Preseason Love

by Ahyiana Angel

  “You little freak nasty!”

  “Don’t judge.”

  “Hush and finish the story,” I demanded.

  “Once he lifted my dress, it was a wrap and I did not object.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Wait, so you guys got busy in the restroom?”

  “If you felt what I felt, you would have done the exact same thing, girl.”

  Nikki was right. I loved the idea of undeniable passion, and I was definitely a sucker for a man who knew exactly when and how to take control.

  “So now what?” I asked.

  “Afterwards, we made a quick exit and went back to my place. We finished what we started five times over!”

  “Stop lying!” I said with a laugh.

  “Naw, girl. As for what’s next, we’ll see,” Nikki said, not even holding back her grin. “Only time can tell, but right now I know that he’s still laying in my bed and I would be snuggled up with him if I didn’t have to chauffeur your ass around.”

  “Well damn, I’ll miss you too,” I said.

  “I’m playing. You know I love you. Now get out and get New York ready for my return!”

  Before I knew it, we were pulling up to the airport. I was so caught up in Nikki’s story that I didn’t realize we were making record time. I wondered if she was using her turbo speed to ensure that I made my flight or to get back to the naked man waiting in her bed.

  We smiled at each other. I would miss having scandalous chat sessions with my girl in person. Given her frequent trips to visit her many “Lil’ Daddies” in the city, I knew that I would see her soon enough.

  I gave my girl a big hug, hopped out of her ride, hastily dragged my bags out of the trunk, in an effort to make a mad dash for the ticket counter. There was just one problem. How the hell was I going to manage with three suitcases that felt like body bags? I had no choice; Nikki kept an eye on my bags while I ventured over to get a tourist luggage cart.

  After paying what seemed like my life’s savings in luggage overage charges, I was finally on my way to my gate. My big move was really happening and it felt more real than ever. I was nervous, scared, and excited all at the same time, so I did what I always do: dialed up my Jolie.

  My Jolie had always been like a best friend and a confidante. Sometimes mother and daughter relationships could be trying, but I couldn’t ever recall a time, from youth to young adulthood, where she and I had a conflict or a fight. She was always very straightforward and honest. That transparency nurtured a positive relationship. The day that she found out that she was pregnant with my younger brother, she sat me down on the bottom bunk of my bed—the “My Little Pony” characters staring up at me from my comforter—for a girl’s chat.

  My mother said, “I want you to know that I’m having a baby, and when the baby comes things are going to seem a bit different at first. But I really want you to understand that I love you, cherish you, and I’ll always be your mom.”

  I didn’t quite understand the change she was talking about, but from that moment on, she became my Jolie.

  My Jolie was hands down one of the coolest mothers a girl could ever have. She was always understanding and respectful of my decisions, which translated into her being very supportive. When I made the announcement that I was moving to New York, she didn’t give me any drama about not wanting me to go. I’m sure that a piece of her was scared as hell for her oldest child and only daughter to pick up and move across the country, especially with all of those potentially crazy people that she watched on Law and Order: SVU every week. But she masked her fear so that I could do what my heart desired.

  “Hi, my Jolie.” I could sense her smiling as if she had been waiting for this call.

  “Baby, don’t be nervous.” Her words were comforting. “This is your time for a fresh start. Enjoy the new experiences.”

  “You always know what to say.” I smiled. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, baby.”

  I made it to the gate without a moment to spare. The ticket agent clicked the boarding passes under the scanner like rapid fire, and my heart was racing as I continued inching forward in line. I had to tinkle, but I figured it was my nerves. That was pretty standard when my anxiety kicked in. But there was no time for hesitation or bathroom breaks, no time for second thoughts or an emotional breakdown, which was probably best because my track record as a crybaby would almost guarantee a waterworks show.

  Instead, I click-clacked down the runway corridor in my heels and dug through my ridiculously big purse to check my phone one last time as I headed toward the airplane. Devin, my girl from college and also a member of The Clique, had texted me, “Hey chick! Can’t wait until you touch down! Safe travels.” She was my soon-to-be new roommate and sole friend in New York. I looked at my boarding pass with a sense of disbelief. And I whispered, “I’m finally on my way.”

  Chapter 2

  Jungle Dreams

  “Sir, honestly, if you don’t stop slamming on the brakes, you’re gonna smell a sour stench coming from the back of your cab.”

  The cabby responded with a loud silence and a glare in the rearview mirror.

  Did this idiot just look at me like I was crazy? As long as he stopped the madness that he was attempting to pass off as driving, we would be cool. On the positive side, he seemed to be going the right way, according to my MapQuest directions. It didn’t appear that he was attempting to go off course and take me to some deserted warehouse to lock me in a dungeon as his sex slave like Liam Neeson’s daughter in Taken.

  I had traveled to New York quite a few times before I decided to make the move, so I wasn’t a complete newbie to the city. My first visit was through an internship program and that’s when I fell in love. I got a high from the hustle and bustle. I was drawn in by the feelings of excitement and independence that I gleaned from roaming the streets.

  My decision to move to New York was solidified a few months back while on a trip visiting the city with Dev. We both wanted a drastic change. She found a job and moved into temporary housing a month before my arrival, so naturally she did all of the research in finding a suitable apartment for us to share. Although our plan was to live in Manhattan, it was crazy expensive, so she found what she described as the best place she’d seen in her hunt for an apartment…right across the river…in New Jersey.

  My Los Angeles apartment was a spacious studio in Beverly Hills that I lucked up on through a friend. I had not lived with a roommate in years. It was going to be interesting to see how things would work since past roommate situations had always ended in drama. My fingers were crossed. Regardless, I was about to embark on the biggest journey of my life, and I was quickly approaching Dev and our new place.

  The cab driver zoomed down a street lined with apartments and homes on one side and the Hudson River flanked by the Manhattan skyline on the other side. I had a sudden urge to squeal with excitement. This was hot! I felt like I was in Sex in the City except on the other side of the river. I was going to be living in an apartment with a view of Manhattan. It couldn’t get much better.

  While I was busy daydreaming out the window, the driver hit a sharp left turn, then a quick right, causing me to slide to the right of the backseat along with the vision of my fantasy apartment. We were no longer on the skyline street. He pulled up to a new-looking building with a top-to-bottom brick finish. I glanced down at my paper—1721, it had to be my new home. I got out of the yellow cab and pushed the buzzer. I heard Dev’s voice. “Who is it?”

  Like she was expecting a ton of people at that time of night.

  “It’s me.”

  “Hey, girl! Do you need help?” Dev yelled through the intercom.

  “Uh yeah, that would be nice, boo!”

  While waiting for Dev, I paid the cabby and he swiftly took off, leaving me standing on the curb with all of my belongings. I felt like Eddie Murphy in Coming to America.

  Dev finally made her way outside, and we dragged my body bags into our new apartment. />
  The building had an inviting atmosphere. Neutral-colored, tile floors in the entryway, a fresh coat of warm, yellow paint on the walls and black iron accents along the corridor leading to our apartment door. From the looks of things, Dev had made a good selection—not that I ever doubted her taste.

  Once inside, I realized that we really had lucked up. The apartment had stainless steel appliances, granite counter tops, and it even included a finished basement with a private patio and an additional bathroom. The spot was sick. I roamed around in awe. I quickly began to take mental notes in preparation for the sassy decor of my new boudoir.

  A brand-new city, brand-new apartment, brand-new furniture—at that moment standing in my new space, my completely empty oasis, I decided that this would be the start of a brand-new me.

  • • •

  “What’s in the pile over there?” Dev asked, as I flipped through clothes that were still in a suitcase.

  “Nothing cute enough,” I said. I was in search of a jazzy outfit for the evening.

  “You’re trippin’.” Dev rolled her eyes and left me sitting on my bedroom floor surrounded by clothes.

  Lucky for me, I had been blessed by the gods with the best-of-both-worlds: nice, firm breasts and a well-proportioned derrière. However, picking out the clothes that would hug my curves could sometimes cause a dilemma because I was indecisive when it came to fashions. But once they hit my five-foot-eight frame, they would always fit like a glove.

  I glanced at the pile that Dev had pointed to. It was steadily growing in height next to my window. There wasn’t a single thing that caught my eye. We were on our way to a cover party for Vibe magazine and I needed to make a statement with my outfit. After all, this was a brand-new Scottie.

  Dev and I had been running nonstop since my arrival. Hence, I hadn’t made time to pick up some of the essentials like clothes hangers or a winter coat. Hell, I didn’t even have a bed. I had been sleeping on an air mattress for ten days. But my plan for the weekend included shopping for all of the must-haves, first and foremost a comfortable place to lie my head at night.

  The city hadn’t been our playground for long, but Dev connected with a new flame, Mel, whom she’d met in Washington, D.C. a few months earlier. Mel was a Queens, New York native and he certainly knew all of the hot spots in the city. Mel knew that his most desirable trait was his tendency to spend money with abandon. We began to roll with him on the regular.

  “Scottie,” Dev called out from her room.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mel called. He’s about fifteen minutes away.”

  “Shoot!” I said to myself as I started scrambling. “Are you ready?” I asked Dev, already knowing the answer.

  “You know it,” she said, walking past my room to obsess over her reflection in the full-length mirror.

  She was definitely ready and looking cute in a skin-tight, burgundy dress with burgundy and cream python pumps that brought her petite stature up a notch. Mel mentioned once to her that he loved to see her in dresses and that’s all she needed to hear. She worked it out and showed off her best assets in a dress every time that he came around.

  And then there was me. Always the last to get ready though I despised being rushed, go figure. Before Dev alerted me to the sudden need to scurry around, I was fairly close to getting it together. I’d already straightened my hair. It was full of body and flowing. The hair gods were showing me love.

  I decided to rock my new dark denim skinny jeans. They were one of my latest bargain finds in SoHo. I narrowed down my options in tops to a purple silhouette blouse with gold accents, which gave me the perfect dose of cleavage to get the boys excited. My last order of business was shoes. I decided to throw on my nude pumps from Bloomies, which set my whole look off.

  Before I knew it, we were strolling out of the apartment and hopping into one of Mel’s many rides. He was profiling in the Infiniti G35 sedan. I jumped in the backseat and Dev followed my lead. To our surprise, there was an unannounced gentleman in the front seat.

  Mel was a very quiet, mellow type of guy. So imagine my shock when we were met by the roaring sounds of his passenger’s voice projecting into the backseat. He introduced himself as Mel’s cousin, Que. I could tell that he was going to work my last nerve. As we headed to the city I checked him out from the side view and decided that my first impression was right. The huge Gucci sunglasses that were covering his chubby face shielded his eyes, but it was nighttime: automatic fail.

  Normally when we rolled with Mel, he always had the latest music. We would vibe and have a good time, but that night we were clearly going to be subjected to the soundtrack of his cousin’s yip-yapping. The guy talked nonstop. I guess he thought that the lame, flashy dialogue he offered would entice us to think that he was “the man.”

  He bragged about living in Miami, and asked if I wanted him to fly me out for a shopping spree, in addition to a bunch of other nonsense. He was basically trying to sell me a dream, and he was completely unaware that I was not in the market to buy bullshit.

  It was music to my ears when we arrived at the club, a trendy new spot in midtown. Finally, I could escape the chatterbox and do my thing. The vibe was totally different from what I was used to in Los Angeles. Fly girls with designer outfits from head to toe, big butts, yet mediocre weaves strutting around looking pressed for the attention of overhyped block boys vying to be the next Jim Jones.

  Then there were the buttoned-up “industry executives.” They talked fast and played the part but could offer nothing of real substance. Either way, the excitement of it all had me at hello as I made my way through the crowd. The DJ had the party rocking, so I chatted it up with what could one day prove to be a few promising business connections. Eventually, I made my way back to where I left my crew. They were living it up. Mel, in his usual style, ordered bottle service.

  I slid into the booth, intentionally not sitting next to Que since he would not stop giving me the eye. I tried to ignore him, but honestly he was starting to annoy me even more than before. Dev and Mel were in each other’s space like teenagers on a first date, completely oblivious to their surroundings, but she looked happy and I was happy for her. Dev could be hard to crack for men and even harder to entertain, so Mel seemed to be doing something right.

  “Are you comfortable?” Mel asked Dev.

  Dev replied with a simple, “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to mix you a drink?” Mel asked Dev.

  With a coy smile, she nodded yes. I sat back and watched this little love fest unfold. He sure didn’t ask if I was comfortable or parched.

  In an effort to avoid any potential awkward advances from Que, I politely excused myself from the booth and headed to the second level. I caught a glimpse of what looked like a cutie making his way up the stairs. Since I had nothing better to do, I decided to do what I did best: investigate.

  He had a deep, flawless, black-onyx complexion, pearly whites, heart-melting smile, and the body of a lean, chiseled gladiator. I thought to myself, now what the hell do you do? He had to be a model. I’d never been the forward type—only when intoxicated—so to think that I would saunter up to a man and strike up a conversation was unlikely. I needed hints, cues of interest, a hand gesture telling me to come hither, something. So I decide to play it cool and scope him out from afar. After two whole minutes of that game, I was bored. I took a long sip of my drink and forced myself to walk into his line of sight. I felt a tap on my shoulder. I quickly snapped my neck to the right expecting to see Que the bug-a-boo, but it wasn’t him.

  “He’s calling you,” said a man wearing a hunter-green lumber-jack-esque shirt and matching hat. He informed me of something that I had clearly missed.

  I gave him a puzzled look, then he pointed in the direction of my new crush. He appeared to be signaling me to come over to him. Get it, girl! This was not the normal way that I liked to be engaged by a man but what the hell, a brand-new city, a brand-new me. With the speed of light, I straightened
up my posture, flipped my hair over my shoulder and put a swift strut in my peep-toe pumps. I made my way toward the bar where he was standing.

  Anxiety filled my body at the unknown, but there was no time for fear or doubt. I was less than three feet away from saying hello to my future love, but for some reason his eyes were not exactly meeting mine as I thought they would be, or imagined they had been. I continued toward him and as I said hello and extended my hand, he reached past me. He fell into a sensuous embrace with an extremely tall brunette who had a true model figure. After their long hello, he turned to me with a puzzled look on his face and asked, “Do we know each other?” I guess he noticed me staring. The woman was standing there waiting to hear my answer as well. Hell, I was standing there waiting to hear my answer too. In a split-second decision, I determined that I would not make an even bigger ass out of myself by trying to explain this natural disaster caused by a lumberjack. I simply flashed a polite smile and made a swift exit toward the stairway.

  I was humiliated. I felt like I was just written into an old episode of Ugly Betty as her uglier twin. The night could only get better, but I did not want to stick around and take the chance that it could get worse. When I got back to the table, I gave Dev the un-spoken signal that I was ready to go and figured I’d explain why once we got home.

  On our way to the car, I secretly asked Dev if Mel was planning to drop us off at our house. She quickly assured me that he would. However, for some reason I had a strange feeling about her answer. She didn’t make me feel confident in her response, but since Mel was Dev’s boo, I let her take the lead and coordinate our trans-portation.

  After riding for some time, I noticed that we’d left the city, which was essential to getting to our apartment in Jersey. But something was off. I wasn’t a native New Yorker and I had only been living in the area for a minute, but the route definitely did not seem like the way home.