Rachel sat on her knees at the foot of her bed, biting the bedspread while Scott’s tongue manipulated her asshole. “Ooh.” Her pussy muscles constricted as what felt like a simmering pot of water overtook her pelvis. “Yes.” She clawed the spread, knees buried into the carpet.

Scott moaned, pulling her ass cheeks apart with his fingers.

“Scott.” She gripped her sweaty breasts as that simmering pot of water turned into a rolling boil. “Yes, Scott. Oh.” She threw her arms over the bed, panting.

Scott sat against her, rubbing his warm cock on her thigh. “I could do this every day.”

She giggled.

“Come here.” He turned her around, securing her in his lap. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” He kissed her.

“I care about you, Scott.”

“I hope so.” He smiled with his cheekbones shiny from her love juice.

“I’ve never wanted someone so much.”

“Me either.”

“Not even Debra?”

“I loved Debra.” He looked off to the side. “At the time I thought she was what I wanted, but it wasn’t meant to be. She broke it off, and I had to accept it.”

“I’m not perfect, Scott.” She touched his neck. “I’ve made many mistakes, but I need to know you’ll be there for me, anyway.”

“I’ll always be here, Rachel.” He stroked her thigh. “Is something wrong?”

She exhaled, pushing away the most horrible outcome that might happen when she told the truth. “I…”

Her cell rang.

“Shoot.” She crawled to the table by the bed and got it. “It’s an unknown number.” She shook. “It might be Fusco.”

“Let me answer it.”

“No.” She answered the call, “Who is this?”

“Rach, it’s me.”

“Stone?” She glanced at Scott who crawled toward her. “I told you to leave me alone.”

“You can’t stay mad at me forever,” Stone said. “I’m not at the Moonrise Motel anymore so stay away from there.”

“Did something happen?”

“Thought you didn’t care.”

She straightened her shoulders. “Take care of yourself, Stone.”

“Rachel…”

She hung up.

“That was your brother?” Scott tilted his head back. “Wish you’d have let me talk to him. I have tons to say to that asshole.”

“Forget him.” She put the phone on the table. “I’m focusing on me from now on.”

He held her, massaging her breast. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

“Just to remember I love you.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “No matter what happens.”

* * *

Stone sped up to the dilapidated, gray, and panel-house on the corner.

A group of Negroes sat on paint buckets, playing dominoes on the porch with the front door cracked open.

Bobby Womack’s “If You Think You’re Lonely Now” played from inside the house.

Stone stalked up the lopsided steps, inhaling weed smoke mixed with beer and barbecue sauce. “What’s up?” He threw his head back in greeting.

“Hey, what’s up, Stone?” A greasy, charcoal-black dude with a white sweatband around his afro, jumped up. “You remember me, man?”

Stone couldn’t remember him to save his life but didn’t have time to argue about it. “Yeah.”

The others nodded in greeting while the rest.

“Wanna hang, man?” Sweatband asked. “We just chilling. Playing dominoes and eating barbecue.”

“Where is Greer?” Stone asked.

“Oh, you know where that nigga is,” the skinny guy with the gold grill in his mouth said. “In there with some ho like he always is. Damn, Stone. Why you always so ashy?”

The men guffawed, holding fists to their mouths.

Sweatband cackled. “He’s got to be the ashiest nigga you ever saw.”

“Man.” The guy with the cornrows and goatee shook his head, grimacing. “You ever heard of lotion, bruh?”

“Motherfucker look like he been slapping flour.” Sweatband made a slapping motion with both hands.

The men laughed so hard they almost fell off the buckets.

“All right.” Stone fanned, frowning. “Ain’t that damn funny.”

“Say?” Cornrows chewed on a toothpick. “What you want with Greer?”

“You guys hear about that robbery on Tango Road?”

They glanced at each other and then focused on the dominoes.

“Nope,” Sweatband said.

“Yeah right.”

“We don’t know nothing, man.” Sweatband winked at the others. “Shit, I just got out the pen. You think I’m looking to go back? I don’t know a damn thing about no robbery.”

“Lying motherfuckers.” Stone continued toward the door. “No damn well nothing goes on around here you niggas don’t know about.” He went inside, up the wobbly stairs, and stepped over clothes and crumbled up beer cans. “Greer?” He burst inside Greer’s bedroom, hit by the smell of underarm funk and bud.

“Yo, man.” Greer lay on the bed with a big-boned, redbone slut, both buck-naked. “Ah, hell no.”

“What the fuck, Nigga?” The woman jumped off the bed, her C-section scar for all to see. “Who the fuck is yo’ ass?”

“Don’t worry about who I am.” Stone entered the room. “What you need to worry about is getting the fuck out.”

“I ain’t going nowhere.” Her large tits sagged to her belly button. “This is Greer’s place.” She wiggled her neck, rolling her eyes. “You gonna let this ashy ass nigga come in yo’ place and tell me what to do?”

“It’s cool, baby.” Greer held his boxers to his middle and slapped the woman’s jiggly ass. “We can take up where we left off after I’m done.”

“So you gonna just throw me out for this Negro?”

“Either you get out or I’ll toss your ass out,” Stone said. “That is if I can pick up ya’ big ass.”

Greer grinned under his hand.

“Ooh.” She snatched her denim dress and sandals off the floor. “Greer, you been begging me to come over here for months and this how you treat me?” She passed Stone, being naked in front of a strange man obviously didn’t faze her. “See if I come back, fool.”

“Don’t be like that, Tasha.” Greer walked toward the door as she slammed it.

Stone shook his head. “Where did you find that horse-looking bitch from?”

“Shut up, man.” Greer put on his shorts. “Shit, when you been in the pen long as me any pussy’s up for grabs. Anyway, she suck a dick like a porn bitch, man.”

“I bet she does.” Stone glanced at the door. “Her fat ass probably be imagining it’s a pork chop or some shit.”

Greer laughed, threw clothes off the chair by his Dell computer and sat. “What can I do for you? Need some weed or something, man?”

“From you?” Stone laughed. “I slanged for Dario Fusco. Why would I need that cheap ass shit you peddling? This got nothing to do with weed.” He rubbed his knuckles. “You been my homey for years so I’m gonna come at you like a man…first.”

“What do you mean ‘first’?”

“Means if you start shit than me keeping my temper is out the window. And trust me, G. It’s already hard for me to keep it in check.”