Crazy Love

by Desiree Day

  “Daddee, look what Mizz Stacee got me!” Jameel gushed as he held up a giant milk shake. The cup was almost bigger than him; he had to use two hands to hold it up.

  “Mmm. That looks good. Are you gonna share some with your old man?” Jackson teased.

  Jameel stopped pulling at the straw long enough to think about his father’s request. “Maybe I will and maybe I won’t,” he replied, and at that Jackson threw his head back and burst out laughing. Jameel was definitely his son. He looked proudly at him. His cheeks were pulled in and it looked like he’d inhale his whole face if he sucked any harder.

  Off to the side, Stacie watched the exchange with wide eyes. The love that flowed between father and son was intoxicating. She took a better look at the father.

  Damn! He’s got it going on, she thought. She tried hard not to stare at his sculpted lips, high cheekbones and long eyelashes. But her eyes couldn’t help but take in his body. His chest was as wide as a football field and his legs were two tree trunks. A jolt of desire hit her and she didn’t dare look at his fingers. It’ll be over then. Gawd, the things that I could do with that man.

  She glanced up at his face just in time to see his lips turn into a sly smile and her mouth went dry, images of his succulent lips tonguing her body exploded in her head. The spell was broken by the ringing of her cell phone.

  Stacie quickly pulled the phone from her purse. Her face brightened as soon as she heard the voice, and she stepped away from the table.

  “Hey baby,” she said seductively. “I’m fine. Lexie was sick, but she’s doing better now.” She listened, then nodded a couple of times. She giggled and said, “I can be there in twenty minutes,” then her voice deepened, “thirty, if you want me to stop and take my panties off.” Stacie said some more things that probably would’ve made an eavesdropper blush, then clicked off her phone.

  Although Jackson could only hear bits and pieces of her conversation over the din of the restaurant, he knew that she was talking to her man. Her smile, the low voice, and her body language all screamed “sex me!”

  “How come your boyfriend isn’t here?” Jackson asked Stacie, and Tameeka smiled to herself.

  “What are you, like a census taker?” Stacie snapped, but she was secretly delighted that he seemed interested in her. Jackson laughed.

  “Naw. I drive a bus,” he answered as his gaze caressed her face.

  “Well you should work for the government the way you ask all the women for their info,” Stacie said.

  “Only the beautiful ones,” he drawled. “So why is your man letting you eat by yourself?” he asked as he sidled closer to her and his body heat upped her body temperature by ten degrees.

  “How—” Stacie started, but her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, then asked, “How do you know I have a boyfriend?”

  “Why shouldn’t you? You’re drop-dead gorgeous, articulate and classy. If you didn’t have a boyfriend, I’d be worried,” Jackson flirted as he stepped forward and Stacie immediately scooted backward.

  “Well, be prepared to be worried, ’cause I don’t have a boyfriend,” Stacie replied sassily, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes off his luscious lips.

  Jackson cupped his hands over his mouth and announced, “Hey, brothas of the ATL, watch out, Miss Stacie is on the loose,” he joked, then, “So do you always give brothas a hard time?” he asked lightly.

  Stacie shook her head. “I give what I get,” she answered, then changed the subject. “What about you? Where do you spend your nights?”

  “In my bed,” Jackson answered, and Stacie rolled her eyes. “By myself.” Stacie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m going to fess up, you caught me. Come closer so that I can whisper it to you. I don’t want you-know-who to hear,” he said sotto voce as he glanced down at Jameel, who was playing with his shoelaces. Stacie hesitated for only a heartbeat before leaning in. Jackson’s breath stroked her ear. “Sometimes…” he began. “Sometimes during a thunderstorm…when it’s dark…and scary…Jameel sleeps with me,” he said, then his voice dropped to a seductive whisper. “Would you like to sleep with me instead?”

  “Oh,” Stacie gasped as a shot of heat hit her mound. The thought of being in the same bed as Jackson left her breathless. She turned her head and their lips were a tongue length apart. Her eyes ran hotly over his juicy mouth and the sounds of the restaurant faded away as she slowly inched toward him. Jackson reached up and cupped the back of her head, urging her closer.

  “Daddy!” Jameel shrieked, then tugged on his father’s pant leg and Stacie jumped a mile high. “I’m ready to go now.”

  Jackson shot Jameel a look that instantly quieted him.

  “It’s time for me to go too,” Stacie blurted, flustered. She made a move to leave.

  “Hold up,” Jackson commanded and Stacie stopped in her steps. “So can I get the numbers?” he asked smoothly, but his mind was reeling. If Jameel hadn’t interrupted him, they would’ve given Houston’s a free show.

  “Um, yeah,” Stacie answered, digging around her purse for a business card, then scribbling her home number on it. By then Tameeka had eased back over to them.

  “Tell the beautiful ladies good-bye,” Jackson instructed his son, then he and Jameel sauntered out of the restaurant.

  Later that night, after Jackson worked with Jameel on his multiplication tables, fed him, gave him his bath, and finally tucked him into bed, he felt like he had been strapped to a nonstop treadmill. It was at times like this that he wished he were married to someone who’d love Jameel as much as he did. Just then an image of Jameel and Stacie giggling together flashed in his head. “Oh, hell no! Not Miss Attitude,” he muttered to himself as he trudged down the hall to his room, pulled off his boxer shorts, and slid into his bed. The sheets were cool against his naked body. He clicked on the TV and aimlessly flipped through the channels; nothing caught his attention. He glanced at the clock. It’s still early, he thought.

  He picked up his phone, then Stacie’s business card and punched in her home number. “Be home, Miss Stacie,” he murmured as the phone rang.

  12

  What I’d Rather Be Doing Instead of Working

  Lounging in a chaise on a cruise ship

  Shopping in Paris or New York City. Hell, why not both?

  Making crazy love to Shemar Moore 24/7

  Taking a trip to Aruba to see Sinbad

  Driving Lexie to South Beach

  Sleeping until the afternoon sun kisses my eyelids

  Thomas, Garrett and Jefferson, please hold. Thomas, Garrett and Jefferson, please hold. Thomas, Garrett and Jefferson, please hold.” The words flowed out of Stacie’s mouth so smoothly that they were almost lyrical. Having said them one million, one hundred sixty-eight times had something to do with it. One day when she hadn’t had that much to do, she’d figured it out. She had uttered that phrase one million, one hundred sixty-eight times. Eight years, multiplied by eight hours, and she answered the phone roughly fifty times an hour.

  Her nameplate read Stacie Long—Receptionist, but she was really Stacie Long, Toll Collector, Gate Keeper and Information Gatherer, all rolled into one. And she loved it. She and only she decided who got past the solid oak double doors, whose call got forwarded to the decision makers and who got the information they wanted.

  She adjusted her headset, stuck a peppermint in her mouth, took a deep breath and answered the next call. Her desk resembled a small cockpit and if the truth was told, with her black, whisper-thin telephone headset, she looked like a pilot. The high-tech telephone console spanned the entire breadth of the desk.

  Being a receptionist wasn’t what she envisioned herself doing when, eight years ago, she had quit her assembly line job at the Ford factory; she’d wanted to wear a white collar instead of blue. She had taken the receptionist job just to pay the bills and it was supposed to be until something better came along; eight years later, nothing better had.

  The phones stopped ringing long enough for Stacie to log onto her f
avorite bridal website. Her brow was puckered with concentration.

  That’s how Quinton Jones, one of the firm’s hottest attorneys, found her, staring at the computer monitor as if it was a TV.

  “Hey Stacie,” he rumbled. Stacie jumped, then looked sheepishly at Quinton and a smile spread over her face. She’d had a crush on him from the first day he strutted into the office wearing his Armani. He was single, thirty-three, no kids and fine as hell. He reminded her of a young Denzel Washington. He was pulling in a healthy six figures to boot.

  “Hey Q,” she purred, smiling brightly as she flung her hair over her shoulder and looked coyly at him. “How’s your day going?”

  He grimaced at the nickname she had given him; it was so ghetto. “Crazy,” he answered, and ran a hand through his curly hair. “I’m in court every day this week. One of my paralegals just quit. And my mom will be here this weekend and I haven’t planned a thing for us to do.”

  “Oh, I’m—” She was cut off by Mr. Peppersong’s voice booming through the intercom. “Miss Long, I need to see you. Right now.” She and Quinton exchanged glances. He gave her a little smile before making a hasty retreat.

  “Aw shit!” Stacie muttered. She’d been twenty minutes late for work this morning and she’d hoped no one had noticed. But of course someone had. Lexie was sick again. Wheezing and hacking, she had barely gotten Stacie to work. Stacie glanced stealthily to her left, then to her right, then did a quick twirl in her chair. The perimeter was clear. She crouched down and reached under her desk for her shoe. It was a sling back, not one of her favorites, but it had to do. She held it up to her nose and inhaled deeply. Then again, and again. After the fourth time, her heartbeat slowed down and she was as relaxed as a well-sexed woman. She swiped a hand over her nose and stood up. A moment later, both shoes were on and she was striding to Mr. Peppersong’s office without a care in the world.

  She hovered on the threshold of his office. He was sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone, but he looked up, caught sight of her and waved her in. As she eased her way into his office, she got the feeling that she was walking into a bear trap; she resisted the urge to examine the floor for anything that would grab her feet. Even though Andre Peppersong was on the phone, he couldn’t resist the urge to smirk at her as he motioned her to the chair in front of his desk. Stacie plopped in it, and she couldn’t help but notice a red folder on his desk, her name written across the front.

  Stacie settled back in the chair and perused his office. This was her first time ever crossing the threshold. It was spalike. Everything was green and cream. Floor plants were scattered across the office, a cream-colored sofa took up the back wall and half a dozen miniature waterfalls covered the countertops. Stacie’s eyes locked onto one particular waterfall; the cascading water was hypnotic. She was so fascinated with it that she didn’t hear Andre hang up the phone.

  “How are you today, Miss Long?” he asked, and fixed her with an unblinking gaze.

  Stacie gritted her teeth. She didn’t mind him addressing her by her last name, but the way he said “Miss” made it sound like he had just swallowed something bitter and nasty. “Fine. Thank you,” she answered primly, then ran a hand over her fuchsia colored suede skirt. The same skirt that almost caused a traffic jam on Peachtree Street the last time she wore it. Any heterosexual man would’ve been breaking his neck to get a look. But not Andre, she wasn’t his type; he preferred a joy stick, not a button.

  Andre opened the red folder and pretended to study the contents. He already had the file memorized; after all, he wrote it two weeks ago. He closed the folder, crossed his hands in front of him, looked at Stacie and said, “Well, Miss Long, I assume you know why I called you here this morning.” He paused a second for Stacie to comment, and when she didn’t he breezed on. “This is the third time in two weeks that you’ve been late. What’s your excuse this time?” He impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for her response.

  Stacie tilted her head and stared down at the oatmeal-hued rug. To Andre it looked submissive and demure, but she was really hiding the anger that flashed in her eyes. How dare he speak to me in that tone? she fumed. She pushed down her anger, then met his stare. “Lexie was sick. My car,” she explained at seeing Andre’s raised eyebrows. “Lexie is her nickname. Her full name is Lexus Long,” she said all in a rush. “She wasn’t acting right this morning. I guess she had a cold. So I didn’t want to drive her too fast. Just in case she really broke down.” She was babbling and she knew it.

  “Be that as it may, Miss Long. You are familiar with the firm’s policy on tardiness.” This was said more as a statement of fact than a question and Stacie merely nodded. “You have one more time, Miss Long, to be late. Any more than that and we’re going to have to dismiss you.”

  Stacie gasped. I can’t lose my job. My bills, my rent, Lexie!

  Andre smirked at her reaction. He loved his job. “Oh, this is for you.” He slid a pamphlet to the edge of the desk and Stacie almost sucked her teeth. The asshole doesn’t even have enough decency to hand it to me.

  “What is it?” Stacie asked as she flipped through the brochure. It was filled with glossy photos of smiling people. Then her eyes caught the title, EAP, Employee Assistance Program. “I don’t need this,” she protested, dropping it on his desk as if it burned her hands. “I don’t need a counselor,” she said in a heated tone.

  “Mr. Kimble thought that you could benefit from the program. Maybe the counselor can figure out why you can’t get to work on time…and why you named your car Lexie,” he said snidely. “I would suggest that you sign up as soon as possible.”

  Mr. Kimble. Stacie flushed deeply. He was one of the partners in the firm. He knows my business. Who else knows?

  “That will be all. You may leave now,” he said prissily, then handed her the brochure.

  Stacie was halfway to the door when he called her. “A temp will be training with you this afternoon.”

  “For what? I didn’t request anybody,” she responded, panicked. She only needed a temp when she went on vacation.

  Andre smiled condescendingly, then said, “I thought it would be a good idea for you to have a backup. Just in case you’re out, or something.”

  “Oh,” Stacie said, relieved. “Is that all? Betty in the secretarial pool is my—”

  “I think that it’ll be wise to have another,” Andre interjected smoothly, and a chill went up her spine.

  Before she could say anything more, he picked up his phone, punched in some numbers and swiveled his chair around, showing her his back. Stacie hurried to the ladies’ room, locked the stall door and spent ten minutes with her nose in her shoe.

  Misti, spelled with an “i” not a “y”, show up that afternoon, oozing perkiness. With blonde hair down to her waist and skin that looked like she and the sun were on a first-name basis, she had a breathy baby-soft voice. Every time she talked, Stacie had to strain to hear.

  Stacie didn’t mind it when Misti followed her around like a puppy. Stacie certainly didn’t mind it when Misti transferred two calls to Andre’s office and they got disconnected. But she was royally pissed that by the time they left at five o’clock everybody at the firm was in love with Misti.

  Stacie skulked through the parking garage to her car. She popped the trunk, pulled out her gym bag and quickly pulled out her sneakers, then hurried back into the car and locked the doors. Then she reclined her seat back, closed her eyes and brought her sneaker up to her nose.

  13

  If You’re Going to Play with a Rattlesnake, You’d Better Be Ready to Deal with the Consequences

  Have a wonderful evening. And thanks for shopping at Heaven on Earth. We appreciate your business,” Tameeka gushed as she walked the last customer out, then securely locked the door behind him. “Finally,” she sighed; it had been a long day.

  “Come here, baby,” Tyrell called from the sofa. “Let me take care of you,” he said as he patted his lap. Tameeka trudged across
the store and gratefully sank into his manmade cushion.

  “Ah, you’re my heaven on earth,” she whispered and snuggled deep into Tyrell’s lap, thankful that he was there. “Did you enjoy yourself today?” she asked.

  “I did. You are definitely doing your thing in here. I’m so proud of you, baby,” he said as he wrapped his arms around her and brushed his lips over her hair.

  “Better than the last time?” she ventured, then held her breath.

  “Yep…a lot better than the last time. Not once did you mistake me for your flunky or yell at me for looking at a lady. You’re getting a lot better,” he praised.

  “Thanks,” Tameeka answered. “I’m really trying. Believe it or not, our arguments bothered me too.”

  “I like us like this, calm, on track and in synch with each other. If we continue like this we can do big things together, baby,” Tyrell said.

  Tameeka warmed inside. She liked the sound of that…he was thinking long term. “Like what?” she asked.

  Tyrell was silent for a moment, then said, “Marriage…babies.”

  Tameeka gasped with surprise; she was thinking more along the lines of living together. She pulled out of Tyrell’s arms, did a quick reverse and straddled him. “Really? You really thought about that?” she asked as she snaked her arms around his neck.

  He nodded. “You’re a good lady, even more so when you’re not trying to rule our world. You have a lot of the qualities I look for in a woman,” he admitted.

  “Thank you,” Tameeka beamed, and suddenly a loud rumbling reverberated through the store.