Controlled Chaos

by Christina C Jones

  I… was the middle child, definitely.

  I took on all the responsibility my brothers lacked, keeping us on track to not be the kind of slackers that were expected. We, easily, could rest on our haunches, depending on family money to fund a luxury lifestyle.

  I didn’t want that.

  Not for myself, or my brothers, and I considered myself lucky that they didn’t want that either – though as the unexpected baby of the family, Addison had been touch and go on the fuckshit for a while. We’d worked in the business all our lives basically, because it was our legacy.

  81st and Clarke was ours.

  And I’d be damned if a secondary business venture would cause us to fold.

  “Whateva nigga,” Aiden muttered, dismissing himself from my office – a relief, because the last thing I wanted was shit between us getting ugly. No matter what, we understood each other – understood when it was time to take a step back to not cross any lines it’d be hard to come back from.

  With him gone though… it meant I could go back to what I was doing before he came into my office.

  I’d been down a rabbit-hole of distraction.

  When Drew asked if I’d looked her up, the answer to that had been a resounding yes, but I’d only ventured as far as her bio on Sugar&Spice, and a short profile the magazine had recently done on her. It was part of how I’d bided my time between running into her at the restaurant and getting inside of her.

  I hadn’t gone further, because looking at her made it very hard to play along with her game of not getting myself off.

  Now though… I’d been all over her Facebook page, her website, peeped the stuff she talked about on twitter. This morning, I’d hit the fucking motherlode – her Instagram account.

  It was an amalgamation of – seemingly – everything that made Drew… Drew. Selfies, food, beaches, drinks, friends, the gym, art, more food, shoes. There was one picture of particular interest to me, from about six months ago.

  A side by side composite kinda thing.

  On the left was a shot clearly taken by a male date – the kinda shit you posted just to let the world know you were out with a baddie – cleavage and pretty ass face on display, hair falling in perfect waves as she dug into a bowl of shrimp and grits, paying zero attention to the camera. On the right, she was in the mirror at the gym, turned sideways to show off her ample assets in hot pink leggings that popped against her brown skin, hair pulled into a ponytail under a hat, a crop top showing the smooth skin between the top of her leggings and the bottom of her matching sports bra.

  “Food ain’t the only thing she eats. #TheGymWasMYBitchToday #GonnaNeedTheAmperlampsTomorrowThough #DefinitelyGonnaBeSore #SheDoesBoth” was the caption underneath.

  So maybe that “what about my boyfriend?” question wasn’t just shit talking. If I scrolled further, there were other pictures that seemed to imply a relationship, but never overtly stated such.

  Not that it mattered, really, since that pussy was mine either way.

  With that in mind, I scrolled back to the top of the page, causing it to refresh, and show me a new picture, posted just twenty minutes ago, while I was going back and forth with Aiden. I instantly recognized our 81C plates, even though there was no logo or anything present, and whatever she’d eaten was gone – only the sauce remnants and her utensils were there. Curiosity wouldn’t allow me to not tap the picture to see what she was talking about.

  “So, in a semi-recent review, I wasn’t particularly impressed by the restaurant, right? Well… I went back. My friends convinced me. And while my opinion of this restaurant itself stands, I got to sample a little something different it had to offer. Actually… little is the wrong word. It was abundant. Plentiful. Indulgent.

  It was dick, guys.

  Good enough that I give the place a whole extra star.

  Definitely got mine.

  Definitely calling back.

  Ten out of ten, would recommend.

  Only after I’m done with it though.”

  My eyes went wide as fuck at the string of eggplant and tongue-out emojis that accompanied her caption – one that wasn’t out of line with any of her others, honestly. Drew was fun, and… breezy. Her pictures and the words she paired with them exemplified that. For the magazine, she was professional, and honest, while still letting her personality peek through. On her personal accounts? “Drew” was an atomic blast.

  I… was not expecting this though.

  She hadn’t overtly named 81st and Clarke, but with a little sleuthing, anybody could figure the shit out, if they cared to. And based on the comments, they were already off the starting block, rushing to find a bit of local gossip.

  The speculation was running in all directions, and it didn’t take more than a scroll or two to find 81C being mentioned.

  Then my brothers.

  Then me.

  Of course, it was all conjecture, but damn… had she even thought this shit through?

  She was young and chaotic, this was nothing to her, but for one of us, it might make it seem like…

  “Yo, you been slinging ten-star dick at this fine ass reviewer chick?”

  “Good morning to you too, Addison,” I droned in response to my baby brother letting himself into my office.

  “Answer the question bruh,” he replied, holding up his phone. “We’re getting tagged in this, so I did a bit of research, and what do you know? This is the same woman who dusted your ass in Sugar&Spice magazine a few months ago, talking about abundant dick and giving you an extra star.”

  I frowned. “What makes you think it’s about me?”

  “Cause she’s clearly referring back to the 81C review, and I didn’t do her. And we know Aiden’s gotta meet a chick on a spiritual plane and make love to her mental or whatever the fuck first – and this ain’t that,” he laughed. “Dre, why are you fronting with me, of all people? Drew Dawson is bad. And thick. Why aren’t you trying to claim that?”

  “It has nothing to do with claiming her – I own that pussy,” I corrected him. “I’d just rather not have my business out like that.”

  Addison shrugged, dropping into the seat across from my desk. “The world knowing I got that thang on me has never been a problem for me.”

  “I can’t imagine it has,” I chuckled, sitting back as I thought about it.

  “So what, you’re mad at her now or something?”

  “Nah,” I was able to answer, immediately. “Not mad, just… a little… frustrated. And wishing I’d gotten a heads up or something.”

  Addison laughed. “Nigga you funny. A heads up? She probably posted that from the toilet then went to work and turned the notifications off. She’s not even thinking about it anymore, I guarantee you.”

  Maybe she wasn’t, but I sure as hell was.

  Especially when, an hour or so later, I got a notification from the club that she was requesting my presence. Just the thought of it made my dick jump, but instead of letting it take the lead, I cleared the notification from my phone and ignored it, in favor of getting my head back into work.

  She wasn’t the only one who could play these fucking games.

  Fortunately for me, I did have a lot on my plate, even though Addison was in the restaurant tonight to field any front-of-house manager duties. There was plenty of back-office work, including shoring up the details of the base contract for any future restaurants that wanted to take us up on that partnership offer. Our lawyer would take a look at it afterward and finalize it, but I had to pin down what we wanted it to say.

  Between inventories, future menus, supply orders and contracts, I was so busy that I ignored the knock that sounded at the office door after ten at night. Anything important was supposed to be deferred to Addison, and if he needed something, he would just walk in.

  As a matter of fact, when the door opened without me answering, he was the person I expected to see on the other side.

  Definitely not Drew.

  “I know you’re not ignoring me, rig
ht?” she asked, stepping in and closing the door behind her. She looked good as fuck, in an oversized sweater and boots that came up to her thighs, lips painted red, her braids down and flowing around her shoulders. “You didn’t get my message from the club?”

  “I got your message,” I told her, looking up from my laptop. “And I put you on ice. Your ass needed a timeout for that shit you posted on social media.”

  She frowned. “What the hell are – ohh.” Her sexy full lips pulled into a grin as she sauntered up to the desk. “You saw that, huh?”

  “I did. And I wasn’t amused.”

  Fine.

  I was a little amused.

  It still wasn’t my vibe though, so I didn’t want to give her the impression it was cool.

  “Oh,” she smirked. “So… what, you’re pissed at me or something?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said you needed a time out.”

  “Ahhh, so… I’m in trouble is what you’re saying?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. We can go with that.”

  “Got it. So… I’m guessing you really wouldn’t like it if I did… this,” she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she reached across the desk, pushing my laptop closed as she rounded it, taking a seat on the desktop. “I mean, if I’m gonna be in trouble, it should at least be for something I did on purpose, right?”

  I sighed. “You’re right – I really don’t like this shit. Are you done now?”

  “Nope.” Still wearing that wicked-ass expression, she leaned over and swept everything on the desktop off, onto the floor. “Whatcha gonna—”

  Whatever little smart remark she was about to make, she stopped when I abruptly stood from my chair, getting right in her face. “Why are you playing with me?” I asked, planting my hands on either side of her, trapping her.

  “I don’t like being ignored.”

  “I don’t like my business in the streets.”

  “Then we understand each other a little better now, don’t we?” she asked, murmuring those words against my lips as her hands snaked between us, grabbing my dick through my slacks. Drew bit down on her lip, staring up at me with wide eyes as she stroked along my length. “How can I make it up to you?”

  That look on her face, and her legs parting for me to step between, promised pleasure, which I most definitely wanted.

  Just not at this moment.

  “Have dinner with me.”

  Her hands stopped moving, and her expression shifted to confusion. “Huh? After what I posted today, and people already putting shit together… us being out and about would definitely not be in line with you not wanting folks in your business.”

  “I don’t give a shit. I just want to have a meal with you. Then make a meal of you. So let’s do it.”

  That put a big ass smile on her face, which I liked.

  A lot.

  “Right now?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, right now.”

  “Not… here though, right?”

  “You’re gonna stop hating on my place,” I chuckled, stepping back so she could get off the desk. “But fine… you pick the spot.”

  5

  Drew

  Tigress was my favorite restaurant in Blackwood.

  “Upscale” soul food with a Caribbean flair? You could count me in for that any day, especially considering the cozy atmosphere, the soca and reggaeton always blasting, the Red Stripe beer and Ting sodas served ice cold… it was just the freaking best.

  I could be biased, though, since for a while I hadn’t been able to go. I’d already been here twice this week, but hell… call it making up for lost time.

  Dre wasn’t nearly as excited as I was, I could tell, but to his credit, he didn’t complain when the car service he’d ordered pulled up in front. He just got out, warning me I’d better not touch my own door handle – he wanted to do it for me.

  I was trying to figure him out.

  Obviously I’d known he wouldn’t like what I’d posted on my social media, but more than anything, it was a test to see whether or not he’d take it in stride. Andre Clarke was in no way the first rigid motherfucker I’d ever dealt with – I needed to know that he was… flexible.

  I’d learned my lesson already from ignoring red flags.

  If it were any earlier, we’d both be overdressed for Tigress, but at this time of night, it was popular for the pre-gaming – or post – crowd. We had to wait a bit on a table, but then the owner herself came out once we’d sat down.

  “I heard you were out here,” Kima gushed, bending to pull me into a hug. “I had to come see for myself. This is a record for most visits in a week, right?”

  “Don’t be telling my business,” I teased back. “The food shouldn’t be so good if you don’t want me in here. Besides, this time I brought… a… friend.”

  Shit.

  I had no idea what to call Dre, since the man who likes me to whip him wasn’t appropriate. Still, a slick smile spread over Kima’s face as she turned to Andre like she hadn’t realized he was there. Once her gaze landed on him though, her whole expression changed.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Again… shit.

  Is that why he seemed so unenthusiastic about coming here? Had they dated or something before?

  My eyes shot to Dre, who was giving Kima this exasperated look that only made me more curious about their connection, if that was at all possible.

  “I’m on a date, Ms. Johnston,” he told her, and I blinked. Were we classifying it as that? “And even if I weren’t, it’s not a crime for me to come by and check on my investment, right?”

  Kima’s eyebrows went up, her lips curled in disdain as she let out a huff, then turned back to me. “Good to see you, Drew – we were running low on the wings, let me go ahead and go put an order back for you.”

  “And… one for him too?” I asked, cringing even as the words left my mouth.

  She rolled her eyes, but there was a smirk on her lips as she gave me a little nod. “Only because he’s with you.”

  As soon as she walked off, I kicked Dre under the table, annoyed by his obvious nonchalance. “What the hell was that about? Did you used to get off to her kicking your ass or something?”

  His head dropped back as he laughed. “No, Drew. You’re the one and only woman I’ve ever placed myself at the mercy of. Kima Johnston is upset at me for… business reasons. Which is probably all I can say about that.”

  “Are you buying this place from underneath her?!” I asked, jumping to the worst conclusion I could think of. “Please say sike.”

  He frowned at me across the table. “No, I’m not buying it from underneath her. We’re investing. Which, again – not your business, woman.”

  “As long as you don’t turn it into another 81C,” I grumbled, picking up the menu to stare at even though I – and Kima, apparently – already knew what I would order.

  “Okay – let’s go ahead and get this out,” Andre laughed. “I happen to think 81st and Clarke is a stellar fucking restaurant, and the overwhelming majority of reviewers agree. Yet, you act as if it’s the worst place you’ve ever been to.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not the worst. It’s just extremely obvious in trying to be the best, and that whole vibe… irks me.”

  “What’s wrong with wanting to be the best?” he argued. “You’re telling me it’s a problem to strive for excellence?”

  “Not at all. It’s fine for that to be the aim, as long as nobody is getting… obsessed with it. Which is what it looks like to me. It’s all too polished, and perfect, and that shit is… I dunno. It’s… triggering.”

  Fuck.

  I didn’t mean to say that out loud – especially since I hadn’t made the connection myself until it came spewing out. For a split second, I hoped like hell that it would fly right over Dre’s head, or that he would latch onto a different part of my words to continue the conversation from… to no avail.

  He leaned in, eyes narrowed and focused.

&
nbsp; “Did you say… it was triggering for you?”

  I blew out a sigh. “Yes. That’s what I said, but it’s not what I meant. Not exactly. Going into your restaurant isn’t going to send me running to my therapist, but… something about all the perfect lines, and perfect drinks, and perfect customer service… it all just reminds of somebody I don’t like to think about. A time in my life I don’t like to think about.”

  “An ex?”

  “Yes,” I answered, honestly. “He was just… particular. Very controlling, and critical, and… towards the end, he just got downright mean. He would love 81C. If we were still together, he’d have me at your best table at least once a week.”

  For what felt like the longest time, Dre said nothing, just stared at me across the table. Then, finally, he reached out a hand to grab mine, squeezing as he swept his thumb across my knuckles in a gentle, reassuring caress that I didn’t realize I needed until it was happening. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “Me too. But it’s not an issue for me anymore. I went to therapy, and got past it.”

  Dre raised an eyebrow at me. “So… whipping me and telling me what to do isn’t therapeutic for you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” I laughed, shaking my head. “But just so you know… I’m not like… thinking about him, when you and I are together. I like the control and all of that, yes, but it’s not just that. I like that… you want this. You want me to run you. You’re letting me be in charge, and that is just… incredibly sexy to me. I can honestly say I’ve never been with any other man who would appreciate – hell, even attempt this dynamic, so you’ve put me on to something new.”

  He winked at me from across the table. “Glad I could be of service.”

  “Oh whatever,” I told him, but truly could not help the smile that spread across my lips. “You’re sitting here dissecting my kink motivations… what about you? What makes a man like you seek something like this out? I mean, you saw me at the bar, you approached me, you introduced me to the flogger. Why? Where? How? I wanna know it all.”