Swing

by Miasha

  JuJu & Ferrari

  Ferrari’s plan was to go straight to bed to avoid any confrontation with JuJu. While she was in the shower he stripped down to his underwear. He pulled back the covers that were tightly tucked under the mattress and climbed into the bed. He said a silent prayer and closed his eyes.

  He heard the shower stop running and said another prayer. He hoped that JuJu was too tired to bring up the cat Danielle had let out of the bag.

  JuJu’s footsteps neared their bed and then stopped. What was she doing? He carefully opened one eyelid halfway. He could see JuJu’s silhouette above him, and suddenly a bucket of scalding-hot water came pouring down over him. A stinging pain pierced his entire body as he leapt to his feet.

  “AHHHHHH! AHHHH!” Ferrari tried running from the assault, but between the slippery marble floor and his shaking body, he slammed down to the ground.

  JuJu stood over him, beating him with the bucket. “Who do you think you are that you have the audacity to go off and fuck that girl in MY friend’s home while I’M right in the next room?” She lost grip of the bucket and it went flying across the bedroom.

  Ferrari slid toward the bed and leaned back against the platform, but JuJu didn’t let up. She continued beating him with her fists. With each blow, Ferrari forced a flashback of Tori and him making love. It was his only means of escaping the abuse—he had to put his mind in a whole different space.

  As JuJu struck him, he imagined Tori. The look on her face as he penetrated her. The feeling he had not just in his manhood but also in his heart, in his soul, as he pleased her. Soon the pain subsided. JuJu’s rants began to lose steam. He closed his eyes and stayed in his own mind.

  But then JuJu seemed to gain a second wind, striking Ferrari with more intensity and hatred than she ever had before. She was actually causing his skin to break. Blood began to drip from his face. That was the final straw.

  Ferrari watched for JuJu’s next swing and, with his adrenaline pumping, gripped her arm and flipped her over. She fell on her back on the cold, wet marble floor.

  She screamed. Ferrari stood up. He looked at her squirming on the floor. Through tears, blood, and stray water droplets he scanned the room for his phone. He grabbed it off the nightstand and dialed 911. He’d had enough.

  He locked himself in the bathroom while he waited for the cops to come just in case JuJu got her bearings and came after him again. It was a good thing he did too, because as soon as JuJu was able to get back up she went crazy. She grabbed a letter opener from her nightstand drawer and pounded on the bathroom door.

  “I’M GONNA KILL YOU! YOU THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?! YOU THINK YOU CAN DO THIS TO ME?!”

  Ferrari just sat on the toilet seat and waited for the pounding to stop. When it eventually did, that was his cue that the police had arrived. As he crept out of the bathroom he could hear voices. He entered the living room to find JuJu at the door talking to two officers.

  When Ferrari approached the door to offer his side of the story, one of the officers stopped him in his tracks. One hand up and the other on the top of his holstered gun, he commanded, “Stop right there.”

  “But I’m the one who called. She poured hot water on me, beat me, she’s tasered me before, she’s . . .” Ferrari went down the list.

  “What have you done to make her defend herself in those ways?” the other officer asked.

  JuJu looked back at him, a smirk on her face. Then she butted in. “Listen, I think this is all one big misunderstanding. We had a little fight tonight that got somewhat out of control. And for the sake of him not being arrested and possibly even deported,” she placed emphasis on deported, knowing that was a sensitive subject for Ferrari, “I don’t want to press any charges and I know he doesn’t want to press any charges. I think we both just need to get some rest.”

  “All right then,” the first officer said, taking his hand off his gun.

  “That sounds like the best thing, especially if you, sir,” he peered at Ferrari, “want to avoid being sent back across the border.”

  Ferrari was dumbfounded. Then he noticed the folded bills JuJu placed in their hands as they shook on their agreement to leave without making any arrests.

  The door to the condo closed and by the time JuJu had turned around to get her hands on Ferrari once more, he was gone. Back in the bathroom behind the locked door. He sat on the toilet seat and typed into his phone: I’m ready. Then he pressed Send.

  Lyssa & Jacob

  “Make sure you dust everything good,” I instructed my housekeeper. “Her allergies are a bitch.” It was the morning of Morgan’s flight back and I was making sure everything was perfect for her. “Jake!” I yelled up to my husband who had just got out of the shower. “Don’t mess that bathroom up!” My husband was a true slob. Wherever he removed his clothing was where it would stay. But I wasn’t havin’ that this morning. Not only was our housekeeper almost done cleaning up, but Morgan was due to land any minute.

  “She’s not the pope,” Jake teased. “And it’s goin’ to get dirty all over again right after she gets here.”

  “Boy!” I yelled to hush him.

  Just like our family, our cleaning lady didn’t know the nature of our real relationship with Morgan. Unlike our family, though, our cleaning lady thought she was our goddaughter who was coming to stay with us to attend school. Morgan had multiple identities to the different people in our lives and I wanted it to stay that way.

  “I’m going to the store!” I yelled up, grabbing my pocketbook off the couch. Then I took a couple bills from the zipper pocket and put them on the kitchen counter. “In case I’m not back when you get ready to leave, here’s your pay,” I told our cleaning lady.

  Then I left. I took the elevator to the first floor, walked past the mailboxes, out the door, and I was in the middle of a shopping, dining metropolis. I loved living in the city.

  Selling our home in the suburbs was one of the best decisions Jake and I made after the kids moved out. The money helped toward our business venture and we were able to move to a place where no one knew us. That way, we wouldn’t have to worry about neighbors asking questions or popping up at the wrong time.

  I walked around the corner to Victoria’s Secret and purchased some nice and naughty pieces for that night. Then I stopped in Bath & Body Works to get some candles and oils. Lastly, I went to Publix and picked up their famous Southern-style red velvet cake.

  By the time I got back home, our cleaning lady was gone and Morgan was sitting in my living room with Jake.

  “Hey!” I said cheerfully, setting my bags down on the counter.

  “Hey.” Morgan’s greeting didn’t sound as cheerful.

  I looked at Jake and that’s when I noticed his face was as sorrowful as Morgan sounded.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked as I stopped fiddling with the shopping bags. I walked out of the galley kitchen around to the living room, joining my husband and our live-in.

  “Morgan has some news,” Jake said.

  I gave her the floor. I wanted to sit down, but was too anxious. I had no idea what was about to come from her mouth, but I knew from their faces it couldn’t be good.

  “Lyssa,” she started off, “I’m pregnant.”

  I sat down. Speechless at first, I clutched my necklace. A swarm of questions filled my head. “By who?” came out first. “I mean, Jake always used protection whenever we all . . .” Then a fear revealed itself. I turned to my husband. “You fucked her behind my back, didn’t you?”

  Jake’s jaw dropped. That’s when I lost it. I jumped to my feet.

  “She’s pregnant with your baby, isn’t she?!” I got up in his face.

  Words struggled to escape his throat. But they didn’t have a chance with me.

  “Alexandria told me how flirtatious Morgan was with you while we were at my sister’s for Thanksgiving!”

  Jake’s face crumbled in defense.

  I kept going: “And is that why
she lied and said she was visiting”—I made quotations with my fingers—“‘distant relatives’ over the Christmas break? But really you put her up in a hotel?”

  Jake wondered how I knew about that. At least that’s what his face told me.

  “Did you forget that I do the finances?!” I yelled at him. “I saw it on your statements, Jake!” I paced the floor, clutching my necklace again. “How long?” I asked, this time my attention going to Morgan.

  “Lyssa, noooo,” she shook her head. “I’ve never slept with your husband behind your back. It’s always been here or at the club when the three of us were together. The reason why your daughter noticed something between us at Thanksgiving was because that was the day I confided in Jake about being pregnant. I didn’t want him to tell you because I knew you would fire me. And the reason he put me up in that hotel was so that I could recover from the abortion that I was going to have . . .” She glanced over at Jake. And so did I.

  He bowed his head.

  She continued, “But after giving it a lot of thought, I couldn’t do it. So here I am, telling you that I’m pregnant, not by your husband, by my boyfriend.”

  I let go of my chain and sighed with relief. I sat back down and replayed Morgan’s explanations in my head. Everything she said made sense. It added up . . . But wait, she wasn’t off the hook yet. “Boyfriend?”

  Jake looked up at the ceiling and rubbed his goatee.

  “I’m sorry, Lyssa, I know that was part of our agreement from the start, to not have sex with anybody else, but—”

  “Do you know why my husband and I had you agree to that in the first place?”

  She nodded. “You wanted me to yourselves.”

  I shook my head with disgust. “Not so we could have you all to ourselves. We needed that commitment from you for our protection. When we took you to the doctor and got that clean bill of health from you, it was our understanding that we would both be free and clear of any and all STDs throughout the duration of your job. You goin’ out and fuckin’ some boyfriend behind our backs put us in a compromising position. Because no longer are we free and clear of anything.” I couldn’t believe I had to break it down to the girl.

  “Well, my boyfriend’s clean, I can vouch for him.”

  “That’s not the point, Morgan. That’s not the point at all.”

  “Morgan,” Jake finally broke his silence, “just go ahead and get your things. My wife and I need a moment.”

  Morgan stood up and walked out of the living room. She jogged upstairs.

  “I know this is upsetting to you,” Jake began. “But let’s just be glad it was a boyfriend and not a terrible consequence of our lifestyle, like you suggested.” He cleared his throat as a sign that he was looking for me to say something.

  “I’m sorry,” I muffled. “I just . . .” I searched for the right words. “I got caught up in my fears and then when lies were being told and now this, it just made me snap.”

  Jake stood up and walked over to me. He grabbed my hands and held them in his. “Apology accepted,” he said with a slight grin. Then he pulled me to my feet.

  We embraced. And there in his arms, I let my thoughts roam. Jake was right, I had to look at the positive side of this situation. But one thing weighed on me that made this difficult. Certainty. I needed to know for sure the baby was not my husband’s. And I needed to know for sure that this boyfriend was in fact clean. A doctor’s appointment for both Jake and me would answer the second question in just a matter of weeks. But I’d have to wait months before I could get an accurate answer to the first question. Months of what would feel like a damn prison sentence.

  Chapter 4

  Deception Is the Only Felony

  Tori & Kevin

  It was a thunderstorm. Kevin was working late. I had just pulled up to the garage of a lake house I had no business being at. I sat in my car arguing with myself about my decision to go there. What the hell was I doing? I put the car in reverse. I was taking my ass back home.

  Then in my rearview I saw another car approaching, blocking me in. The headlights blurred my vision. I pressed my foot on the brake. Squinting, I tried to make out who it was that had pulled up behind me.

  Then I saw him. Ferrari. He stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was in a T-shirt that got soaked instantly and a pair of jeans. He was carrying a bag in his hands.

  I rolled down my window to tell him I’d had a change of heart and that I was going back home. But “You’re going to get sick” came out instead.

  “I was in and out,” he said, cowering from the raindrops. “You coming in, right?”

  I wanted to say no. But I knew that would lead to a back-and-forth and I didn’t want to keep him in the rain any longer. I figured I’d go in for a second and then say my goodbyes.

  I put the car in park, turned it off, and stepped out. I opened my umbrella and shared it with him.

  We walked up the driveway together. I could smell that it was food he was carrying. We got to the front door and he opened it with a key. I put the umbrella down and moved inside. He followed.

  “It’s nasty out there, isn’t it,” he stated the obvious. “Get comfortable, make yourself at home.”

  I walked just a few steps in and was in awe. A wall of windows provided a perfect view of Lake Spivey, one of Georgia’s many beautiful lakes. A fire was burning in the stone fireplace. And above it hung a large flatscreen that was set to a music channel.

  I sat down on a plush sectional. My plans to stay for only a second were diminishing with every comfort.

  “You hungry?” Ferrari asked, as he moved the food from the bag onto plates.

  “I am now,” I said, the aroma delighting my nostrils.

  “Good. I got us some soul food.”

  Soul food was something we learned through our Facebook messaging that we both liked a lot but our spouses didn’t care for. Mine because he was somewhat of a health nut. And his because growing up in a white household, she never really developed an appreciation for baked macaroni-and-cheese and candied yams like we had.

  “It smells delicious,” I told him.

  “It’s from the best spot in Atlanta,” he boasted, almost as if he had cooked it himself.

  “You went all the way to Paschal’s? In this rain?”

  “You said you hadn’t had it since you got married and moved away, so I thought I’d treat you to something premarriage,” he explained, walking my plate out to me.

  As he set down a tray on the ottoman in front of me, I thought back to the conversation we’d had on Facebook about Paschal’s. It was one of our first private exchanges, many months ago. I thought it was sweet how he had remembered.

  “So what’s so important that you called me here? What news do you have for me?” I got right to the point.

  Ferrari disregarded my questions. He took his place beside me, grabbed my hand, and blessed the food. We immediately dug in. Our conversation would have to wait until after we ate, I guessed. And that was just fine with me.

  Afterward, Ferrari cleaned up our dishes and put his iPhone in its dock. He shuffled through his playlist and found what he was looking for. The sound of thunder clapping outside was a perfect prelude. Then the beat played and I fell under Ferrari’s spell.

  You’ll never make me stay, so take your weight off of me . . . The Weeknd’s opening line to “D.D.” took me back to the bathroom at Danielle and Stewart Oxford’s mansion almost three weeks ago. I was powerless.

  Ferrari brought me to my feet and pulled me into him. Naturally I rested my head on his chest. We slow-danced around the great room. I muffled the words of the song, closing my eyes to really feel the music. “That’s okay, hey baby, do what you please, I have the stuff that you want, I am that thing that you need . . .” I sang in a whisper.

  Ferrari, seemingly unable to hold back any longer, leaned forward and used his lips to part mine. He stuck his tongue in my mouth. I accepted. We kissed and my body temperature rose. Our hands made their w
ay all over various parts of our bodies. I think he had a fetish for a juicy butt. Thinking back, his wife had a small, tight ass. Mine was voluptuous. My hands rubbed his rock-hard chest. Even through his T-shirt, I could feel the ripples. Before long, my fingers were lifting the shirt off him. And his were pulling my sweats down.

  We got completely naked in each other’s arms. We grinded, touched, and kissed until we just couldn’t take it anymore. Ferrari lifted me up, my thighs wrapped around his waist. He directed his pole to my private entry. I welcomed him. The fire blazed, the thunder roared, the music thumped, and we fucked. It started against the wall for support. Then he stood me up and turned me around. I pressed my hands against the windows to hold myself up while he slid in and out from the back. He came pretty soon but I hadn’t yet. So he took me over to the kitchen island and laid me on top of the granite. At first touch, it was cold, but it warmed up quickly. He parted my legs and buried his head there. He blew on my clit and then licked. I clawed his back, I moaned, I clenched my teeth. It felt painfully good.

  We ended up on the cowhide rug back in the great room and he was erect again. He lifted my legs up over my head. Years of dance class as a child did wonders for my flexibility. Leaning his body weight on the back of my thighs, he guided himself inside me. Then he pulled out. Then back in. Out. In. Out. In. He was teasing me and it worked because it made me want him like a fiend wants drugs. I got so worked up that by the time he actually left it in and got into a steady rhythm, I was on the verge of climaxing.

  “You . . . are . . . are . . . th . . . the . . . best,” I panted while my body shook beyond my control.

  Winded and satisfied, we lay beside each other and engaged in small talk. First, about how great sex was with each other. Neither one of us had had better. I felt guilty admitting that to Ferrari. I mean, what would my husband think?

  Ferrari was less apologetic. He didn’t have the same feelings for his wife that I had for Kevin. It was then he told me the reason he begged me to come there.