One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  I wait until he’s munching happily, his eyelids partially lowered, a sublime expression on his scary face. Then I present my case yet again. “I need a minute, five tops. I just want to give these to Edward.”

  “There’s no outside food allowed in the club, ma’am,” Tyrice mumbles between bites.

  “You can have the cookies.” I press the tin into his big hands. “Let me inside.”

  “Can’t.” He avoids my gaze. “Those are the—”

  “Rules, I know.” Which rule am I breaking now? “I gave you cookies.”

  “Nana Zaire gives me cookies too. I don’t allow her inside during club hours.”

  I frown. “Are you saying I look as old as your grandma?”

  His eyes widen. “No, I—”

  “You don’t think I’m hot or young enough for your club, do you?” Desperate, I play my last card—hysterical female. “You’re no spring chicken yourself.” I look him over. “And you’re definitely not a skinny Minnie. Yet you’re a man, so it’s okay.” I’ve heard enough rants from Azure on this subject to do it justice. “It’s acceptable. Well, I—”

  “Look, ma’am.” Tyrice grabs my arm and moves me two steps away from the line. “You’re hot. Fuck. You’re smokin’.” His gaze lowers to my heaving chest. “All those lush curves and endless skin. Mmm… Mmm…” He smacks his lips and my face heats. “If I wasn’t working and you were willing, I’d bend you over and fuck you against the wall until you screamed my name. Then I’d fuck you some more. They’d be calling the cops, you’d be making so much noise.”

  Holy shit. I stare at him.

  “I’d tap that ass so hard, you’d be feeling my dick for weeks.” He cups himself. “Have you ever had a massive man like me in your back door, princess?”

  I shake my head, speechless. I’ve never had anyone in my back door.

  “Fuck. You’d be tight.” The doorman grins. “I could come in my pants thinking about those lush, white cheeks hugging my big dick.” He looks around us, signals to another large man dressed similarly to him. “Tell me you’re game and—”

  “I have a boyfriend.” My voice is high and squeaky.

  His smile fades. “And I’m working.” He waves his friend away. “If my job was to let smokin’ hot women into the club, I’d allow you to enter in a heartbeat. Hell, I’d buy you a drink and take you home at the end of the night. But that isn’t my job. My job is to ensure the white boys are happy.” He glances at the club kids in the line and his top lip curls. “Do you know what they like?”

  I know what Edward likes. I open my mouth to tell him.

  “They like blonde chicks so skinny they could snap them into two.” Tyrice doesn’t wait for my answer. “Little girls with poky hips and no ass to speak of. They must be good at giving head because they certainly aren’t built for fucking.” He mutters this last sentence. “My job is to let those types of girls and only those types into the club.”

  “I’d only be a minute.” I try again. “No one would know.”

  “My boss would know. He knows everything.”

  “If I talked to your boss—”

  “He’d ban you from the club for wasting his time and you’d never get in. Ever.” Tyrice folds his big arms in front of him. “Go to the back of the line or, better yet, go home.”

  I mimic his stance. “I’m not going home.”

  No one is as stubborn as I am.

  The doorman’s jaw juts.

  I stick my chin out and rise onto my toes.

  He leans forward, looming over me. “You’re not getting into this—”

  “She’s with me, Tyrice.” A warm hand grasps my hip and I jerk, surprised by the contact, by the deep male voice, by the jolt of energy zinging from the newcomer’s body to mine.

  “I didn’t realize that, Mr. Sheridan, sir.” Tyrice straightens.

  I glance upward and stare.

  The man oozes sex appeal, from his form-fitting, black suit and gray, silk shirt to his brown-velvet eyes.

  The ebony hair touching his collar begs to be touched, to be pulled during orgasm. He has shoulders wide enough to cling to yet stopping short of body-building meathead territory. His narrow hips would fit perfectly between a woman’s thighs.

  The jagged, black tattoo on his neck screams ‘wild in bed’. The laugh lines fanning from his eyes hint at age and experience.

  He’s no club kid, fumbling with bras and buttons. This man would fuck hard, wringing every ounce of pleasure from his lover, leaving her sexually sated and delirious with pleasure. Everything about him is designed for seduction.

  Judging by Tyrice’s reaction, he’s also the boss, a man to be respected.

  And he has his hand on my hip, his fingers spread wide, touching as much of my form as he possibly can. His body heat engulfs me.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Tyrice continues to apologize. “A boyfriend was mentioned, an Edward Langston. She said nothing about being with you.”

  “That’s an oversight I must correct.” Mr. Sheridan flashes a smile, his teeth vividly white against his tanned skin and I suck in my breath. That handsome face is deadly to a woman’s composure.

  Tyrice hustles to open the door for us. “I meant no offense, ma’am.”

  His apology breaks the spell his boss has cast on me. What am I doing—gawking at a stranger? I have a boyfriend, a man who loves me.

  “What I said earlier.” The doorman waves his hands. “About tapping your—”

  “It’s forgotten.” I stop him from completing that embarrassing sentence. “It will never to be mentioned again.”

  Tyrice heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You two had an interesting conversation, I see,” Mr. Sheridan murmurs, his voice stroking along my neck, sending tremors down my spine.

  He doesn’t ask for any details about the conversation I had with Tyrice. Thank God. I don’t want to repeat what the doorman had said.

  Mr. Sheridan tucks my curves into his hard muscle, leaving no space between us, and steers me into the club. Dance music pulses, an almost frenzied beat assaulting my ears, causing my heart to pound faster. Seizure-inducing strobe lights flicker.

  “Thank you for that,” I yell, seeking to be heard above the music. “I really appreciate your help getting into your club.”

  “The appreciation is all mine, baby,” Mr. Sheridan pours these words into my ear, exciting my already primed-for-sex body. “Now, let’s get drunk and make some bad decisions.”

  I blink, once, twice, three times. That almost sounds as though he’s hitting on me. But he can’t be. His lines are too cheesy and I’m…well…I’m plus-sized, average me. “That’s a good one.” I grin. “Or should I say a bad one?”

  Lines appear between Mr. Sheridan’s black eyebrows.

  “I won’t take up more of your time.” I pat his arm, ignoring the sparks skittering along my fingers. “I can find my boyfriend on my own.”

  “The boyfriend must be real then.” The caramel-colored specks fade from his eyes. “Fuck. Because a sexy woman like you wouldn’t be single.”

  “Right.” I laugh, enjoying his sense of humor. “My boyfriend’s name is Edward.”

  Mr. Sheridan doesn’t say anything, doesn’t indicate that he knows an Edward.

  I search the crowd for my man. Bodies bump and grind, the girls clad in next to nothing, the guys in mostly black. It amazes me that all of these people are here on a Thursday night. Don’t they have to work tomorrow?

  “I went to his office. He’s a lawyer.” The words spill out of my mouth, unfiltered by my brain. “But he wasn’t there. The app on his phone said he was here.”

  “Edward?” Mr. Sheridan’s lips brush against my earlobe and another wave of sensation flows down my spine. He smells of spicy rosemary and woodsy nutmeg, an intriguing combination of scents.

  Guilt sweeps over me. I shouldn’t be sniffing a stranger. I’m in a committed relationship. “Edward Langston.” I try to draw away from Mr. She
ridan. He won’t allow me to move, tightening his clasp on my hip. “He’s a lawyer.”

  “You already said that.” Mr. Sheridan’s tone is dry. “You also said he was your boyfriend. Does he know you’re here?”

  “No, he doesn’t,” I admit. “I wanted to surprise him.”

  “Fuck. You’ll certainly do that.”

  What does that mean? We push through dual doors and enter a smaller room. The irritating music fades to a more manageable level. The dizzying strobe lighting stops. Thin, beautiful, bored-looking people stand around the space, drinks in their hands.

  “Lucy, ask Eddy and his guest to join us.” Mr. Sheridan addresses a petite, redheaded beauty. “The rest of you fuck off.” He waves his hand, dismissing them.

  The occupants gaze at me with wide, curiosity-filled eyes as they exit the room, not one person protesting the club owner’s highhanded treatment. It must be nice to wield that type of power.

  “Edward doesn’t like to be called Eddy.” I don’t know why I’m sharing this with him. Nerves, perhaps.

  “And you’re sure you know what he likes?” Mr. Sheridan says this as though it is in doubt. It isn’t. We’ve been together for four years. “Let me take your coat.” He pulls the garment from my fingers and I reluctantly release it. “You’ll want your hands to be free.” He drapes the coat over a barstool. “When you see your Edward.”

  I hear the derision in the club owner’s tone. “Edward is a great lawyer.” I defend my boyfriend. “I don’t know if he’s already representing you. He can’t share that with me due to client confidentiality. But if he is, you won’t regret it. He’ll fight to the death for you.”

  Mr. Sheridan tilts his head, studying me. His left collar is slightly curled, marring the perfection of his outfit. My fingers twitch, the impulse to smooth it tremendous.

  The man is unaware of his dishevelment. “The average woman, when she finds out her fuckin’ boyfriend went to a club and didn’t tell her, would assume he’s cheating, not that he’s here on business.”

  This brings a smile to my lips. “Edward wouldn’t cheat on me. He loves me.”

  “You have faith in this love?”

  “Of course, I have faith in it.” My gaze returns to his collar. Unable to resist the urge to straighten it, I reach up and run my fingers over the material, setting it to rights. “That’s what love is—believing in another person, trusting him or her with your heart, your dreams, your tomorrows.”

  “And if that faith is misplaced?” The agony and loss reflecting in Mr. Sheridan’s eyes captivates me. He’s been hurt, this handsome, world-weary man. “If your love isn’t returned?”

  “Then it isn’t truly love.” I curve my right palm over his left cheek, wanting to touch him, to comfort him. He flinches but doesn’t pull away. “You try again. I experienced some false starts before I met Edward.”

  “You gave up on those men.” The bitterness and pain in Mr. Sheridan’s voice tugs at my heart.

  “They gave up on me,” I admit.

  One of my university boyfriends moved to Silicone Valley, made a gazillion dollars and married an alpaca-obsessed, blonde nymph. The other guy is saving the world in Africa. More specifically, he’s building sewage systems. I joke that he’d rather be waist-deep in shit than continue to date me.

  “I’m not the best at letting go.” I send both of my exes e-Cards every Christmas. “I tend to hold on too long, trying to make relationships work.”

  Mr. Sheridan isn’t my man to comfort. I shouldn’t be touching him.

  I drop my hand.

  The club owner catches my wrist. “Not everyone has the same faith in love as you do.”

  “True.” I summon a smile, focusing on the present and not on the lonely past. “Edward has the same faith as I do. He loves me.”

  “So you tell me.”

  We stand a breath apart, Mr. Sheridan holding my wrist.

  He rubs small circles into my skin with his thumb, round and round. I gaze up at him, enthralled. The moment stretches, stretches, stretches.

  I love Edward. I do. But this is interesting, different.

  Mr. Sheridan looks at the door and then at me and then back to the door. His lips move soundlessly as though he’s debating something with himself.

  “Fuck.” His gaze returns to my face. “As much as I want you, baby, I can’t watch him hurt you like this.” He releases my wrist and grabs my coat. “I’ll talk to Edward, send him home to you.”

  Why would Edward hurt me? “There’s no need to send him home.” I don’t want to mess up his business meeting. “I’m already here.”

  “You shouldn’t be here.” Mr. Sheridan turns me toward the doors. “You have to leave.”

  Voices chatter outside the room, growing louder.

  “But—”

  “Now.” The club owner shoves me forward.

  I recognize one of those voices. “Edward is coming.”

  Chapter Three

  “You don’t want to see him.” Mr. Sheridan nudges me toward the doors. “Trust me about this.”

  I do trust him, strangely enough. “But that’s why I’m here—to talk to Edward.”

  “Edward?” A leggy brunette pushes through the doors. Her bright-red lipstick is smeared and her hair is tussled. “Ah, you must be from his law firm.” She winks at me. “After hours, he’s Eddy, sweets. There’s no need to be so formal.”

  Who is this girl? And she is a girl, looking not much older than the club kids who were waiting in line. “He prefers to be called Edward.” He wouldn’t want that nickname spreading. Edward has an image to maintain. “And you are?”

  “That sounds like—” Edward enters the room and he stops short. “Jenella.” His gaze drops to my chest.

  “Jenella,” both Mr. Sheridan and the brunette repeat.

  I gape at Edward. He’s dressed like Mr. Sheridan, in a black suit, silk shirt, except Edward’s shirt is black, not gray.

  I’ve never seen him like this and I don’t like it. The black amplifies his pale skin, making him appear rather ghoulish.

  Then I see his face and my distaste of his fashion choices fades, concern for his emotional well-being taking its place. Dark circles hug his light-blue eyes.

  He hasn’t been sleeping. That’s how hard he has been working.

  “I’m sorry.” My visit will add more hours to his already long day. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

  “You’re right. You shouldn’t have come here.” The brunette wraps her arms around Edward, around my boyfriend, plastering her small perky breasts against his side. “Eddy’s off the clock. Make an appointment with him during business hours.”

  “I’m not a business associate.” I step forward, fighting the desire to physically extract him from her clutches. Edward is an attractive man and some clients, especially some female clients, confuse his attentiveness with attraction. “Edward, introduce me to your friend.”

  “Ah.” Edward’s face turns red.

  “Duh. I’m Chelsea, Eddy’s girlfriend.” The girl rolls her eyes. “Who else would I be?”

  “Who else, indeed,” Mr. Sheridan mutters.

  There must be some sort of mistake. I frown at Edward. “Why does she think she’s your girlfriend?”

  “Because she is my girlfriend.” He avoids my gaze. “I haven’t seen you in two weeks, Jenella. You’re a smart woman. You must have known our relationship was over.”

  What is he talking about? Our relationship isn’t over. “You said you were busy.”

  “He was busy with me.” Chelsea smirks.

  I ignore her, focusing on Edward as I always do. He’s my rock, my constant. “We talk every day, multiple times a day. You called me at noon.” He didn’t say anything, didn’t hint he was unhappy.

  “Those must have been pity calls.” Chelsea chimes in yet again. “Eddy has a kind heart. He must have felt sorry for you.” She wrinkles her nose. “I mean…look at you.”

  “I can’t stop looking at you.�
� Mr. Sheridan steps closer, standing behind me, a wall of warm man and muscle at my back. “You’re soft and lush with endless curves.”

  “You’re old.” The girl’s top lip curls.

  I straighten. “I’m thirty years old, thirteen years younger than Edward.”

  “Chelsea is twenty-one,” the club owner explains. “Thirty is old to someone her age.”

  I don’t care about the brunette and her age issues.

  “You’re fat.” She mentions another one of my shortcomings. “You’re pathetic. You can’t have many friends.”

  I have plenty of friends. “Edward, what is happening?” Why isn’t he defending me?

  Beads of sweat form on his forehead.

  “I understand why you’re clinging desperately to Eddy.” Chelsea uses the same condescending tone people employ with small children. “But you have to let him go, Jenella. He’s a lawyer and has an image to project. You’re not helping his career.”

  “I’ve been stagnating for the past four years,” Edward finally speaks, the words bursting out of him. “Passed over for partnership again and again.”

  He looks at Chelsea. She nods, patting his groin.

  My boyfriend’s groin.

  And he doesn’t push her away.

  I ignore his lack of action and consider his words. “You’ve been stagnating.” Like fungus. “And you think I’m the cause of this?” My mind spins. “You believe I’m the reason you haven’t been made partner?”

  “I need a woman who can be my hostess, who I would be proud to introduce to the partners, to prospective clients.” Edward’s gaze slides to Mr. Sheridan.

  “Don’t make this about me, Eddy.” The club owner pours a drink. “Man the fuck up and own your idiotic actions.”

  “You’ve introduced me to the partners.” I point out. He acted proud of me when that happened. “They like me.”

  “They like parts of you.” Edward glances at my breasts and then at my face. “My girlfriend has to be taken seriously. She should be young and interesting and socially adept, able to take me to the next level.”

  “Eddy needs a woman like me, sweets.” Chelsea splays her fingers over Edward’s groin. There’s a smudge of red on his fly, near her pinkie.