by Love Belvin
“Shit!” My head snapped to the register in front of me, where Randi’s hand frantically scoured her oversized Louis Vuitton bag. “I didn’t throw my wallet in here when I switched bags. Dammit!” she barked.
I went inside my fanny pack for my wallet. “I got it.”
“Good looking.” That was it. That’s how she said thanks, for some reason.
“Nah! That ain’t her,” Tasche shouted from near the auditorium door.
I nodded my acknowledgment as I handed over cash to the guy at the register.
“Whaddup, Randi,” a deep, gruff voice called out. “My boss want you and ya people to watch the show from his suite.”
As the whopping figure of a guy neared us by the counter, Randi’s head swung back with full-on insolence. “What damn suite?”
His nub of a chunky thumb pointed behind him, and that’s when I saw he was followed by another tall man wearing an all-black suit, just as he was. “The Lexus Suite, or some shit,” his voice waned, but not his confidence or authority.
This was extra weird. Randi’s man, Ricky, was in the dark world, dealing guns. God only knew who would be requesting her by name.
And summoning her to a suite at The Garden?
“We just paid for our food,” she argued, and I got what she really meant.
That’s when a tiny woman—especially petite—wearing the same uniform of an all-black pantsuit approached us, counting out dollar bills. Her skin was the shade of peanut butter, big eyes bulged to caricature proportions, hawk nose swollen at the beak, and her body—posture, too—resembled a young boy.
She licked her fingers and peeled off at least two hundred-dollar bills and damn near shoved them into Randi’s hand. “What it do, though, Randi?” she emitted nasally, void of warmth.
The small woman’s empty smile read more like a leer. Her hair was braided down her back in cornrows and she wore no makeup. Randi looked spooked as the woman peered into her eyes.
“Who the fuck is your boss?” Randi croaked, affected.
“C’mon, man.” The big guy sniffled as he swiped his nose, then locked his palms at his waist and rolled back his broad shoulders. “You know who Rory boss be, Randi.”
From just at her shoulder, I could see Randi’s eyes fall to the floor as she rolled her tongue between her teeth and upper lip contemplatively. Her eyes rolled beyond me to cue Tasche and Brenda, who were now closer to us.
“Come on, y’all. At least we got a better view.” Her voice was dramatically deflated.
When the guy at the concession stand placed our tray on the counter, the big guy held out his hand. “Nah, homie. Y’all can keep that.”
I wasn’t offered a refund by Randi, likely because she was caught off guard by our invitation.
The tiny woman, Rory, strolled off with mild speed and one hand tucked into her pants pocket, displaying her confidence of us following. She was right. Randi began slowly, taking off on Rory’s heels. Brenda started right behind them. Seemingly at the same time, Tasche and I followed.
When we caught up with Randi, Tasche’s pebbly voice was able to murmur, “The fuck is this about, yo?”
Slowly, Randi answered, “I don’t know. Could be something shady because this guy knows I fuck with Ricky. But I don’t think they’re beefing.”
My brows met. “What does that mean?”
Randi’s eyes rolled. “He ain’t tryna’ hurt me. Probably sniffin’ around my ass.”
Oh…
“Mmmmhmmm!” Brenda agreed.
I was anxious. In fact, my heart began to beat against the wall of my chest. We walked to an elevator guarded by the arena’s staff. Our group of seven was let on, and the car descended as my mouth secreted with unease. Once again, we were following these people, passing more security, and to an unknown destination. Finally, we reached a door being held open by another black suited man, into a lounge area settled with dark leather sofas and candlelit coffee tables. The walls of the next area we passed into were lined with closed chafing dishes and a colorfully stocked bar. We stopped there, where I couldn’t help but waft in the delicious aroma of food.
“They here,” the Rory girl announced ahead, where I had the most incredible view of two women performing on stage from the lower bowl.
A man stood from the theater seats, suspended out into the general arena. Slowly, he turned with a tumbler in his hand. At first, I could only make out the contour of his shape. His fit, yet medium frame was capped in a dark fleece shirt and matching sweatpants. The jazzy lighting of the suite made the color indistinct. But what wasn’t was the radiance of the jewelry he donned around his neck. Three modest-sized pieces, but pure diamonds made up each link. His sleeves were rolled up three-quarters of the way as he placed the tumbler on the small peninsula countertop to the left of him en route to us.
“Fuck,” Randi swore lowly.
That’s when I recognized him.
The guy from the diner, whose name I couldn’t recall.
“Now, I’m believing me seeing you last week at Michelle’s wasn’t random.” Randi applied all the sauce she had bottled to express that.
But when did she see him at Michelle’s?
He cracked a grin that beckoned a squeeze in my groin. Then he ended his gait and faintly bounced back on his heels with spread legs. His hands slipped into the pockets of his fleece sweats, and his chin dipped slightly.
“Purely random, and this is coincidental.” His thick brows lifted. “Give my regards to Ricky, by the way.”
“How you figure this is coincidental? I don’t wanna be in the middle of a damn war between you two beasts.”
His snort was mild, too, but certainly effective. “I’ve got no beef with Ricky.” His eyes swept against my face, causing a shiver to course my spine. It had to be anxiousness. This was all unnerving. “Bilan’s making this coincidental tonight.”
Randi’s head whipped back to me, incomprehensible betrayal in her eyes. “What the fuck she have to do with this?”
Tasche shifted closer to me, protectively. Brenda mutedly observed the awkward exchange.
“I wanted the pleasure of enjoying Pixie with her, too.” The croak in his voice was dangerously illusory and powerfully seductive.
How was it that this guy was getting to me in ways patently effectual, compared to the first two times I’d encountered him? And, at this point, I believed him. Randi was not his target. It had to be me. Him sitting down at the booth last week with food already never struck me as suspicious. However, summoning us up to a luxury suite at a Pixie concert was starkly clear. The guy now had my attention.
As he gazed into me intensely, his eyes sparkled again with an agenda I still couldn’t determine. And when he traversed the small space, nearing me, my entire frame heated.
“There’s another act after this, then Pixie hits the stage. Can I offer you something to eat?” his voice…that commanding alto brushed velvety against my ear. I shook my head, biting on the inside of my lips. “Perhaps a drink?”
Perhaps? He used the word perhaps. I wasn’t used to hearing those types of adverbs off campus. And boy, did a drink sound like a perfect balm to my edginess now!
Without looking at him—because I couldn’t—I nodded.
He ambled over to the bar. “Anything in particular?”
“She don’t know how to drink,” Randi hissed. “A shot of anything’ll do, but just one. Me, Bren, and Tasche’ll take Hennessy.”
His eyes were on me when I found my regard shifting to him. There was shock-humor there in his golden irises. “You drink Hennessy?”
My God, did he smell magnificent! Why? Why was I so affected? Could it have been because I wasn’t in a familiar environment? Had to be. He was fine when I met him close to two weeks ago. He was even devilishly handsome last week. But tonight, he was dangerously tempting with his gorgeous features. Those full lips with the drop in the center of the top one, they did tricky things to my panties. And the orange in his five o’clock shadow
was a mix of dark brown and honey blonde. All natural on this very black man. How was this possible?
I shook my head because I didn’t drink Hennessy. It made me a performer. I couldn’t be that tonight.
“I didn’t think so,” he remarked. “Let’s try Ace of Spades to celebrate. Then if you’re interested, we’ll start making you a Mauve woman tonight.” His eyes were still sparkling with an inspiring emotion I couldn’t identify.
Mauve?
Yeah. He was definitely Randi’s speed. She was the only person in my basic world who got close enough to Mauve.
“They’ll take Hennessy,” Sadik murmured to a short man who’d just sauntered into the suite, dressed in all-black but for his burgundy vest, like a bartender. He poured two flutes of bubbly in a practiced manner. Then his gaze met mine. “You mind if we talk a little before Pixie hits the stage?”
I didn’t know what to say. Would that mean leaving my friends? That wasn’t going to happen. Besides, I was officially intimidated by him at this point. What Black people watched concerts from a suite?
Clearly noticing my hesitance, he clarified, “Just right here.” He pointed to the small lounge area behind me. “I’d like to continue the Christina C. Jones-inspired conversation.”
“What’s there to continue?” I finally found my voice.
He grabbed the flutes and sauntered over to the small lounge area. I watched as he quickly reached into a leather satchel on the floor aside the sofa. He pulled out a book I didn’t recognize. My eyes squinted as I tried to see the print on it.
“You’d see clearer if you were over here,” he teased with one cheek lifted.
That had me straightening. I glanced around to find Randi and Tasche’s eyes on me. Brenda was being handed a tumbler. Tasche mouthed to me with a hard regard, “go.”
Her dark eyes bulleted from me to the guy whose name I needed to be reminded of. “Y’all good, love. Enjoy.” Tasche then accepted the drink as she nodded and smiled. “We gone be right here watching the show. Holla if you need me.”
She turned to go claim a seat facing the stage. Tasche was sure to take Randi at the arm en route, forcibly breaking her deep gaping of me. Brenda followed them.
I turned back to face him, almost blinded by the jewels on his neck, and those of his eyes. I almost always had an aversion to guys with flashy jewelry. It was so immature to me, especially in my late twenties. But this guy’s was tasteful and a statement maker. It spoke wealth with a dash of pomposity.
“Seth?”
His brows lifted, exposing another gorgeous expression of his face. Then his muscles relaxed into a boyish grin. “Seth? I’m insulted.”
“Don’t be.” I shook my head, blinking excessively as I moseyed over to the lounge area. “I’ve met, I’m sure, at least a dozen guys whose names began with an S.” I took a seat, safely across from him.
The muscles around his eyes tightened, lips broadened, but his cheeks never rose. He was examining me, maybe?
“But I’m confident...” His delivery was velvety, tone cool, “...you’ve not encountered another Sadik.”
Sadik!
That was his name. It was unique, maybe ethnic? I didn’t know. It would make an interesting Google search.
I scratched the back of my neck as I nodded, eyes averted to the moving bodies in the suite. Sadik brought the book cover into my peripheral, reminding me of his topic of conversation. I turned for a better view.
“Haunted,” I murmured the title. “I haven’t read this one.”
He placed the book down on the coffee table between us. “I didn’t think you had. You said Love in Warm Hues was recommended. I can tell you she’s pretty good, even from the romance prose.”
I grabbed my champagne while fighting a smirk, suddenly roused by the conversation. “Oh, really? Do you read romance?”
With a soft smile, he shook his head. “I’m sorry to say I do not. It’s something you and I have in common.”
He remembered.
“So, what makes this book, Haunted, good?”
“I said she’s good. The woman seems to be entirely about the Black experience as it relates to the romance literary industry. Did you know she writes in two subgenres of romance?”
I cleared my throat nervously, raising the flute to my lips as I watched Sadik follow my every move. “What do you mean?”
“She writes paranormal and suspense. This one...” He pointed to the book between us. “…is paranormal. It’s some deep shit.”
I swallowed faintly sweet bubbly. “What makes it deep?”
“Several things, one being her illustrating a love…bond between a man and a woman that transcends time.” He dipped his chin for emphasis. “And I don’t mean ten to sixty years.” Sadik shook his head with tempting, pouty lips. “Nah. Centuries.”
“Centuries?” I parroted like an idiot, struck by that detail.
“Try four.” His tongue swept his lips as he sat up on the sofa. “This dude, Aram, loved this woman for the better part of one hundred years.”
I scoffed. “People don’t live that long!”
Sadik didn’t respond so quickly. In fact, he took a swig of his champagne, maintaining his gaze on my every movement. I found myself gaping in the area of his mouth when his tongue traced his top lip, chasing away the sparkling wine.
“Nah, but love does.” His fixated regard on me penetrated. “It’s a paranormal, Bilan.” The sound of my name falling from his lips was lenitive. “Stories of that genre defy time and physics. They’re metaphysical…supernatural, transcendental. Jones is so smart and…passionate about her campaign for Black love, she made it preternatural.”
My lungs shuddered as I exhaled, frustratingly affected by his vocabulary. No. I didn’t know all the words he used, but I understood them. However, it was him I didn’t get. Who in the world was Sadik?
“Why do you care?”
His forehead stretched, clearly bludgeoned by that untimed question. But smoothly, he recovered. “Why would I not?” Sadik sat back, stretching his arms across the back of the chair. “We’re talking about a novelist who dedicates her work to uplifting, illustrating, and promoting Black love. A man my age should be able to appreciate passionate cultural art.”
“How old are you?”
Again, Sadik didn’t answer right away. His regard was still intense on me, but for the first time, his confidence shillyshallied. His tongue ran against the inside of his bottom lip as he stalled.
“Thirty-eight.” He reached over for his champagne.
I sipped mine and swallowed, suddenly feeling emboldened by his sheer interest in me…and the bubbly, encouraging my glib energy.
“How old are you?” he countered.
“Twenty-eight.”
“And with no kids.” He remembered that, too.
“Unlike you.” I ducked my head for another sip, the flute nearly empty now.
“I don’t have any kids, Bilan.” His tone was resolute, body language unrattled.
“Yet.” My eyes swung over to the bodies moving about the suite. Behind me, Randi had just finished toppling her plate with food. The big security guy who shadowed us down here guarded the small hall leading to the door. For what? I swallowed back the remainder of the champagne. Then I realized I’d walked down a dead-end road. Why did I care he had a baby on the way? I’d had dozens of guys in the same position trying to approach me. Plus, I didn’t want to lead him to believe I cared. “So,” I let out a string of air. “You read?”
“I read a lot. Books, minds...bodies...”
“And I guess this is where I’m supposed to ask what mine are saying,” I murmured, unable to look at him.
He smelled so frigging good again.
“Your mind is saying shut me out. Your body is reminding you that you find me attractive.”
My eyes bulleted his way. I found Sadik licking the inside of that bottom lip again.
“It’s all good, Bilan.” His brows lifted, extended fingers d
rummed the arms of the leather chair. “I find you distractingly attractive myself,” he rattled off casually.
I found my head twisting, eyes averting to my friends behind me as I fingered my neck. That’s when it dawned on me.
“You sure you understand who I am?”
“What do you mean?” He pulled out a ringing phone before discovering it wasn’t the device sounding, then pulled out another.
I watched as he observed the screen, then tapped to ignore it. Sadik’s eyes had only left my face for a split second.
“I mean, I’m not that girl. I know I’m friends with Randi, but we don’t run in the same circles.”
“Bilan, I may not know much about you, but give me credit for knowing you’re an unknown in the whole state of New Jersey.”
My neck jerked, head popped back. “And you would know?” Sarcasm lined my words.
“More than I care to admit,” he murmured so quickly while retrieving his champagne glass, I had no faith in my ears. He quickly gulped down the last of it.
“I don’t know what that means, but my point is I’m not looking for a man, and especially not drama.”
His head shifted slightly to the right as his eyes narrowed on me. Sadik’s dangerous smirk lifted on his face. “I’m drama?”
A blast of applause rang out in the arena behind me. My head swung around as Tasche called over to us.
The dark-skinned stripper yelled back into the suite just as Bilan whipped her head around. That gave me a view of her tapered cut in the back and her long neck. As nice as the view was, I was missing those brown splatters dotting her sculpted cheekbones. “Pixie ‘bout to hit the muthafuckin’ stage, yo!”
That’s when I heard the crying horns announcing an introduction. The show was about to begin. It felt like we’d began our brief exchange just two words ago. Bilan turned back toward me. Her eyes bounced around after their initial brush against me. And again, she was stumped. She’d found herself in that bewildered state often in this short stretch of time.
Bilan stood, eyes tightened and lips pursed. “You may not think you are, but your incoming baby spells it out.”
