Let me set the stage, okay? Last year, May 27, 2017, packed house, which is nothing new for the strip club. Once a few big-pimping rappers put us on the Gram, business hadn't slowed down. I never even bothered asking to come from behind the bar to the pole. The women who worked at the club were top notch, thick in all the right places, thin waist, fit, and pretty as hell. I'll give a female her props when they are due. However, I'll never open my mouth to tell these hoes, although it's true.
We're all trained to know when there's a sugar daddy in the house, and this man was one. Yeah, he was with a crew of about four deep, and this crew was nothing to fuck with either. Just the fact that he was invited to party with the Dons of Miami said a fuckin’ lot about his clout. The entire energy shifted. The hoes that had been complaining that their feet were hurting instantly caught a second wind. Wherever they had been hiding out in the back, they were out circulating in full force now.
As for me, I didn't expect much. That may sound dumb on my part, but I'm just being honest. My best bet was if he wanted to fuck me, but I wasn't holding my breath. Not with all the finer ass and tits being flashed. Nah, the tips were all I was banking on. My ace in the hole, Cheryl, was with them, though. She and I got along pretty good whenever she came through to satisfy her lesbian cravings between girlfriends. I damn near sprung my arm waving when I saw her in the mix. I usually never leave the back of the bar. Only when certain people were partying, I was the one they wanted handling their orders in the VIP. Now, all I had to do was pray and hold my breath that I'll get the signal to head upstairs. Talk about going crazy as the time ticked by and nothing had happened yet. Ya'll don't know how bad I need this break tonight. I'm about at the end of my rope and neck deep in bullshit that really didn't have nothing to do with me.
"Hey, hoe!" someone shouted over the loud music. "Your black ass is up."
I about tripped over my hard-bottom, black tennis shoes getting from behind the bar. It didn't even faze me that I was blessed and belittled at the same time. I had learned long ago that you have to watch it and do your best to treat everybody right, even the fools that mistreat you. You never know who you may need on your way up or on your way down. That night, a year ago, I damn sure hopped on the express lane to the top, which is why I'm running around like a headless chicken to get this place right in hopes Chadli never knows the truth.
Anyway, that night the stars aligned on my behalf. After about twenty minutes, I knew something was up. I did my best to stay in my lane, mix the drinks, and not be too eager like the dancers close to knocking their backs out from twerking so damn hard. How the fuck could I compete with all that bullshit going on? Nah, I spoke when spoken to all while trying to find my opening. Suddenly, the shock of a lifetime landed right on my tray. Blinking, I read the scribbled message a few times just to make sure.
WTF he wants to talk to you
Glancing up, I get no eye contact from the people at the round table facing either one of the two poles in the VIP area. Even still, I knew the message had to come from Cheryl. Okay, am I reading this all wrong? I mean I'm not getting a vibe from anyone in the group. Then again, it's not like I'm lingering. Instead, I'm standing behind the bar, staring with my pop eyes until I'm waved over to take another drink order. Shit, I'm fuckin this up.
SHAHID
"Please, tell me that woman isn't your bet," I whisper under my breath before I take a sip of the aged cognac.
I take care to keep my eyes trained on the fat ass jiggling in time with the bass drop. The others at the table are close enough to hear my comment and begin to laugh. From the way Cheryl shifts in her seat, I know my guess is right.
"You said you wanted someone different," she retorts hotly.
"He said different not fuckin’ ugly. Compared to the ones we've offered that woman isn't worth kissing the bunion on Shahid's toe."
"I don't have fuckin’ bunions," I tease.
"You know what I'm saying," scoffs Armand. "All she can offer you is a drink. Shit, I was worried at first, but now I know I'm going to win."
Sighing, I place my glass down. I have to admit I am both annoyed and slightly intrigued as to why Cheryl would have suggested this woman to me. In an attempt not to repeat my first lackluster swap of last year, I opened my big mouth to express my grievances of the female company I kept while living as my twin. Ugh! It was fuckin’ appalling, is what it was. How the hell could women from the most exclusive brothel in the world provide such boring-ass females, beats me, but that was the case. Great fucks, the best tits, and a sculptured ass money and a trainer could buy, but annoying as hell. Oh, they were current on the world events, stocks, and trades, but no real substance other than repeating facts. Brainless with no actual real opinions of their own. Shit, that's what I was running away from. I didn't need it during the few weeks I roughed it, so to speak.
"Beauty is beyond skin deep," I mumble.
Lord knows I've had what was considered “stunners” on my shoulder. My position afforded me the cream of the crop. No, it wasn't just that, although the woman is dark. Her skin reminds me of the onyx statues on display in Egypt's museums. However, I could see that her blue-black hue isn’t revolting. Her shape is average compared to what was in the club. Shit, everything seems basic about the female, which leaves me scratching my damn head.
"Your problem is you're fuckin’ spoiled," huffs Cheryl.
"As he should be," counters Ray.
I open my mouth only for the woman in question to interrupt.
"Another?"
I don't even bother to acknowledge her. This entire evening is a dud. The thought of spending the rest of my vacation with one of the women the others were pushing in hopes of winning the cash prize has me depressed.
"How did the thesis on Dante's Inferno's go?"
The question causes the drink to get lodged in my windpipe. I half cough and laugh at the same time. You’ve got to be kidding me.
"Can this be any more scripted?" I hiss under my breath.
"The concept of me being in school is funny?"
I shrug, still not looking at her. "How many BET movies are there about the impoverished woman stripping to pay her way through college. It’s cliché is all I'm saying."
"I wish my daddy could shoot me funds from the liquor stores he owns or make me a manager at one of his hotels." She smirks.
Okay, now, she has my attention. I hit her with the full weight of my narrowed, light brown eyes. I instantly hate my disadvantage of being seated with her towering over me. The sneer I catch coming from Cheryl doesn't help either. I open my mouth to respond, but the woman does the unthinkable. She totally dismisses me. Not just verbally, but she withdraws her entire body by angling it away from me to address Cheryl.
"It went good. The professor stated that my explanations went deeper than the obvious to connect a level of humanity to the tortured souls."
"Wow, I never considered that as an angle. What was the grade?"
"An A with 50 bonus points." The woman grins.
"Shit! Are we talking about the same professor at Miami University?" chimes Cheryl.
"The same. Needless to say, business is booming." The woman chuckles.
My head darts back and forth as I stare into the mouths of the two women. Each time I try to interject, their voices cut me off. The act is pissing me the fuck off. My eyes widen when the woman holds her hand up to pause the conversation. With a tired sigh, she rolls her dark orbs before speaking to me.
"What do you have to say that's so important?"
Licking my lips in frustration, I hate the eyes that are on me, all waiting to see what I have to say. Being put on the spot like that makes me want to shrink like a child being called out. It also has me scrambling to ensure what I do say is important enough to warrant her attention. What the fuck? Suddenly, I smile as I remember something. The woman is in school studying psychology. If she finishes, she'll be a damn good one ‘cause she just played one hell of a mind game on me.
Lifting my glass, I laugh. "Good one. What year are you?"
She frowns.
"When will you graduate?" I ask, pronouncing the words slowly.
"I know what you were asking. I'm frowning because I'm wondering if you had been listening to the conversation going on, but I see you were pouting over being ignored instead," she explains, scooping up my empty glass.
Ray clears his throat. "She said before that she's self-educated. The work she does is for students enrolled at the college, you know, for a handsome fee," he ends in a whisper.
I work my jaw as anger courses through me. How in the matter of a few minutes did this woman make a goddamn fool out of me? I'm so stuck in the left lane that it takes me a few seconds to realize that she's gone back to the bar to refresh our drinks.
"Son of a bitch," I growl, getting to my feet. "Okay, Cheryl, I'll bite."
"As I knew you would." She smirks.
"It's still early in the game to celebrate," warns Armand.
"If you say so," is the last thing I hear with the rest being drowned under the music and the pounding in my head.
My hands gravitate to my suit to fix it only for me to snatch my hands back to my side. Why the fuck should I worry about how I look in this woman's eyes? Determined to flip the script, I'm on the defensive. The game of wit that I intend to win has my heart accelerating as I stroll closer to the bar.
"You forgot my order."
Shit, even to my ears I sound spoiled.
"Did I?"
I work my jaw. "Your hair confuses me. Did you pay to have it look nappy or is it natural?"
Her bushy eyebrow arches as she scoops ice into a mixer.
"Is that all you got? Shit, I really gave you way too much credit. Of all the rude remarks you could sling, you go with the hair." She tsks.
"You're a nasty little—”
"Now, that's it. Keep going." She nods.
Like before, she shuts me the fuck up. In awe, I just watch her as she works. Lost in thought, I marvel at being bested by a person I referred to as basic. No, she's far from it. The revelation excites me to no end. To have finally found a female who can match me mentally, to challenge me is thrilling. Quickly, I caution myself about getting ahead of things. Yet, the idea creates a stirring in me to reconnect with the world in a way I never thought was possible.
"Make mine a whiskey," I grumble at last. "I'm sorry." I damn near choke on the word, but I manage to get it out. "It's something about you that just gets under—”
"An apology doesn't weigh the same when you somehow place the blame on me."
"See, that there. Are you always a bitch?" I question.
Giving me her gaze, she quips, "Only when I'm making a point."
"Which is?"
"Your bank account doesn't justify your actions."
"Ironic coming from a person who's tending bar at a strip club. Are you not on the pole ‘cause you think you're better than them?"
She shifts on her feet. I crack a smile, thinking I've hit a nerve. The stone bleeds. Yes, it's petty of me to try to leave a mark, but that's a ruler for you.
"I work the bar because that's in my job description. As for working the pole, I used to, but the qualifications are a bit beyond me now, which is fine.
The stark meaning behind her explanation hits me hard. I won't offend her further nor will I make myself look even more of a douche bag than I already feel. My eyes retreat behind my lids to mirror as low as I felt. I swear I'm never this bullish without cause. However, I've never been challenged in ways that remind me of the most important woman in my life either. It's the fact that I'm stuck on staring at the motions of the woman's hands at work that I notice the slight gesture, the way she positions my whiskey on the bar’s countertop before pushing it towards me.
Tilting my head, I'm at a loss for words as I contemplate the reason why, while she loads a tray with the other drinks to return back to the table behind me.
"I'm not good enough to touch you?" I ask.
"Really? We both know that's not true, but I will honor you although you've been nasty to me. It isn't allowed for a man of your culture to be touched by a woman who isn't family or your wife," she schools me.
I blink rapidly. It takes me no time at all to fish my cell from the pocket of my jacket. The number is on speed dial, which allows me to keep an eye on the woman now across the room.
"Hel—”
"I need you to arrange something for me."
"I…I…yes, Your Grace."
"A girl…she works as a bartender at the Kings of Diamonds."
"Your Grace, I'm more than happy to see to your every whim. However, I can't force a person who is not under my employment," the elegant female points out.
"I don't expect you to force anything, but I do want you to persuade. Then again, hold that thought. I may not need you."
"Hold up. I'm sure I could—”
Whatever. I hang up the phone. Why pay a middle man when I have a hen in the pen? My attitude does a complete 360. With each step back to the table, I can feel my old self returning. Gone is the posh clown of before. Instead of trying to lead the conversation at the table, I become a part of it in hopes of showing a kind side to the woman. Settling back into my chair, I listen to the light conversation while she hands out the drinks to those around the table.
Leaning into her space, I whisper, "Chione." I breathe. "Am I reading that right?"
"Yes. Most people butcher it the first time."
I don't hide the smile on my face. This just keeps getting better. "I would be a disgrace if I couldn't speak the name that means daughter of the Nile."
"Very good." She laughs, impressed.
"Chadli," I speak, still using my brother's name as I offer my hand. Not surprised, she doesn't take it. "She doesn't want to bring me dishonor by touching a single man." I grin.
Ray perks up. "Are you of the faith?" he questions, confused.
"No, but I like to read. I might not understand the ins and out, but I can respect a person's beliefs," she admits.
"Is that so? What are your views on the covering of his women?" Armand asks.
He's not happy at my current interest in Chione. I can hear it in his undertones. He's about to pick up where I left off, and I'll be ready to put his ass in his place when he does.
She shrugs. "As I said, I don't care. Honestly, look at how the women are dressed in here, and how so many others walk on the streets. That's far worse than being covered. At least his women aren't being sexualized with their bits bobbing and hanging out."
"How nice. Too bad others aren't as tolerant as you. It must be the Haitian in you." He scoffs.
"Where are you getting Haitian from?" inquires Cheryl.
"She's so dark. I just assumed," Armand mumbles.
"You greasy motherfucker," snaps Chione.
I was going to speak up, but her comeback has me speechless.
"Yeah, see, I have no issues cussing you the fuck out ‘cause I can see you're just a wanna-be in the group. I got nothing against Haitians. What my problem is when you use a strong race like being from that country is low or something. Those people have to deal with that bullshit when all they want is to work and make a better life. For the record, my people came across the oceans in slave ships to build this piece of shit of a country. There's no need to try to put me down by mentioning my dark complexion. I get that all day, every day," she rattles off.
"You must have forgotten my grandma is Haitian, you fucker. What the hell you trying to say?" snarls Ray. "Nah, Nah, don't backpaddle shit now."
"Take your ass home," I order with a wave of my hand.
I would laugh at the flabbergasted expression on Armand’s face, but I don't want to make light of the moment in front of Chione. Am I going to use this to my favor? Fuck yeah.
"This is a joke, right? Now, all of a sudden, I'm in the wrong when you said—”
"Don't make me hurt you," I growl, leaning across the table.
; Taking his time getting to his feet, Armand, being the pussy he is, has to try for the last word. "Congratulations, Cheryl. I would have never thought you would have won the bet with this one." He smirks, thumbing his finger towards Chione.
If his comment bothered her, it didn't show on her pimpled face. Although she hid it, my guess is she's good at doing that. Nobody is immune to racism or rude remarks. You can let some shit roll for so long before it pisses you off.
Getting to my feet, I say, "Let me walk you out, fucker."
I chuckle at his wide-eyed stare when he pauses in his steps.
It takes me about 35 minutes to enjoy the moonlight with Armand before I return to the still hopping club. Well, it's jumping everywhere else except for the VIP lounge. I scan the mirror-walled area only to find it void of dancers and Chione.
"She asked about the bet." Not a question, but a statement. I knew it would be the first thing out of her mouth once I was gone.
"She did, and the others left to take a break after seeing you walk off," explains Cheryl.
I plaster my shoulders to the back of the chair in frustration. I dig inside my pocket and produce a wad of cash in a roll. Without a second thought, I place it before Cheryl. Her eyes light up at the sight.
"You win." I grin.
"Is that so?" she chuckles. "Nothing like a diamond in the rough."
"A diamond, eh?"
"Oh yes, she is that." Nods Ray.
"You know her?" I press.
"Not personally. It took me a second, but yes, I do even if she doesn't remember me."
I don't like the silent message Ray and Cheryl share across the table. What the hell are they keeping from me?
"It doesn't matter now. I'm sure it's all gone to hell now," I lie, hoping my act of defeat will cause them to let something slip.
"That might be for the best."
Raymond's comment is like a slap in the face.
"Now, I'm not going that far, Ray," interjects Cheryl.
"Oh, don't get me wrong." Ray tosses his hands up in surrender. "The girl is sweet, really," he promises me. "But the baggage is a headache you don't want."
A Desert King's Obsession Page 2
