The Makeover_A Modern Love Story

by Nia Forrester

  “Still at that job you always complain about? The lobbying firm? What you workin’ on over there these days? Still immigration reform? Farmworkers’ rights?”

  Sam nodded slowly. “You remember all that?”

  Drew shrugged. “How could I forget? You used to send me those long messages, telling me everything you did that day, including what coffee you drank at Starbucks before going to work. Remember that?”

  “Yeah. I remember.” She wanted to paint him a picture, not just send him a string of words. She wanted him to see her, even if he couldn’t see her.

  “Kept my head up, back then,” Drew said. “Being so far away from home. Not knowing the language yet …”

  “And now?”

  “Now? Hablo español como un nativo.”

  Sam smiled, and let herself remember.

  “Why’d you stop writing?” Drew asked. “The calls? That, I get. I mean, there was a time difference, a lot of other differences … whatever. But those emails. Those long-ass emails. Sometimes that’s all I had to look forward to, y’know?”

  “You know why,” Sam said, looking away from him. “But what about now? How is it over there for you now?”

  “Found my groove,” Drew acknowledged with a nod. “I have a life, a nice place. Friends, a social life …”

  “Exactly.” Sam shrugged. “None of that probably would have happened if …”

  “You should’ve let me be the judge of that.”

  “Drew …”

  “It wasn’t just about that. You holding me back.”

  “Drew.”

  “Samantha.” He mimicked her long-suffering drawl.

  And then he grinned at her in that way he had, and it was impossible for her to do anything but smile back.

  “Are you dating anyone?” she asked, and then was immediately sorry that she had.

  Drew gave her a chiding look. “Are you?”

  “I asked first.”

  “I’m dating lots of ‘someones’, how’s that?”

  “So, no one special.”

  “Nah. I’ll be coming home when time comes to settle down,” he said. “Coming home in more ways than one.”

  Sam shook her head. “No cute little Spanish mamacitas about to become Mrs. West?”

  Drew kept his eyes fixed on hers. “Nah. I’m pretty sure my wife is right here. In the good ol’ U.S. of A.”

  “Drew, there’s …”

  “Drew!”

  Neither of them had noticed him approaching, and suddenly Colt was there, pulling up a chair of his own. He extended his legs in front of him, so they created a barrier between Sam and Drew.

  “What’s good, man? When you get back?”

  The two men exchanged some dap while Sam eyed them, keeping very still. Between Colt and Drew, there was always something just short of aggression now, but beneath that there was still a whole lot of history, and a fair amount of affection as well. How could there not be affection? They had been boys together, become men together. Their parents had known each other for almost two decades.

  But the two men were also very much the same, their competitive take-no-prisoners natures too prone to conflict, especially when their ambitions were so similar. Drew had never completely gotten over not being drafted to the NBA; and Colt had never soft-pedaled his relative success to spare Drew’s ego.

  “Got back just now. This afternoon,” Drew said. “How you been?”

  “Didn’t make the playoffs. But you know …” Colt shrugged.

  “That’s how it goes sometimes,” Drew said. He’d almost succeeded in sounding sympathetic. Almost, but not quite. “What’s up otherwise?”

  Sam tuned out their conversation and glanced across the yard.

  Now would be the best time to go get something to eat. Because being in the company of both men at once, was sure to be unmanageable.

  ~ Nine ~

  It was almost dark, and from across the yard, near the grill, Colt watched his childhood friend. Drew was soaking up the attention of a gaggle of the younger neighborhood women.

  It was always that way when he came home. They swarmed around Drew like vultures surrounding a fresh carcass. But, Colt had to admit, he looked like he was keeping fit.

  Some dudes went over there across the ocean and got lazy, and fat. They screwed their fill of European chicks, ate rich foods, and settled into the realization that while they’d get decent bank from the game, their NBA glory days were most likely never going to come to fruition. Once Colt was drafted, and Drew left to play for the European League, their friendship, by then hanging by a thread, snapped altogether. Distance, and the sharpness of what used to be friendly rivalry overwhelmed the ‘friendly’ part of their relationship.

  There was a time, a golden moment when Colt and Drew were seventeen and just about neck-and-neck in the game. Colt was ahead most of the time, but by no more than a hair. They’d been good friends. Almost as close as brothers. Sure, there had been a few bumpy moments, but overall, they were good. They made each other work harder, play better.

  Then they went to college. The Hoyas recruited Colt, and Drew went to Clemson. They talked all the time, even then, exchanging their stats and trading notes on girls. But around junior year, it was clear that Colt was pulling far ahead, Drew falling way behind. Things changed after that, edging farther away from friendship, and closer to rivalry.

  Across the yard, Drew was laughing at something. Next to him, Colt’s cousin, Shay was leaning in close, her copious breasts darn near spilling out of her blouse, which—unless Colt was mistaken, had been buttoned up almost to the neck just a few hours ago. But Drew wasn’t paying attention to the tits. Maybe he was listening to Shay, somewhat; but he kept glancing off to his left, a little over his shoulder, like he was distracted.

  Colt followed Drew’s gaze, and saw that it was directed at the far end of the yard, where most of the women were sitting around a table full of desserts. Colt’s mother was holding court, and sitting next to her was Sam’s mother, Maxine, who had only just made an appearance a half hour earlier, carrying a pie. Now they were all drinking coffee, passing slices of the pie and cackling about the kinds of things women found amusing when they were en masse.

  And next to Maxine, was Sam. She was smiling with the other women and outlining her lips with the tip of a nail. She did that thing with her lips when she was bored. Bored, but trying to look interested and engaged. Her smile was shallow. She wasn’t even there.

  For a few moments, Colt was so occupied with watching Sam, he almost forgot about Drew. Drew was still with Shay, still looking over his shoulder every once in a while, still glancing to his left.

  Colt’s eyes narrowed. It only took a few moments for him to confirm what he already knew. The reason Drew kept looking back was wearing a swishy mini-dress—yellow with little white flowers all over. Sam.

  By the time they got out of there, it was well past ten, but Sam didn’t complain. She followed Colt out to his SUV, carrying a large plate, heaped with food, covered in cling wrap, and a second dish with a large helping of the pie her mother had baked. No one made anything of the fact that she and Colt left together, because they almost always did when there were Green family functions.

  “Is it terrible that as soon as you take me home I’m going to reheat this food and eat it?” Sam asked when Colt had finally maneuvered out of the still clogged cul-de-sac, and onto the main road.

  “Let’s go to my spot,” Colt said.

  “Fine. But I’m still going to eat it. Except for maybe the pie. I might save that for tomorrow morning to have with coffee. My mother makes the best pies. But don’t tell your mom I said so.”

  She felt drowsy and satisfied and refreshed in the way she always did after coming from an event where the faces of her childhood were present. The only unexpected was seeing Drew, but once Colt cut in, they hadn’t spoken privately for the rest of the evening. When Sam looked around for him, he was almost always occupied with someone; but twice, t
hey’d caught each other looking at the same time.

  One of those times, Drew winked at her, his smile playful. But the second time, he’d just stared, and Sam’s stomach did a little dance. She had tried not to look for him again after that.

  Next to her, Colt seemed pensive. Usually, after one of these things, he was sharing family gossip, or recounting something crazy that happened. This time though, there was no craziness, so maybe nothing to gossip about. Everyone in the Green family had been on their best behavior. No one had gotten too drunk, or started a fight, or insulted anyone else’s potato salad or rum cake.

  That was because everyone was getting old, Sam thought. All the womanizing uncles were more settled, content to play dominoes, cards, or chess. And no one was eyeing anyone else’s ‘lady-of-the-moment’ in a lascivious manner. Now they were all coupled up in comfortable, permanent, or semi-permanent arrangements; the old feuds no longer seemed worth reviving, the old rivalries no longer as important.

  “It’s weird seeing how much older everyone is, right?” Sam said, speaking her thoughts.

  “Yeah, well that’s what happens. People get older.” Colt sounded distracted.

  “I know. But it’s still funny thinking about way back in the day. Remember when your parents first bought that house? And everyone was so upset about it because you all were leaving the block? Even though it’s just five miles away?”

  “Yeah,” Colt said.

  “How old were we then? Like eleven? And once we realized there was an in-ground pool …” Sam laughed, “I think we got over you moving. And those intimate little cookouts your mom used to have turned into block parties.”

  The pool had been filled in years ago though, when the Greens realized that they seldom used it any longer. Now, it was home to a large bed of Mrs. Green’s beautiful tea roses. And besides, there was no longer a gang of Colt’s friends and cousins who wanted to stop by all summer long to laze around next to it, swimming, and listening to music.

  Everyone had grown up, and most of their circle of friends had moved on to new cities, and new lives. Those were amazing days, though. Most of Sam’s memories of her teen years were laced with the scent of chlorine, coconut oil, and cherry Kool-Aid.

  The summer Sam turned sixteen, she bought a white two-piece swimsuit. She remembered going with her mother to pick it out and having to argue her way into getting something that wasn’t the standard demure one-piece. Her mother had come into the changing room with her, much to Sam’s embarrassment. Once she tried the suit—which wasn’t exactly a bikini—Maxine had walked around her, tugging at the bottoms, making sure that Sam was adequately covered “back there.”

  And even though she’d bought it after a little cajoling, Sam remembered her mother’s furrowed brow, and how troubled she looked. She shelled out the money to the cashier reluctantly, like she was considering if she had crossed a line, and whether it would be impossible after this to go back to the other side of it.

  That was the summer that Colt started dating Mercy Edwards, whose body was so well-developed, she didn’t need to be in a swimsuit to get the boys looking. Before Colt started dating her, he and Drew would snicker a little as she walked by, and go, ‘Mercy!’, not to her, but to each other, using her name as an exclamation, and an expression of appreciation for her womanly assets.

  It was also the summer Colt started having sex. Not that he told Sam that he had. She just noticed. She could have almost pinpointed the exact day it happened, because immediately afterward, he touched Mercy in a new way, that was more possessive, less tentative. His hand lingered on her butt, played with the edges of Mercy’s plain light-blue swimsuit, near her hip, but closer to her front. And the way they kissed was deeper, longer, and more soulful.

  By the time they all started school in the fall, Mercy was history, but Sam still remembered those lingering touches, and the pangs it had caused her to witness them.

  Though it was late now, it took them almost half an hour to get to Colt’s place in Takoma Park. It was a more than three-thousand-square-foot modern home on a block full of young families and high-achieving singles. Colt’s house stood out because it was architecturally distinct from all the others. It had been built by a renowned DC architect, known for his focus on what he called “organic modernism”—using as much natural and reclaimed material as possible, and designing structures that bent to the topography, rather than altered it.

  Colt’s almost two-million-dollar home featured a two-story living room, floor-to-ceiling windows in every room, radiant-heated bamboo floors, and a grand, gourmet kitchen. It was a showpiece of a house, good for parties but with more space than Colt would ever use until he started a family.

  Sam wasn’t even sure he liked the house that much, though he had been excited enough to buy it with part of his signing bonus. She had teased him at the time that it was his ‘image-booster’ and as time went on, she became more convinced it was true. After all, he seemed to like lazing around at her place much more than he did here.

  As soon as they pulled up, the lights in the car port switched on, and Sam stretched and groaned, trying to rouse herself from her semi-comatose, full-bellied state. Before she could move, Colt had gotten out, walked around the vehicle and opened the door for her.

  She climbed out, yawning, wondering whether she would make it long enough to eat the plate of food Colt took from her hands. He let them in by punching the code in the keyless entry lock, and the front door disengaged with a soft click.

  Inside, there were more codes to enter, to disarm the alarm system and then to turn on lights.

  “Your house is ridiculous,” Sam murmured sleepily. “You know that, don’t you?”

  At that, Colt turned and grinned at her, his pensive mood momentarily receding.

  “Yeah, I know,” he said.

  He took the plate into the kitchen while Sam slid off her sandals and padded barefoot down the steps to the den. The word ‘den’ suited it perfectly. It was large, but appeared cozy, with massive, overstuffed couches, plush carpeting, and tufted leather walls. Only a man would have chosen wallcoverings that looked like something suited for BDSM play, but Sam had to admit, it also created the appearance of warmth, and made her feel ensconced.

  “Colt, are you going to reheat that plate for me?”

  Sam called up to him while she arranged herself on one of the large sofas and reached for the remote control to turn on the entertainment system. The large screen tv lit up from within, and a picture materialized. It was on NBA TV. Of course. Sam changed to a fashion designing competition show and settled in.

  Watching television here was almost like going to the movies, especially when the lights were off. She hugged a sofa cushion and got comfortable, planning to curl into a little ball and wait to be served. But just then, Colt came into view. He, too, had taken off his shoes, but was empty-handed.

  “I thought you were bringing my plate,” Sam said pouting.

  “You don’t need all that. Your eyes are bigger than your stomach.” Colt lowered himself next to her and snatched the remote from her unresisting fingers. Expecting him to change the channel back to sports, she was surprised when he instead turned the tv off altogether.

  “Colt, wh …”

  “C’mere,” he said. He reached for her.

  She had a history. Of course, she had her own sexual history. Nothing too colorful probably, because, hell, this was Sam he was talking about.

  But she wasn’t Little Sam anymore. She was grown, and had a tight little body, curvy in all the right places despite weighing probably no more than a-buck-twenty. And she was cute as hell with those full, perpetually-puckered lips and rounded eyes that seemed stuck in an expression of mild surprise. Sam was nice-looking, with an almost prissy exterior that would always attract a certain kind of bad-boy who wanted to peel back all the layers of primness and find out whether there might be a little wildness beneath.

  Colt was curious about that his-damn-self. And tonight, f
elt like high time to find out.

  When the tv went off, she turned to look at him, all wide-eyed, fake-irritated, and poised to complain when he pulled her toward him. Then the complaints ceased, because he was kissing her. It was crazy how easily they had crossed this line, and crazy that they hadn’t done it sooner. Because kissing her felt like something they had always done, though they never had until just weeks ago.

  Sam twisted her mouth free of his, shoving against his chest until he sat back.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, praying she wasn’t going to ask him to stop.

  “Nothing,” Sam said. Then she hoisted her hips up a little, reaching beneath her prissy summer dress with both hands and grappling with something. It took Colt a moment to realize what she was doing, and when he did, his dick woke up.

  Sam blithely removed her black panties and tossed them over her shoulder. She didn’t even smile. She looked as serious as a heart attack. She climbed on top of and astride him, resting her weight on her knees and grabbing his face before kissing him again.

  Last time she was as bold as this she’d been drinking. She’d been drinking a lot, so Colt assumed that her assertiveness was purely a product of that. But, no. Sam, once she was turned on, was a woman who seemed to know exactly what she wanted and wasn’t shy about taking it.

  Suddenly his jeans felt much too restrictive. Colt reached down, planning to loosen his fly when the backs of his fingers instead encountered the wetness between Sam’s legs.

  She moaned into his mouth, so he explored further, using his thumb to touch her, until she was even more slick, and writhing against his hand. Pushing two fingers inside her, he continued stroking until Sam was a quivering mass. Their lips remained joined, and their tongues became more frantic, almost matching the pace at which Sam was riding his hand. He could feel her liquifying further and knew that she was damn close. But when she came, Colt wanted to see her face, so he pulled his lips free of hers and instead watched as he gave her her first orgasm of the evening.