Joseph laughs again, but this time he doesn’t choke on his beer. Marilyn gazes at me with eyes that seem to want to burn a hole through my soul. The expression on her face, however, doesn’t seem to be anger or surprise.
I think that maybe . . . maybe I’ve earned the smallest kernel of respect.
Shoot. I’ll take it.
Chapter 11
Brayden was dog tired after the Dallas Knights’ opening game. He’d caught two long passes and run them in for touchdowns, contributing to their win. But no matter how tired he was, he was going to muster up the energy he needed for his night with Chenille.
“I see you’re still bringing sand to the beach,” Jarrod said as they gathered their shower supplies.
“What you talkin’ ’bout?” Brayden asked.
“You know what. You brought that girl to training camp and now the first home game. You on lock, son?”
Brayden nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
“Man, you ain’t even sampled enough cake to be on lockdown. There are too many women out here for that nonsense. Don’t do it to yourself.”
“Everybody ain’t like you. Maybe I want to be on lockdown.”
“You don’t. It’s against nature. Men are created to spread our seed to as many willing, child-bearing-age women as we can. I’m just doing what I was born to do.”
“Like I said, I am not you.”
Jarrod shook his head and limped his way into the shower. Brayden wished his friend would lay off.
Brayden showered and dressed quickly, and although he usually iced his sore muscles after the game, he decided against it. Chenille had joined his father on the field at the end of the game, and her congratulations kiss made him duck the paparazzi on the way to the locker room lest he be embarrassed on the blogs.
Chenille was waiting for him with the other wives and girlfriends, as he emerged from the locker room in his fitted t-shirt and jeans. Seeing her wearing his jersey sent a surge of desire through his body. She was his, and everybody knew it.
Chenille ran into Brayden’s open arms and planted a hundred kisses on his neck as Brayden lifted her off her feet. The chemistry she said they had was evident. Brayden didn’t know if he was feeling chemical reactions, but he knew he felt better than he ever had.
Brayden set Chenille down on the ground and then kissed her neck right behind her ear. It smelled sweet, like perfume. The scent intoxicated him.
“I can’t wait to make love to you,” he whispered in her ear.
Chenille’s response was arms wrapped around Brayden’s neck and another kiss.
“Let’s go, then,” she said.
Brayden ushered Chenille to his Escalade, which had been brought to the exit for him. He helped Chenille into the passenger side and then got in the truck himself.
“No driver tonight?” Chenille asked.
“I’m the driver. I’m in charge.”
“Okay, then.”
“You smell so good,” Brayden said. “What is that scent you’re wearing?”
“Oh, it’s perfume that I made myself. Jasmine and patchouli are the main scents, but there is a little bit of orange also.”
“You’re freaking incredible.”
Chenille gave a full and throaty laugh, one that sounded sexy. The laugh was desire, passion, and confidence combined. It made him want to pull the SUV over on the side of the road.
Brayden had to calm himself down, or they’d never make it to Chenille’s hotel room.
“My mom usually comes down on the field after the game. Did you notice if she was okay?”
“She was okay. Just mad about me being at the game, and wearing your jersey. She’s not really feeling me.”
“Give it time. All she wants is for me to be happy. When she sees how happy you make me, there won’t be any problems.”
Chenille slipped her hand around Brayden’s as it rested on the gear shift. “I make you happy?”
“Yes, you do. My boys have been clowning the hell out of me, because I’m walking around with stars in my eyes. You’ve got me open.”
There was the laugh again, this time a little louder, but no less sexy.
“And all of this is before you get my goodies. What are you going to be like afterwards?”
“Spent.”
Chenille laughed hard now, like he’d told the funniest joke ever. Like he was Dave Chappelle, Kevin Hart, and Cedric the Entertainer, but better.
“I’m serious, though,” Brayden said.
“I know you are. That makes it even funnier.”
“You’re okay with this, right? I’m not pushing it too quickly, am I?”
“I want this as badly as you do.”
This time Brayden did pull right over onto the I-35 service road. He couldn’t last another ten minutes without tasting her.
“Is this the exit?” Chenille asked.
Brayden pulled the car off the road, as if there were an emergency. Well . . . there was. It just wasn’t an automobile emergency.
A slow grin teased the corners of Chenille’s lips as Brayden put the car in park. He hoped she was reading his mind, because it was hot and steamy in there.
“This isn’t the exit . . .”
Without any additional explanation, Brayden took Chenille’s face in one hand and gently pulled her toward his waiting lips. She moaned before their lips touched, then moaned louder when they did touch.
“Sorry,” Brayden said. “I couldn’t make it all the way to the hotel.”
“You can pull over anytime to kiss me like that.”
“That’s good to know. Thank you for the invitation.”
Brayden put the car back into drive and pulled onto the freeway. He could hear Chenille’s shallow breaths, and it made him even more excited, if that was possible.
“I enjoyed watching you play tonight. I’m so glad I came,” Chenille said in a rush of words and breath.
She couldn’t be happier than he was.
“You haven’t yet,” Brayden replied.
“I haven’t what?”
“Come . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
Brayden closed his eyes and shook his head. That’s what he got for being over-the-top nasty. The joke had gone completely over her head.
“My bad. I just told an unfunny joke.”
“I know what you’re talking about. I just wanted to see you squirm.”
“You’re gonna see me . . .”
“Ugh, no!” Chenille said, as she laughed hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. “Get me to the hotel before I change my mind.”
Brayden winked at Chenille as he floored the gas pedal. In a short while he was going to taste more than her lips. He was going to taste all of her, and he was more than ready. And then nothing would ever be the same.
Chapter 12
Isquint over at the clock on the nightstand next to the hotel room bed. It’s only one in the morning. It feels later, like I’ve slept for twelve hours and then some, but I’ve only been asleep for an hour. It was a deep and restful slumber, too. I even started dreaming.
But now I’m wide awake.
I stare at Brayden’s bare back as he is sprawled across the bed, taking up more than his half. His shoulders look carved out of the smoothest dark chocolate. Right in the small of his back is a little droplet of sweat—no doubt left over from the work he’d just put in.
I want to lick it off, but I restrain myself.
I squeeze my thighs together and close my eyes. I’m still warm and tingly. Brayden’s tongue and fingers had sparked a fire, and his thrusts stoked it. I don’t think it can be put out, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want it to be.
I’ve never been loved like this before.
Part of me feels guilty and a little . . . dirty. Some of the things we did should probably only happen once a ring has been placed on a finger. Really.
I feel my face get warm thinking about our passionate night. Then I wonder if this is real enough to become fo
rever.
Brayden stirs, as if my staring down at his body has disturbed his slumber. He stretches and then rolls over to face me.
“You’re awake,” he whispers.
I nod. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“What? I thought I put you out for the night.”
He props himself up on one arm and smiles. That smile is full of promises and suggestions. I trace his lips with my finger, making my own promises in return.
“I had a nice nap.”
“Dang, girl. I’m whipped. You’re better than me.”
“You haven’t a care in the world,” I say. “That’s why you sleep like a baby.”
Now he sits all the way up. He licks his bottom lip, but his gaze becomes serious.
“What are you worried about? Is it something I can help with?”
I don’t know if I should tell Brayden what’s on my mind. He’ll probably think I’m nuts. Guys always think that when women get all crazy after having sex for the first time. But what if he’s just going to be a story I tell a few years from now? What if he’s just going to be the NFL player I used to sleep with? At twenty-nine, I’m getting too old for that. It’s time for something solid.
“Sex complicates things,” I finally say. “I guess I’m feeling complex right now.”
“There is nothing complicated or complex about the way I feel. You’re the one.”
“How do you know I’m the one?”
Cody always said I was the one. That was his favorite thing to say to me when I asked him about his cheating. I would find an inbox message, or an email, and ask who the girl was. His reply was always, “Why would I want someone else when I’ve found the one?”
I never asked Cody what he meant by that. I never questioned it. I took it for granted that the one meant one and only. But it didn’t. It meant one of many. I don’t want to be one of many anymore.
“I know,” Brayden says, “because I made a list of what I wanted in a woman two years ago, and then I told God about it.”
“You told God about it? What?”
“Yeah, I was in New Year’s Eve service with my mother. Pastor told us to write down the thing we really wanted in life. At the time, I had everything but a good woman.”
“So, what was on your list?”
Brayden reaches over to the nightstand and picks up his phone. After a bit of scrolling, he shows me a picture of the list.
“The first thing on your list is sexy. You wrote that in church?”
“God knows I like sex. He gave me testosterone.”
I lift my eyebrows at this. I am not a frequent churchgoer. I sometimes go with my parents for special occasions, but not very often. I do know that what we’re doing, right now, in this hotel room does not line up with the church thing, but anyway. . .
I guess I am everything on his list. I’m sexy, driven, independently successful, kind, and not starstruck. Well, I’m almost independently successful.
“This list could apply to a whole lot of women, Brayden. I know plenty of women who have all of these characteristics.”
“Are you trying to hook me up with someone else?”
“No, I’m just saying that I don’t know if this narrows it down to me being the one. If there’s another one that could fit this list, then, maybe . . . I don’t know.”
“You’d be surprised. There are a lot of women who have some of those, but not a lot who have them all. You’re a unicorn, baby.”
That’s a first. I’ve never been called a mythical creature before. And he called me “baby.” A mythical creature and a pet name in one sentence.
“Thank you. I think.”
Brayden pulls me into his embrace. I snuggle up to his body and inhale his scent commingled with my own. Skin against skin. It makes me feel warm again.
“Why don’t you believe me?” Brayden asks as he puts little kisses on my neck. “Don’t put me in the same box as that other dude.”
“I’m not.”
“You kinda are.”
“You’re right. I am. Shoot. I can’t help it. It’s hard to trust again after you’ve been hurt. You’re the one who insisted on dating me.”
Brayden laughs. “I did insist on dating you. Because I knew. You’re it. When I saw how hard you worked in Jamaica, even when you had a baller trying to chase you down . . . I knew.”
“So, if I had let you catch me in Montego Bay, we wouldn’t even be here right now?”
Because I totally considered letting him catch me. If it hadn’t been for my clients and the need to collect my coins, my booty just might have been in the air. I think he’s giving me too much credit.
“I’m not saying that. But you were there for a purpose. You came and did your professional thing. It was impressive. It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed. Even sexier than these dimples.”
“Thank you.”
“How could you not believe me when I say you’re the one? I mean it. And we just had the best sex ever.”
“The best?”
“It wasn’t?”
I chuckle. “It totally was.”
“Oh, ’cause I was about to get right out of this bed and carry myself on home.”
“I don’t know if I was supposed to tell you that, though. Men get the big head when they think they’ve put it down.”
“Not me. I just like positive reinforcement.”
I don’t know why, but this tickles me as if he’d held a feather under my chin. The giggles tumble out, and I have no way of stopping them.
“That’s funny to you?”
“Y-yes!”
Brayden squeezes me tightly and turns my face to his. He kisses me so deeply that the laughter melts away. The warmth that had never subsided revs right back into a flame.
“I want some more positive reinforcement,” Brayden says as his hands travel down to the small of my back.
“You do?”
“Yep. Because you haven’t told me that I’m the one. But you will.”
I’ve got nothing but compliments for him, yet the path to his being my one and only has nothing to do with the warm place between my thighs. He has to get that part right—and does—but there’s more to winning my heart and trust than giving me orgasms. He’s got to give me mindgasms, heartgasms, and soul-gasms, too.
Chapter 13
Brayden sat in the VIP area of the Knight Ryders club, feeling uncomfortable. He was supposed to be hosting a party with Jarrod, but Jarrod was doing the hosting. Brayden was hiding—from groupies.
He hadn’t moved from the table once, not even to refresh his drink. At some point the waitress would come back around, because her tip depended on it, but the action was taking place in the middle of the floor where Jarrod and several of his teammates had taken over the dance floor.
As far as Brayden was concerned, he was off the market. And he didn’t think Chenille was the type of woman who would be okay seeing her man posted up with groupies in a nightclub. He wasn’t going to let the bloggers destroy his new love.
To be fair, not all of the women in the VIP area were groupies. Some of them were the classiest women in Dallas. They’d gotten in because they could afford the price of a ticket and bottle service on their own, without a baller chipping in.
One of these women, Sarah Sanchez, sat down at his table. She was a white girl with a Latin name. Blond hair and silicone for days. Like a corporate Playboy bunny.
Brayden took in a sharp breath. His mother had been trying to hook him up with Sarah for years. She had even brought her out to training camp a time or two.
“Is someone sitting here?” Sarah asked as she got way too comfortable when she was about to have to move.
“Yes.”
She laughed. “Who? Jarrod? I don’t think he’s coming back for awhile. He seems to be quite occupied.”
Occupied was one word to describe Jarrod’s status. He was sandwiched between two women. One was bent over in front of him, hips gyrating into his crotch. The other was twerking i
n a way that each butt cheek bounced against Jarrod’s thighs and butt as she moved. He had a look of pure ecstasy on his face. Brayden shook his head.
“I wasn’t talking about Jarrod. I’m holding the seat for a guest.”
“Is it that girl you invited to training camp? The one your mother didn’t seem to care for?”
Brayden sipped his now watered down drink and didn’t take the bait. Sarah got on his nerves. He’d slept with her once and never wanted to again. She had been trying to get a repeat performance out of him ever since.
“Are we not on speaking terms?” she asked.
Brayden looked around for the waitress. He needed another drink. A stiff one.
“We’re not on any terms, Sarah.”
She shuddered. “Wow. So cold.”
Brayden closed his eyes slowly and squeezed. He knew exactly how this was going to go. It was difficult rejecting certain white women when they were intent on sleeping with a black man. He’d had to deal with this type since he joined the league.
“Not being cold, Sarah. Just waiting for a friend. That’s all.”
“Is she on CPT?”
Sarah laughed at her own joke, by her damn self, because it wasn’t funny. She didn’t have a pass to say “colored people time” just because she’d been impaled by an African-American penis on occasion. Especially when she was saying it the way she was saying it, like it was some sort of judgment on the black woman she thought he was waiting for.
“It was good seeing you, Sarah . . .”
“Can’t I just rest my feet a little until your friend gets here? It looks like I wore these stilettos for nothing. You’re not biting.”
Brayden got to his feet. Darth Becky wasn’t leaving, so he’d have to make his own escape.
“You can just have this table. Enjoy your night.”
Sarah pouted as Brayden cut across the dance floor to the bar. Other partygoers made a path for him. He was a celebrity, an irritated celebrity at that. No one asked him to take a selfie or for an autograph, so his anger must’ve shown on his face.
“A shot of Maker’s Mark, please. On the rocks.”
Brayden took the drink and downed it in one swallow. The smooth bourbon warmed his throat and midsection instantly, but it didn’t calm him down. He was contractually obligated to do one more hour, but Brayden was close to walking out the door.
The Outside Child Page 7
