“Hey, wait up a minute. Where you running to? Let’s go have a drink to celebrate?” Manny asked, clamping a hand on my arm.
I pulled away and was halfway out the door tossing my answer over my shoulder. “Maybe next week. I have to get home.”
Now why did I say that? He’d be hounding me like a dog in heat until I agreed.
I wasn’t home an hour when there was a knock on my door. After checking the peephole just to be sure, I let Quen in. He stood in the vestibule, arms crossed over his wide chest, biceps bulging. There wasn’t even the hint of a smile on his face. Man oh man he was pissed.
He said nothing. I said nothing. We stood waiting each other out. I still couldn’t think of a thing I’d done to piss him off.
Then finally Quen said, “I thought I could trust you, Chere, and then you do this to me?”
“Did what to you?”
“You go behind my back and rent my apartment to Joya without consulting me.”
“Come again?” He must be on drugs. He just wasn’t making sense. I knew who’d rented those condos and Joya’s name was not on the lease.
“Don’t play me. I heard it from Granny J herself.”
Now I was really getting ticked. I didn’t understand what was going on and I didn’t like being accused of something I didn’t do.
“You signed the leasing agreements,” I shot back and then I started ticking off on my fingers. “Apartment number one rented to the New Yorkers, Peter and Dustin Millard, the men who bought Carlton’s liquor shop. Apartment number two rented to Emilie Woodward, director of sales and leisure at the Flamingo Beach Resort and Spa. What am I missing?”
I could tell from the way Quen’s shoulders drooped he was losing his steam. “So how could this happen?”
“How could what happen? Speak in plain English.”
Uninvited Quen walked into the apartment and flopped down in her chair.
“I ran into Joya at the grocery store,” he admitted. “Stupid me assumed she’d be staying with Granny J then she dropped the bomb. She’s subletting an apartment.”
I still wasn’t getting it. “Why would you care?”
“Because it’s my apartment she’s subletting.”
“Oh!” I began to wheeze and was in serious need of my inhaler.
“You okay?” Quen asked
“Just give me a minute to digest this.” I knew I sounded like a skipping CD. “Joya is subletting one of the apartments you gave me to rent?”
“Yes, when she first told me she’d be living at 411 Flamingo Place and gave me the apartment number, I thought someone must have it in for me. Mind you I don’t think she knew it was mine or that I even lived in the complex.”
Quen looked at me as if he expected an explanation. I had to think about it. How could Joya have gotten over o both of us.
“Sublet,” I repeated focusing on that word. “If Joya sublet the condo it means she rented it from one of the people it was leased to. Either Joya found the Millards or they found her.” I held up a finger. “Wait! Granny J’s quilt shop is next door to Carlton’s store. Peter and Dustin bought him out so maybe they worked something out with your ex.”
There was a huge silence as Quen took it all in.
“Shit!” I’d never heard him curse. “Looks like I owe you an apology, sugar.” He gave me one of his gooey-eyed looks. I didn’t melt this time.
If he wanted me to forgive him he needed to come with something stronger. At the very least I deserved a kiss combined with some major groveling. Deep down I was still hurt.
“So,” I said. “Now that you know what you know, what are you going to do about Joya subletting your place?”
Quen shrugged. “There isn’t much I can do? Joya’s probably already given them money and signed the lease.”
I placed my hands on my hips and gave him a chicken neck. I was supposed to be working on being classier but this called for street. “I’m going to find my copy of the lease, sugar, and then I’m goin’ read the fine print. Since you’re the landlord maybe you should do the same. If you’re real lucky there might be a clause that says no subletting.”
“Shouldn’t you have pointed that out to me?”
“It was your lease.”
Shift the blame.
“Shoot I need a reason to stop this from happening,” Quen said.
“You’re the landlord. I’m just the Realtor,” I added, getting smart.
What had me ticked off was it didn’t sound like he wanted to deal with this and it made me wonder if Quen still had feelings for his ex. I heard Camille Lewis’s voice in my head. Joya came back to town to make up with you.
“I suppose I could discuss the situation with the Millard brothers,” Quen said out loud.
“Whatever you want to do.”
Quen got out of that chair. He approached and took me by the shoulders. “I’m really sorry, sugar. I was shocked when I heard and I overreacted. I should have known you would never do something like this to me. Am I forgiven?”
He hugged me to him and I stood on my tiptoes, my arms wrapped around his neck. I felt the slightest whisper of a kiss against my temple, and my stomach and my lower parts got all fluttery. I pressed against Quen and swore I felt a growing erection. He wasn’t treating me like his little sister anymore. He was reacting to me like a man reacts to a grown woman.
Only a fool wouldn’t take advantage of this. I’d been called a lot of things all my life, but never a fool. So I used what I had. Those triple Ds can make a grown man act stupid. I made them work for me now. I pressed my nipples against Quen’s chest and made purring little noises like a contented pussy cat.
That erection was getting bigger by the minute and those kisses against my neck and temple were getting more wet. He was pressing himself up against me, too. Rubbing up against my pubis. I was in heaven. When Quen dipped his head and gave me a kiss, our first real kiss with tongue and everything, my head spun.
I was moist all over and my limbs were like rubber. There wasn’t a doubt in my head what I wanted to happen next. Neither of us were kids, and we’d known each other a real long time. I was in love with the man; truly, madly, hopelessly in love. And I wanted him to be truly, madly, hopelessly in love with me back. So I used what I had. It was the only way that I knew how to get my point across
Plus I needed an edge over Joya.
It may not make much sense to you, but it made a heck of a lot of sense to me. I needed to get Quen’s attention through whatever means I could. I had a woman in town that he’d loved enough to marry and from my recollections she was a pretty hot babe. Hot enough to attract the attention of some pretty fine men. Now that she’d become a flight attendant she probably looked even better. She was flying the world, going to places that I’d only dreamed of or seen in movies, meeting all kinds of people, and eating fancy foods. Joya had created for herself a totally different life than me.
When Quen kissed me again I lost all of my self control. My hands clawed his chest, searching and finding the buttons of his shirt. I slid a couple of fingers through an opening, and felt the heat coming off his skin. I stroked his warm flesh and made a few circles in the patches of hair.
“Oh, sugar.” Quen’s soulful sigh did it. I wanted to melt into him.
He placed an arm around my waist and half carried me and half dragged me up against the wall. He was breathing heavy. I was breathing louder; all on account of my asthma, of course.
I was the one who reached for his belt buckle. He saw that as permission to go for my breasts. He pushed my top up and over my head and buried his face in my cleavage. He licked, lapped, nuzzled and generally drove me crazy with want. I popped the clasp of my bra and served him my boobs. I wanted him to eat me all over. I finished unbuckling his belt and with one hand felt around.
My nipples weren’t the only things that were rock hard and swollen. Quen Abrahams wanted me as much as I wanted him and unlike Manny he had length, volume and a hefty circumference. He was every
thing an active woman wanted in a partner.
I was still in my pants when Quen positioned himself between my legs and began sliding in and out. The friction alone created a fire that burned. I kept crying out, clawing him and calling, “Make me happy, let’s do it already.”
I wanted him inside of me and I didn’t want to wait for a nice comfortable bed. Not when we were on fire and I was on the verge of living a dream. If we stopped I was afraid I might wake up.
“We should take this into the bedroom, sugar,” Quen panted. He was echoing my thoughts but not necessarily my wishes.
We were still in the living room, hugging that wall and looking out onto the ocean. We could see out no one could see in and see us. Something about doing it here, half clothed with my boobs smashed against Quen’s face and him sucking my nipples turned me on. Quen’s pants rode his knees and Ole Johnson was primed and ready for entry. I was beyond warm. Girlfriend was hot. Sizzling.
“Sugar? We need to go into the bedroom now.”
“Let’s just enjoy each other and see where we end up,” I said boldly.
Like I didn’t know how this was going to end.
“Get out of your slacks.” Quen sounded hoarse, as if he’d run several laps.
I experienced two seconds of uncertainty. My thighs, not my best assets, were like ham hocks. Oh, what the hell! We were too far gone to be thinking what looked good and what did not. It was about sensations, feelings, scratching an itch I’d had for years. It was about loving a man who’d never expressed interest in me as a woman until now.
I ripped off those capris and probably ripped them in the process. I scrambled out of my thong panties and made a silent note to get myself over to Victoria’s Secret and buy me some more. My mother who was no lightweight, God bless her departed soul, used to say, “Fat don’t have to mean sloppy. You can still be stylin, girl.”
I’d taken her literally, and that explained all the wild clothes.
Quen was still obsessing over my boobs and I was obsessing over his member. As good as that thing looked I just knew he knew how to use it. He slid a hand between my legs and I damned near hit the ceiling. We were both breathing hard and rubbing up against each other.
Then he nudged my legs apart and began teasing, just giving me a little taste of what he could do when he really got going. I was loving all that brown skin and relishing the scent of sex mixed up with oranges.
This was my chance, maybe my one chance to make him remember me. Better pull out every last stop now before we really got going. I slid down the wall and got on my knees. Quen stood over me with his goods exposed. I took him into my mouth and began exploring. I teased him just like he’d teased me.
“Baby, enough,” he said.
Quen eased me to the floor and climbed on top of me. My hands squeezed his buns and he pressed into me. He slid inside of me all warm, wet and wonderful. I was feeling him big time and when I tightened my muscles I knew he was feeling me.
“Sugar!” Quen gasped over and over again, pumping in and out of me. “You make a man want to climb Mount Everest over and over again.”
I was beyond thinking. Every nerve came alive and my muscles were twitching. I was wired and ready. I arched my back and we found our own rhythm when Quen stroked my nipples I came close to spilling.
“Oh, lordie, lordie, lordie, Mommy’s about to come,” I shouted.
“Pappy’s right with you baby.”
And with that, Quen slammed into me, and all hell broke loose. We heaved, shuddered and cried out words no God-fearing person should know. He took me with him to a place where I’d never been before and this time it didn’t require faking.
Quen Abrahams was turning out to be everything I’d hoped he would be and more. He’d surpassed my requirements in every single department.
Now I was more determined than ever not to let his ex get her mitts into him. I’d see to it that she packed up quickly and went back to L.A. and her fancy job.
Quen Abrahams was going to be mine. And I planned on being a heck of a lot more than a booty call.
Chapter 12
“I’ll take a half a pound of that shrimp and one of those pieces of salmon. A small piece,” I said to the grocer at the Flamingo Beach Mart.
Mac weighed the items, wrapped them in brown paper and handed them to me.
“Thanks,” I said and shoved them into my cart.
Quen had done his disappearing act again. I hadn’t heard from him since that night we knocked boots and I was starting to feel really insecure. I thought maybe he was avoiding me. He’d even had that substitute work me out again.
I was trying to figure out what was really going on here. Maybe he was feeling bad that he’d allowed things to go so far. I don’t know what goes on in these men’s minds. All I know is that after the kind of loving he and I had, he should have been more attentive.
It wasn’t like I was expecting roses or anything, though that would be nice. But a phone call, how much did that really cost. We had a radio interview coming up in a few days I would think he would want to practice.
My imagination was going wild and I blamed it all on Joya. I’d heard about situations where a man has such good sex with another person he feels the need to have relations with the previous partner just to keep the memories real and in perspective. It happens I suppose.
“See you in a few days,” Mac, who I’d known for a long time, shouted at my back.
“Bye, Mac.”
During the last four days since Quen and I had gone at it, I’d cleaned out Jen’s refrigerator and kitchen cupboards, getting rid of anything that looked like it might be fattening. I’d read the labels and counted the calories. Now I had real incentive to lose weight. Size two was not going to get the better of me. No way. No how.
I wheeled my cart past the diet food aisle and made a face. I couldn’t quite go there yet. Cottage cheese, yuck! U-turning, I headed for the produce section. Salads could be mixed with chicken, turkey or fish.
As I bent over and began squeezing the tomatoes who comes rolling a cart up the aisle, Joya Hamill, that’s who. I doubted that she would even acknowledge me, we did not move in the same circles. Never had. But she slowed down, looked me full in the face and said, “Hello, Chere.”
I didn’t think she even knew my name.
“Joya, right?” I pretended surprise. “You’ve been gone a real long time.”
“Have I? Seems just like yesterday.”
She gave me a false smile and I made myself smile back at her. She wanted something so I decided to play wait and see.
“How ya doing?” I asked.
“Fine.”
I tossed a couple of tomatoes in a plastic bag, set them in my cart and waited. She said nothing.
“How long will you be in town?” I asked.
She shrugged and let out a sigh. “That’s still to be determined. It depends on a lot of things.”
To my disgust, Joya looked younger and fresher than ever. She was wearing low-riser short shorts and a red camisole top that left her flat stomach bare. She had her hair bunched up in a ponytail and tied back by one of those scrunchie things, and she wore a baseball cap the same color as her top on her head. On her feet she wore four-inch platform wedges which brought her eye level.
“Like?” I probed.
“Like my life straightening out. I’m sort of in noman’s land right now living out of a suitcase until I can get into my apartment.”
“I thought you were staying at your grandmother’s,” I said, and waited.
“Only for a short time.”
Joya showed no signs of moving on. She must want something. Several of the shoppers thought so, too, because I’d never seen more produce being squeezed in my life. The shopping carts had practically bottlenecked.
“I’m sorry we’d didn’t run into each other before,” I said in my brightest Realtor voice while fumbling through my purse. I found my Realtor card and flipped it at her.
Joya scru
tinized it carefully then smiled at me.
“You’re in real estate? The last I heard you were working for the Chronicle and before that cleaning houses for the owner.”
A direct hit.
My smile was equally as bright.
“I still work for the Chronicle and am up for promotion,” I answered. “Real estate is a sideline. If you’d come to me I could have helped you find an apartment.” I made sure to sound proper just like she did.
Joya flipped her ponytail and placed both arms on the shopping cart, leaning in, speaking in a low voice as if we were the best of friends.
“Thank you, but I got lucky,” she confided. “The New Yorkers who bought the shop next to my grandmother’s needed some one to manage the business temporarily. They rented an apartment here and I’m subletting from them at an incredibly low price.”
Kind of like my agreement with Jen. I didn’t like this. Didn’t like it one bit. If Joya was only in town for a short time why would she need a job. And why would she need an apartment?
“Weren’t you waitressing or something in Los Angeles?” I asked, being bitchy.
Her ponytail swished again. “I’m a flight attendant but I needed a break so I took a leave of absence.”
It must be nice to be able to walk away from a job, money and benefits. Maybe Quen was still paying her alimony. I was tempted to ask but decided not to go there.
“Well it’s nice seeing you,” I said, and started up the aisle.
“You, too,” Joya called after me. “Maybe you and I can have a drink sometime.”
Yeah, right! Why would she suddenly want to have a drink with me? We’d never been friends.
“Sure. You have my number,” I called over my shoulder.
“Wait up. Let me give you mine.” Joya sprinted up the aisle to catch up with me.
She dug into her designer purse and found a pen and scribbled her number on the back of her grocery list. Then she tore off a piece of the paper and handed it to me.
Pretending to be pleased, I thanked her.
“What the hell you looking at?” I hissed, rolling my cart right past the Nosey Parkers and heading for the diet food. I’d eat it all even if I choked. After seeing those spindly legs of Joya’s I needed to drop several dress sizes and fast so that I could squeeze into my shorts. I was bound and determined to get down to a size fourteen dress and I needed to get there soon.
All About Me Page 11
