This I Promise You

by Smith, Maureen

  Once the meal was under way and Prissy had been effusively complimented on the delicious food, she declared, “All right, Georgina. Now that we’re all together, tell us about your date on Friday night.”

  “Yes, darling,” Asha encouraged. “Do tell.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Georgina laughed, waving off the suggestion. “The girls don’t want to hear about my date.”

  Lexi, Reese, Samara and Taylor looked at one another and chorused, “Yes, we do.”

  Laughter swept over the table.

  “So spill it,” Prissy urged. “How was your date with Henry?”

  Georgina smiled. “It was nice,” she said, primly cutting into her striped sea bass stuffed with lobster.

  “Wait…Henry?” Lexi stared at her mother-in-law. “You went on a date with your neighbor?”

  Georgina blushed like a schoolgirl. “I did.”

  “Aww, shucks,” Lexi teased, grinning slyly. “Go ’head, Mr. Duncan.”

  “You’ve met him, Alexis?” Winnie inquired.

  “I have. Several times. He’s always very friendly. And he’s good looking too. We just saw him this morning, as a matter of fact.” Her grin widened. “No wonder he was being extra…”

  Prissy leaned toward her intently. “Extra what?”

  Lexi winked. “Attentive.”

  “Umm-hmm,” the others intoned with big, satisfied grins. “I bet he was.”

  “So where did he take you?” Celeste asked. “Someplace nice, I hope.”

  Georgina smiled shyly. “It was nice. Very fancy. Big wine list, soft candlelight, beautiful skyline views.”

  Prissy eyed her knowingly. “Much better than that all-you-can-eat buffet your last date took you to, huh?”

  “Goodness, yes,” Georgina said with a shudder. “Lord, chile, why did you have to remind me about that cheap old goat?”

  “Sorry.” Prissy grinned. “Please continue your story.”

  Georgina smiled. “Well, after dinner we went to this cozy little jazz club, and Henry had a song dedicated to me. Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘All The Things You Are.’ ”

  This drew dreamy sighs and murmurs of approval.

  “He sounds very romantic,” Celeste said warmly.

  Georgina sighed. “He is.”

  “Any man who appreciates Lady Ella is a winner in my book,” Taylor declared. Ella Fitzgerald was her idol, so much so that she’d named her violin after the legendary jazz singer.

  “So, Georgie,” Asha drawled wickedly, “are you going to sleep with him?”

  Georgina let out a scandalized gasp. “Asha!”

  Asha innocently batted her lashes. “What?”

  When Georgina threw a self-conscious glance in Lexi’s direction, Asha guffawed.

  “Honey, please. Alexis isn’t some innocent, sheltered virgin. None of them are—as we can see from all these children running around here.”

  Everyone laughed in agreement.

  “Well?” Prissy prodded, dark eyes twinkling with mischief.

  Georgina arched a brow at her. “Well what?”

  “You haven’t answered Asha’s question. Are you going to sleep with Henry?”

  Georgina forked up a small bite of her fish and chewed delicately, taking her sweet time before she answered. “I might.”

  Another burst of laughter pealed through the room. Georgina couldn’t help grinning as everyone raised their glasses to her.

  “I definitely won’t be sharing that information with Quentin,” Lexi teased.

  Georgina pointed her fork at her. “You’d better not!”

  More laughter swept over the table.

  Asha took a languid sip of her wine and smiled. “It amuses me how our children get so worked up over the very idea of us having sex. I’m looking at you, Samara.”

  Everyone laughed as Samara ducked her head and covered her face with her hands.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” Reese said matter-of-factly. “Maybe because I’m a doctor, so I view sex as a perfectly normal part of the human experience—no matter who’s having it.” She grinned. “I also realize I wouldn’t be here if my parents hadn’t gotten it on. Why should they stop having sex just because it freaks their children out?”

  “Amen!” the older women chorused approvingly before dissolving into giggles.

  “I don’t mind either,” Lexi admitted, gently squeezing her mother’s shoulder as she smiled at her. “I think my mom deserves to enjoy all that life has to offer, and toe-curling orgasms are very enjoyable.”

  A chorus of amens went up from the group.

  “Humph,” Carlene grunted, lifting her glass to her mouth. “Not to sound like a hater—as the young folks would say—but in my personal experience, most men aren’t capable of providing orgasms, let alone ‘toe-curling’ ones.”

  Winnie clucked her tongue. “Chile, you’re gonna have to do something about that.”

  Asha chuckled ruefully. “Believe it or not, I used to feel the same way.”

  Georgina shot her a dubious look. “Aren’t you the same former supermodel who used to date movie stars and tycoons? Weren’t you involved with Denzel Washington, Harry Belafonte and Sean Connery many years ago?”

  “Only very briefly.” Asha’s eyes glinted with mischief. “And I can tell you that none of those fine gentlemen hold a candle to Sterling Wolf. Not even close.”

  A wave of knowing feminine laughter went around the table.

  “Ah, yes,” Celeste fondly reminisced. “Sterling was always a very passionate lover. I never had any complaints in that department.”

  A startled and awkward silence fell over the group, as if no one knew how to respond to such an admission.

  Lexi was the first to start giggling, which set everyone else off in a domino effect.

  Even Asha had to smile as she lifted her glass to her mouth and purred, “Like fine wine, he’s gotten even better with time.”

  Not surprisingly, Celeste didn’t join in the laughter this time.

  7

  A wave of disappointed groans swept over the group of spectators gathered in an upper-level suite at the Georgia Dome, where the Atlanta Falcons were engaged in an intense grudge match with the New Orleans Saints. Mason Wolf, the Falcons’ star wide receiver, had just dropped another pass—much to the crowd’s surprise and displeasure.

  “Come on, Pipsqueak!” Manning Wolf shouted to his brother from the glass-enclosed suite overlooking the packed stadium. “You gotta make that catch!”

  This drew a rumble of agreement as Mason shook his head in frustration and jogged off the football field.

  Stan Wolf looked grim and tense as he watched his youngest son consult with the team’s offensive coordinator. “He needs to get his head in the game.”

  Sterling Wolf grunted, wagging his salt-and-pepper head. “Boy’s got his mind somewhere else, that’s for sure.”

  “Aw, don’t be so hard on him,” growled Theo Kirkland, Stan’s brother-in-law. “Yeah, he’s not having the best game today. But let’s not forget that if it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t even be in playoff contention.”

  “Not with that pathetic defense,” Quentin grumbled from nearby.

  Everyone nodded and muttered in agreement.

  From the time Mason was drafted by the Atlanta Falcons, Quentin had been attending his home football games with the Wolf Pack and his old college friends—aka the Morehouse Nine. Several years ago, the group had pooled their money to purchase a luxury suite at the stadium so they could watch Mason’s games in comfort and style. The suite was appointed with plush theater-style seating, high-definition plasma TVs and a full-service wet bar stocked with premium liquors and beers. As owners of the skybox, the group also enjoyed VIP parking, private catering and exclusive access to the clubs and lounges located on the suite level.

  Just then an interception on the field sent another chorus of groans around the room.

  “Man, this is brutal,” Percy Sheldon lamented, rubbing his hand over his smooth bald
head.

  “It could be a lot worse,” Michael Wolf said grimly. “At least they’re only down by a touchdown.”

  “For now,” snorted Jackson “Jagger” Gallagher. He was leaning back in his seat, long legs stretched out as he nursed a glass of beer. Like the others, he wore Mason’s number eighty-four jersey with dark jeans and Timbs. “If this turns into a blowout, I’m rolling up outta here.”

  Shokare Bello gave him an amused look. “To do what?”

  “I dunno.” Jagger glanced around, his hazel eyes gleaming with sudden interest. “Maybe I’ll leave with one of them.”

  Everyone followed the direction of his gaze to see a group of attractive women in skintight dresses prowling past the suite with come-hither smiles. One busty blonde pointed to Shokare, turned to the others and mouthed the name “Idris Elba.”

  When Jagger waved at the women, they stopped in their tracks, giggling in delight and beckoning flirtatiously.

  A shapely Latina with long black hair called out, “Why don’t you guys come to the lounge and hang out with us?”

  “Maybe later, sweetheart.” Jagger winked. “Save a seat for me.”

  “I’ll take one too.” Percy pointed to the voluptuous caramel-toned sister standing next to her. “Right between both of you.”

  “We’ll be waiting.” The women smiled seductively and blew kisses at them before sashaying away.

  “We’re trying to watch a game here,” Stan said to the room in general, dry humor in his voice. “No groupies allowed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Percy parroted with a salute. “We know the rules.”

  Stan grunted. “You’d better, boy.”

  Everyone laughed.

  Percy turned his attention to Quentin and Michael. “So how’d your wives enjoy their spa day?”

  “They had a great time,” Quentin said warmly, and Michael nodded in agreement.

  “I know Reese will be floating on cloud nine at work like she was the last time,” Shokare said with a smile. He was a surgeon at Emory University Hospital, where Reese also worked as an ob-gyn.

  Jagger grinned lasciviously, wiggling his eyebrows. “All I wanna know is if the wifeys showed their appreciation when they got home.”

  Quentin and Michael exchanged slow, satisfied grins that drew knowing laughter from their friends.

  Shaking his head, Percy marveled, “I still can’t believe Q and Lexi are married.”

  “I know, right?” the others agreed.

  “It’s crazy,” Shokare said with a chuckle. “But you know what? Looking back on it now, all the signs were there.”

  “Think so?” Michael mused, thoughtfully stroking his stubble-roughened chin. “I have to admit, ever since they got together, I’ve been wondering how the hell I didn’t see it coming.”

  “We all have.” Shokare grinned. “But it was so obvious when you think back to college. Remember how Q used to act a damn fool whenever we’d go to the club and Lexi would be there with her friends?”

  The others nodded and laughed.

  “I remember how possessive he’d get,” Percy recalled, grinning. “As soon as he saw her, he’d roll up on her and start asking a bunch of questions like some damn narc. And if he didn’t think she was wearing enough clothes, he’d try to cover her up with his jacket until she got pissed and told him off.”

  “Mike was protective of her too,” Jagger pointed out. “Hell, we all were. But Q took it to a whole ’nother level. He’d have all these fine honeys throwing themselves at him, and all he cared about was making sure Lexi wasn’t getting too cozy with anyone. It made him so mad to see her flirting with other dudes. And the shorter her skirt was, the crazier he acted.”

  Everyone laughed as Quentin folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.

  Shokare grinned. “Remember how he stepped to those brothas from Howard just because one of them had the nerve to ask Lexi to dance? Man, Q was about to have us all throwing down in that club before Lexi put a stop to it.”

  “Yup,” the others recalled, shaking their heads.

  Percy chuckled. “It got so bad we started sneaking behind his back to ask Lexi if she was gonna be at the club so we could go to a different one. And the first thing Q would do when we arrived was look around for her. So he still had her on the brain.”

  From across the suite, Khalil Bond called out, “Yo, remember when she was dating that corny ass Sigma?”

  “Ohhh, yeah.” Everyone started laughing again.

  “What was that cat’s name?” Shokare snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

  “Duane,” Percy recalled.

  “Nah,” Jagger corrected. “Dennis.”

  “It was Delaney,” Quentin muttered darkly. “Delaney Baxter the Third.”

  “Yeah, that was it.” Shokare grinned knowingly. “Damn, bruh. You still remember his name and e’rything.”

  Quentin shrugged, lips twitching. “I’m a lawyer. Not my fault I have a good memory.”

  This earned him a boisterous round of guffaws. Even Sterling and Stan glanced away from the game to grin and wag their heads at him.

  “Anyway,” Shokare continued as the noise died down, “remember how Q tried so hard to come between Lexi and Delaney? He was always in her ear asking her what she saw in him and telling her she could do better. And remember how miserable he was when she and ol’ boy went to the Spelman-Morehouse Christmas concert together? Man, we couldn’t get three words out of Q the whole night. Lexi and Delaney had him feeling some type of way.”

  “Yup. And when she broke up with dude,” Percy joked, “that was probably the only other time this Negro stepped foot inside the chapel to praise the Lord.”

  As the group erupted into raucous laughter, Quentin fought back a grin. He knew he couldn’t refute anything his friends were saying. He’d been crazy about Lexi almost from the moment he met her. If only he’d come to his senses sooner and done something about it.

  When a cell phone rang, everyone reached for their pockets simultaneously.

  “It’s mine.” Still grinning, Michael dug his phone out of his back pocket and looked at the screen. “It’s my executive chef at the Chicago restaurant. Excuse me.” He stood and stepped away to take the call in private.

  Sipping his beer, Percy inclined his head toward Quentin. “Do you know if Lexi’s sister is coming home for Christmas?”

  “Summer?” Quentin nodded. “She is.”

  “Yeah?” Percy’s tone was casual. “When?”

  “Two days before Christmas, I think. Why?”

  Percy shrugged. “Just wondering.”

  As Quentin studied him, Percy took another swig of beer and glanced away.

  Quentin narrowed his eyes.

  After another moment, Percy got up so abruptly he nearly spilled his drink. Assiduously avoiding Quentin’s scrutiny, he slapped Jagger and Shokare on the shoulder and said, “It’s halftime. Let’s go see what’s up in the lounge.”

  “Y’all go ahead,” Jagger told them. “I’ll catch up in a minute.”

  After Percy and Shokare left, Quentin cocked an amused brow at Jagger. “I’m surprised you’re not the first one over there trying to make new friends.”

  “What’s the rush?” Jagger drawled with an indolent shrug. “The pussy ain’t going nowhere.”

  Quentin had to laugh. Crass as the remark was, it was the truth.

  Jagger gave him a lazy smile. “I know we all had fun raking you over the coals. But in all seriousness, bruh, it’s good to see you settled down and happy. You were even wilder than I was and now here you are, a devoted husband and father. Almost makes me believe in miracles.”

  Quentin grinned knowingly. “Careful, Gallagher. You’re starting to sound like an old playa who’s ready to be domesticated.”

  Jagger huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He downed the rest of his beer and glanced around. “I need a refill.”

  As if on cue, a young mocha beauty carrying a tray of frothy beers sashay
ed over.

  “Here you go, fellas.” She leaned down to hand out the drinks, giving them an eyeful of her ample cleavage squeezed into a low-cut red top.

  As Jagger ogled her lustfully, she tucked her dark hair behind her ear and smiled at Quentin, her chocolate eyes glowing with unmistakable invitation. “Can I get you anything else?”

  “Nah, I’m good, sweetheart. Thanks.”

  She winked. “Anytime.”

  “Now see,” Jagger protested, shaking his head at the waitress, “why do women do that?”

  She gave him a saucy look. “Do what?”

  “Why do women always want dudes who aren’t available? We’ve been coming to these games for a while now, so you know good and damn well that Quentin’s a happily married man. I, on the other hand, am still single and more than available. So why are you flirting with him instead of me?”

  The waitress merely smiled, dividing a speculative glance between Jagger and Quentin. “You two look so much alike,” she marveled. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Yeah,” Jagger drawled wryly. “We used to hear that all the time back in college.”

  “Unfortunately,” Quentin muttered into his glass.

  The waitress grinned. “Are you sure you’re not brothers?”

  “Positive,” Jagger said. “I’m way better looking.”

  Quentin snorted. “You wish.”

  Delighted, the girl laughed at them. “Seriously. I think you two were separated at birth or something.”

  “We weren’t. Trust me.” Jagger gave her his smoothest smile, the smile that had been luring females out of their panties since college. “So what do you say, darlin’? Can I get your number or what?”

  The waitress laughed and gave him a playful wink before departing, round hips swaying in skintight black pants. Jagger stared after her until Michael, returning from his phone call, slapped the back of his head.

  “Fool, don’t you know you just got rejected?”

  “I saw that,” Liam Masters hollered across the suite. “Looks like somebody’s losing his pretty boy swag!”