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

by Tiana Laveen

  Am I crazy? Pretty much…

  On a sigh he looked up the Uber accident chick with the chinky eyes and fat ass and hit TALK…

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lipstick and Dick Prints

  The impeccable matte black winged cat eye hadn’t been a fluke. Vanessa had been perfecting this technique for years. Now, with a mere skilled flick of her wrist, it came to her like second nature. She could duplicate it on any client, at any time. Hooded eyes, slanted eyes, large eyes, small eyes, it didn’t matter… Her technique was iron clad and now part of her claim to fame.

  “You are so fucking legit! I love it, Vanessa! Yaaaaas, bitch, yaaasssss!” Zoey, one of Vanessa’s regular clients, pivoted about in her studio chair in front of the large mirror and vanity, checking out her full face of makeup, beat for the Gods. Vanessa had set up a little nook in her apartment for her private appointments, a little well-lit, ventilated area in her living room that was reserved just for her patrons.

  “That’s what I like to hear. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that you’re already so beautiful. You make my job easy.”

  “Lying is part of your job, girl, but I’ll take the compliments any way I can score ’em. Hey, can you duplicate this same look in a couple of weeks?” The woman looked longingly over her shoulder at her, freshly mascaraed eyelashes batting beneath shimmery crimson eyeshadow with a dusting of dusky gray in the crease. Her glossy smile was a thing of beauty, a grin showcasing newly hatched hope and dressed up dreams. “I have an event to attend and this would be perfect.”

  Vanessa removed the black cape from around her client and folded it over her arm.

  “Can the MTA run late? Girl, you know I can. I’m glad that you like it. So, are you still wanting your friend to stop by for a consultation for her wedding soon? You better book now because my schedule is filling up.” Miguel’s, “Come Through and Chill” played on the radio as she placed several tubes of lipstick in an acrylic container for later use.

  “Yeah. She really needs it, too.” The Dominican woman flipped her long, black, wavy hair over her shoulder, smiling at her reflection. “Neecee doesn’t wear makeup, Vanessa. Isn’t that some shit? She says it to me and everyone else like it’s such an unnecessary task, like she’s beautiful ‘as is.’ Nobody is beautiful as is… there’s some cute bitches, some aiight bitches, but beautiful?”

  She smirked and shook her head. “You’d be hard pressed. Where is the photoshop at, huh? We can’t walk around with Snapchat filters twenty-four-seven. When I catch the train, nothin’ but bums tryna holla at me so if I want to snag a real man, then I need to stand out amongst the competition and that means that my hair, nails, ass, and tits will be something to die for, you understand? And this face?”

  She pointed a long, sparkly dark blue nail at her nose. “This face has to be beaten like it fuckin’ stole somethin’!”

  “The power of makeup!” Vanessa cackled as she thrust her fist in the air in a proud stance. Zoey was such a fun, crazy woman.

  “Not just the power of makeup, but the power of the person wielding the sword. You’re a beast in these makeup streets, Vanessa. You slay with a powder brush. Neecee is out of her mind, girl. I said, ‘Bitch, Sephora needs your presence, front row and center!” At this, Vanessa couldn’t help but chuckle. “Trust me, she needs to go like a dog with worms needs a vet. Girl’s face looks like a half-cooked pancake, no tea, no shade, but plenty of Beyoncé lemonade.”

  The lady giggled before getting to her red stiletto covered feet.

  “Well, breakfast foods and sweet drinks aside, tell your friend makeup doesn’t have to be used to hide her beauty; it can just enhance it. In fact, that’s always my aim. We can just go with earth tones, miniscule changes… nothing major. One step at a time.” Vanessa winked. “That works for some ladies who are reluctant to give a little mascara and blush a try.”

  The woman nodded in agreement as she tugged at her skin-tight sheer red top and spun around, hair flying like a black blanket as she admired herself from various angles. The next few minutes were spent with Zoey taking a million selfies of herself. Duck lips, ass tooted out, and the infamous hand on one’s hip.

  “Damn, Vanessa… you made this big ass nose of mine look like it’s barely there… got me lookin’ like I can’t breathe Michael Jackson style. This face? You just beat it! Billie Jean is not my motherfuckin’ lover, got me starin’ at the woman in the mirror on this thriller night. Got my nose missin’ like Mr. Potato Head in a toy box, got my nostrils gone like a skeleton on Halloween! Boooo! Spooky ass bitches! I look facially snatched, lips glossy and skin on glow like a mothafuckin’ neon snack. Girl, hurry up and run my credit card.” The woman snapped her fingers impatiently in her direction. “I wanna go home and fuck myself.”

  Vanessa burst out laughing as she collected her makeup brushes and placed them into the cleaning solution.

  “Zoey, you are insane… so funny. Happy customers make for repeat customers. I already charged your card by the way, so let the fuck session begin. You know business comes before friendship.” Vanessa chuckled. “And your nose was fine as it was before. I was just giving you what you wanted.”

  “Well.” The woman grabbed her purse that hung over the side of the chair and slung it over her shoulder. “Until I can afford a nose job, this contour magic you weave is where it’s at. This was worth every penny. See you in a couple of weeks.”

  Vanessa nodded, grabbed one of her fancy pink and black freebie bags, business cards included, and tossed a few lipstick samples inside for the lady.

  “Check this out. Here you go. You’re such a great client I figure you might enjoy these.”

  “Awww!” Zoey snatched the bag like a hungry kid for a cookie and peered inside. “You’re so sweet! I can’t wait to try these out. This fuchsia one looks good!”

  “I made them myself. Hoping to get my own lipstick line soon.”

  “Good for you! Well, you have my full support, baby. I will definitely let you know what I think.”

  The woman blew her a kiss before heading out of her apartment door. Vanessa tarried behind her, locked the door, and slid off her shoes, sighing before flopping onto her living room couch. As she sat there staring into space and rubbing the balls of her feet, she glanced at the coffee table before her.

  Let me see if I had any calls…

  Picking up her phone, she immediately took notice of two missed calls and a few text messages.

  Okay, A.C. wants to come next week… Vincent’s ass…

  She rolled her eyes after reading his text:

  VINCENT: Nessa, call me right away. I need to speak to you.

  Sure you do… I’m not in the mood for any drama tonight, Vincent.

  Placing her phone back down on the table, she selected the option to retrieve her voicemails.

  “Heeeeey, Messy Vanessa! It’s Tara. But you already know who this is. Look, are you coming out this weekend with us? Yay or nay because all you do is work! Between you working at Sephora and your private biz, you don’t have time for your girls anymore! We are heading to The Pyramid. And don’t call me back and say no because when was the last time you’ve been laid? You and Vince have been finished for a while now. Time to make a dick appointment. Pronto. Call me back! Oh, and I need some lipstick. Hook a bitch up!”

  Vanessa smiled, then played the next voicemail…

  “Yo… this is, uh… this is Giovanni.”

  Eyes bucked, she sat straight up like a damn board. She knew that fucking voice—deep, raspy, a bit crackly like he used to smoke cigarettes.

  “I, uh, met you on West 14th Street… you were in an Uber and I was taking a jog. I uh… I tried to take you out and you shot me down but ya know, I’m not one to not try again so yeah… here I am.”

  The guy laughed lightly but all she could do was stare down at her phone in shock.

  “This thing is probably gonna cut off so just give me a call if ya want, all right? No, I’m not some creep, okay? You can Google
me if ya want… Giovanni Luciano, personal trainer to the stars ’nd shit. I uh… I liked you. You were funny… and you’re fuckin’ gorgeous. My number shoulda popped up, but just in case, get at me at 212-954-3201, aiight? The ball is in your court now. I’ve reached my stalkin’ quota of the fuckin’ day…”

  And then, that was it. Bringing her knees to her chest, she kept her eye on her phone, as if it were possessed, then burst out laughing.

  “How in the hell did he get my number?! I bet he probably bribed the Uber driver. Jesus! What a nut!”

  Snatching her phone off the table, she immediately Googled the son of a bitch’s name. Sure as shit, there he was with all sorts of celebrities. In some photos he was half naked, in his workout clothing of course. Giovanni was the type of fucker who’d look awesome even in a 1982 leisure suit. He was fucking magnificent… In fact, one person should never be granted such pussy access based on his appearance alone.

  She kept on scrolling through, her pussy growing moist and ready as her eyes took in all that he was. There were photos of him looking stellar in business suits that must’ve cost a fortune, and him laughing it up with the likes of The Rock.

  He mixes it up, doesn’t he? He looks different in every single one of these. Seems pretty versatile… He must change his mind a lot or gets bored. Either way, he can pull off a lot of different looks. He must have a stylist…

  There were plenty of photos of the ladies’ man with various women she did not recognize, some he hugged up with as if they were Siamese twins and others that looked more of a casual acquaintance. She swallowed sharply as she zoomed up on one photo in particular.

  Damn, he looks good…

  On his chest, right over his heart, was a tattoo in black calligraphy, in a foreign language.

  I wonder what it means.

  It probably says something like, ‘I’m the prettiest of all, silly bitches!’ I know he’s a king-sized fuckboy… no doubt about it.

  She trailed down the photo and rested her gaze on the bastard’s dick imprint in his shorts.

  He. Is. Packing! My God. Damn I would loooove to get my hands on that… My mouth… my pussy… all of it.

  She squealed and shook her head, shocked, irritated, and turned on all at once.

  “I’m not calling him back. Nope. Not gonna do it!”

  She jumped up from the couch and headed to her bedroom, prepared to get her clothes out for work the following day. As she flipped through her drawers or swung clothing around in her closet to find her favorite green T-shirt, thoughts of Giovanni, Mr. Conceited, popped into her head. She hated to admit it, but when her new Uber had pulled up and carted her away that fateful day, she’d feared she had made a grave mistake. She wished she’d given him her number… wished she’d been nicer to him… The regrets were long as his cock in those fucking shorts as he made a muscle, showing off for the camera. She’d even tried to find the fucker on Instagram but couldn’t recall his last name. Now, she had a second chance…

  She looked at her phone that was now lying on her bed. It looked lonely, desperately calling out to her to be dialed…

  Come on, baby… give some versatile cock a try…

  “Girl, just do it… you both just want to screw. How bad could it be?” Snatching up the phone, she scanned her missed calls and selected his number.

  “Yeeeellow?”

  “Uh, hi, Giovanni. This is Vanessa returning your—”

  “You’ve reached Giovanni, sorry I missed your call but if you leave your name and—”

  “Damn it! Voicemail! I’m not going to play phone tag with him. Nope! Not gonna do it. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

  Then she heard boisterous laughter on the other end.

  “Hey, sexy! Ya called back. Good! Ya hungry? Wanna grab some grub?”

  “Wait a second, slow your damn roll.” She put her hand up like a stop sign. “How’d you get my number?’

  “Does it really matter at this point?”

  “Not really but I still wanna know.” She slumped down on her bed, a smile on her face.

  “A fuckin’ alien came outta the sky and told it to me. Are we rollin’ out tonight or not?”

  “I have work in the morning.”

  “So do the rest of us. The mortgage won’t pay its fuckin’ self. We all still need to eat. So, what’ll it be?”

  “I already had dinner,” she lied. Well, if you counted a bowl of Captain Crunch at 6:35 P.M., then she was being honest, of course.

  “I can hear your stomach practically growlin’ through the damn phone. What do you like to eat, huh? I can swing by and scoop you up.”

  The man talked fast, like he was being timed. He was a slickster… a con-artist… a hustler.

  “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Fine. I know a good spot. Wear somethin’ nice. I’ll see ya in like thirty to forty minutes.”

  “But you need for me to give you my address first.”

  “Text it to me. Gotta go, babe. You’re holdin’ me up.”

  And just like that, the call was over.

  “What an asshole!”

  She got back to her feet, this time moving around like a ball of light trying to find something that made her look Zoey-fied. Something so damn good that she’d want to fuck her own damn self, too…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Painted Dicks and Pretty Chicks

  “It’s a Ferrari 812,” Giovanni stated proudly as he neared their destination. “Ya like it, right?” He shot her a glance, his eyes hooded.

  Just admit your fuckin’ panties are soaked…

  “It’s okay.” The woman crossed her long legs as he zigzagged through traffic to show off his wheels, pissing off a few people along the way.

  “It’s okay?” He smirked and threw up his hand. “This son of uh bitch is worth half a million dollars. Your pretty little ass is sitting on leather that—”

  “Been there, done that, had some, tasted it, liked it, put on repeat and rewind.” She yawned.

  “I’m tryna paint a picture for ya here, all right? Tryna form the words of the—”

  “I’ve written the book and autographed it, too.” She smiled at him. “Giovanni, let me let you in on a little trivia about me.”

  “Double jeopardy?”

  “Hell, yes. My ex is rich. These things don’t really impress me. They used to, but not anymore because I’ve seen it. Everyone likes nice things, right? Cars, clothes, all of it—but what impresses me at this point in my life is what’s going on upstairs, and how a guy treats me. It’s a nice car though… I’ll give that to you.”

  She looked about the vehicle as if still trying to make up her mind if that were true or not. He drew quiet while sneaking glances at her, trying to figure this woman out…

  She’s seen it all, huh? Doesn’t matter. Women are born gold diggers. They can’t help themselves. Before they jump on a cock, you better show them a rock. I’ll play this little game with her. She’s probably lying, full of shit. Well, at least she looks nice…

  The woman was wearing a black top with a plunging neckline, a tight brick red pencil skirt, and black lacey heels. A clear bangle circled her wrist and dangling gold earrings swung every time she turned her head. She looked classy with a bit of edge, something he could sink his teeth into.

  I wonder if she likes her ass being bitten? I love to bite big, juicy asses like hers… so fucking soft…

  “I like your makeup. Looks real nice… the red and pink, all that shit.”

  “Thanks.” He didn’t miss the smirk on her face as she ran her fingers through thick curls that hung down past her shoulders.

  “You said you were a makeup artist, right?”

  “Yes. I work at Sephora and from my home, too.”

  “How much a gig like that pay?” He shrugged. “Couldn’t be much. Pays the bills though, right?”

  “It’s okay.” She shrugged. “I’m not wondering where my next meal is coming from or anything like that. I’m building up my clients
now, actually, and things are improving. I really want my own cosmetics line. Working on that now.”

  “Yeah, now that sounds real good, a great idea. You could be the next Lancôme or something. My mother wears that, but uh, this ex of yours.” He shot her a faint smile. “What does he do?”

  “Senior Business Analyst on Wall Street. He’s also a top real estate agent in the city, number four out of the top ten sellers, so between those two jobs, he is quite well to do.”

  Well fuck me… she IS used to the big fuckin’ bucks.

  “Mmmm.” He chewed on his lower lip and ran his hand along his thigh as they waited at a red light. “All right… yeah, okay.”

  Giovanni was struck with a sudden case of blank brain. He had no idea what to say to that. His main doorway into a chick’s panties was his car, his swag, and his fucking money. Once he’d gotten the broad alone, he could show off his body and then demonstrate that pretty boys can fuck well, too. But Vanessa was different. She’d had a damn business guy in a suit, a white-collar shark swimming in the streets and bringing home the bacon, eggs, and perfectly cooked toast.

  Plan B… fuck. That’s not going to work. It’s cool… it’s cool…

  Maybe I look better than him… Hell yeah, I bet I fucking do. I bet I gotta bigger dick, too. If he’s a Black guy, it might be neck and neck though. If it’s a White guy, I know for a fact I’m more hung than most of ’em… I bet I got Black in my family somewhere ’cause my dick is a thing of fuckin’ beauty. Even if my shit was little, I can outfuck the best of ’em. If I’m her first White guy, she won’t be disappointed, that’s for fucking sure.

  “So, what’d he look like? Was he White or Black?”

  “Now what does that matter?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and rolled her eyes at him.

  “I mean, shit, it doesn’t really but I just wanna know.”