The White Whispers

by Kizzie Hayes

  I glared at them both in mock horror. “Good Lord don't tell me you guys were using Shane and I like your Livestream porn show!”

  Speaking of the devil, I could hear his truck drive up to the ranch house.

  “Your chariot is here I believe,” Jos said mockingly. “Don't go forgetting any supplies now.”

  I grinned at them both and smacked them both kisses just because I was in such high spirits. Everything had worked out so well for us. Shane came to the ranch every day to see to the horses and we spent so much time together that I no longer had any qualms about falling in love with him. He was a wonderful man and even though he hadn't said it in so many words, I believed he felt the same way about me.

  I hurried from the ranch, knowing I looked great in the high-waist jeans and crop top. Still, I never felt more desired than at that moment when he saw me and his eyes ran over my figure appreciatingly. He held out his arms and I walked right into them and met his lips with mine. It was amazing how well I had come to know this man in such a short span of time. I could usually tell his mood and today he was just as ecstatic as I was.

  For good measure, I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, not caring if any of the ranch hands saw. By now everyone on the ranch knew we were rubbing skins anyway. There had even been some talk in town but nothing that was confirmed. It wasn’t that I wouldn’t like to confirm us as a couple but I didn’t think Shane wanted the recognition so early in our relationship. I didn’t mind, as long as we still got to be with each other. I respected him wanting us to wait before we went public.

  He supported my weight by cupping my round ass and holding me against him. He pinned my back to the truck and kissed me back. I could feel the rising bulge at the front of his jeans and wished we were alone so I could drag him into the back of his truck and ride him. I smiled against his lips as I remembered this was exactly what we did once when driving into town. I kept playing with his crotch until he parked the car in the middle of nowhere and hauled me off to the truck bed.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked, his own lips curling upward.

  “Just wishing we were alone,” I told him.

  He released me to slide down his body but not without one last squeeze of my ass. “You are one insatiable woman, you know that?”

  “Is that a complaint?” I asked, sauntering around to the passenger side.

  “Nary a one.”

  We headed for town, mostly in silence but comfortable in it. We were both caught up in our own thoughts. I couldn’t get out my head the fact that we were officially opening tomorrow. I had four parents who would be dropping off their adolescent kids.

  Once we got to town, he dropped me off at the post office to collect or mails while he went to get some supplies he needed for the horses. I squeezed his arm as we went our separate ways. At the post office, I collected the mails and was pleased not to have collected any mails for him from the bank. He had been working steadily to pay the arrears on his mortgage and the absence of that envelope told me that he was making progress. I felt happy for him knowing that he would be devastated should he lose his ranch. It was the last connection he had with his daughter and deceased wife.

  From the post office, I decided to walk to the diner and wait for Shane there. I had gotten through at the post office sooner than expected and still had a few minutes to spare before we were designated to meet up. I was walking along the street, thinking about tomorrow and feeling excited about the event when I ran into someone on the sidewalk, coming from The Loot, a bar where most women in town could find their drunken men when they didn’t come home.

  “I’m so sorry,” I apologized, stepping back at the cloying scent of the alcohol permeated my nostrils. I froze when I saw the person I had run into was none other than Chase Whitlock.

  “Weeeell lookie here,” he drawled and hiccupped. “Itsh the gal who took my job from meee.”

  “If you’d excuse me, Mr. Whitlock,” I said and attempted to walk around him. A sober Whitlock had been bad and I didn’t want to exchange words with him when he was drunk.

  “You ain’t going anywhere,” he said nastily and grabbed at my arm. “Leaasht not till I says so.”

  He grabbed my arm and lost his balance. I crashed into him and he grabbed at my ass. I slapped him hard. “Don’t touch me, you oaf. Let me go!”

  “Nobody talks to me that way.” His hold on my arm was bruising. I lashed out at him with my other arm. “You bitch!” This time he slapped me across the face and I tasted blood where my lip was split.”

  “Whitlock, you son-of-a-bitch!” I heard Shane before I saw him. He was upon us so quickly neither of us saw it. He aimed a punch at Whitlock’s head so hard, the man released me and stumbled. Shane didn’t stop but landed another fist in Whitlock’s face. He was so livid I was afraid he wouldn’t stop.

  “Powell, that’s enough.” I turned to find that the newcomer was Sheriff Daniels. I was relieved that he had intervened. Whitlock had passed his place but I didn’t want Shane to kill the guy. “As much as he deserves it for being such a piece of shit, the law says I can’t stand by and watch while you pound him into the asphalt like he deserves.”

  The Sheriff pulled Shane off Whitlock who was groaning on the ground.

  “You okay?” Shane asked, pulling me into his arms.

  I laid my head onto his chest. “I’m fine.”

  “The fucking bastard hit you.”

  I felt the anger in him and knew I had to soothe him or he’d go back after Whitlock whether the Sheriff was there or not.

  “It’s okay, I’m fine,” I told him and then I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care who said it first. I wrapped my arms behind his head and brought his lips down to mine. I kissed him hard and said, “I love you, Shane.”

  I felt the anger slowly begin to work its way out of his system. His brown eyes took on a soft expression. He cupped my cheek and placed his forehead against mine. “I don’t know why you do, but thank you for loving me the way I love you.”

  His lips claimed mine and somewhere in the distance I heard the Sheriff asking if I wanted to press charges but nothing mattered in that moment but Shane and me.

  THE END

  Another bonus story is on the next page.

  Bonus Story 5 of 44

  The Wealth Touchdown

  Description

  Nothing seems to be going right in Janelle's life. She can't find stable employment. Her love life has been nonexistent since the day she caught her fiancé in bed with two women and bitterly broke off the engagement. And just when she thinks things can't get any worse, Sallie Mae comes knocking. They want their $58,000 back. What is she going to do? This is not how her life was supposed to turn out. She knew it wouldn’t be easy to make it in Brooklyn as a single woman. But she still had no idea that it would be this difficult.

  However, her luck is about the change dramatically. She soon finds herself with not one, but two, eligible and very attractive men in her life. One is a pro football player the other is a billionaire banker. They’re handsome, beautifully sculpted, and very well endowed.

  But there's a catch. An obstacle stands in the way of all three of them getting together. And it's no small obstacle, either.

  *****

  5 o'clock! Time to go home. Janelle felt the rush of energy surge through her body at the end of her long day of shuffling, stacking, and filing papers and reports. Every five minutes for the last few hours she'd turned to stare at the clock. It seemed like it wasn't moving, like time was standing still. But now, thankfully, it was over. On most days she probably would've just taken the train home. Plopped down on her couch, and watched TV, a glass of wine in one hand, her iPad laying next to her on the couch as she scrolled through twitter and Facebook and other popular sites: Bossip, Ebony, Madamenoire, and caught up on the day's gossip.

  Janelle hurried out into the busy Brooklyn Street. There was such an exciting energy in the neighborhood. She was just barely
able to afford to live there. She knew that if she didn't get a raise soon, she would probably have to move. No, she would definitely have to move. There was no question about that.

  Her phone rang. Another jolt of excitement surged through her body. It had to be her friend Monet. They were supposed to meet for sushi at six.

  But when she looked at the name and number on the screen she frowned and stared at it, confused. The call was coming from Oklahoma. She'd never received a call from there before. She had a bad feeling about who it could be. Despite her intuition, despite feeling that it wouldn’t be smart to pick it up, to let it go straight to voicemail, she picked up the phone.

  "Hello," Janelle said, her voice quivering, as she struggled to get out the words.

  "Am I speaking to Janelle Watkins?" the woman on the other end of the line said.

  Janelle swallowed hard. She probably should've hung up. But for some reason, she couldn't.

  "Hello, are you still there?"

  Janelle swallowed hard. "Yes," she said. "That's my name."

  *****

  For the next several minutes, the friendly voice on the other end of the line, which belonged to a Sallie Mae representative, relayed the bad news to Janelle.

  The student loan extension that she'd applied for three months ago, the one that she'd been desperately waiting for, had been denied. As of next week, she would have to start paying back $450 each month on the loans. There was no more time to waste, no more excuses, delaying, buying time. She'd bought all the time that she could afford.

  When the call finally ended, Janelle felt as if she were in a trance. She knew that it was her fault, that she really had no one else to blame. She should have taken care of this situation long ago, figured out a plan of action, instead of pretending like it was just going to go away, pretending like each time a deadline approached she'd be able to find an extension, some way to wriggle out of it.

  Welcome to adulthood, she told herself, smiling bitterly. She could always go back to Chicago and stay with her grandparents.

  Yeah, right. There was no way that she would do that. She would make it on her own. She'd figure something out. She logged into her online banking app. She held her breath as she typed in her username and password. She shivered as she thought of the meaning of her password. Even though it would be a hassle to do so, she would have to change that.

  The sound of her phone beeping snapped her back to the present. It was Monet

  "Where u at girl?" She texted. "Hurry up.”

  Janelle smiled, excited to meet her friend. She definitely needed something to lift her spirits.

  *****

  When she walked into the Chinese restaurant, she was surprised not to see the usual gaggle of hipsters, skinny scraggly white boys with beards and their equally skinny, scraggly looking girlfriends. All of them with trust funds, bonds, and annuities, pretending as if they were suffering, starving artists. She'd quickly grown sick of that.

  She'd grown up around plenty of white folks. But they were the grittier, cruder, less educated sort. They were also the kind that could be much more in-your-face with their racism. She preferred it like that, actually, as opposed to this covert, surreptitious kind of double talking racism of the liberals.

  She saw several tables filled with young, up-and-coming African-Americans. She could easily imagine that they were entrepreneurs, builders, the engines of change for the entire community, the millennials who were going to begin empowering the community through entrepreneurship. It always disappointed Janelle how few African-American businesses there were. She would shake her head every time she heard a politician talk about bringing jobs to the community. They had yet to deliver on the promise. And they never would. Yet the black leaders would smile and start skinning and grinning before the cameras, their cut of the money bulging in their pockets. Bundles of hundreds. And there they go like thieves in the night.

  "Hi," Monet said opening her arms wide.

  Monet was a 5 foot 4 firecracker with eyes that always seem to be plotting something and a mouth that she never liked closing.

  "I was afraid that you might not come," Monet said.

  Janelle closed her eyes and shook her head. Then she squeezed Monet even tighter.

  "I wouldn't have missed this for anything. I could definitely use some good food and drinks."

  They ordered sushi and sake. There was a lot oflaughing and giggling. Commiserating with each other's pain.

  "I haven't been laid in so long," Monet said. "I mean like a really good pounding. It's been so long."

  Janelle felt her face flushing red. She didn't consider herself a prude. But plenty of the men she dated and the women that she'd been friends with for long periods of time would have vigorously disagreed.

  "I'm afraid to ask how long it’s been," Janelle said, leaning her head back, taking a sip of sake, keeping her eyes fixed on Monet.

  "Almost a month," she said with a sour expression on her face. "A month. And I live in Brooklyn! I'm surrounded by eligible men. Black men. Men who are actually doing things with their lives. Businessmen, entrepreneurs, doctors, lawyers. Even some ballers. I don't even want to ask how long it's been since you got laid," Monet said, taking a sip of her drink her and staring at Janelle out of the corner of her eye. "You must be ready to go into a convent."

  Janelle crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. She didn't like being questioned and interrogated. She especially didn't enjoy being ridiculed.

  "It's called celibacy," she said. "I think it's helping me get in touch with myself."

  "If you want to get in touch with yourself then buy a dildo or vibrator," Monet said with plenty of snark.

  Monet wasn't one for the bullshit. She could see through Janelle's lies and excuses, her attempts to cover up her prudishness. She could tell that it was really all fear, the fear of rejection, fear of not measuring up, fear of being hurt, fear of being left, fear of being cheated on. Fear. That's all it was.

  "You're never gonna start really living," Monet said, "Unless you're willing to go beyond your comfort zone. Take chances. Risks."

  Janelle didn't want to hear it. She was beginning to regret having come here in the first place. Maybe the best thing to do would be to go home and start figuring out how she was going to pay back the $58,000 she owed in student loans. Then, of course, there was the rent and healthcare and car insurance. Just thinking about it made her head hurt and her heart thump in her chest.

  This would've been a great night to just sit on the couch, with a glass of white wine, listening to Mary J Blige. But instead, she’d chosen to come out and spend time with her best friend. And now she was being ridiculed for her lack of success with men.

  Monet took a sip from her drink and leaned back in the chair. Janelle could tell that something wicked was passing through her mind.

  "What is it?" Janelle said. "Why are you smiling like that?"

  "I'm thinking about how you should come to a game with me some time. My press pass will get us into the locker rooms," she said raising her eyelids in a very suggestive way.

  "You know I don't like football," Janelle said. "Why would I want to be around a bunch of sweaty, nasty man?"

  But she wasn't quite so sure how much the idea turned her off. Even as she said that her mind drifted off, wandered into in a locker room full of big, sweaty, muscular men. They were stripping off their pads, taking everything off, wrapping towels around their waists and heading to the shower. All of those men, hard bodied, most likely well-hung, showering, wiping their muscles clean in the water, dripping down their backs, down their hard stomachs, rolling over their abs.

  She could the feel the pleasure spreading throughout her body. She uncrossed her legs, then across them again and ever so surreptitiously slipped a hand in between them. Her fingers grazed her clit, which was most likely swollen.

  "Well, you can think about it," Monet said. "It's an open invitation. Okay?"

  Janelle shook her head, annoyed and flust
ered, trying to pretend as if she wasn't all hot and bothered by the images that she saw flashing in her mind. The erotic images had set off several sexual, erotic synapses in her brain. She was incredibly turned on. There was a question about that.

  "No, I think it will be a cold day in hell before I go to a football game."

  "Whatever, girl," Monet said. She seemed to realize that there was no point pushing things any further. Janelle was stubborn. Damn stubborn. And when she dug in on a point, the more you try to push her away from it, the more she dug in.

  "So you really can't find any men?" Monet asked. "In church, the library, the park. Nowhere?"

  Janelle couldn't even be upset anymore. She let her arms drop from across her chest and completely opened up her body, smiling, closing her eyes, looking up to the heavens. What else could she do?

  "Ballers? Are you still running after them?" Janelle asked. "Even after what happened with that dude in Atlanta. The rapper and ‘producer’," Janelle finished, making air quotes.

  "Hey," Monet said with mock seriousness. "We promised that we were never going to talk about that."

  "We did?" Janelle said. "I don't remember that."

  "Well, I'm reminding you right now."

  The women stared at each other in silence for a moment. Then they both burst out laughing.

  "What are you looking at?" Monet asked.

  Janelle wasn't sure what Monet was talking about. Or maybe she was. Her eyes, momentarily, while they were sharing a laugh had drifted towards the bar. There was a tall, really tall 6 foot 5, broad-shouldered man with honey brown skin. He was built like a hunk. Most importantly, he didn't appear to be with anyone.

  "That guy over there," Monet said. "I think we found a guy that you might actually like.

  Janelle batted her eyelashes. She didn't know what to say. She felt deeply embarrassed.