Crazy Love

by Desiree Day

  “So how’s Lexie? Is she feeling better?” Jackson asked, egging her on.

  Stacie was stunned into silence. He’s a mind reader, she thought. She gazed at him in amazement, then her eyes widened, remembering. He wasn’t psychic or as intuitive as she thought, he was just nosy. “You’re an eavesdropper,” she accused. “You listened to my conversation. You sicko!”

  “Like I had a choice.” Jackson held up an imaginary cell phone and began mimicking Stacie. “‘It’ll be longer if you want me to stop and take my panties off,’” then he giggled sarcastically.

  “Aren’t you just the fucking king of comedy?” Stacie said heatedly. “I bet the Kings of Comedy tour could use someone with your talent. Or better yet, maybe you could go on Ripley’s Believe It or Not! as the Amazing Wet Man.” She picked up her glass of Cristal, drew back her arm and was poised to toss the liquid on Jackson when Tameeka ordered her to stop.

  “Come on!” Tameeka barked and tugged at Stacie’s arm. She needed to get her away from Jackson before she did something she’d later regret. She and Jackson were already scowling at each other; they looked like they were ready to pounce. When Stacie didn’t move she said, “You got cocktail sauce on your chin.” That stopped Stacie in her tracks. She clamped her mouth shut and followed her friend to the bathroom.

  As soon as Stacie and Tameeka were out of hearing distance, Tyrell pointed to Jackson and burst out laughing. “Dawg, whassup? I’m sensing a lotta love between you two. Should I go out and rent a tux?”

  “You know what, Tyrell. You are so funny,” Jackson said, glowering at his friend. He was still flustered. He didn’t know what just happened. Or how it escalated the way it had. His eyes narrowed. It was her, he thought. She’s an evil, spoiled brat! “I need to bounce up out of here,” Jackson said, and slapped his napkin on the table. “I don’t need to be insulted.”

  “Naw, man, stay,” Tyrell insisted. He could barely keep a straight face. This was better than Showtime at the Apollo. He surveyed the table and it looked like everybody had finished eating. “It’ll only be another half hour or so. We’ll order dessert and coffee, then we’re out. Okay?”

  “Cool,” Jackson muttered. “Thirty minutes, no longer. After that, I’m gone,” he promised.

  After dinner they all stood in front of the restaurant deciding what to do next. Stacie and Jackson pointedly ignored each other. Tyrell and Tameeka stood together. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and she rested her head on his shoulder.

  “Hey y’all, it’s a nice night, let’s take a walk around Centennial Park,” Tameeka suggested. She loved the park. A lot of people had the same idea. Even though it was late, the park was filled with lovers walking hand-in-hand.

  “Cool. I need to walk this food off,” Tyrell chimed in, then turned to Jackson. “Whaddya say, dawg. Wanna hang out with us?” The ladies thought Tyrell was being polite in asking Jackson, but Jackson knew that it was quite the opposite. It was their code way of telling him to beat it.

  “Naw, man. You two go on. I need to get going. Jameel…” He let the words hang in the air, letting them fill in the blank.

  “Hold up!” Stacie shrieked. “How am I supposed to get home? In case you forgot, I came with Tameeka,” she said, and pointed to her friend. She placed her hand on her hip, jutted her chin out and glared at the group. The foursome was silent, and the only thing that could be heard was the flowing traffic.

  Tameeka nestled her head deeper into Tyrell’s shoulder and studied Stacie through her eyelashes. Jackson was on point, he had read her friend like a book; Stacie was a little self-absorbed. But Stacie is my girl, she concluded. She lifted her head from Tyrell’s shoulder and said, “You know what? We don’t have to take a walk. Besides, it’s too chilly…”

  Irritation flashed across Tyrell’s face and Jackson happened to glance at Stacie and saw her smug expression. My boy ain’t gonna be played like this, he thought.

  He gritted his teeth, gulped deeply, then said, “I’ll take you home.”

  “I didn’t come with you. I came with her,” Stacie responded, then pointed her finger at Tameeka. “And since I came with her, and not you, I want to go home with her, not you.”

  Tyrell and Jackson exchanged nods that were indecipherable to the ladies. Tyrell tilted his head toward Tameeka. He didn’t have to see her face to know that she was fighting an internal battle; he could feel it by the rigidity of her body. “You can’t let Stacie control you. I know she’s your girl and all, and I don’t want to come between you.” He had turned around so that they faced each other, then he leaned down so that his lips tickled her ear. “But I really want to spend the rest of the night with you,” he whispered.

  She absorbed his words. Her head was telling her one thing and her heart another. She quietly mulled over her options. Tyrell immediately knew when she made her decision; her body had relaxed as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, then she molded her body against his and whispered in his ear before walking over to Stacie. Tameeka slipped her arm around Stacie’s shoulders before telling her that she was going home with Tyrell and she needed to roll with Jackson.

  Stacie’s mouth dropped open with disbelief. It took all of Jackson’s self-control not to break out laughing. Stacie crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine!” she huffed. “Just fine.” She stalked after Jackson.

  19

  Single Father’s Guide to Dating Tip #150

  Get the hell out of Dodge as soon as a woman starts using her breasts as torpedoes.

  Jackson and Stacie made it to his SUV without cussing each other out. He glanced over at her; he couldn’t help notice that she looked even more beautiful in the street lighting. Not that he would let her know it. Her profile was perfect. Admit it Jackson, she’s perfect. It’s too bad she’s an overgrown baby who’s waiting for life to be spoon-fed to her. He shook his head and focused on driving. All he wanted to do was drop her off. His gaze slid to the clock, it was still early…early enough for a hookup. He mentally shuffled through his phone numbers and easily came up with five women who would take him up on his offer. I’ll give one of them a call as soon as I drop off the princess, he mused.

  Stacie was studying the sophisticated dash of his SUV and was unaware of Jackson’s surreptitious appraisal of her. At least he has good taste when it comes to cars, she thought. His SUV wasn’t her car of choice. She thought of SUVs as road-hogging, gas-guzzling trucks on steroids. But at least he looked nice driv ing it, she grudgingly admitted. She peeked at him and watched how his hands moved confidently over the steering wheel. An image of his hands caressing her naked body popped into her head. Suddenly the truck felt too small, the scent of his cologne filled her nose; she hadn’t noticed it before. Dating as much as she did made her somewhat of a connoisseur of men’s colognes; she sniffed discreetly and instantly identified cedarwood, sage and ginger. Her favorite scents.

  She gulped deeply and shook her head, but all that did was make her lightheaded and did nothing to erase the image of Jackson stroking her body. The last thing she needed was to get involved with somebody who thought she was a spoiled brat. Against her will, her eyes lowered to his crotch. He’s probably a four-incher, she concluded, then laughed so wickedly that it drew an alarmed look from Jackson.

  But neither one said a word to the other. Jackson pulled up in front of Stacie’s and she had her hand on the door handle and was poised to jump out as soon as the SUV stopped.

  “Hey, I have a long ride home, you mind if I come up to use your bathroom?” Jackson asked.

  Stacie gave him a look that said, “Hell no!”

  “Look. All I need to do is use the bathroom. I don’t want anything else,” he reassured her, with a smile.

  Stacie sucked in her breath. This was the first time he’d smiled all evening. She stared at him, hypnotized by his sexiness. She shook her head, trying to break his spell, but she was still dazed. “Come on. You can’t stay long, a friend is coming through, and I don’t want him
to see you here,” she snapped, then jumped out of the SUV.

  Not bothering to look back to see if he was following, she hurried up the stairs to her apartment. Jackson stared after her, fascinated by the way her behind moved under her skirt and the gentle sway of her hips. He imagined her body moving under him. He shook his head and the picture evaporated like a wisp of smoke. Just then, Ettie Mae’s words came to him: If you’re going to play with a rattlesnake, you’d better be ready to deal with the consequences.

  “Sho you right, Grandma, I don’t wanna get bitten.” He chuckled to himself, then hopped out of the car and followed her. He had to use the bathroom bad. He braked to a stop in front of her door and just when she was about to close it, he put his hand out and stopped it from shutting in his face. He stepped into her apartment.

  “Where’s your bathroom?” he asked tersely. Pretty or not, he had had just about enough of her. He was ready to take a piss and get the hell out of her life. Stacie pointed down the hall, then went into her bedroom to check her answering machine. Surely he’d called, she thought. Sauntering over to the machine, she played her messages, all the while impatiently tapping her foot through two messages from her mother, one hang up, two telemarketers trying to sell her things she didn’t need, BellSouth calling about her overdue bill, an old boyfriend, then Barry.

  His sexy voice filled the room and a smile as big as Alaska spread across her face. By the time the message ended, her mouth was the shape of an upside down horseshoe. He wasn’t going to be able to make it; something had come up. “Crap! There goes my sex for tonight,” she mumbled, then stomped into the living room and almost bumped into Jackson, who was standing in the middle of the floor looking out of place.

  “Who are you talking to?”

  “Nobody,” she grumbled, then asked, “All set?”

  “Sure,” Jackson answered, and followed Stacie to the front door. Indecision flashed across his face, he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to hug her or shake her hand. Oh hell. “Peace,” he leaned in, opened his arms and was about to pull her in when he felt a hand on his chest. She was blocking him. He looked down into her smirking face. “Whatever,” he snapped, then shook her hand and let himself out. “Craaazy!”

  He bounced out to his SUV, glad to be away from Stacie. He stuck the key in the ignition, turned it, and nothing happened. The headlights didn’t turn on, the dashboard didn’t light up and the engine didn’t make a peep; there wasn’t a flicker of life in the SUV. “Shit!” He banged on the steering wheel, then he leaned back into his seat and laughed. “Why doesn’t this surprise me? This whole evening has been a trip.” Then the seriousness of the situation hit him and he sobered up. “How am I going to get out of here?”

  Inside the apartment, Stacie slithered out of her skirt, toed it in the corner, then did the same with her blouse. They’d lie there until she decided she wanted to wear them again or if Tameeka came into her room and straightened up. Wearing nothing but a red thong and matching bra, she strolled over to her full-length mirror. Studying herself the same way a scientist examines a specimen, with objectivity, curiosity, and unabashed excitement, she couldn’t take her eyes off her reflection. The person staring back at her looked the same, but something was different.

  She tilted her head to the side. “Am I really that bad? Do I really think the world revolves around me? Am I a user?” Stacie tacked on the last question. Even though Jackson didn’t voice it, she was sure that’s what he was leading up to.

  “I’m not that bad. He just wanna hit this. That’s whassup.” She flounced away from the mirror and out of the bedroom, breezed into the kitchen, grabbed a bag of chips and was lying on the couch when the doorbell rang.

  She frowned and glanced at the clock. It was one o’clock in the morning. Tameeka’s spending the night with Tyrell, Barry punked out on me and everybody knows that I don’t like popins, she mused.

  Stacie cracked the door an inch and peered through. Damnit! He’s worse than a bad case of gas, he just won’t go away, she fumed, then snatched open the door and stared coldly at him. Jackson, who was working up an excuse to spend the night, lost every idea he had as soon as he saw her standing at the door almost butt naked.

  “My—my—my—truck won’t start,” he stuttered. His tongue felt like it was made of mashed potatoes. But his eyes were working and they zeroed in on her breasts. She could be arrested for indecent exposure the way her bra barely covered her nipples.

  “And?” Stacie prompted, but when Jackson continued to look dazed, she said, “I’ma about to chill for a minute. My favorite movie is about to come on. You can use the phone…” She let the sentence drop off.

  Jackson pulled his eyes away from her cleavage, then met her gaze. “I don’t have anybody to call. If I did, I would’ve,” he responded as he dangled his cell phone in her face.

  “Stay right there. Let me go get the phone and directory. There’s a good towing service right down the street.” She turned away, but Jackson called her back.

  “I don’t trust tow trucks, they might scratch up my truck. And there’s still the problem of getting home. I’m not about to pay them the two-dollar-a-mile fee.”

  “Call Tyrell,” Stacie said.

  Exasperated, Jackson blew out a stream of air. “You know he’s with Tameeka. And I’m not about to bother him. Listen, all I need is someplace to crash until tomorrow.”

  “Nu-uh. Like hell! I don’t know you. You could be a killer or something. I don’t know anything about you,” she shrieked, and did what any sane, single lady would do: she tried to slam the door shut, but she wasn’t fast enough. Jackson stuck his foot in and winced from the impact. But he didn’t give up. Pressing his face to the door, he talked to her through the two-inch-wide gap.

  “Hold up! You know me, we just spent the last four hours together.” She was silent, but the door didn’t budge. He tried another tactic. “I guess I can sleep in my truck, but if something happens to me…who’d take care of Jameel?” He pulled his foot out and made a big show of walking down the stairs. Bowing his head, and slumping his shoulders, he walked as slowly as he could. He had to fight back a smile when he heard the door open and Stacie inviting him in. “You can sleep in Meek’s room. Since this is kind of her fault. You can funk up her bed.”

  “Funk up her bed?” Jackson shook his head. Incredulous. “The last thing I am is funky,” he said, irritated. “But I guess you should know funky, with all that fake hair. I can smell it over here, it’s getting ripe,” he retorted and waved his hand in front of his nose as if waving off fetid air.

  “This is one hundred percent human hair,” Stacie said, near tears. “And it probably costs more than you make in one day.”

  Jackson saw that she was about to cry and he felt like a bully. “I’m sorry. I really am. I shouldn’t have disrespected you in your own home. You know what? I’ma shower and hit the bed.”

  Stacie rolled her eyes and pointed to the bathroom he’d used earlier. He quickly showered, and wrapped a towel around his waist. This will have to do, he thought, as he strolled to the living room, where he found Stacie lying on the couch, watching TV. She hadn’t put on any clothes yet. She reminded him of Cleopatra the way she was sprawled out on the couch.

  “Aw snap, I love this movie,” he exclaimed when he saw that she was watching Soul Food. “But damn, don’t you hate her?” he asked, pointing to Vanessa Williams’s character. “What the hell was her problem, she acted like she had a stick up her ass.”

  “Humph. She was only trying to make sure her man handled his business. I understand where she’s coming from. Dude could’ve done his music thing on the side and still kept his full-time job. She didn’t marry a musician, she married a professional man.” She said all this while keeping her eyes on the TV. When she finally looked up at him, he took her breath away. Water still glistened on his wide chest, thick, hairy muscular legs peeked from under his towel and his arms had more ripples than a bag of Ruffles potato chips.


  “Oh, yeah,” Jackson mumbled, totally unaware of the effect he was having on Stacie. “What happened to marrying for love? When they said their vows before God and all their friends and family, they both promised to love and honor each other, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do them part. I don’t remember a part in the wedding vows that said, ‘We can break up if one of us decide to change jobs.’”

  Stacie crossed her arms under her breasts, which lifted them toward Jackson and he felt Big J come to life. “Humph,” she repeated. “No, the wedding vows don’t say that. But you can’t decide to quit your job because you’re tired and want to live a fantasy. Hell, if we could, we all would be doing it.”

  “Why can’t you?” Jackson challenged, and silently prayed that she couldn’t see his rising excitement. But it was getting difficult to hide; the towel was forming a tent. He averted his eyes from her breasts and instead gazed into her eyes. “I tell you why no one wants to do that. It’s because we’re all chasing the ‘American Dream.’ The two-hundred-thousand-dollar house in the suburbs, the Lexus and Benz sitting in the driveway, two kids, who are, by the way, going to private school, and at least two vacations to the islands every year. That’s why we can’t quit our jobs and play—we’re all too busy chasing the carrot. The good ole American Dream,” he finished sarcastically.

  “What’s wrong with that?” Stacie asked, as she pulled her eyes off the TV. He had her full attention now. “What’s wrong with wanting things? It’s those things that make our lives a whole hell of a lot easier. If we didn’t have those things, we might as well live in caves and run around naked,” she finished, and sucked her teeth.

  “That’s not true,” Jackson argued. “We all can live without the big houses, the two cars and the exotic vacations. There’s nothing wrong with buying a house that’s got some years on it, or driving a car that’s not brand new or spending a week in Hilton Head instead of Hawaii. That’s called ‘living below your means,’” he finished. Then added, “If you want all the glitter and shit, it’s going to cost you,” he finished ominously.