Gemini - Mr. Versatile: The 12 Signs of Love (The Zodiac Lovers Series Book 6)

by Tiana Laveen

  “Shit!” He paused and bent down to massage a shooting pain in his left ankle. Perhaps he’d landed the wrong way, or it could be time for a new pair of sneakers.

  Just shake it off and keep going.

  He yelled at himself inside of his own head before turning and charging straight forward.

  “Go ahead, ya fuckuh! Ya silly fuckuh, you! I fuckin’ dare ya, ya scumbag!” someone yelled.

  He kept right on moving, picking up words here and there from the crowd sprawling around him.

  “Goin’ once! Goin’ twice! Won’t find a betta price! Oh, how nice! Perry Ellis sunglasses! Get cha sunglasses here!” a man under a white canopy shouted as he waved around a purple-tinted pair of specs.

  “She’s been on radio silence…” Some woman giggled while gripping her phone as she made her way past him.

  “Is it a matinee? I can only go to a matinee, Maggie… I told you that…” someone else said.

  The sounds tumbled onto him like falling bricks, and he loved the pain and suffocation of it all… honking cars, threats and curses, obnoxious bursts of laughter, dinner plans cancelled…

  The scent of freshly baked pretzels with ample salt and butter and greasy sausage pizza filled the smoggy air.

  Pizza? Jesus that smells good. Is it my cheat night? How many calories did I have for lunch? Chicken Caesar salad, half a bagel with low fat cream cheese… iced tea… I’ll need to check my app. I think I’ll get a slice on my way back around…

  BAM!

  “Son of uh bitch!”

  The unmistakable sound of metal bending and splitting against itself caused Giovanni to stop. Snatching the earbuds out of his ears, he turned to his right to see a silver Toyota Camry with smoke coming out from beneath the hood. The front of the damn car was crushed like a Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup can against the rear of a yellow taxicab. Most people around him barely took notice; they just kept right on walking, happily ignoring the scenery around them, falling deeper in their own slice of the world.

  He surmised he would’ve kept on jogging too if the accident hadn’t happened directly in his path, blocking his ability to proceed without venturing out to the opposite side of the street. Seconds later, a Pakistani man exited the cab, his black hair wrapped in a white turban and his face covered in a bushy beard. He was speaking in his native tongue, his hands moving about, his tone pointed and enraged. Then, the driver from the silver Camry opened his door and got out—a White guy with curly blond hair.

  “What tha hell?!” The curly headed guy threw up his arms, only to be met by more foreign words from the cab driver. “I can’t understand shit you’re saying. Talk in English!”

  “You are a fuck face! Do you understand that?! Look what you’ve done!”

  “Don’t get mad at me, man! You came into my lane!” the White guy screamed. “Jesus! Learn to drive!”

  The back door of the Camry opened and out poked a long, curvy leg decked out in an orange high heel, her thighs covered in light tangerine leggings. Another leg joined it, and before long, a woman about 5’7” or perhaps 5’8” tall stood outside, her pink, glossy lips curled in obvious annoyance. Wearing a black tank top with spaghetti straps that hugged her small but perky breasts, she crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes as the drivers of each vehicle began to hurl insults and accusations at one another.

  “Get tha fuck outta the goddamn street, fuckin’ morons!” someone yelled out at the two men, expletives followed by the sounds of honking cars.

  “Yo! Howdy Doody and Akbar, move your asses!” someone else screamed.

  Giovanni kept his eyes on the woman dressed in black and orange though… Her skin was a toasty dark golden hue, like the fried shrimp Grandpa in San Francisco would make after he’d taken him and his brother down to the seafood market at the pier. Her hair was dark brown, thick and tightly curled. Part gathered in a small bun at the top of her head, the rest of it fell down to her shoulders. Dark, enchanting, slanted eyes gave her an allure that kept his attention.

  …It’s pussy hunting time!

  “Are you all right?” He wrapped his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. Initially she looked about, as if not able to find the source of the inquiry. Moving amongst the gridlocked cars, he made his way to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped, then smiled. “I asked if you were all right? Are ya okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine, thanks.”

  He stared at her. And she stared back. She looked even better up close…

  Damn is she sexy… I want her to ride my fucking face… let me seal this deal fast.

  He turned towards the Pakistani driver.

  “Hey! Can you move your car?” He hitched his thumb towards the traffic behind them. “The police will be here in a sec. Just move over to the side so people can get past.” The cab driver turned away from him, as if deeply offended by his suggestion. “What’s your deal? Move! Both of ya got people out here tryna get through.”

  “I’m not moving my cab until he moves his car!” the Pakistani man yelled, swiveling to face him again. His accent was thick and his anger thicker.

  “You’re at fault! You moved right in front of me and it was too late for me to slow down and stop. I’m not movin’ my car, and I’ve got a customer! You don’t even have a fare. I want the police to see this shit!”

  Customer? Giovanni was quite pleased with that information. But he needed to be sure…

  “Is this your boyfriend or husband? Can you ask him to move his car outta the street?”

  “No, he’s my Uber driver,” the woman explained in a monotone voice as she looked into the distance. The two guys continued to go at one another, picking and pecking at each other like perturbed birds. “All I want to do is go home!” She stomped her foot like a child, then reached back into the car, grabbed her small grocery sack and purse, and shook her head in disgust before slamming the door.

  “I can take ya home. I don’t live far from here, just a few blocks away on 5th Avenue.”

  The woman looked him up and down. Chuckling, she shook her head.

  “Yeah? That’s nice but I don’t know you… I’m not getting in a car with you. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Did you know Wonder Boy ova here before you got in his car?” He pointed to the White guy with the curly blond hair. At this, she grinned and nodded. “You’ve been in a car accident on account of him, and I doubt you’ve seen him before today.”

  “Touché, but if he does something to me, Uber knows exactly who he is and can track him. You? You’re one of 8.5 million people. You could say you’re anybody… no background check, no nothing.”

  “You know how many people live in New York city?” He smirked, surprised and impressed. “Why would you keep that sort of data in your head?”

  “But am I right or wrong? It’s 8.5 million, right?”

  “You’re in the ballpark. You must not be from around here, but you sound like you are.”

  He scanned her, enjoying the sight of such a nice ass when she turned away from him for a spell as if to assess the world around her…

  “I’m local… from Brooklyn. It’s just something I know.” She shrugged. “Anyway, thanks for the offer. I better call me a new Uber.”

  She stepped away and he followed close behind to the sidewalk. They stood side by side, blending into the partially gawking, and partially ‘Who gives a fuck about this car accident?’ horde. Setting her grocery bag down beside her foot, she slung her purse over her shoulder and began to fiddle with her phone.

  “Uh…” She shot him a side-eye. “Why are you still here?”

  “Because there’s someone over here I wanna see and talk to. That’s why.” He winked, causing her to smile. “My name is Giovanni, but you can call me Gio.” He extended his hand with a smile. She smirked, then shook it.

  “Nice to meet you, Gio. Your name suits you.” She began to play with her phone once again.

  “Really? How so?” He rested against the
restaurant behind them, leaning in close to her. He hoped his breath was fairly fresh. The salad he’d eaten earlier had been loaded with onions.

  “Your tan. It’s from the best tanning bed in town, right?”

  “It’s natural… White melanin.”

  Her lips instantly quivered as she stifled a laugh. “And your voice… it’s real deep, full of base. Italian men always try to sound tough. That dark brown wavy hair of yours, some of it in your face… trying to look like you’re just born that way when you probably spent thirty minutes getting that curl hanging over your right eye just right.”

  “That’s from sweat… I’ve been workin’ out.” He smirked.

  “Likely story. I take that back and I believe you.” She waved her finger in his face. “It’s hard work chasing random women for pussy appointments.” At this, he burst out laughing. She had his fucking number but he was determined to play it cool. “And the green eyes, facial hair… the gold chain around your neck and tattoo on your chest. You scream ‘Guido.’”

  “I scream Guido? Guido is a racial slur for Italians. Is that what you meant to say to me, huh?” He stood straight, his brow arched as he bit into his lower lip.

  “Is it a racial slur? I honestly didn’t know that.”

  She turned back towards her phone. He wondered if she was telling the truth. In the scheme of things, it probably didn’t really matter.

  “Yeah, it would be like me callin’ you a moolie.”

  The woman’s eyes grew large as the sun. He was stunned her dark, slanted peepers could grow that big.

  I wonder if she’s part Asian?

  “Yeah, moolie. I said it… You don’t like that, do ya?”

  “No.” She began to casually dig in her purse. “Can’t say that I do, Gio.”

  After she removed a tube of pink, shimmery gloss and administered it to her callous smile, cool as she pleased, he watched her use her Uber app to select another driver.

  “Can we go out sometime?”

  At this, she burst out laughing.

  “Who? The sweaty, shirtless cocky Italian who just called me a Black moolie? No, thanks.” She began to make her way to the edge of the sidewalk, looking about as if gearing up to hail a cab. “He should be here in like a minute.”

  She glanced down at her phone once again then looked around at the traffic. He stayed put, still leaning against the wall as he once again enjoyed the sight of her ample backside.

  “Didn’t call you a Black moolie. That would be like sayin’ Italian Guido or frozen ice. That’s an oxymoron and you’re not going anywhere in this mess; the traffic is jacked. It’ll take him at least fifteen minutes just to get over here.” He glanced down at his watch. “I coulda got you where you needed to go by then. Where do you stay at, anyway?”

  She tossed him a glance from over her shoulder before turning away once more.

  “In a tree… isn’t that where all moolies live? Address 77 One Tree Branch Lane in the Bronx Zoo. Monkey business, right? Funny, funny, funny… Maybe a straw hut in the middle of the jungle.” She laughed, then sucked her teeth. “I already drank my banana, watermelon and fried chicken, Multiple Baby Daddy and welfare flavored smoothie or I’d offer ya some, Gio.”

  “Come on, lady. Give me a fuckin’ break.” He threw up his hands.

  “Oh, so now you want me to break dance, too? Sambo-ette at your service, massuh.”

  At this, he burst out laughing.

  “Baby, you started it and now you’re blowing things way out of proportion. I tell ya what, let’s start over… all is forgiven.”

  “Go away.” She chuckled. “I’m not Jesus. I only offer forgiveness on Sundays.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Curious Georgette… and you’re the man with the big yellow hat… the yellow gold chain in this case.”

  He swallowed the urge to burst out laughing once again. Damn, she was funny… Sliding his hand in his pocket, he approached her. The siren of a police vehicle got louder and louder.

  “Seriously.” He leaned in close. “I think you’re sexy. I like you… you’re funny, too. What’s your name? Come on, don’t make me beg,” he whispered softly.

  Her face still down, staring at her phone, she whispered, “Vanessa…”

  “Vanessa… that suits you. Real pretty. Look, Vanessa, I need to get goin’. Since you’re not going to allow me the pleasure of taking you home, can I have your number so we can maybe go out for coffee or somethin’ later?”

  She slowly looked up from her phone and smiled at him.

  “No.” She turned away again, messing around on Instagram as if he’d only asked her if she had spare change.

  “Why not? You don’t find me attractive? Me and my dark brown wavy hair that’s floppin’ in my face and my big, yellow gold chain?” he quipped, causing her to smile wide.

  “Oh, let’s not get it twisted. I find you very attractive… definitely fuckable. Probably half of New York would find you good-looking. You find yourself attractive too, though, a little too much I’m sure, and I’m not really into that. I know your type. You’re probably married or have a girlfriend, too. You run around shirtless to pick up women, screw ’em, then go back to your wife and kids like you weren’t just busting nuts like a goddamn squirrel.”

  He glanced down at her phone once again. This time she was looking at a video clip of a cute little brown puppy roll around on the floor.

  “I think I’m pretty good lookin’, yeah. I don’t have a girlfriend or a wife; never been married, either. I do want to bang ya, no damn doubt about it, but I like a good conversation, too. You seem pretty witty, I bet you could keep up with me. That’s hard for most to do. I’ve got a lot of energy.” He surveyed her from head to toe and didn’t miss the smirk that creased her pretty little face. “Plus, it’s obvious from how you’ve curved me that you have no idea who I am. I like that, too.”

  Her brow lifted as she turned slowly in his direction.

  “You’re Giovanni, also known as Gio. The Italian jogger wearing jeans and no shirt with thick black eyebrows and long lashes that look like he’s wearing mascara… Hell, you might be.” She cocked her head to the side and zoomed in close to his face, startling him. “I’m a makeup artist…” She studied him as if his first name was Science. “Hmmm, no mascara… You’ve just got bitch lashes. Lucky you. But yeah, I know who you are. You’re the guy who lives in Greenwich Village and tries to hit on women, the more vulnerable the better. I know who you are.” She grinned.

  “Bitch lashes? I’ll take that as a compliment. I’m famous,” he quipped.

  “And I’m not impressed.” She pulled her Uber app back up. “Good… he’s close.” She clicked on her Settings icon. When the main screen of her settings popped up, he hit the damn bullseye. There it was… her phone number. He quickly memorized it then turned away, certain she was none the wiser.

  “All right, Vanessa!” He began to jog in place. “Glad you’re okay. Be safe and have a good night, baby.”

  She shot a glance at him, a proud smirk on her face.

  “You too, Gio. Thanks for keeping me company. Now disappear just like you do after a one-night stand!” She chuckled before waving him off and turning away. Just then, a black Honda Accord pulled up. He looked over his shoulder every now and again until she disappeared inside of the vehicle. After a few minutes, he pulled out his cellphone and typed in her name and number:

  VANESSA – UBER ACCIDENT – BLACK CHICK – SARCASTIC – CHINKY EYES – BIG ASS

  (212) 539-6921

  Sliding the phone back in his pocket, he went on his way. He replayed their conversation in his mind, loving every damn second of it.

  I’ll definitely be calling her. She’s so my fucking type it’s not even funny. If I can’t get her one way, I’ll try another. It’s just that simple…

  Placing his earbuds back in his ears, he messed around with his mp3 player and selected Common, one of his favorite artists, and continued jogging to the rh
ythm of “The Light.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Time to Come Clean…

  …Two days later

  “But it’s not for you to understand, Vincent.”

  The sun had barely risen, the day was fresh, and Vanessa’s bones felt tired already. Yet, her day had just begun. After a restless night, she was certain there were bags under her eyes—although nothing a cucumber mask and concealer couldn’t fix.

  “For three and a half years, Vanessa, I’ve been supporting your dream,” the guy droned on.

  It’s too early for this shit…

  Rolling her eyes, she slammed her refrigerator door shut with her knee, then placed the half full carton of 2% milk on the table in her small kitchen, hoping she had enough Cheerios to make a decent sized bowl.

  “I ask you to give us a little more time, and you—”

  “Vincent!” She shot her hand up towards the sky in frustration before flopping down in the rickety kitchen chair. “You have not been supporting my career, okay? Let’s not even go and tell that big ass lie.”

  “What tha fuck are you talking about? Of course I did! Who paid all the bills? I let you do whatever the hell you wanted as long as you brought your ass back home at night!”

  “You let me do whatever the hell I wanted? See, that’s the problem. I’m not your pet! I’m a person!” She pounded the table with her fist, causing her the milk carton to shake. “I have had to ask you to help me every step of the way and all you did the whole time was chastise me, tell me grown women don’t try and become MUAs anymore, that there are too many out here, that I was just sitting around drawing pictures on faces all day, like some carnival worker painting butterflies on little girl’s cheeks. Is that what you call supporting my dream? If so, what kind of support is that?”