Baby, You're the Best

by Mary B. Morrison

  The makeup artist swept my hair away from my face, then slid hair clips on both sides. She draped my yesterday’s wardrobe with a black cape. “I’m going to have fun with you. Your skin is flawless,” she said. She applied a moist layer of something, then wiped it off.

  “I’ll set aside all the products I use and you can choose what you’d like to purchase after I’m done. We simply ask that you spend at least fifty dollars since the makeup session is complimentary. But there’s no obligation.”

  I waved my gift card. “I’m ready! I can do all the basics except eye shadow. Never learned how to apply it right. And I don’t like the press-on shadows.”

  She told me she’d explain the process when she got to that part. I didn’t bother telling her I’d taken a few classes at M.A.C. Still couldn’t get it right. I felt eye shadow, foundation, and blush were nice but not necessary. Maybe since I had a younger man interested in me I should rethink wearing makeup.

  “Bloomingdale’s when we’re done,” Mercedes said.

  “Bebe’s. It’s closer and they have a sexier selection,” Alexis said, entering the store. She wedged herself between Mercedes and Devereaux. “This is our, not your, makeover for Mom. You are not taking charge.” Alexis gasped, “Oh, Mommy! I love this hair!”

  She fingered my strands then let them float to my back. The silkiness touching my skin felt sensual.

  “Thanks, baby. I’m glad you made it in time to see my transformation.”

  “Mother wasn’t the only one who got some,” Devereaux said. “I saw how you strutted in here. Out with it, Ms. Alexis.”

  Alexis cut her eyes toward Devereaux, then shook her head. “You know I’m not giving details. Soon as I tell y’all what happened, y’all have too many questions about how it’s done.”

  “Look who’s growing up,” Mercedes said.

  Alexis sarcastically said, “I been grown, Mrs. I-Only-Do-It-In-The-Missionary-And-I-Don’t-Suck-My-Husband’s-Dick.”

  “Really? Really. And you would know that because?” Mercedes questioned.

  “Quick. When was the last time you had sex outside of your bedroom?” Alexis asked.

  “I have two children, Ms. Freaky-Freelancer-Screw-Anything-With-A-Hole-Between-Their—”

  Frowning, I interjected, “That’s enough, you two.” Glancing at my phone, I noticed Spencer hadn’t responded.

  I looked at Mercedes, wondering if she enjoyed making love to her husband or did she feel sex was a part of her wifely duties?

  The makeup artist said, “Close your eyes.”

  I pictured relaxing on my sofa with Spencer. He could fuck me on my satin sheets. Afterward, we could listen to jazz, sip martinis, then he could make me squirt in whatever room we desired. Peeping, I checked my cell. He still hadn’t responded to my text.

  “Don’t open your eyes yet,” the makeup artist said.

  Closing them, I exhaled.

  “Where’s Sandara?” Alexis asked.

  “Probably ass up, legs wide open for that trifling dude she just posted a pic with online,” Mercedes said.

  Devereaux replied, “This time of the morning.”

  “Not every guy she meets is trifling,” Alexis said.

  “Really? Really. I was trying to wait until she got here but . . .” Mercedes paused.

  I pictured Mercedes’s lips drawn in as she stared at Alexis through tight eyes.

  “My husband,” Mercedes said, dragging out the h word, “is taking the twins to Disneyland for two days so we can have a mother-daughters weekend at my house. That way Sandara can keep her pussy to herself for forty-eight hours.”

  Wait. Not this weekend. I didn’t want to miss the opportunity with my girls but I hadn’t been on vacation with a fine-ass man in forever. It had also been too long since I was with all my daughters for more than a few hours. Hoping the sleepover at Mercedes’s lasted more than forty-eight minutes, I prayed Spencer hadn’t bought our tickets to Vegas. If so, I could reimburse him.

  Opening my eyes, I said, “Let me see if I can cancel my plans.” Actually, Mercedes had given me a reason to do what I’d wanted since sitting in this chair. Call Spencer.

  “What plans?” Mercedes asked. She placed her hand on her hip.

  Not wanting to smear my makeup, I dialed Spencer’s number and placed the call on speaker.

  “Hey, Fabulous.”

  Slowly, I sang, “Hi, Spencer.”

  Mercedes rolled her eyes. Devereaux smiled. Alexis’s brows rose high.

  “You done already?” he asked.

  “Almost. I just need to—”

  “What you need to do, bitch, is stop fucking my man. Spencer, tell her she’s done!” some woman shouted. “I can’t believe you answered her call and I just finished sucking your dick! Bye, bitch! Get your own man!”

  If I weren’t in shock, I would’ve ended the call.

  “Are you Charlotte?” I asked.

  “How that bitch know me?!”

  “Fabulous, we’re still on for Vegas. I’ll explain later. Let me hit you back,” he said, before ending the call.

  I didn’t know if I should feel embarrassed or stupid. I was wise enough to know everyone in Atlanta had a woman, a man, or both somewhere, even if they didn’t mention it. Charlotte screaming wasn’t my problem. What bothered me was I’d left his place five hours ago and he’d already had sex with someone else. Had he done to her what he’d done to me? If so, I understood why she was angry.

  Everyone at our station was speechless, including myself.

  Sandara entered the store. Looked at our faces, then asked, “What happened?”

  CHAPTER 24

  Spencer

  “You can dish it out but you can’t deal. Now you know how I feel about you doing another dude. You think I want to hit your pussy raw after him? What if he gave you something?”

  I hadn’t used a condom with Fabulous but the odds of someone her age having HIV were less than Charlotte’s. “Are you still fucking dude?”

  “But you answered the damn phone,” Charlotte said, sitting on my dick, “while you’re inside of me. You lucky I’m not done.” She folded her arms across her titties.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Fuck you, Spencer!”

  No, what was fucked up was Charlotte’s perception of monogamy. I swear I wanted to push her ass off of me. I could have Charlotte, Blake, and Alexis if I wanted. Placing my cell on the nightstand, I looked up at her. Damn, was the other dude sexing my gurl better than I was putting it down? Was he old school, new? Better looking? What did she see in him that she didn’t see in me?

  “You make me sick to my stomach. Seriously,” I told her. Staring into her eyes, I wanted to make her cry.

  Once she did dude, she released the beast in me. The way I was treating her was her fault. She had no idea how many females hit on my ass every day. At least fifteen to twenty. All that “men can’t be trusted” talk she’d done when we started kicking it and she ended up being the one to creep first. What we had was special. Not no more.

  I had doggish tendencies but she made me dog her. For the guys that were cold toward women, I bet they had a Charlotte story similar to mine. Maybe I deserved this shit. Wasn’t like I hadn’t intentionally misled a few females in order to get my stroke on.

  I hit my gurl’s pussy hard! I started thrusting deep into her belly the way she liked it. Charlotte bounced up and down. More so from my determination to make her unfold her arms and cum on this dick. Breaking her grip, I clamped her breasts, then pinched her nipples hard.

  “You gon’ stop fucking dude.” I wasn’t asking. “Or you gon’.” I paused, pushed her back onto this big dick, restricted her hips from moving, then shoved my shit up in her again. I held her there.

  She stared into my eyes, wrapped her pussy muscles tight around my shaft, then asked, “Dude, who?”

  At times my girl had more game than me but I refused to let her know that. She stroked her clit. “You know this is your pussy.” Sh
e squeezed. “Stop.” Squeezed again. “Trippin’.” The continuous pulsation let me know she was cumming. I knew her body well. I kept still.

  I wanted to say, “I love you, boo.” That was the truth. But my sentiments could change before she finished climaxing if I pictured her riding that other nigga.

  Charlotte’s eyes rolled toward her forehead. Quickly, she got off of me, then out of bed. Hands on her hips, she said, “That bitch isn’t more fabulous than me. What’s her real name?”

  That’s what I got for holding out. My shit was straight up in the air. “I know you’re kidding, right? Get back on this dick.”

  Charlotte stormed into the kitchen. Scrambling to my feet, I followed her this time. She opened my cabinet. I slammed it.

  “Don’t touch my shit! I’m serious. What the fuck is wrong with you!”

  She opened a different cabinet, swept four small plates off the shelf. “Now what?”

  I swear I wanted to hit her. There was my answer. Charlotte had to go. For real this time.

  “So do you love her ass?”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Don’t act like you didn’t just say in front of me that you’re taking her to Vegas. All these thirsty bitches around here, it’s probably more like she’s taking you.”

  Staring down at Charlotte’s face, I shifted my eyes to the side. My lips pressed together. Not in anger. Out of sadness.

  Why couldn’t we make our thing work?

  I wasn’t going to cry like a bitch but my eyes filled with tears of frustration. Whatever attracted me to this crazy-ass woman was slowly killing me. One day she might push me too far. Make me pull out my forty. Then what? I’d sit behind bars while her people bury her. Or while dude sit at her bedside waiting for another opp to do her. Fuck that!

  She yelled up at me, “I asked you a question?”

  “I’m not asking, Charlotte. Leave my damn house. We can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep going off.” I pointed at the ceramic. “I can’t keep forgiving you for breaking my heart and my shit.”

  Laughing, she said, “Me? Me? Own up to your shit, Spencer!”

  Calmly, I told her, “I can’t keep this up. It’s over between us,” trying to convince myself.

  Before the call from Fabulous, Charlotte and I had just taken a breather from the best makeup sex we’d had in a month. I’d apologized for standing her up last night. Charlotte’s hair was intertwined in my fingers as I penetrated her from behind. Other positions were cool but doggie-style was my favorite. The feel of my balls slapping against her creamy pussy took me to a new orgasmic plateau. I loved each time she’d reached between my thighs then held on to my balls real firm.

  I’d pulled out, came all over her ass before penetrating that sweet asshole again. She’d screamed with pleasure, then grunted, “I love you so fucking much, Spencer. I hate you!”

  I’d told her, “Same here, boo.” I’d meant that shit.

  The tightness of her asshole gripping my shaft drove me insane. I eased out. Came again. My body was exhausted. She’d removed the condom, cleaned me up. Sucked my head. Rolled her tongue in circles around my corona until she got him back up, then squatted on my dick.

  My head was pointing north right now and I wanted another nut. Just one more. That wasn’t happening. At least not with Charlotte. Maybe Fabulous could come take care of this before I had to leave for work.

  “Spencer, do you love me?”

  What’s love got to do with this bullshit?

  Charlotte was fucking crazy. Her glossy eyes were real scary right now. She gave me that possessed look.

  We had a lot of chill things in common. We were both twenty-seven. We liked the same movies, places, video games, and hobbies. Maybe it was time for me to let all that go and date a mature woman like Fabulous. The older women I’d encountered were rational. But irrational females kept me on my game.

  I turned away. Tiptoed over the chunks of broken ceramic. Suddenly I felt the piercing of fingernails in my back. Layers of my flesh burned.

  “Damn!” Instinctively, I swung my fist at her.

  She ducked. My aim went well above her head. If I had hit her ass, she’d be knocked out. I was glad I didn’t connect. Dropping my arms to my side, I shook my head. I’d never been incarcerated. Planned on keeping it that way.

  “Show her that!” Charlotte said. She stormed into my bedroom crying.

  Forget the pussy. My dick was flaccid. I wasn’t falling for it this time. I sat on my sofa, stared at the broken glass. A few minutes later she came out dressed, stomped by me, then left my place. She’d slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

  I was relieved that she was fucking gone.

  The first thing I’d done was lock my door. Second, call Fabulous.

  “Hey, Spencer. You okay?” she asked.

  “I apologize for my lil situation earlier.”

  “No need. Just wished you would’ve told me you were in a rela—”

  “It’s over,” I said, trying to convince myself again. “We still on for Vegas?”

  Silence filled the space between our ears. What did I expect? I deserved that.

  “If you text me your info, I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll make reservations for us to leave in the morning and come back Sunday. And don’t text me a pic of your makeover. Stop by the bar anytime after five and show me. Please, Fabulous. I need to see you.”

  Honestly, I wanted her to come now and lighten the heavy load in my nuts. But I also needed to know she wanted me for more than my bedroom skills.

  “I know that’s not Spencer on the phone, Mother. Hang up,” an angry female voice exclaimed.

  The call ended. I wasn’t sure who terminated our conversation but I hoped it wasn’t Fabulous. I turned off my cell. What I needed was a cold shower.

  After I got out of the shower, I turned on my cell. Nodding with a smile, I’d received a text message with Blake Crystal’s information. I went online, purchased two round-trip tickets to Las Vegas. Made a reservation at Bellagio. My salary wasn’t that great. Thirty thou’ a year plus twenty Gs or so in tips. The trust my mother left me didn’t require me to have a nine-to-five but I wasn’t the type of dude that found comfort in doing nothing all day. Bartending was a great way to meet interesting people.

  The free-and-clear apartment building in Buckhead brought in ten grand a month. My new all-black Range Rover was paid for. I was smart enough not to let Charlotte or any woman know my net worth. A female’s expectations escalated when she knew a man had three things—lots of money, love for her, and a big dick.

  How many more potential acquaintances was I going to let Charlotte ruin before I did what needed to be done?

  Fabulous was going to help me to let go of Charlotte so I could get next to Alexis.

  CHAPTER 25

  Blake

  Spencer is taking me to Vegas I texted Brandon while I was in the dressing room.

  My decision to go with Spencer to Las Vegas wasn’t about doing what Mercedes believed was best. Spencer had a situation. I had one, too, two days ago. If Mercedes’s husband, Benjamin, were home the next two days would’ve been about them, not me. Texting Spencer my information was all about what I wanted to do for my birthday.

  Brandon replied, Bitch you’d better go to LV & suck that young dick like you trying to swallow it whole!!! If you need a personal assistant, you know my bags stay packed.

  The form-fitting green, blue, and black pattern midthigh dress at Bebe’s was my favorite. I hung it on the right, tried on the cotton candy pink maxi dress. It flattered my figure. The red dress, long-sleeved on one side, neck, arm, and shoulder exposed on the other side, stopped above my knee. A definite no. I hung it on the left. The petite white and black skirts were a yes.

  According to Alexis, all the clothes in my suitcase should be pussy accessible. I planned on being a complete whore the entire time I was vacationing in Sin City. I needed freak tips from Brandon.

  I texted him, 5 o�
�clock Ocean Prime on Piedmont?, then slipped into a pair of gold open-toe platforms and felt like a giant.

  “Mama, what’s taking you so long? Come out so we can see,” Alexis said.

  Spencer texted, Reservations, done! Can’t wait 2CU later today Fabulous! Anytime after 5. Don’t give me a heads up just show up.

  I loved a man who did what he’d promised. One last look in the mirror. I fluffed my hair. My shimmering chocolate lips, smoky eyes, dramatic lashes made me fall in love with myself.

  Brandon confirmed dinner with me. I strutted out of the dressing room wearing a sleeveless minidress with a cutaway that highlighted my cleavage.

  Devereaux gasped, then covered her mouth. Tears streamed down Sandara’s face. Alexis hugged me.

  Mercedes said, “Wow. You are extremely attractive, Mother. Red is your best color but that purple is hot on you. You’ve been hiding all that sexiness since you got with Fortune. Keep all of that on.”

  “I’ll get your things,” Sandara said, heading toward the dressing room.

  Mercedes charged everything to her credit card. “Now what?”

  “I have to go home next,” I answered. “I’m having dinner with Brandon, then I’ll meet you guys at Mercedes’s by eight tonight and in the morning,” I said, hugging and thanking each of my babies, then told them, “I am going to Las Vegas with Spencer.”

  Seven hours would give me enough time to pack my bags, dine and have a couple of drinks, swing back to the mall to let Spencer see me, then make it to Mercedes’s for a sleepover with my girls.

  As I strutted to the valet with lots of shopping bags, I thought this truly was the best weekend I’d had since before I’d met Fortune. I turned heads all the way to my Ferrari until I drove off.

  Cruising to Roswell, I wished marriage would’ve come before Devereaux had Nya but the license wouldn’t have guaranteed her a healthier relationship with Phoenix.

  Parking next to my Benz, I was glad Fortune’s car was not in my driveway. I pressed the remote to open my garage, gathered my bags, then entered my house through the kitchen door. I went upstairs to the master bedroom, dropped my purse and shopping bags on my chaise, emptied my dirty laundry into the hamper in my closet.