One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  “That’s the point. I don’t want to know you and I don’t want you to know me.” Smoke slides into the driver’s seat. “Leave me alone, Jenella.”

  He shuts the door and drives away in his sleek gray Lamborghini.

  I watch the car until it is sucked into the traffic.

  Smoke is like Woofer. His actions mean more than his words. The club owner showed me his scars for a reason. He reached out to me.

  I won’t leave him alone as everyone in his past has.

  I’m seeing him tonight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Smoke calls me a half hour later. “You forgot the sex toys in the car.”

  “I’ll collect them when I see you tonight.” That he is contacting me now firms my resolve. He needs me. Subconsciously, he realizes this.

  “You’re not seeing me. I’ll send Bruiser over later with them.” He ends the call.

  That’s a good plan. I’ll hitch a ride back to the club with the big man and save the taxi fare.

  A batch of cookies is in the oven. The apartment smells of vanilla, cinnamon, and sweetness. That was Grandma Whyte’s reaction to every crisis—baking. “No one feels bad when eating a cookie,” she’d tell me. While we mixed the ingredients, she listened to my problems, giving me the attention my worried parents couldn’t.

  Who listened to Smoke’s problems after his parents died?

  Who gave him the attention he needed?

  I want to be that person for him now. I want to hold him close while he talks about his hopes, his fears, his past, and his future. The damn man has crept into my soul with his corny lines and his broken glass tattoo.

  I might love him…a little.

  And I suspect he might feel the same way about me. We’re fighting. That indicates caring and is a unique experience for me. Edward never argued with me, which is surprising as he argues for a living.

  Maybe he saw too many disagreements in the courts and didn’t want to experience that after-hours.

  Maybe we were always perfectly in sync, my decisions aligning with his.

  Maybe he never cared about me, about our future, about our relationship.

  I take out the cookies and prepare for the evening. I’m ready when the doorbell rings shortly after nine o’clock. My tote is slung over my shoulder. I’ve swapped my yellow sundress for a more club-friendly black suit.

  “Hi Miss ‘Nella.” Woofer looks sharp, in a black blazer, gray T-shirt, black dress pants. It isn’t a total transformation. He’s slightly disheveled, his shoelaces are undone and his hair sticks straight up but it’s enough to make me beam like a proud mamma.

  “Hi Woofer.” I step forward to give him a hug.

  “Hey, none of that.” He backs up. “I’m working.” He holds up four bags of sex toys.

  Thank God, the bags are sealed and aren’t labeled. The kid has no idea what he’s delivering. I set the bags on the floor, just inside the apartment. “No hugs mean no cookies.”

  “You got cookies in there?” Woofer leans forward and peers in the tote.

  “Oatmeal raisin.” These are his favorite. “I guess I’ll have to give them to Bruiser. He doesn’t mind hugging me.”

  “Don’t do that.” The touch-hungry boy squeezes me hard. “Are we good?”

  “We’re good. Here you go.” I pass him the tin. “Share with the others.” I shut the door behind me.

  “They didn’t hug you.”

  “Be nice.” I muss his hair. Distracted by the cookies, Woofer forgets he’s a tough-guy-in-training. He allows me to coddle him, humming happily as he munches.

  ***

  Bruiser isn’t as easily bribed.

  “The boss said nothing about taking you back to the club with us, miss,” he proclaims around a mouth filled with cookie.

  “He doesn’t know.” I plunk my ass in the front seat of the limo, claiming that piece of real estate, forcing Woofer to ride in the back. “It won’t cost you time or money to drop me off. You’re going there anyway.”

  “He’s in one of his rare moods, miss.” The big man’s forehead furrows. “I don’t mess with him when he’s like that.”

  “I’ll take the blame.”

  “It won’t matter who takes the blame.” Bruiser doesn’t start the limo. “He’ll see you and go off on everyone.”

  “Then don’t drop me right at the club.” I don’t want to get him into trouble. “Drop me a block away.”

  The man’s eyes light up. “I could do that.”

  “Good.”

  “For a tin of peanut butter cookies.”

  “Done.” I shake my head. I’m surrounded by baked-goods hustlers.

  ***

  Tyrice is my next massive roadblock.

  “You’re not dressed properly, miss.” The doorman crosses his huge arms.

  “I’m dressed properly.” I look down at my black business suit. “This is black.” Many of the women in line are dressed in the same color.

  “It isn’t sexy secretary night.”

  “We don’t call them secretaries anymore.” My boss’s assistant has a fit whenever anyone uses that label. “They’re executive assistants.”

  Tyrice’s lips twitch. “It doesn’t matter, miss. Even if you were dressed properly and were a fraction of the fine woman you are, I still couldn’t let you in. The boss put you on the do-not-enter list.”

  “He wouldn’t dare do that.” Smoke can’t be that angry with me.

  “See.” Tyrice shows me his tablet. There, written in bold font, is my name with ‘No admittance’ typed beside it. “I don’t know what you did—”

  “He told me about his past and I said I understood why he did what he did.”

  “Ahhh…” Tyrice nods as though this explains everything.

  “I meant it,” I add.

  “Right.” He sounds skeptical.

  “Was that the wrong thing to say?”

  “I don’t know about the boss’s past.” Tyrice rubs his chin. “No one does, but if it is anything like mine, it was the exact right thing to say. It’s a hard thing to believe, though.”

  “He didn’t believe me,” I admit.

  “I wouldn’t either, especially if the words came from someone with her shit together, someone dressed like a sexy secretary.”

  “Executive assistant,” I correct.

  Smoke’s employees are as messed up as he is. I don’t understand any of them.

  But I want to try.

  “Tell your boss I’m not going anywhere.” I plunk my ass down on a concrete divider. “I’m staying here until he sees me.”

  Tyrice grins. “I will, miss.”

  ***

  Two hours later, I have to pee. Tyrice blocks my entrance to the club, his boss’s orders not changing. Bob’s Burger Barn is the nearest fast food restaurant. I see the sign from where I’m sitting. It will have a bathroom I can use.

  I take orders from the club kids standing in line. When I return, I bring two Bob’s Burger Barn employees with me. They help me carry the bags of food. Then they make change and chat with buddies waiting to enter the club.

  If I ever see Smoke again, I’ll suggest partnering with the franchise owner-operator. This could be a business opportunity.

  ***

  At midnight, Bruiser exits the club, dragging a plastic chair behind him.

  “You’re wasting your time, miss.” He helps me to my feet. My ass is sore from sitting on cool concrete. “The boss won’t see you tonight.”

  “He’ll see me.” I lift my chin. “He doesn’t have a choice.” I’ll prove to him that not everyone leaves him when he misbehaves.

  “Yeah, I didn’t believe him either when he said that.” Bruiser lumbers back to the club, a smile on his tough face. “But I promised him I’d relay the message.”

  Smoke will see me. I smile. All I have to do is wait him out.

  ***

  An hour later, I hold a girl’s hair as she hunches over the curb, barfing her guts out.

  Sh
e has company, unfortunately. Other girls are emptying their stomachs also. Having only two hands, I can’t hold their hair.

  Random puking happened previously. I’d grimace. Tyrice’s eyes would water. The idiots in line would heckle the ill, making the situation worse.

  Now, it seems that every club kid staggering out of the building takes a whiff of the French-fry-scented night air, keels over, and splatters the psychedelic remnants of their dinners over the sidewalk. I don’t know what type of alcohol or drugs they’ve been imbibing but it doesn’t mix well with food odors.

  “You deserve hardship pay, Tyrice.” I gag from the fumes.

  “Tell that to the boss, miss.”

  I pinch my nostrils. “I’m trying to.”

  I should duplicate the scent, package it and sell it as a weight loss tool. ‘Spray this in the air and never feel hungry again.’

  It would sell millions.

  ***

  At two o’clock, the club officially closes. The mass exodus of bleary-eyed twenty-somethings is under way.

  “I’m sorry, miss.” Tyrice frowns. “I truly thought the boss would back down and see you. Everyone was cheering for you.”

  “Don’t count me out yet.” I can be as stubborn as his boss. “Tell Smoke that he has fifteen minutes. If he doesn’t relent and allow me to see him by then, I’ll behave as I did when my Grandma Whyte died.”

  “Which is—how?” Tyrice lifts one eyebrow.

  “He’ll find out and I promise he won’t like it.”

  ***

  I wait for the fifteen minutes and ask Tyrice for an update. “Did he see my message?” I really don’t want to take this drastic and sure-to-be embarrassing action.

  “He saw your message.” The doorman avoids my gaze. “His reply reads, ‘I don’t care if that damn pain-in-the-ass woman fakes a thousand tears. I’m not seeing her.’” His head dips. “The boss deals with crying women all the time, miss. Crying won’t get his attention.”

  “He hasn’t heard me cry.”

  He doesn’t think I understand what he went through, that I have no knowledge of the crazy grief he felt when he lost his parents, the damage death can cause.

  “I’ll show him. It’s put-up or shut-up time.”

  I slump forward in the plastic chair, close my eyes and think of the people I’ve lost in my life, the things I did with them and won’t ever do again. All of the deaths were tough but Grandma Whyte’s parting was the most brutal, leaving a gaping hole inside me, a wound that won’t ever heal.

  My grandma, my confidant, my friend, is gone. She’ll never again give me advice, hug me close, assure me that everything will be okay.

  She won’t look over my shoulder and chide me for taking the cookies out of the oven too soon. “You’re always in a rush, ‘Nella,” she would say.

  Smoke would have agreed with her.

  He’ll never meet her. No one new in my life will. The man I love, the man I marry will never know her, never realize how special she was, how she could make a horrible day tolerable with a handful of ingredients, a dented cookie sheet and a warm oven.

  She’ll never teach my children to bake. They won’t hear her stories, have their hair mussed, be pressed against her vanilla-scented bosom.

  She won’t be there to keep them safe, to love them.

  My anguish builds and builds until I can’t keep it inside me any longer. I open my mouth and release all of my emotions in one long night-piercing howl.

  “Jesus Christ.” Tyrice scrambles backward.

  My cry goes on and on. Cars honk. People yell profanities, telling me to shut the fuck up. I pay them no attention, wailing with every ounce of pain in my battered heart.

  Minutes pass. I gain an audience. Club-goers, random pedestrians, Smoke’s staff gather around me. A red-haired girl dressed in the club’s gray-and-black uniform rests her head on my shoulder. Lucy, I think that’s her name. Tyrice explains to newcomers what I’m doing, about my need to see his boss.

  They wait for me to stop, for my voice to fade. They’ll be waiting for a long time. In the past, I’ve howled for hours at a time, driving my parents and everyone around me insane. It’s as though the pain is limitless, a deep well with no bottom.

  And tonight, I’m not crying solely for myself. At some time during my emotional purge, I started grieving for Smoke, for his losses, his disappointment, his pain.

  Some of the girls sob along with me. A couple of the guys are suspiciously glassy-eyed. Tyrice’s voice is choked.

  They’ve known grief. They recognize the rawness in my voice.

  Their emotions feed mine and I cry for them too.

  After a half an hour, as I start to believe Smoke won’t ever respond, he finally yanks the door open and glares at me, his eyes wild, his hair in disarray.

  I meet his gaze and extend my wail, reaching deep down inside me to transfer everything to him, every ounce of my pain, revealing the farthest corners of my soul, the darkness, the shadows, the places I’ve never shared with anyone else. I give him all of it.

  He braces his feet apart, balls his fingers into fists, and leans into this vocal barrage. Each passing note tightens his stance more and more, his knuckles whitening and his body shaking.

  The air between us sizzles and snaps with savage emotion, an energy born of grief and anger and something even more powerful than these two emotions combined.

  Love.

  I love the damn man.

  Smoke must have felt that too because his willpower snaps. The gold in his eyes flashes brighter than a bolt of lightning in a storm-darkened sky, blinding me.

  “Stop that God-awful sound before we get a noise complaint,” he barks. “You got what you wanted. You forced me to see you.”

  I swallow hard, my mouth dry. “Don’t ever tell me I don’t understand loss, how crazy it can make a person. I cried like that for a week after my Grandma Whyte died.”

  “I would have smothered you with a pillow after one day.” Smoke ignores the people circling us, his gaze laser-focused on my face.

  “You would have hugged me.” I stand, my legs stiff. “Because you know how I feel. We both care, too damn much.”

  His eyes gleam. He knows this is the truth. “Get in here.” Smoke moves to the side, granting me entrance to his club. “And put that mouth of yours to better use.”

  Girls twitter. My face heats. “You’re such a pig.” I march past him, trembling with indignation and an unhealthy amount of anticipation.

  “You’re a tenacious bitch.” Smoke grabs my wrist and pulls me along the hallway, his grip on me unrelenting, granting no escape.

  I run to match his pace, stumble over nothing. He keeps me upright, not allowing me to fall.

  “I told you I didn’t want to see you.” He turns right, forcing me to follow him. “You didn’t listen. Again.”

  “I always listen to you.” This is the truth. I do. “But I don’t always agree with you.”

  He grunts.

  “You wanted to see me.” I huff, his pace blistering. “You might not have known it but you did.”

  “Fuck, you won’t let up.” Smoke blasts into his office, taking his temper out on everything before him. “Why aren’t you making Eddy’s life hell?” He slams the doors shut behind us, the metal frame ringing with the impact. “I’ll tell you why.” He pushes me downward. “On your knees.”

  “Tell me. Why aren’t I making Eddy’s life hell?” I gaze up at him.

  “Because you don’t want him and you damn well don’t love him.” Smoke unbuckles his belt, unzips his pants, and yanks them and his boxer shorts downward, his movements sharp. His hard cock hits me in the face. “If you wanted him, you’d wear the poor bastard down until he agreed to take you back.”

  “He has Chelsea.” I reach for him.

  “Shut up.” Smoke bats my hands away from his shaft. “I’m talking.” He grips my chin. “Open your ever-moving mouth.”

  I comply and he pushes his cock head past my
lips. His musky taste fills my mouth. His hot skin glides along my tongue.

  “Finally, silence.” Smoke shoves himself inside me until his tip taps the back of my throat and his private curls tickle my chin. “Keep those blow-job lips parted the way I want them. This is for me, not you.” He withdraws. “This is my Goddamn reward for not killing you.” He thrusts, holding my head, preventing me from fleeing.

  I have no intention of backing down. He won’t hurt me and he needs this, a purging of his dark past, old sorrows, unhealed wounds. It’ll be as cathartic for him as my howling was for me.

  Smoke retreats, slams into me, retreats, slams into me. He wasn’t joking when he said this was for him. He fucks my mouth with hard punishing strokes, his fingers tangling in my curls. I’m forced to take him, my lips humming, my cheeks indented around his shaft.

  “Look at me, baby.”

  Our gazes lock, the violent passion in his eyes wetting my pussy.

  “This is the cock you want.” His balls smack against my chin. “You weren’t shrieking blue murder in front of Eddy’s uptown condo. You were making that horrible noise outside of my club, howling for a fuck like a bitch in heat.”

  I curl my fingers over Smoke’s hips, steadying myself, his crude truths and relentless thrusts making me light-headed.

  “I’ll give you that fuck.” He holds me to him. “Anytime, anywhere you want.” He punctuates his words with grunts, taking me fast and furiously. “Because I have no fuckin’ choice. You’re a curvaceous she-devil and you won’t give me any rest until I do.”

  I smile around his shaft, understanding the significance of his words. Smoke has given up, stopped fighting me, surrendered to my care.

  I’m certain he’ll relapse. He’s been a player his entire life. But I’ll enjoy our temporary cease-fire while it lasts.

  I suck on his cock, cradling him with my tongue, and he groans, twisting my hair in his fists, pain radiating over my scalp, harshening my arousal.

  “Fuck.” Smoke’s hips smack my cheeks. “So good. You feel so fuckin’ good.”

  I murmur a thank you. The sound reverberates around him, adding another dimension to the blow job. I repeat the thank you, experimenting.