She texted her mother, Is Kingston at your house?
* * *
Monet connected her Bluetooth, called her best girlfriend since high school.
“Hey,” Bianca cheerfully answered. “I was just about to call you. I’m up here in Baltimore. Guess who I just saw in the hotel lobby?”
Irrespective of the fact that her husband was five years her junior, twenty-three was too young for her to get pregnant. The most fun part of dating Kingston was pre-motherhood, being courtside at his high-school games, cheering him on . . . until she delivered Israel. Speaking on camera as a family made Monet feel like a celebrity on her campus. When she had her baby and her man in front of reporters after a big win, spectators asked for her autograph, until Kingston’s parents immediately squashed her three minutes of stardom.
Sadly Monet told Bianca, “Don’t get pregnant unless you really want a child. Kids change your life. Forever.”
Why did it have to take her pretending like she didn’t love her husband to get a reaction from him? Monet wasn’t crazy. Kingston showed up to make sure she wasn’t planning on leaving him.
“But your girls are the best,” Bianca stated. “Obviously, you’re not going to guess who I saw.”
Picking up the dish towel, Monet slammed it against the countertop repeatedly, then squeezed a ripe plum until it burst. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She trashed the towel and the fruit before leaving her phone on the blue crystals and retreating to her bedroom, where the girls couldn’t witness her tantrum.
“Why is he treating me like he doesn’t love me anymore?” Monet cried.
“Oh, Lord. Don’t hang up. I’m still in Baltimore. I’m on my way,” Bianca told her.
Bianca’s home was in Laurel, Maryland. A short ten minutes south of Columbia. B-More was twenty-two miles north of Monet’s residence. She washed her face with cool water, returned to the kitchen, checked her cell.
I don’t know where he’s at, Trinity had texted.
“Girl, he came home. Tried to start an argument with me, then when I didn’t say anything, he left. Wasn’t here long enough for me to dash my homemade seasoning on his portion of the meal.” Monet removed the container from the refrigerator. Certain there was plenty of shrimp fettuccine Alfredo, with fresh basil and diced tomatoes, for her girlfriend, Monet generously sprinkled spices all over the eggplant before placing the cookie sheet in the preheated oven.
Monet opened the front door and sat on the porch, waiting for Bianca. She texted her mother, Are you okay? I miss and love you.
Miss and love you more. Miss the girls. It’s not you. It’s me. I need to focus on myself for a while, Trinity replied.
An aching pain surfaced in Monet’s lungs as she inhaled deeply. Gasping to take in oxygen, she was relieved to see Bianca heading toward her.
Bianca parked in the circular driveway, hurried up the stairs, sat next to Monet, and hugged her. “Oh, my gosh, you’re trembling. Breathe. You’re going to be just fine. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
She wasn’t always that way. In this moment Monet wanted to curled into a fetal position while her mother cocooned her body. Why did women have the responsibility of holding the family together?
Stroking Monet’s hair, Bianca rocked, side to side, holding Monet’s hand. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Monet shook her head. “Maybe he needs a permanent break from me. I’m the only woman he’s been with in twelve years. My mother says Kingston needs space. You think she’s right? Maybe I should chill out.” Monet cried aloud. “I’m scared, Bianca. What if I’m pushing my husband away for real?” she asked, laying her head on her best friend’s lap.
“Humph. You know I love Trinity, but your husband is in Atlanta. Without you and the girls. I couldn’t raise two children by myself the way you do. Sit up. Look at me.” Bianca held both of Monet’s hands. “I say take half, get all the way out, and don’t look back. Kingston is cheating on you. With a man,” Bianca replied.
Of all the exaggerations Bianca could’ve created to prove her point, she, too, accepts the rumor that all men in Atlanta are gay? Monet shook her head, choosing to believe her girlfriend was simply being supportive.
Monet had to defend Kingston this time. “Every man in Atlanta isn’t gay. Kingston would die before letting a man touch his dick.”
“If you say so.” Bianca sandwiched her fingers between her knees. “I know what I saw at the hotel. Straight men do not be in public with—”
“He’s not that way, all right,” Monet objected. “I’ve been with him since he was seventeen. I would know. I love Kingston. My life centers around him. I’ve never applied for a job in twelve years. I don’t know how to start a business. All I’ve done was be his wife.”
More afraid to be on her own than to stay married, Monet stood. Paced back and forth on the porch.
“All the more reason to file for divorce, Monet. What do you like doing?” Bianca inquired, following Monet with her eyes.
No ideas surfaced. “I am Mrs. Kingston Royale,” she said.
“That’s it!” Bianca sprang to her feet, stood in front of Monet. “Take acting classes until you figure it out,” Bianca suggested.
“In Columbia?” Monet couldn’t imagine pretending that she was someone else was exciting.
“No, honey. In Hotlanta. You don’t need Kingston’s permission. His money is yours. Buy your own house.” Covering her face with her hands, Bianca slowly spread them apart. “A pussy palace with all designer shit. Real pink ponies for the girls—you know you can take ponies on the plane now—and put glitter in their manes.”
Monet’s sorrow turned into laughter.
Bianca became more animated. “I’m serious. Buy a home, a thousand square feet more than this.” She stretched her arms wide. “Move down there with your girls and don’t give Kingston access. It’s unlawful to put him out. Not to lock him out. And if I were you,” she whispered as though someone was eavesdropping, “I’d keep this house and I wouldn’t tell him I moved.”
In slow motion Monet shook her head. She wished her decision was as simple as Bianca suggested. “You would do some shit like that?”
Laughing, Bianca said, “You damn straight. Why should you be unhappy while he’s living his best life without you? Let me set you up on a date with a handsome, intelligent, sexy man from my online account.”
Ignoring her girlfriend’s last statement, feeling relieved, Monet smiled. Her dilemma wasn’t over. “Come inside. I have to feed my kids. And you’re staying for dinner.”
“Perfect. The girls can eat while I show you the men in my in-box. Can you say ‘dessert, dessert, dessert’ three times? These guys will have you licking more than your lips.”
CHAPTER 21
Victoria
“Willy, we need a vacation.” Victoria wiggled seductively in her seat. It was their usual Saturday date night. She reached across the table to grip his tie and pull him close. “I’ma give it to you good tonight. You just wait.”
Surviving both of his wives, Willy was a man that enjoyed being married. For her, companionship sufficed. He didn’t care much for traveling. Would rather drive to a destination than get on a plane. But she wanted to show him a different country.
Reclaiming his tie, Willy asked, “What’s gotten into you, sugarplum? You’re acting like a teenager.”
Victoria wanted to spice up their sex life and strengthen their emotional connection. Tahiti. Bora Bora. A tropical experience would be good for them to share. Or venturing farther away.
“I’m happy. What’s wrong with that? How’s Australia?” she asked.
TuitionCougars rejuvenated her. Praise the Lord, she was saving the world, one young educated man at a time. Scrolling the app, she shivered. A real-life Zeus. Why-oh-why, Lord Jesus, did You make this man so sexy?
Rattling her head, Victoria repeatedly thought, Yield not to temptation.
“Australia. Who’s that?” Willy laughed. “I’m not going all the w
ay over there to see a kangaroo.” He slid the bottle of wine closer to his side of the table, placed it under his nose, then sniffed. “What they put in here? Don’t start smokin’ that cannabis just because Georgia finally made it okay.”
Legalization of marijuana in Georgia was for medicinal purposes. Victoria had explored the puff-puff/pass-pass back in her day. But it might not be a bad idea to ask her doctor for a prescription and get Willy high as a kite.
Victoria dissected her salad. Ate small bites of butter lettuce. Willy had become more attractive to her since she’d started dating younger men.
“Since you’re in a good mood, I have something to share with you, Victoria.” Brother Copeland’s face became expressionless. “This time is good as any other.”
“Victoria”? No “sugarplum”? Bracing herself in the booth as though he’d tapped a little too hard on the brakes, she replied, “What is it, Willy? You don’t want to fly? Drivers in Georgia kill more people on the street than people die from falling out of the sky.”
Willy sucked in, then swallowed a mouthful of Cabernet.
Hmm, he never gulps that way. Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him.
Resting his elbows atop the dining table at Bones, Willy stared at Victoria. Became quiet. A live jazz band on a small stage across from them started performing “Stormy Weather.” The bottle of red wine sat nearer to his almost-empty goblet. Dim lights on the chandelier above their table cast a yellowish tone over Willy’s face that she hadn’t noticed until now.
Victoria shivered again. This time because her vagina involuntarily twitched. Perhaps it was due to the hot, passionate sex she’d had this morning instead of breakfast.
Victoria said, “This sounds serious. Willy, come.” She patted the cushion on her side of the booth. “Sit next to me.”
Standing, she allowed him to sit on the inside. If Willy said something she didn’t like, he wouldn’t be able to leave without explaining himself.
Another session scheduled for tomorrow evening with a thirty-something from the app had her spirit glowing. But the thought of training Zeus was doing something new to her. She hadn’t had a single hot flash the entire week.
Motioning for the waiter to come to their table, Victoria requested, “A glass of ice, please.”
Willy scooted closer to her. “Sugarplum, I’m going to have to amend my trust,” he said, reaching for his goblet. His hands clung to his glass. If he squeezed any harder, he might break it.
Lord Jesus, this must be a test, she thought. Or maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. “Repeat that.”
“Don’t go getting upset. You’ll get half,” he said.
“Whom? What? Why? Let go of the glass, Willy. I’ve been your mistress through both of your marriages. I never married because of you.” That last statement was a lie, but he didn’t need to know it. “You owe me.” That was the truth. “What is this about?”
“It’s only fifty percent, sugarplum.” His brows raised.
“In the name of Jesus, I’ve come too far for whatever nonsense you’re talking about.” Victoria’s voice escalated. “I refuse to share one penny. All of your money is mine.” Hissing an inch from his face, she added, “Do . . . you . . . hear . . . me, William Copeland?” then leaned back.
Willy’s head hung low as he revealed, “Tracy says she’s my daughter.”
“Tracy? The congregational whore, Tracy?” Victoria laughed out loud.
Brother Copeland held his head up, then nodded.
Victoria’s expression froze like ice. “She’s a liar!” Victoria’s tone escalated above the music.
In the name of Jesus! Victoria didn’t want to have to put a hex on Tracy.
“Actually, she is. She brought over a—”
“ ‘Brought over’!” Victoria exclaimed. “She’s been to my house? That’s my house you’re living in. Everything you own is mine. Just like mine is yours.” Knowing the good Lord would call Willy home to glory first, she said the last part to make Willy feel better.
“Hear me out,” Willy requested, placing his hand on Victoria’s thigh. “She brought over this home kit DNA test, she said it was. She swiped a stick in my mouth, then in hers. We waited a few minutes. She read me the results. Tracy is my biological daughter.”
“William Copeland. You’re too old to be a new fool.” Victoria didn’t move his hand; she covered it, instead, with hers.
The waitress brought their orders to the table.
“Box it up,” Victoria told her. “This conversation will continue at my house.” Getting to know Zeus could wait. “That bitch is lying. And you’re not taking my name off of anything.”
Victoria might have to crack that masturbation egg over Willy’s skull tonight, then suck him back to his senses.
Victoria would cast a spell that would make Tracy Benjamin throw herself into an early grave before she allowed Tracy to swindle a penny of Willy’s money.
“In Jesus’ name, let’s go, Willy!” The Lord knew her heart.
CHAPTER 22
Kingston
“How many times do I have to explain to you, I’m not leaving my wife.” Kingston regretted inviting Theodore to Columbia. “And stop walking like that!”
Theodore pranced in the hotel suite, circled around the chocolate leather chair Kingston sat in. “I served in the military.” He saluted Kingston. Theodore stopped parading. Started kicking as though he were in formation. “I protected your wife, your children, and your life while you had the privilege of making millions of dollars running up and down a basketball court. It’s not my fault that you were injured.” Theodore stood in front of Kingston with his hands at his side.
Kingston could really use a cigar right now to calm him. The entire property was nonsmoking. He blew hard. Filled with air, his cheeks rounded out. “Bruh, back up off of me. I’m asking you politely.”
Theodore didn’t move. Kingston wasn’t going to get into a physical altercation that could potentially lead to media exposure.
Staring up at Theodore, Kingston asked, “What do you want from me?”
“Your heart, sir.” He saluted.
Picking up his cell off the circular glass tabletop, Kingston ordered Theodore an Uber from the hotel at Baltimore Harbor to BWI Airport, then stated, “I’m legally obligated to make my marriage a priority. When you get to Atlanta, remove—”
“Don’t you mean when we get to Atlanta. I know you’re not planning on staying here with her. I’ll show up at her house if I have to. I know exactly where she lives.” Flopping in the chair near Kingston, Theodore folded his arms across his chest.
They were both willing to die. Theodore, once upon a time, for his country. Kingston, always and forever, to protect his family. Although she might not believe him, Kingston would sacrifice his life for Monet. This was a situation where Theodore thought he could win by bullying. But he couldn’t. Kingston canceled the Uber.
Instead of asking Theodore to get on his knees and suck his dick, Kingston knelt before Theodore.
Unbuckling Theodore’s belt, Kingston slowly undressed him from the waist down. He could dive right in, devour Theodore, and make him cum, but Kingston’s approach had a scripted ending that would get him exactly what he needed.
Kingston licked his lips. Not in a circular motion. Sliding his tongue over his upper lip, he curled it back over the lower.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help how I feel about you.” Theodore’s hands rested on the arms of the chair. He reclined until his ass was on the edge of the seat.
Planting kisses on Theodore’s frenulum, Kingston began circling his tongue around the head of the penis. Slowly he eased the shaft into his mouth. He felt Theodore’s excitement grow longer and harder. Glancing up, he saw that Theodore’s eyes were shut.
Heavy breathing and moaning from both of them ensued. Kingston wanted to join in the orgasmic pleasure, but he thought better of it and stayed focused. The familiar taste of salted sauerkraut oozed from the pores of
Theodore’s dick, indicating he was ready to climax.
Slightly increasing the pressure and the pace, Kingston stroked and sucked until Theodore grunted, “I love you.” Semen squirted into Kingston’s mouth.
Pretending to swallow, Kingston entered the bathroom, rinsed with mouthwash, then returned to the living area. “If you love me, like you said, I need for you to do this one favor.”
Theodore stood, nodded, fastened his buckle. “What?”
“I need you to take the next flight out. Remove all of your belongings from my Airbnb tonight. I’m ending the stay.”
Theodore propped his hand on his hip. “The stay or our relationship?”
Slowly Kingston shook his head, clenched his teeth, told himself, Don’t react. That’s what he wants.
“And what about you? Are you moving out, too? Are you staying here? Am I flying back the same way I got here, on a private jet?” Theodore questioned. His hand and hip remained motionless, but not his neck.
“There’s just no pleasing you,” Kingston complained.
Theodore protested. “What’s your obligation to me? I’m the one who comforts and closets you. Now you’re tossing me out like leftover meat?”
Kingston appreciated Theodore’s time and companionship, but he’d never have clarity about his sexuality if he abandoned his family.
“I’ve never mistreated or disrespected you. I need time to sort things out. That way, if we reconnect, I can do so without feeling guilty.”
What Kingston realized was that he wasn’t going from being a married man to committing to a man. Holding hands and kissing in public was strictly for Monet.
“If?” Theodore retorted.
Counting ten $100 bills, Kingston handed them to Theodore. “For your time. Or mine. However you want to look at it.”
“How about you not contact me again.” Theodore slapped the money out of Kingston’s hand, unlocked his cell, showed Kingston that he was blocking him, then strolled out of the room with his carry-on suitcase.
Kingston closed the door, then waited fifteen minutes before checking out and ordering a car to take him to a hotel in Columbia.
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