by Love Belvin
Fuck! Stephanie’s gay!
It now made sense: her constant ogling, appreciative grins, impromptu visits to wherever Candice and I were, her goddamned virginity—
“Your gift.” I let seep from my brain.
“Did you like it? I hoped you’d catch the significance of it.” She stepped closer.
My hands shot out in front of me. “Stephanie, I don’t know what type of shit you’re on, but you got 2.5 seconds to get the fuck outta here!” I shrieked.
Stephanie flinched at that, but it was unconvincing. She took another careful step, wearing the same cool smile. “I’m not going to hurt you, Elle. Besides, with your strong biceps and toned thighs, I’m sure you can fight off the best of them.” Not only did lust align her eyes, but her trembling voice belied her nervousness.
So, she isn’t insane.
But she did come closer. “Elle, calm down. I just came to talk—”
Without another warning, I clocked her dead in the mouth. In the recesses of my mind, I heard the door click open and my body was lifted from the floor. Just when I was about to go ape shit in a panic, I smelled him.
“What the fuck is going on here?” He growled as he held me in the air.
“You didn’t tell me this bitch was a dyke? She was in my bed waiting for me!”
“Steph, what the fuck?” his thick vocals rumbled in disgust.
“Jackson, I thought—” Stephanie attempted.
“You thought what? That you could seduce her into a lifestyle she ain’t with? The fuck is wrong with you?” Then there was panic in his tone. “Did you fuckin’ touch her?” He regarded me intently.
He knew! This son of bitch knew she was gay!
That must’ve been their game against Valerie and Magreen. I felt like a pawn…a casualty caught in their sick game.
“Jackson, take me home right now!” I demanded.
He visibly tried to calm himself. “Elle, it’s late.”
“Jackson,” I called his name in warning, “either you take me home or I’m calling a cab!”
Going between glaring at Stephanie, whom I was ready to murder and issuing softer eyes to me, with seconds, Jackson decided and without further incident, took me home.
I knew this shit was too perfect to be true!
Though Jackson’s and my relationship took a turn that night, life continued to whirl, leading into the New Year.
I didn’t visit home for the New Year, which wasn’t new. I did, however, confront my mother about her tightly held secrets after nearly a month of either dodging her calls or rushing through them. The incident with Jackson and Stephanie lodged a thorn into my side. I didn’t like being kept in the dark. Secrets were the bane of my existence. They were what caused much of my torment growing up. I finally told my mother I couldn’t take not knowing the identity of my father. I also broached the painful subject of my relationship with my step-siblings. I shared my anger of her never protecting me and turning a blind eye to my painful adjustment in the name of blending families with her new husband. Even through her profuse apologies, my mother never revealed anything to bring comfort. She simply cried over the phone, and of course, I released her by ending the conversation.
And then there was Jackson…
Several times since Christmas night, I added up all the incidences and it was clear Stephanie was attracted to me. All these months I carried a guilt-free conscious about sleeping with who I believed to be her love interest all to find out they’d never had that type of relationship. That concerned me more than I let on.
He’d begun staying over, officially. And I slept soundly in his arms. It was absolutely peculiar how I, a woman who thrived on privacy and seclusion—partially due to my chronic nightmares—actually looked forward to sharing a bed with Jackson, not entirely for sexual reasons. Ironically, when I accepted his good company outside of the sex, I relaxed enough to fall asleep and would now rest soundly. The only time my nightmares made an appearance was when I wasn’t wrapped in his taut arms.
In spite of how torn my common sense was from my good conscience, I continued on with our affair. And that was troubling to me. I knew Jackson withheld a lot, and that fact was fine simply because I’d been holding onto my cards just as closely as my mother. This was okay because it was only about sex and business between Jackson and me. At least that’s how I reconciled my anatomical needs with those of my emotions. Yup. I’d begun feeling a smidgen of emotional connection to Jackson, to my dismay.
In the arctic of mid-January, I was in the office, going over design mockups with Greg. Now that we had three official—and tentative-clients—we were prepared to further promote the Dynamic Branding firm. Greg’s designs were impressive. He wanted me to see them before they were presented to Jackson.
“These are pretty official, Greg,” I noted while standing over the graphic designer’s desk as he clicked away, showing me the various mockups. “The photographer you went with was genius in changing the background and themes for each artist.”
“Yeah, but he had a time with Erika. Shirez wanted to take over the damn shoot,” Greg sighed, scraping his palms down his face, exasperatingly. “I was told Erika was able to assuage his sensitive ego, though.”
I snorted. “Don’t let Jackson hear that.” I mentally shook my head at the thought. “How was Dale?” I prepared for more drama. “His fiancée tried quarterbacking the shoot, but it went well according to Bridgette.”
I heard the elevator ding and when I glanced up, I caught a morose Clarice, slogging toward us. I excused myself and led her over to my desk. I could tell this wouldn’t be good.
“Morning, beautiful,” I greeted with a soft smile as I grabbed my coffee mug.
“Beautiful?” she shrilled with disbelief. “Hmph!”
“What’s going on?” I asked, less committal, my eyes hid from her, not prepared for the impending drama.
Without preamble, she murmured, “Jamie,” then glanced around to be sure she was unheard. “I think he’s seeing someone else.”
My eyes skirted the office layout, too, only less conspicuously. “I don’t think what you two are doing can exactly be labeled as seeing each other,” my voice low and vague.
“Well, hell, whatever it is, his ass is doing it with someone else.”
I stood straight aligning my eyes with hers. “Clarice.”
“What?” she cried, incredulously.
“He’s twenty-four years old; of course he’s doing it with everybody. You knew this when you signed on. You said you wanted the fun…the adventure. You didn’t want exclusivity or a commitment because if you did, you sure as hell wouldn’t have looked for them in a damn kid, Clarice.” My tone had turned bitter at this point.
Why am I having this talk with a woman damn near forty?
Clarice straightened. “I didn’t come up here to be judged.” Her chin hiked in the air.
“Well, what did you come for, girlfriend? I’ve got work to do.”
This time Clarice leveled her eyes with mine.
Shit.
“I want to know if you’ve seen or heard anything.” Her eyes grew large, telling me she knew she was out of line, but didn’t care. She was on a hunt for information.
“Clarice, Jamie is a colleague and team member. Not only am I not checking for compliance of his loyalty to your bed, but I will not be reporting back to you his every move. I’m not getting involved in your affairs with a damn toddler.” I cocked my head to the side, expressing finality.
“Damn, Elle! No one’s saying I’m in love here: just feeling like he’s lying and putting me at risk—”
“Don’t tell me you’re fucking that baby without condoms!” I gritted, still controlling my volume.
She recoiled. “Hell, no! You think I’m crazy?”
My phone rang. I picked it up on a heavy sigh. “Elle Jarreau.”
“Elle, it’s me, Marie.” My eyes widened. “I’m a block away and will be pulling up in a few moments.”
&n
bsp; “Okay,” I trilled nervously, while regarding Clarice closely. Marie and I were sharing a car to grab a late breakfast then off to a book signing at the historic Strand for an author DB was hoping to snag. “I’m coming down now.”
“Cool,” she replied and we disconnected.
“Look, Elle—” Clarice started as I began gathering my things to go.
“Clarice, I’m sorry I’ve been so cold. But you knew how I felt when you went into this with Jamie. I apologize for being so brisk; I just don’t want to be involved in it.” I straightened to open to her. “I hope we can be cool about this.”
Rubbing her lips together on a heavy exhale, she nodded. “Of course. I just…” She shook her head. “Never mind. I know you have to go.”
At this point, I had everything ready to go, even my coat.
My parting words to her were, “To guard your heart, you have to trust your gut.”
And I started for the elevator.
Muscles contracting and lungs sloughing impatient air, I clutched his hard damp frame above my own. He’d met his release, which prompted mine just in time.
“Morning, Elle,” his thick morning tenor vibrated over me, caressing my skin. The smell of my personal musk smeared on his face kept my nipples taut. I was totally satiated. “You up now?”
I managed a nod against his globular shoulder in lieu of speaking. I couldn’t slow my breathing to do otherwise.
This guy could really go. He’d awakened me before the sun dawned with his mouth sealed to my sex, urgently pulling an orgasm from me. And this last round went on for longer than my fuzzy morning brain could cognize. I guess that was one of the benefits of taking on a sexual relationship with a younger lover; one in his twenties, only this relationship was going to be the doom of me.
But what a delicious way to go.
Jackson reared back to pull out of me and planted himself right next to my languid being.
“How did you sleep?”
Was he serious?
“I think ‘how was my awakening’ is a more eventful question,” I panted.
Resting his head on his hand with his arm propped beneath, Jackson chuckled. “You should be used to this.” He spoke monotone, unfazed.
I trained my eyes above my head, raising my chin. “The sun hasn’t even come up yet.”
“Yet you’ve come twice,” he murmured teasingly, tapping my nose.
I snorted. I was sure I had three orgasms, but who was keeping score? Sex with Jackson had become therapeutic for me, and that wasn’t a revelation I was willing to share with anyone.
He shifted to his back. “So, what’s on your agenda for today?”—his head popped up from the mattress—“If you don’t mind me asking,” he amended.
Though he couldn’t see, I rolled my eyes. He was being considerate of my privacy. I hated it.
“You know…when I agreed to this overnight thing, I didn’t consent to pillow talk.”
“You also had no idea you’d wake to three orgasms before the crack of dawn, but you don’t hear me complaining about labor laws around here,” he quipped.
I gasped sharply. “You just said I came twice.”
“To see if you’d correct my humility. But I see you don’t like giving credit where it’s due.” His eyes met mine. “I know what your body receives, even if you muffle your moans.”
My mouth collapsed. “You’re quite perceptive.”
Jackson shook his head. “I’m quite ‘Elle’.” He kissed my shoulder affectionately.
“You wake up a year older and now you have this supernatural wisdom? Is that what happens to twenty-seven-year-olds nowadays?”
After applying chaste kisses to my shoulder again, he took his time to mutter, “You remembered my birthday.”
Of course I did!
I shrugged and turned my head to break his captivating gaze. He was impressed. I didn’t need this to be a sappy moment between lovers.
Because he understood my need for a switch in gears, Jackson returned to his back.
“So… Your day?”
I sighed harshly, recalling my dilemma that derived from the day before.
“Your birthday party has presented a quandary for me.”
I felt his head shift to face me. “How?”
“Marie and Clarice have asked me to attend with them tonight. Marie asked first, but it’s always assumed that I’ll travel with Clarice. She’s the closest thing to a girlfriend I’ve got.”
“So, what did you tell Marie?”
“I told her I wasn’t sure if I’d be going and would get back to her.” I rolled over and sat up, preparing to leave the bed. “And when Clarice asked me, I told her the same.”
I heard Jackson shift in the bedding behind me. “Are you not coming?” I could hear the regret in his tone, through the attempted apathy.
I turned back to him. Steely abs were pronounced underneath his bubbled pecs and his relaxed appendage rested against his columnar thighs.
“Of course, I’ll be stopping through, Jackson. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Stopping through?” His brows arched, begging my pardon.
“Yes, stopping through. I’m too old to be getting “turned up” at a club with a bunch of twenty-some things, even if it is your birthday party.” I tried to sound admonishing.
Jackson collapsed back onto the mattress, pushing out a hearty laugh.
“Twen-twenty,” he sputtered. “Twenty-somethings?” When he could control his mirth, he gasped, “Really, Elle? Have you not learned anything about me?”
I didn’t exactly know what he meant by that.
“Oh, I’ve learned a lot since sleeping with you, but I don’t think it gives any insight into clubbing with your young friends.”
“But you go out to clubs with Clarice from time-to-time, I’m sure. What puts limitation on my birthday party?”
“Ughhh!” I rubbed the frustration from my face. “You’re reminding me of the quagmire your friend has gotten me into.”
“My friend?”
“Yes! Jamie.”
I glanced over my shoulder to find an inquisitorial glare on Jackson’s face.
“Him, sleeping with them both, ring a bell?”
Jackson’s face dropped as did his chin. I cupped my mouth. He didn’t know.
“Oh, my god. Jackson, this has been going on almost as”—I gesture between the two of us—“just about as long as we’ve been.”
The sun had been setting and I could catch a glimpse of his eyes fluttering.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked, incredulous. “He’s your friend…your boy. How could he not tell you?”
“Maybe because we don’t discuss our sex life with each other like little ass kids,” he supplied noncommittally.
That response revealed a lot. I believed Jackson. If Jamie shared his sexual excursions with Jackson, it would mean that Jackson shared his conquest: me. And even I, in my pessimistic mind, couldn’t fathom Jackson sharing our affair…with anyone. That one act of loyalty…protection, burgeoned something deep within. It was so strong and compelling. I couldn’t deal with it in that moment with Jackson lying before me as bare physically as I refused to be emotionally.
“I need to go wash up. You’re dripping from me,” I murmured in a manner far from the nature of the salacious mention. “I’m going for my run when I’m done.”
I turned to leave the room, not stopping until I closed the bathroom door. I backed onto it, relaxing my head.
You’ve gotta get your shit together, Elle. No matter how tactful he is, it is impossible. He deserves better.
After washing up, I slipped on running gear and headed to the door. On my way, I opened the drawer next to my stove and pulled out the sealed greeting card I’d purchased and signed for Jackson’s birthday. I placed it clear on the peninsula countertop, a place where I was sure he wouldn’t miss it. I knew Jackson would be gone by the time I returned and wanted to acknowledge his bir
thday, no matter how clinically. He was a good person and good people should be celebrated.
After completing my remedial morning run, I started my busy day by meeting with Erika about a prospective shoe line. If I wasn’t so into fashion it would be painful to hold her hand through this process. It didn’t matter how many times I reminded her that it was her life and dreams to live out, she always managed to squeeze out my validation for her ventures. I eventually resolved that I was her sole support system since branching away from her family. However, deep down inside, I knew Erika wasn’t as fragile as she presented. She was brand-savvy and had a keen eye for fashion. She was a trendsetter and didn’t need assistance with her creativity, just for executing it. So, I spent a few hours that morning, in conference about fabric and design.
When I made it back in the office, the first thing I noticed was Jackson’s office was occupied, but not by him. Not only were there dozens upon dozens of deliveries of flowers, wines, champagne, chocolates and balloons trailing out into the main area, but there was a very petite, well-dressed and mature woman sitting on the sofa in there.
“Who’s that?” I asked, peeking my head in Bridgette’s door, next to Jackson’s.
Her head popped up from her computer and she took a minute to consider my question.
Her face wrinkled, scarlet painted lips arched, lacking decorum. “I really don’t know. She came, asking for him. I figured if security let her up, she’s cool,” she whispered then went back to her desktop. I turned for my desk. “Oh, and Patience called. She’s not happy with the dancers for the Southern Gentlemen’s tour. Said something about them being too immature for Dale’s bravura.”
That stopped me in my tracks. Patience was sucking her namesake from me. She was über demanding, not trusting of my capabilities. She’d critiqued the tour lineup from the jump, arguing that Dale’s younger contemporaries, Chris, Trey and August had loose reputations and would only attract violence and drugs; things men of their ages were into. While Dale was in a class by himself, having spent his entire life in the industry and had outgrown the pitfalls and high-risk activities of it, he was still appealing to the same demographic. He needed the exposure this tour had been bringing. If Patience was afraid of her man acting his age, she shouldn’t have taken on an affair with one over ten years her junior!
