“Oh shit, BG. We see you. Okay, rake ‘em up!” Jordan yelled enthusiastically.
“You cool with that, Leiland?” she asked since I had never responded to her declaration. I leaned forward and covered half of the small card table with my elbows rested on top and my hands together. I knew she was attempting to lighten the tension between the two of us, and I can admit, I appreciated her trying, so I went with it.
“Indeed, Sparx.”
A few hours later…
“Eleven, I will never be your partner again! It’s like you just forgot how to count at the exact moment you suggested a game that requires counting.”
“Don’t blame me because you lost.”
“What do you mean, I lost? We lost! We were supposed to be a damn team, girl,” Jordan barked, pouring himself a shot of Remy.
“Shut up, and take the shot. We don’t want to hear all that bickering. Be a man about that ass whoopin’,” Billie said, teasing and winking at me.
By this time, we had played four games of dominoes, and Billie and I were whipping their asses. They were both barely hanging on due to the alcohol, and to be clear, Jordan didn’t play any better than his partner, regardless of what he thought.
“I’ll be right back. Have to use the restroom.” Without thinking, I turned to admire that walk she had.
It’s like she floated—or more like maybe a glide. Hell, I don’t know, but I enjoyed watching it.
I kept my eyes glued to Sparx’s body until she disappeared behind a door. I knew she was aware of my staring too, because twice she stopped mid-step as if she wanted to turn and say something but thought otherwise. I wish she hadn’t because I was interested in whatever caused her to have stuttered steps.
Not even three minutes later, Eleven’s head was down on the table and a snore was escaping her. Jordan at some point got out of the chair and climbed on the love seat.
“Wow, everyone went to sleep on us?” she asked, rejoining me in the living room.
“You want to play another game? I’ll make sure to go easy on you, considering our past partnership,” I told her with a mischievous grin. I had long removed my jean jacket giving my tattoos room to breathe. At work, I’m forced to wear long sleeves because my tattooed arms aren’t “acceptable”.
Not to sound cocky, but I knew Billie was quiet because she was staring at me. Still standing, she used the chair Jordan had previously occupied to balance herself. Just by looking in her eyes, I could tell she wasn’t only intoxicated but tired.
“What? You don’t want to play with me anymore, Sparx?”
Her cheekbones met her eyes as she said what was on her mind.
“No, it’s not that. Just thinking about how I may not want this partnership to end. It’s just now getting good. Don’t you agree, Leiland?”
My stomach tightened at the sound of her words, especially with the emphasis she put on my name.
“Damn. You have to think on it that long?” she asked, poking one hip out like she was double-jointed and placing a hand on her hip.
“Are you going to give me time to respond or are you going to keep talking? I’m sure your mother popped you in the mouth plenty of times for speaking out of turn when you were a kid.” I didn’t want to be rude, but it was important that Sparx respected me as a man. She needed to understand the importance of that from jump. I had never dated an African-American woman, but the stereotypes weren’t allowed here. I wouldn’t be giving Sparx keys to run over me, regardless of the stigma that white men who date black women are ran over. Fuck no.
Judging by the shift in her stance and her eyes leaving mine, it was apparent something caught her attention.
“Are you hungry?”
“I could eat. With all the liquor in me, I’m sure food can’t hurt.” Standing from my seat, I followed Sparx into the kitchen. I expected her to go to the refrigerator and check for breakfast, but instead, she leaned against the white, tile countertop, so I took the initiative.
“You ask a man if he’s hungry, he’d expect for you to cook,” I told her teasingly as I removed two packs of bacon from the fridge along with breakfast sausage.
“Wait, do you know how to cook, because I can’t afford to have to replace this pretty townhouse. Everything I think I have put aside for Crunch would be a wrap!”
I looked over at her as she tried to hoist herself onto the countertop but failed. The liquor had her balance off.
“What is Crunch?”
“Crunch is my baby. Soon to be the most popping cereal bar in Long Beach or Torrance, haven’t decided. Then eventually all of California. I’ve been saving up for it since I was younger and hope to open up within the next sixteen months.”
“Wow, that’s different. Creative, really. I’ve never heard of a cereal bar, but from the name alone, it sounds legit. I hope to be around to see your dreams come to fruition.”
Walking over to her, I slid my hands underneath her arms and placed her down on the marble surface. Our eyes locked, and I could have sworn I heard the latch in my head. Never breaking eye contact, we grinned at one another like children with crushes. I was drunk, and she was beautiful.
This woman really has my grown ass blushing.
Considering the pigment of my skin, I knew my face was as red as a cherry Mustang. With only her eyes on me, I felt dissimilar inside from our contact, and I knew I wouldn’t be content with this being enough. Sparx lifted her arms and circled my neck furthering our embrace; reassurance had never found its way to me quicker.
“Please tell me this won’t the last time I can be in this space with you,” I told her sincerely.
Pausing for a second before opening her mouth, she gave time to words that never escaped. Her eyebrows had crushed into her hairline and beautiful orbs had stretched. She appeared bewildered and caught which was a complete contrast to the shit talking, quick on her toes beauty I had been observing for the last few weeks.
Bringing my hands to the first button on her night top, I unfastened it. I didn’t look at her face for a reaction until I was down to the third button. The way her breathing patterns varied, I knew there was a shift in her body when her skin felt hot but chill bumps dancing on her exposed thighs.
The material fell slightly from her shoulder. which was my objective. I hated that I had to go through so much undressing to get to what I wanted.
Different men have different sweet spots on a woman. Places on a lady that they are absolutely obsessed with, and the curve of a woman’s neck down to the length of her shoulder was mine.
Forcing the fabric and strap from her bra out of my way, her right shoulder was bare aside from the kisses I’d painted on her. Forceful and eager but gentle with her skin; it was delicate.
Being this close had her pheromones beckoning me, and her sexy ass gave off a sweet aroma. Like someone had mixed strawberries and bananas together.
Sparx’s head fell back resting on the cabinet, and her large eyes were hooded. Pushing her breasts to me, that was my invite to move the kisses lower. She had already removed an arm from around my neck and dropped it down to my waist. I knew things were getting heated when she pulled my pelvis to hers so she could grind her pussy against the knot in my jeans.
“Sssss, mmm.”
She made a sizzling sound that was by far one of the most seductive moans I’d ever heard escape a woman, and as bad as I wanted to say forget it, I knew I needed to slow things down, so regrettably, I pulled away from Sparx.
I kissed the bridge of her nose, then the center of her palm before going to the stove and placing the skillet on the burner. I washed my hands before layering the cast-iron hardware with meat. We didn’t speak, she just watched me move around the kitchen in comfortable silence. Before long, she’d leaped down from the countertop and started cutting a few potatoes I had pulled out along with the breakfast meat.
“All that thickness, I knew you had to be able to cook something other than boiled eggs. Don’t be rude either, cut enough potat
oes for everyone,” I warned, smacking her ass.
“Uugh, do I look like Hattie Mae to you or something? I didn’t come over here to cook.”
“I don’t think you came over here to end up with your ass on your cousin’s sink area either, but shit happens.”
“Touché. I guess you have a point. But for your information, I never said I couldn’t cook. I’m a twenty-five-year-old black woman raised by her grandfather. Please believe I cook in the kitchen along with a handful of other places.” She flirted, sticking her tongue out and swirling her hips.
“But seriously, I can cook. My grandfather made sure to teach all us girls to be independent or co-dependent if ever we became someone’s wife, like Ms. Jupiter up there. Luckily, I haven’t had to deal with having to feed a man. I mean other than the cookie.”
“And I could bet your grandfather didn’t have anything to do with you adding that to the menu.”
Her boldness had a permanent smile plastered on my face which had been foreign for the last two years. Regardless of what she said, or didn’t say, this wouldn’t be the last time I was in her space.
And I could bet money she wanted me there too.
Billie
The clay between my fingers served as a vessel of empowerment. I had been into ceramic since I was eight years old, and the older I get, the more I appreciated the calming nature of pottery. I mold, shape, and control the result, and I was grateful for that power. Even when the shape looked to be undone, I could either eliminate or add extra to fit the sculpture into my mold. I hadn’t found that much control in any other area of my life, so I held extra tight to that one.
It was Tuesday, my first day off of work for the week, and I was where I usually could be found if not at work or home. Swirl, a small ceramic shop in the heart of Torrance is where I enjoyed spending my free time. Otherwise, you could catch me at the graveyard earning extra coins for my business.
The idea to open my own business stemmed simply from the uniqueness and the outlet I’d have to sell my mugs and bowls. When I mentioned my business plan to Pappy, he wasn’t feeling it, said there wasn’t enough variety on my menu, but I disagreed.
I already had two investors that seemed promising, and once I was able to secure a place to host my pop-up shop to give people a glimpse of Crunch, naysayers would have no choice but to respect my technique, and the affirmations aligning my crazily painted art room made me believe it.
Crunch would serve everything pertaining to cereal. From custom oats and granola imported from France, to an array of different types of milks; almond, soy, hell, even Taro. I planned to have it all to accommodate any type of guest. I had this cute idea to give away custom cereal boxes when a guest made reservations to have their birthday breakfast with us.
Then Leiland popped into my mind.
Maybe it was the discussion of milk that brought the handsome vanilla wafer to the forefront of my thoughts, or the text I got from him going in on me about not saying anything before dipping out this morning. Whichever it may have been, he sat there swinging those long legs on the edge of my brain.
Being so close to him was crowding me once I made it home. I actually came to Swirl to try and obliterate his fine ass from my brain. It wasn’t working.
Normally in this type of situation, I would do a house call. Trench coat cinched at the waist, staying only long enough to let my well of nectar to run as she may and then be out before the dude could try with the cuddling. I didn’t want to handle Leiland that way.
I wanted to do the exact thing with Leiland, but my reasoning was different, and I had no idea how to sort that. Never had to figure it out.
Most men were OK with being sex buddies, penis/pussy partnas, but something about Leiland screamed commitment.
Thinking of what Eleven mentioned yesterday about my last sleepwalking episodes, I cleaned my hands off on my smock and texted my cousin for some logic.
After Leiland and I ate breakfast in sweet silence, we relaxed on the couch staring at the stars through their cornered skylight. Right when his eyes shut for longer than ten minutes, I slid off of him and snuck out. I’d left Jupiter’s house hours ago, and she’d been blowing up my phone since I tiptoed out that joint. I knew neither was going to be happy, but I didn’t give a damn. The entire time it was just the two of us, he more than once mentioned seeing each other again. Romantically.
And that was my cue to get the hell away from him. Messing around with him, I had to go home and use the new toy I’d bought from the Pleasure Party Chick. Leiland’s tongue was longer than anything I’d had the pleasure of riding but what surprised me the most was the safeness I felt when he kissed from my earlobe down my shoulder.
Checking my reflection in my cell phone, I admired the self-made, green, creeping sedums flower crown surrounding my head, it looked like a Snapchat filter.
Much as I often did, I contemplated calling my sister Carmen, but that quickly vanished. Our relationship had been weird over the years, and after she moved to Vegas for school and refused to return home after graduation, I stop depending on our relationship to fill a void. She rarely came home during the holidays, and even now, she only visited when she wanted to be bothered. I needed someone with an unbiased opinion, and Carmen wasn’t going to offer that. Five years older than me but still just as damaged.
Knowing Jupiter would be talking shit. I decided against texting. Instead, I called. Her fast-fingers-moving ass texts a mile a minute, and I knew she wouldn’t give me a fair chance to answer any questions about me and Leiland before a flood of others came through. Shit, I didn’t know the deal with us, and I was hoping her voice of reason could put it all into perceptive for me. I actually hoped her advice pushed me into him because if I’m being honest that’s exactly where I wanted to be.
Leiland
“Ma!” I yelled, letting myself into my mother’s triplex apartment located in the city of Inglewood.
“Leiland, I’ve told you about coming in here with all that yelling. I could have had a client back here, and you’re making all this noise. One day you’re going to come in here yelling and give me a heart attack.” Looking at the apron draped around her waist, I knew she was about to start dinner.
“Please, don’t talk like that, lady,” I called behind her as she led me to the den.
I had been dealing with an illness for years that affected my life daily. I didn’t joke about death, and my mother knew that.
“Yeah, let that sink in for the next time you come in here screaming.” She chastised.
“Point taken. Now that you’ve planned your death, can we move on?”
I flopped down on the couch before immediately noticing the mail in the center of the coffee table. Took me weeks to finally make it over here, and just as I thought, my tribulations sat waiting.
My mom went to the kitchen and seconds later, emerged with a fruit platter. Placing the tray on the table, she made herself comfortable beside me on the couch.
“Proceed.”
I leaned over, kissing her olive-toned cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m doing good, son. I’ve started doing yoga in the mornings and even found a partner. I’m definitely enjoying my summer off since I decided not to teach this time around. I needed a break.”
My mother, Janet Greyson, had been a teacher for the Gardena School District for close to fifteen years, and though she wasn’t even half a century old, I was ready for her to retire.
My mother wasn’t the average teacher. She didn’t get up and go to work only for a check. She’s helped her students with everything from trips to Disneyland to raising money for college. She treated them like human beings instead of just kids, and as long as the respect was given, my ma was it dishing it out.
“How’s work? You know I worry about you out there. People are freaking crazy. They should have you guys partner up. To this day, I don’t know why you chose to go into this profession. Granted, it’s a step up from the illegal mess you were
into on that bike, but the mental and emotional abuse can’t be good for your health.”
I grinned watching my ma sipping coffee at six in the afternoon like a little old lady with a frown on her face. Probably recalling some of the stories I’d shared with her. My job could be dangerous, and although I wasn’t a confrontational person, I was far from a punk.
“Work is fine. I received an email from Google the other day. They’re requesting to view my portfolio. They have a few openings on their social graphics team, and if they are impressed, I’ll have a new gig.”
“That’s incredible, Leiland!” she exclaimed hugging me with one arm. “What exactly will you be doing? Have you responded or submitted your work yet?”
“I did respond, but no, I haven’t sent anything over yet. I’m still waiting for some nerves on want I submitted, but I have a few ideas in my bag. They gave me a four-week deadline and said they’d like up-to-date work included. I’ll be incorporating my motion graphics into their social media campaigns. You know when you launch Google in your web browser and there are those creative animation videos or cool graphics incorporated with the Google name, I’m thinking along those lines.”
“Where is Preston?” I blurted once I noticed I had been there for ten minutes and my youngest sister hadn’t come in begging for anything. Pres is my youngest sister and the only one of us still living at home. True, when I graduated I moved, then came back and bullshitted around for a few years. My ma made it no better by letting me stay home damn near rent free. Running the streets with The Shepherds, I earned more than enough to leave my mother’s bosom, though I was accustomed to having that cushion. But soon enough, I got a damn clue, especially once my Ma told me it was time to go out on my own. She was right.
I love my sister to death but, honestly she’s twenty and lazy, which is a perfect combo for a young adult but still. Pres quits every job she gets, refuses to at least go to school, and only comes home to wash her clothes and her ass. Her twin Phebe is the complete opposite.
Loving You Through Our Differences Page 6
