Keeping Busy

by Tracy Gray

  “That was an act.”

  “Sure ain’t look like no act to me.”

  “Busy kissed me tonight. Like, for real kissed me.”

  “This is the first time he’s kissed you?”

  “Yeah, Joy.”

  “Uhm, I would’ve thought he was tonguing you down from day one. The way he was looking at you, though. He had me ready to take Nasir to the bedroom.”

  “We do have chemistry.”

  “Yeah, you do. So, I’m guessing that the kiss was everything and now you’re bugging. You stay too much in your own head, MeMe.”

  “I don’t trust anybody more than I trust me. I don’t like letting other people in my head.”

  “Or your heart.”

  “Agreed.” I said resolutely. It was my truth, I wasn’t going to deny it - especially not to Joya, who knew me too well to believe an obvious lie.

  “Well, if you wanted somebody to tell you to jump on that D, and let Busy bang out, you would’ve called Clarke...or River. Since you called me, you must want the real.”

  “Plus, you’re older than us. Your opinion isn’t colored by a past, misplaced crush on Busy. You can be unbiased.”

  “Where are you crossed up? Did you not like the kiss? Liked it too much?”

  I sighed heavily, because I was about to have to admit the truth to my “big” cousin, and in the process, admit the truth to myself. “I like everything Busy does to me. I like it when he hugs me, holds me, touches me, kisses me, and he gives me these foot massages. I’m walking around in a constant state of...arousal, every time we’re together. But at the same time, I don’t trust Busy.”

  “Name me one person that you do trust, MeMe.”

  “You.”

  “One male person.” She paused. “Besides Uncle B. and Cairo.”

  “I trust Brandon Mayhew, and Nasir.”

  “But you will never be in a romantic relationship with either of them. At least you better not ever be in a romantic relationship with Nasir.”

  We both chuckled.

  “Here’s my advice, girl - be open to the possibilities. Even if they freak you out, try to be open to them. When I met Nasir, I didn’t trust anybody, even myself. So, you’re one step ahead of me, because at least you trust yourself. And I won’t lie, Nasir did fumble my heart. He did mishandle me and it hurt like hell, but to get where we are right now in life, I would do it all over again.”

  “Yeah, you can say that, now, Joy. But when you were on your Jazmine Sullivan, and wanting to “bust the windows out his car,” you were probably wishing that you had left Nasir exactly where you found him.”

  “You’re right.” She conceded. “But Busy isn’t Nasir. There’s no guarantee that he’s gonna do the same stupid stuff Nasir did. Look, I don’t know athletics like I know the music industry, but I do follow Busy’s social media. I don’t see him loved up with women on there. It’s pretty tame, Mecca.”

  “His social media might be tame, but if his personal life was tame, he wouldn’t need me to pretend to be his girlfriend to clean his shit up.”

  “So, do you just wanna argue? Cuz if so, I’m going back to bed. I’ve got a whole husband that I could be snuggled up against right now.” She stood up and started to leave her walk-in closet.

  “I’m not trying to argue, Joy. I’m just trying to...process.”

  “Busy wilded out when his grandmother died. I know something about people reacting poorly to the death of someone close to them, cuz Nasir smooth went down the rabbit hole when his best friend was killed. I don’t think the mess that Busy went through with that Ainsley Neuberg hoe, is his general character. I think that was grief, and hurt and sadness. Stop making excuses to deny yourself that boy’s attention. I know that’s what it is Mecca, at least part of it. You know Dr. Marva said that some part of you gets a little thrill from having the self-discipline to deny yourself where other people would give in to their nature.” She lowered her voice, and it was filled with love and concern. “Sometimes self-denial is a punishment. Don’t take pride in punishing yourself. You don’t deserve it. You deserve the attention of someone as kind, gorgeous, sexy, successful, protective and skilled at foot massages as Busy.”

  “Tell Mecca that Maddox Mayhew wants her ass, and come back to bed.” I heard Nasir say. “The entire time y’all was over here, dude never took his eyes off you. He was definitely giving off proprietary vibes.”

  I smiled in spite of myself. “Thanks, Joy-Joy. Thanks, Nasir. Go back to bed. We’ll talk when I get back from Kentucky.”

  I heard Joya’s gasp. “You’re going to Kentucky with him?”

  “Yeah, tomorrow night. We’re attending some type of season kick-off, training camp kick-off, back-to-school barbecue on Sunday.”

  “Back-to-school? You’re crazy. How long are you gonna be in Kentucky?”

  “I think we’re coming back Monday.”

  “Have fun.” She sang.

  Mecca

  8

  The flight from Chicago to Londynville, Kentucky was short, especially when you considered the fact that we took a private jet. There was no check-in, no TSA, no baggage claim, no waiting at our gate. In a little more than an hour, Maddox and I were deboarding the plane and sliding into the backseat of a black Infiniti QX80.

  On the plane ride, Maddox told me that he’d put what he referred to as “the house of shame” on the market after the Ainsley Neuberg situation. We were going to stay at his new place in the heart of the city, downtown Londynville.

  When the driver brought the truck to a stop and I saw where we were, I got majorly excited. His place was a red brick, converted firehouse. The doors where fire engines used to race from the building had been transformed into an oversized picture window, with a large flower box in front. The door that led into the home was painted...wait for it, fire engine red.

  “Busy.” I said looking over at him in shock.

  He tried his hardest to hide the smirk that was threatening to overtake his lips, but he was losing the battle. “What?”

  “It’s a firehouse. You didn’t tell me it was a firehouse.”

  “It’s not. It’s just a house. Ain’t no scantily clad firemen up in here, so your little firefighter fantasies aren’t about to come true.” He teased.

  “This is gorgeous.” I jumped out of the truck without waiting for Busy to open my door for me like I usually would. I walked around the side of his home, taking in the beautiful red brick. When he joined me on the side of the house, I spoke again. “This brick is amazing. I love Chicago brick, love it. But for this project, I do prefer the more uniformed look of a manufactured brick.”

  “What do you know about that?” He asked, looking at me strangely. “You spend your free time rehabbing homes or something?”

  “You know my little cousins own a design business. I hang around their projects sometimes.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Sometimes, I think about going back to school for design. Plus, you know I watch a lot of HGTV.”

  We both chuckled.

  The driver appeared with our bags in tow. “Your bags, Mr. Mayhew.”

  “You wanna stand out here admiring the bricks, or do you want to see the inside?”

  I smiled up at the beautiful man who owned the beautiful home. “I wanna see the inside.”

  I waited impatiently, bouncing on the balls of my feet with anticipation as he unlocked his front door, and entered the code into his alarm key-pad.

  I really should’ve been embarrassed by how brand new I was acting. I mean, Bryan and Janaye Goode had shown my siblings and me the world. They’d exposed us to travel, culture, high society, and privilege, but Busy’s house was something different. It was perfection. If somebody had given me his exact house with a blank footprint, I would’ve created the exact same space, or at least tried to.

  I stayed mum while the driver set our bags in the middle of the floor, thanked Maddox and went on his way, leaving Maddox and me alone in the space standing right by the front door. I
took in the open floor plan, the finishes, the furnishings, the exposed brick, the stunning ash wood floors, and I was in love.

  I turned my gaze to my childhood neighbor, who was clearly now all grown up. “Would you marry me, so I can live in this house?”

  He watched me silently, and I could tell that he was calculating his response. He was taking so long to reply, that I was about to let him know that I was only joking, when he finally spoke. “If I marry you, do I get to touch you the way I can’t stop imagining touching you?”

  It was my turn to contemplate and ponder my response. How to answer that question? Should I make a joke and bring some levity back to the conversation, or give him the answer that had immediately popped into my mind?

  “Anytime you want, as long as you promise to make it worth it.” Why did you say that? I asked myself the second after the words left my mouth.

  Raising one eyebrow, he stared at me. His words were just above a whisper, like he was concerned that if he spoke too loudly, I would bolt, but I knew that was based on the expression that was probably on my face. “I can make it worth it.”

  Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair, because I needed something to do with my hands.

  “What are you thinking, Mecca?” His deep voice stirred something inside the depths of my stomach, summoning butterflies where there hadn’t been any before.

  I sighed, again and was honest. “I’m thinking that you think you wanna go there with me, but it’s really not worth the effort.”

  The confusion he felt at my statement was obvious from the expression on his face. “What’s not worth the effort? You?”

  “Trying to pursue something with me.”

  “Why? You aren’t interested?”

  I couldn’t help smiling, even through the screw-face I was giving him. “Have you looked in a mirror lately, Busy?”

  He smiled back at the compliment.

  “Of course I’m interested. You already know that.”

  “I thought you were, but this conversation is throwing me off.” He shared.

  “Sorry.”

  “Nah, don’t be sorry. Talk to me.”

  I took another look around our surroundings. I didn’t get how we went from joking around about the fabulousness of his place, to...this. “Busy, if I promise that we can circle back around to this later today, will you let me rock - at least until after I settle in and unpack my bag?”

  He studied me for a few seconds. “Yeah, if you give me a kiss.”

  “Give you a kiss? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious. Look Pudding, it’s obvious that you’ve got something going on. I can respect that, and give you the space to work it out, but you aren’t a delicate flower. You can handle me. Come handle me, girl.”

  He was right, I wasn’t a delicate flower. “You’re lucky I like kissing you.” I told him, as I stepped closer.

  He pulled my body to his. “I am lucky.” He agreed, backing me up until my back was pressed against the front door, then covering my mouth with his.

  Tingles surged through my entire body, like Busy had overloaded a circuit inside of me. Yep, this confirms it, I thought to myself as Busy’s tongue took control. I love kissing this man.

  His mouth was just like the rest of him, powerful and commanding. Plus he was greedy and demanding. He put his fingers in my hair, and I could barely concentrate on his tongue work, because his fingers were sending shockwaves from my scalp all through my body. I moaned in his mouth, and he deepened the kiss.

  That was when the trouble started, because that was when Candie (which would be my vagina) decided to get involved. I wasn’t like one of those heroines in a romance novel whose coochie jumped every time the hero’s character entered the scene. I prided myself on keeping a tight leash on Candie. I liked control and discipline in every aspect of my life, and she was no exception. Except apparently where Busy was concerned, because she was tingling, throbbing and making her presence known.

  Breaking the kiss, Busy whispered in my ear. “You don’t even know how badly I wanna say some nasty shit to you right now, then do some nasty shit to you.”

  He didn’t even know how much I wanted him to say some nasty shit to me, and do some nasty shit to me right then.

  He continued, “I’mma let you rock, like you asked. But just so you know, I can’t make any promises about how long I’mma be able to keep my hands to myself.” He shook his head. “We will revisit what we touched on earlier.”

  I agreed, not really concentrating on his words, because my damp panties were distracting me. “Okay. uhm, give me the tour.”

  He grinned, gesturing around the open space. “Cool, this is the foyer, and the living room. Over there’s the dining room and the kitchen. Come on.” He led me through the spacious living room, where there was a makeshift wall. To the left of that, there was a short hallway. “Behind that wall is the family room, but down this hallway, there’s a bathroom, my weight room, and a guest room.”

  “Is this the only guest room?”

  “There’s a guest room upstairs. Why?”

  “Uhm, I would feel more comfortable if I weren’t left alone on the lower level of your mini-mansion. I mean, do I have to fend for myself should somebody come through one of these picture windows looking to secure the entire bag? I’m a guest, Busy. I think if somebody comes up in here, they should at least have to defeat your big ass first, so I have time to come up with an escape plan.”

  He laughed uproariously. “You’re wild as hell, Pudding. Let me take you upstairs. I can’t have you being put in harm’s way on my watch.”

  I followed him up a set of industrial looking iron stairs in the middle of the room. At the landing, he turned around, pinning me with his eyes while he teased me. “And just so you know, I’m totally wit’ it if you wanna sneak in my room and take advantage of me. You know I’m weak for you, girl.”

  “I’ll try to behave myself.” I deadpanned.

  He busted a left turn, so I followed him. He led me to a darkly furnished, but brightly lit bedroom. “The bedroom downstairs is nicer…”

  “I won’t care how nice the room is if I’m bleeding out in it, Busy.”

  “I never knew you were this dramatic, Pudding. When my grandmother was trying to play matchmaker, she never mentioned your annoying characteristics.” He rolled my bag into the room behind him.

  “Forget you. What are we doing tonight, anything?”

  “Nope.” He shook his head, eyeing me like he was trying to gauge my reaction. “Just me and you.”

  “Okay.” I nodded easily. “So, you wanna help me pick out something to wear to this team bonding thingy you’re taking me to tomorrow?” I looked up at him with humor in my eyes. “I mean, I gotta make you look good.”

  “You always make me look good, Mecca.”

  I chuckled. “You always say that, Busy.”

  “Because it’s true. You’re making me look so good, that I’m already starting to wonder how I’mma let you go when it’s time.”

  I stared into his deep brown eyes. Busy was distractingly gorgeous, and self confident as hell. He had the kind of looks, and demeanor that could have you out here making a damn fool of yourself. It took a lot of concentration on my part not to let him see how much he affected me. “You thinking about trying to make me a more permanent fixture in your life, Busy?”

  “Hell yeah, I am. Am I not being clear? Ever since I left your place last night, all I keep thinking is that if I had listened to my grandmother way back then, when she first started trying to get me to pay attention to you…”

  I don’t know what came over me, but at that moment I wanted to kiss him, to feel his lips against mine. I let my hands find the hem of the t-shirt he was wearing and tugged him towards me. He was amenable to it, coming closer to me, then wrapping me in his embrace and bringing his mouth down to mine, as I stood on my toes. He kissed me passionately, sucking my tongue, claiming my mouth as his own.

  Candie thu
mped excitedly. Relax, momma. I told her telepathically. We are not having sex with Busy. First of all, having sex before you determine the nature of the relationship is hustling backwards, and that is some shit that I do not do, and you know that. Secondly…

  “Mecca, where’d you go, Baby?” Busy asked, his warm breath by my ear, as he questioned me softly.

  Silly me, I hadn’t even realized that he’d broken the kiss. “Huh?”

  Placing his hand on my chin, he gently tilted my head up, so that we were gazing at each other. “Where’d you go?”

  I stood there blinking, positive that I looked like a big fool as I tried to figure out what words to say to appease him, because he looked genuinely concerned.

  “No where.” I lied poorly.

  His head fell to the side, and he twisted his lips in a way that let me know exactly how much he wasn’t buying what I was selling.

  “Uh…”

  “Talk to me.”

  I threw a hail Mary. “Aren’t we gonna be late?”

  “For what, Ma? Hanging out together on my couch? Talk to me.”

  “It’s just a bad habit. A really bad habit.”

  “Letting your mind wander while you’re kissing?”

  “Letting my mind wander during all kinds of intimate situations. All kinds, Busy. Catch the emphasis.”

  “You let your mind wander during sex, Mecca? On purpose or is this some kind of medical condition?”

  I wanted to laugh, because really, what the hell medical condition caused a reaction like mine? But the expression on his face was serious, so I matched his energy. “A therapist told me once that it’s a defense mechanism, a way for me to maintain control.”

  “Self-discipline even in the harshest of circumstances. I mean, your body wants to let go, and give in, but to give in would mean you have to give up control.”

  “Why do you understand this?”

  “B.S. in Psychology. Hale Williams University, class of 2011.” He joked. “Besides, I’m an athlete, I know all about the pride that comes from self-denial and mental strength. Playing through strains, pulls and even breaks. Pushing your body to its limits - mentally compartmentalizing pain...or in your case, pleasure. That shit’s not healthy.”