall. “I’ll come by tomorrow and paint it, if that’s okay with you?” I glance at the pure white walls. They need color, and my artist’s fingers are itching to paint.
“I’m going out of town tomorrow for business, but I will be home late.” He goes to the hook on the wall, grabs his keys, unloops a gold key from the chain, clasps it in my hand and says, “Use it to let yourself in.”
I smile, tucking the key into my jeans pocket.
“Is Lisa going with you?” I blurt out.
Don’t know why I would ask him something like that. I can’t seem to get my trust issues under control. Charles used to go on business trips with Rebecca and tell me all the time it was her job. Well, the joke was on me—he was screwing her the whole time, and I was dumb enough to fall for it.
“Yeah. She’s my assistant.”
“Where are you going?” I fold my arms across my chest, pushing up my breasts.
“New York City.”
“When you go on overnight trips, do you guys stay in the same room?”
“You don’t trust me?” He furrows his brow.
Putting distance between us, I hurry to the kitchen, dump the crab legs, shrimp, and sausage into a glass bowl and exhale.
Do I trust him? Good question. The answer to that is no. Matter of fact, I don’t trust any man, to be honest. They only think with their dicks. Charles thought with his dick when he was married to me, and my dearest brother has a track record of discarding women like worn shoes. So trust is something that doesn’t fly with me right now. “It doesn’t matter. Forget I asked.” I grab the steamer from the chestnut cabinet next to the stainless steel fridge and place it on the front aisle of the stove. “Plus, we’re not in a relationship, you don’t have to answer that.”
Smooth recovery, Alana, real smooth. I dump a shitload of Cajun seasoning, butter, and garlic on the meat and mix with a wooden spoon. Darien snatches the bowl from me and places it in the fridge, then corners me into the crack of the brown granite counter. He presses both palms to the counter, leaning closer to me, caging me in like a small animal.
His manly scent is so intoxicating that I can get drunk off of it. This man does things to my chest, my stomach, and my pussy that haven’t been done in a very long time. What are you doing to me, Darien Casey? Why do you keep me on my toes? Most important, why do I always attract men I know will break my heart?
“Ask me the real question you want to know.”
The bastard has the audacity to smirk at me. I gulp as he rubs my cheek, making my body hyper-aware of his touch.
“No. I’m afraid of the answer,” I answer truthfully.
“Ask, Alana.”
He barely uses my real name, only when he means business. My eyes revert to the black tiles. “Have you slept with Lisa?”
“No.” His tone is flat. He tilts my chin to make me look at his eyes and says, “Is that all, sweetheart?”
I shake my head and bite my lips, feeling a bit stupid about my question. “Are you attracted to her?”
I know he is not Charles. Charles slept with his PA and left me for her. Don’t want history to repeat itself. Won’t be played like a fool a second time, even if we are just fucking like it’s a need.
“She’s beautiful, but I don’t want her.”
I ponder on his last few words for a second and exhale a breath that I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Don’t compare me to your piece-of-shit ex-husband.”
“I di—”
“Bullshit.” He brushes his fingers against my nose and says, “Sweetheart, I’ll bend you, but never break you.”
Hate the fact that he saw right through my bullshit. It’s like we are in sync with each other. He knows my thoughts before I even say them. We mesh together like Lois Lane and Clark Kent. Except I don’t want him to be Superman and save my fragile almost-whole heart. And I’m not going to be Lois Lane either. I want to be like Wonder Woman, fierce and strong, but my broken heart won’t let me.
He taps his fingers on my chin in a gentle way. “Don’t be jealous of every woman I speak to.” He goes to the fridge and hands me the bowl with the seafood in it. “Now hurry up and feed me before I turn into a raging asshole.”