by C. L. Donley
“Dude, have you ever heard that word so much in your life as you have this weekend?”
“No, dude.”
The resort had once been a monastery and its serene courtyard has been reworked as an outdoor cafe. Grayson orders for us both.
“Did you see that text from Bel?”
“About Kim’s smorgasboard of crazy?”
Grayson chuckles. I smirk as he shakes his head.
“He loves it.”
“He fucking does, poor bastard.”
Bel’s text in entirety read, “This bitch Kim is cray. She is basically raping me. She won’t let me use protection.” It was too ridiculous for me to send anything back, either of reprimand or encouragement. It isn’t the worst sexual decision Bel has ever made, but it isn’t the best. No offense to Amara, but Kim seems like the worst kind of woman for a billionaire. But Bel is a grown man, and long overdue for a grown up lifestyle. As am I.
“I’m pretty sure Mya saw that text,” I say.
Grayson raises an eyebrow.
“She looked through your phone?”
“No, I left it unlocked this morning while she was sleeping. And then I got out of the shower and she was gone. With my phone lying conspicuously in her place.”
“Did she say anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“I didn’t. Because immediately after that I went to go spy on her.”
Grayson sits back and lets out a hearty laugh.
“You snuck into her room, or what?”
“No, nothing like that, I just stood outside the door.”
Grayson’s shoulders are shaking.
“And what’d you find out?”
“Dude, you used to listen to housewives through their household appliances for a living.”
Grayson raises both his hands in surrender. “No judgement here.”
I sigh. “Well, I didn’t get to hear much, since I had to walk aaaalll the way around the fuckin’ balcony in my robe like a damned jackass.”
Grayson rubs his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he laughs.
“But I didn’t hear them bring it up. They basically just talked about sex.”
“As can be expected.”
“Yes. Apparently Amara told Mya that I’m ‘world renown’ in bed??” I say, screwing up my face.
“What the fuck?” Grayson blurts.
“That’s what I said.”
I don’t get much further into the conversation before Amara and Mya are returning from their beach powwow.
“Mya would like to go to her room now,” Amara announces.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m just gonna lay down, I’m exhausted,” Mya says.
Amara refuses to look over at Grayson. I’m conspicuously wordless as I retrieve the key card from my back pocket.
“It’s because of all the sex we had last night, Dale,” Mya blurts out. Amara bursts out laughing.
“I didn’t say anything!” I defend myself.
“Did you have any questions, Grayson?” Mya asks, sounding concerned.
Grayson smirks at me, but I am studying the table, nervously rubbing my brow.
“How was it?” he says, his eyes still on me.
“It was fucking fantastic.”
I know that I’m beet red. Grayson’s eyebrows go up in approval and respect.
“Good,” he replies enthusiastically.
“Great. See you guys later!” Mya says in syrupy sweet fashion as she walks away.
“Wow,” Grayson says.
“Dude…shut the fuck up,” I tell him, knowing he’ll do no such thing.
“It’s a good ‘wow,’” Grayson defends his comment.
“Do you know why Mya thinks I’m only interested in white women?” I ask Amara once Mya’s gone.
“Are you asking me because I’m black, or because I’m her best friend?”
“Which aspect of you will help answer the question?”
“Um, that would be the aspect of me that has ears, because you literally said it out of your mouth.”
“When???” I ask, dumbfounded.
“At dinner. Last week.”
I have a look of strain on my face, as if trying to remember.
“Babe, roll the tape.”
“I believe you said that you were sad your son or daughter may not have the benefit of having her as their ballet teacher. The implication being that they would not have any multi-ethnic background, since she was not open to teaching children who were not minority.”
Amara tilts her head dramatically as Grayson recalls the conversation. I slowly comb my hands through my hair with a look of panic on my face.
“I was speaking in hypotheticals!”
“Wait, what about when she mentioned Kim and your face got all perked up?”
I raise up in surprise, about to defend myself.
“You were flirting with her at the hotel,” Grayson recalls.
“Which proves I’m not racist!” I try to find the silver lining.
“No, it proves you’re willing to make an exception for a light skinned girl, which is almost worse.”
“What?!” I silently exclaim.
Amara nods soberly. Grayson is lost in giggles at the description of my royal tanking.
“And did you tell Mya I was ‘world renown’ in bed?” I remember.
“Okay, first of all you’re welcome. Aaaand I didn’t use those exact words, but yeah I talked you up.”
“Since when do you know whether or not Dale is good in bed,” Grayson recovers enough to ask.
“Um, obviously I just guessed. He’d have to be, to run around with you for years.”
Grayson lowered his head as he shook it.
“Yeah no, I’m not saying ‘thank you’ for that,” I reply.
“Excuse me, but I had to do something after you crashed and burned on the roof with Captain Overshare over here.” Amara gestures over to her husband.
“So you told her I was good in bed?” I laugh.
Amara makes a sigh of exasperation.
“Well first, I had to convince her that you weren’t all rich douchebags, which was difficult…” she looks at us accusingly, “but then she told me that she was thinking about losing her virginity on this trip and I was like, ‘oh, you gotta pick Dale.’”
Grayson and I look at each other when Amara gives up the fact that Mya was already planning to have sex on the trip.
“Did I call it?” Grayson says.
“And what did she say,” I ask, unconsciously grinning.
“She basically called you a corny two-faced poser.”
Grayson grimaces as he sucks breath through his teeth, as if oblivious to the sentiment being his fault in the first place. I look over at him in a way that has Grayson instantly blocking himself from a blow. I land one anyway.
“Why Dale and not Bryan?” Grayson asks, watching me in his peripheral.
“Stop,” Amara instantly replies.
“Or Bel?” I offer curiously.
“Babe, you missed the entire exchange. Dale was fucking… tongue tied. It was amazing.”
I shake my head and the color seeps into my face again recalling the moment.
“He was all ‘dude, what? I didn’t say you were beautiful, I said, uh, wait what did I say?’”
Grayson is laughing at his wife’s terrible impression of me and at my lack of amusement.
“I was like ‘Operation DaMya is going down right now,’” Amara says.
“Oh Jesus,” I scoff.
“Yeah, you have a nickname and you love it,” Amara smiles.
“It’s got a nice ring to it,” Grayson irresponsibly encourages her.
“Mm-hm,” she replies.
DaMya.
God help me. I do kinda like it.
Amara politely leaves Grayson and I to continue our conversation. I could probably use her feedback, but I need to gossip about it with an unbia
sed party. My overthinking is back and going into overdrive after overhearing Mya and Kim’s conversation about me this morning.
“You’re not her type,” Grayson says.
“At all, bro.”
We both laugh.
“But she thinks you’re just fuck buddies.”
“And that I’m racist.”
“Well… she probably thinks that you’re just using her for sex.”
“She’s using me!”
“You don’t think you should have a conversation about this?” Grayson urges me.
“When?? We woke up, and then immediately had to schlepp our way over here to amuse you on your honeymoon.”
“You had an hour on the plane, what were you doing?”
“Dude… not talking. Okay?”
“I have to say I find this entire situation… intriguing as hell,” Grayson admits.
“Honestly? I don’t think she even likes me. Like, as a person.”
Grayson starts laughing.
“Why is my shitty life so amusing to you?” I laugh.
“It’s not shitty. And it’s about time it got amusing,” Grayson smiles.
“Hopefully we’ll manage to be civil after this, at least,” I sigh.
“You’re not going to tell her how you feel?”
“For what? She doesn’t want a relationship.”
“Maybe if she knew it was more for you, she’d change her mind.”
I shake my head. “Just leave it.”
Grayson stares at me.
“If you’re afraid to tell her, then you definitely need to tell her.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
“That is a major deal.”
“Bro, I’m a billionaire who she had ‘fucking fantastic’ sex with. If she thinks she can do better, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can say.”
“You can’t go by what you overheard.”
“I can and I will. I don’t want to hear it twice.”
“Every woman wants love. You have to at least let her know you think the potential is there.”
I shake my head and sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Every loser she brings over during the holidays is going to make you want to stab yourself with a blunt instrument in search for relief.”
“I said I’ll think about it.”
I leave Grayson to his honeymoon and take a walk along the beach before I head back to the villa. I decide that less is more. The quicker and simpler the proposal, the better.
Mya
I’m laying in the sprawling plush bed that has a private view of the water, exhausted but I can’t sleep.
I was naive to think I could simply go back to my regular life of eat, sleep, dance, repeat, less than 24 hours after thoroughly losing my virginity. My body isn’t having it. My body wants one thing, and he’s out hanging with his best friend, and likely mine too, and doesn’t seem to care I’m all alone in this giant villa.
That is, if Amara still considers me a best friend.
Okay. So obviously there are some deep, unspoken things between us. At least on my end. I’m sure that at this very moment they’re all sitting around talking about what a bitch I am.
I’ve done very little to prove them wrong. My mind replays the way I sniped at Amara, not once but twice. Fuck. She doesn’t deserve that, she deserves to know the truth.
As soon as I know what that is, I plan on telling her.
I have an inkling, but I can’t very well say, “Your fairy tale life makes me want to claw my own eyes out.”
And it isn’t so simple. I don’t always feel comfortable with the way Amara sort of got assimilated without any type of fight. She was always a bit naive. And where’s her personality? I’ve yet to see it in three days. Does marriage and motherhood sap your personality? She’s not completely out of touch, but she’s certainly grown fully accustomed to a lifestyle I can’t imagine being comfortable in.
And then I sleep with one of their little affluent cult and they’re in a rush to make me a member. For what? Did they forget that I was against their whole relationship from practically the beginning? Because I didn’t. Not that it should matter to them what I think, really.
Suddenly I hear the front door latch open and the sound of footsteps.
It gives my heart such a start that I have to catch my breath. Should I pretend to be asleep? Should I get naked? The footsteps approach the lavish room.
“Hey,” Dale peeks his head in.
“Hey,” I respond, all smiles.
“How’s the sleeping going.”
“Terribly,” I admit.
“Want some company?”
“Sure,” I say.
Dale sits on the edge of the bed near my side, the musky, leathery scent of his cologne penetrating my senses.
I turn to my side and sit up on one elbow, my other hand unconsciously rubbing his back. My actions elicit a moan from him as he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. As my rubbing turns to scratching, the moans turn to deep exaggerated groans. I laugh.
I leave my lying position and sit up behind him as I lift up his shirt in back and begin to scratch. Dale’s head hangs low as though he’s passed out.
“When’s the last time you had a back scratch?”
“Gaaaahhhhhd,” is all he mutters as his head loosely hangs.
“Did you want to talk to me about something?”
“It’s not important,” he slurs.
“Okay,” I answer skeptically.
“Lower,” he says. I comply and he makes some weird gurgles that make me chuckle.
“So what were you guys talking about after I left?”
“Paranoid?” he laughs, “I don’t blame you.”
“It’s not paranoia if it’s true,” I counter.
“Actually, they ditched me a while ago. I’ve been by myself mostly.”
Dammit. We could’ve been having sex.
I stop and put his shirt back in place.
“Needed some time to think?”
He discards his shirt and lays back looking up at me, his hair in a pillowy tuft on the bed. I recline sideways across him. My cutoff shorts are on the floor and I only have my shirt and boy briefs on.
“What do you think about continuing this relationship when we get back?”
I furrow my brow.
“You mean the sex?”
“I mean everything, including the sex, yes,” he chuckles.
I can’t help grinning. So Amara was right. I’d bagged a billionaire. All without a sex contract. Oh my Lord, I’m petty as hell for that.
I’m a little surprised to know that Dale actually wants to “go steady” with me, however.
How does he think this will work exactly?
He doesn’t even know me, and I can’t imagine what he sees in me. I think back to the engagement party where I met his then girlfriend, auburn-haired and statuesque. Versus me who is short, not auburn-haired, and has a chronic case of resting bitch face.
“Yeah… I don’t see us being a thing. Do you?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” he says.
“I mean… we’ve been horizontal most of the weekend, I’m just not seeing the vision here.”
“Do you still hate me?”
“A little bit.”
“Just a little bit?” he smirks.
“I mean…” my true feelings are a blurry mass of extremes caught in my throat. The embarrassment, the anger, the excitement, the arousal. The sex, for heaven’s sake. I can’t say any of it without making a fool of myself.
“Let’s work backwards,” he concedes after a moment, “do you like me… at all?”
“You’re cool, I guess,” I reply.
“You guess…”
“Dale, I don’t really know that much about you aside from what I’ve read out of a magazine.”
He cranes his head in my direction, wraps his arms around me and smiles.
“You’ve been reading about me?”
My heart skips a beat as he grins at me like a boy with a crush.
“It gets boring in line at the grocery store,” I try to recover. He laughs.
“Well, I think you’re amazing. And beautiful. And… I don’t want this to stop.”
I’m stunned. I had no idea the depth of my powers.
“Is that so,” I play it cool.
“Yeah.”
“What’s amazing about me?”
His brown eyes search my face.
“Everything. The way you are, the way you express yourself. The fucking way you dance. You have a gift,” he says.
I let out a breathy laugh.
It was a sentiment I’ve heard many times before. You have the gift of dance!
If I have a gift, I have no idea.
What I have is aches and pains and blood blisters and bunions. And a tortured devotion to perfection.
“What looks to you like a gift is really just hard work and discipline.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“Working hard is hardly a gift,” I argue.
“That’s debatable. The desire to work hard is, I’d say. And the results are… exquisite on you.”
I bite my lower lip as I smile. Damn. This white boy’s game is hardcore.
Is there any harm in getting to know him? Sort of.
For one thing, my life would instantly become a circus. First “Gramara” and now… whatever freakish combination of our names.
White girls would be so pressed about it, though. That would almost be worth it.
But my family would never let me live it down. The way they talk about Amara now, sometimes it chills my blood, quite frankly. And they don’t even know about the contract.
“Do I have to answer right away?” I ask.
“Of course not.”
“Good.”
“You do know that’s the oldest trick in the book, though?” he adds.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re gonna turn me into your little plaything for the next 24 hours and pretend like you’re really sleeping on it, when you’ve already made up your mind.”
“That’s… I would not… no.”
Dale snickers at me.
“And the worst part, is that I’m going to let you,” he laments.
A smile spreads across my face as I feel a now familiar tinge of arousal between my thighs.
“Well, taking your shirt off and begging for back rubs…”
