Lunchtime Chronicles: Whipped

by London, S.

  That would not be my legacy, so it was Ralph and me. He couldn’t disgrace me.

  “Holden, what’s your location?” My radio blasted on my dashboard.

  Sitting in my unmarked car, outside the coffee shop, was a woman who was sipping on some coffee. Granted, she looked like she had just walked off the runway, with long flowing black hair and a few purple streaks. Her skin was brown, but with a bronze tent. Her lashes were long, makeup perfect, and she looked like she was some sort of actress or something. She was staring off into the distance. In a brief moment, I wondered what she was thinking of. Who was she thinking about?

  Then she suddenly stood up and walked away, leaving the drink behind on the table. Then the waiter began to call her back, but she kept walking as if she didn’t hear him yelling. I was in my car and heard the man loud and clear.

  Therefore, being the man that I am. I hopped out of my car and began to job after the woman.

  “Ma’am,” I called. “Yo?”

  She turned abruptly and looked at me as if I had two heads.

  “Did you not hear the waiter calling for you?” I said as I mirrored her look since I was not the one in the wrong. “Did you pay for your beverage.”

  “What?” She asked. “Who are you?”

  Her voice was smooth and had a southern type of accent. Maybe placing her near the Mason-Dixon line.

  “My name is Officer Holden, and I asked you a question.” I was losing my patience at having to explain myself.

  I turned and gestured towards the waiter, who looked equally confused too. “He was calling you. You kept going as if you were trying to dine and dash.” I clarified with the rising eyebrow moving up.

  The woman looked around as if she was searching for someone.

  “Alex, get this guy outta here?” She flicked her wrist as if I were a bug to be crushed. Oh, fuck that.

  Before I could even speak, some guy came up behind me, causing me to back up, turn and grab at my holster.

  “Hold up, hold up!” The guy put his hands in the air. “I think this is all a big misunderstanding.”

  “It’s about to be if you do not back your ass up.” I was now at barking orders.

  He obeyed but continued to talk.

  “Officer, we are filming...” He tried to explain, but the woman was rolling her eyes. “Look, I have papers that show they we are filming. She’s an actress. These people are actors.”

  “Show me these papers,” I nod at him, but carefully keep my hand on my holster with the top off, because I don’t know what the fuck is happening, but he produces a group of folded pages and tosses them to me.

  After looking them over briefly, I relax and say, “But what I don’t see is a permit for this place.”

  They all look at each other with knowing facial expressions that read; they didn’t have shit to produce.

  “So you’re a no-name actress, and y’all are want to be film-makers filming with no permits?” I clarified.

  “Asshole,” The woman hissed as she looked at the ground.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Now scoot and get some permits.”

  The woman huffed and said, as she passed me, “One day, you’ll see me in lights, and I hope you remember this.”

  I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back. She was tall, probably around five feet and eight or so inches with four-inch heels. I was six feet and three inches, so I was looking down when a whiff of her intoxicating perfume infiltrated my system and almost caused it to crash.

  “When you get up there in lights, you should think of the person who wanted to make sure it was legit and maybe keep the people that manage your shit on the up and up,” I advised. “Instead of being a child and getting upset with me. Tell those fuckers to get their shit together. Nobody wants a two-bit actress who doesn’t know the business.”

  Then I let her go and walked away. Yeah, she was fucking beautiful, but probably a bit of a brat, and that was shit I didn’t need.

  That meant more cereal for dinner, meat lovers for Ralph, and the gotdamn, depressing ass news as an evening.

  It was good like this, though.

  No-fuss, no muss.

  No drama.

  No feisty woman whose perfume I could still smell as if she was present.

  No.

  It was Ralph and me.

  Meet Mandy’s friend, Shayla in Lady Guardians: BLINDSIDED by Siera London

  Dr. Graham Hamilton is ready to make his part-time lover a permanent addition in his life. Problem is, she isn’t returning his calls.

  Doctoral student, Shayla Walters, wanted more than Graham’s routine visits to her bed. She would have given him forever, but life threw a curve ball that has her rethinking her choices.

  When Graham arrives on the university campus, Shayla is resistant to their usual arrangement. Blindsided by her rejection, he rises to the challenge. He came to DC for Shayla, and he’s not leaving without her.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Graham Alexander Hamilton, III stalked across the Howard University yard looking for a specific piece of ass. The grassy knoll, flanked by the Founder’s Library, Blackburn Center, and the famous Douglass Hall, named after the social reformer and abolitionist, Frederick Douglass, had traded its lush green coat for an icy brown pelt. A chilling wind blew across the McMillan Reservoir. Graham, with a raised arm, shielded his face with the book in his hand against the jarring onslaught, maintaining a steady clip forward. Having served hundreds of internship hours training at Howard University Hospital a decade ago he knew this terrain, sight unseen, as well as his Shell Cove home turf. He was a thirty-nine-year-old obstetrician-gynecologist who spent half his day placating executive pansies in the board room and the other half talking to a rainbow of vaginas in the examination room. At home the only thing he had to sink into, in order relieve the tension, was a leather chair with an easy-rise foot lift. Today he was on the hunt for a different kind of high-of the sexual variety. Events of the past nine months had altered his life in unexpected ways. He needed the release that could only be found in the arms of his woman.

  His ‘piece of ass’ had an office space in the Lindsay Building closer to the school’s main gate. The derriere reference had come from Shayla, not him. The first time he heard the woman apply the term to herself, he’d been offended. However, she’d laughed at his outrage. A throaty sensual sound that haunted his dreams and stirred his body to life.

  The night they met he’d accepted Shayla’s invitation for a night of debauchery, with the expectation of decent sex with an intriguingly beautiful woman. Too late, he realized his propensity for easy women landed him in close quarters with the dull and mundane, but old habits tended to linger. Like a common cold, he could try a variety of treatments, but in the end it had to run its natural course before a full recovery. So, he’d been caught with his pants down—pun intended—with Shayla.

  Their arrangement had taken an illogical course.

  With a casual aloofness that fascinated and vexed him, she had injected him with different strain of feminine prowess. The first taste of her had eradicated the remnants of his previous lovers. What remained? A primal craving and Graham had no interest in a cure. He hungered for another dose of her. So, what could be considered the proper course of action when his sex toy refused to answer his text messages?

  Get on a five forty-five morning flight and find her ass.

  Shayla Walters, a fourth-year doctoral candidate, had picked him up in a trendy DC dance club on the worse night of his life. He shoved away thoughts of the old betrayal, ignoring the bitter taste clogging his throat. Women, they could be a man’s executioner or his sweetest escape. He recalled the moment he’d hooked up with Shayla. At the time, Graham had been drowning in regret and Irish whiskey. One weekend spent with her beneath him, and he was ready to pack up his shit in Florida and relocate to the political swampland, just to get a glimpse of her.

  Except Shayla had given him a fake name that first night. It had taken him months to fi
nd her after they’d left his hotel suite Monday morning. He had, but, fast forward three years of their “relationship”, and history had him repeating the process. She’d been his escape. Now... he inhaled through his nose, stopping the negative thought before it formed. The decision to purchase the plane ticket had sealed his fate. This time around when he found her, he planned to hold on—forever.

  Wiping the slush from his shoes onto the entry mat, Graham walked into the Department of Social Work, sighing when a gush of warmth hit his front and swiftly enveloped him. He enjoyed these bi-annual trips to the city, but he preferred the year-round Florida sunshine. His Oxfords, custom cut with the all-leather soles, echoed in the foyer much like the beat of his heart—hard and deafening. His plane had landed ninety minutes earlier. After grabbing his rental car, he’d driven straight to the campus without checking into his hotel.

  He ignored the squeal of ringing phones, the rhythmic drone of copy machines, and the staccato drip of the multi-cup coffee machine. His mission—to locate the woman he’d been sleeping with for the past three years.

  Why hadn’t she returned any of his calls?

  Anxiety had him cracking his stiff neck. Had she decided to end things between them without so much as a damn text?

  When he reached the graduate student office, he flashed his staff badge, identifying himself as an adjunct professor. A small waiting area with a beige fabric couch and two wing-backed chairs, separated the larger, brightly-lit room from the receptionist’s desk. Side-by-side portraits of two famous African-Americans men: maybe W.E.B Dubois and Booker T. Washington, hung on the wall behind the desk. The brown-skinned woman flashed a warm smile showcasing white teeth and full lips. Her round, expressive eyes roved over him from top to bottom, her smile subtle, but appreciative. Graham dropped his gaze to the desk. Perched front and center, sat a dark oak placard with the name, Tammy. He stood there, unmoving, waiting for Tammy to finish her one-look. Her hair bounced as she leaned forward to study his credentials. Pretty, interested, and not too innocent, he thought. Once upon a time, Graham would have offered his business card to a woman like Tammy. But that was BS: Before Shayla.

  “Good Morning, Professor Hamilton. Can I help you?”

  Nope. He needed Shayla. Nine months had passed since his last visit. It was the longest amount of time they’d been apart. Her calls had slowed in the past six months, and then the text messages stopped two months ago. Their relationship, though less than official, still had ground rules. The first, answer the damn phone. The second, respond to his sappy ass: “Call me.” or “Where are you?” texts.

  A voice in the back of his head registered the male whine, but he ignored it, he wanted answers. Graham had three pleasures in his well-constructed life: his ob/gyn practice, long-distance running, and getting lost in Shayla. And he was stunned and uncustomarily wounded that the most enjoyable of his escapes was avoiding him.

  When they had hooked up three years ago, he had no idea the woman would be so good for him. Being with Shayla had always been easy. He liked easy. Because of her, he’d added Hampton University to his annual rotation, knowing he’d spend his after-classroom time in between Shayla’s thighs. They’d had an agreement, of sorts. He came to town. She made herself available.

  Simple. Neat. Tidy.

  If he had to track her beyond this campus, shit would get messy. He wanted them back. So, he needed ‘her’, to be considered a ‘them’.

  “Is Shayla Walters in her office?”

  Graham held his breath; not sure he’d be okay if the receptionist told him no. In a stupid assed “hook-up” move, he didn’t even have her home address. When she’d mentioned moving out of the city into a smaller place it never occurred to him, he might have to track her down.

  “Well,” he prompted with impatience.

  The woman either didn’t care or overlooked his rudeness. With a flurry of movements across a keyboard, she looked up at him.

  “You’re in luck,” her voice chipper. “She and Malcolm logged in about an hour ago.”

  The hairs on the back of Graham’s neck prickled. Who the hell was Malcolm? Why would he be with his woman at the butt crack of sunshine? Most of the Monday morning classes started at nine, but Shayla had always been an early riser, choosing to arrive at the office before most of the administrative staff. Why would this woman pair Shayla and Malcolm’s name together? Graham tightened his hold on the textbook in his right hand. Had Shayla stopped answering his calls because of another man? Malcolm: the trespasser.

  “Buzz me through,” Graham growled. He tried not to think about his damaged ego. That a woman who consumed his thoughts and satisfied every wicked craving of his body, could walk away from him. Lately, he’d questioned just what he brought to the relationship. Obviously, not enough. His plan once he stood face-to-face with Shayla was demand she come back to his bed. If that failed, he wasn’t above manipulation, mixed with a healthy dose of old school, Keith Sweat-style begging.

  “I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”

  “No,” he interrupted. He wanted to roar for this woman to just open the damn security door. He glared at the lock keeping him away from Shayla. With the increase in school shootings, more campuses had increased their physical security measures to ensure student safety. He got that, but it was inconvenient for his purposes.

  “Well,” she stammered. “She might not be ready for you.”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Graham reassured. If Shayla thought she could walk away from him without a word, she’d learn differently today.

  The door release chimed, and Graham was turning the knob before he heard, “You have a nice day.”

  He intended to do just that, starting with Shayla bouncing on his-.

  Graham froze. The abrupt stop happened before his brain could fully comprehend what he saw.

  Shayla stood in the far end of the hall outside her office. The long, chocolate tresses he’d tangled around his fingers while he buried himself inside her, were gone. He noticed more changes. She wore a white collared shirt that hid her breasts, slim-leg steel gray slacks, and hot pink heels with a pointy toe. The Shayla who enjoyed showcasing every contour of her body, his Shayla, had morphed into an unknown creature. Graham compared the new with old. She looked studious, professional, and sexy as hell. He got an instant hard-on. The pants said: “come and get me,” but the top said: “there’s more than meets the eye.” However, what she wasn’t saying to the guy with his hands on her was: Step off, I’m taken.

  Her smooth, tan-skin was devoid of makeup, her body thinner than at his last visit, but still curvy in all the places that drew a male’s attention. Especially the one currently caressing her arms. Another man had his hands on Shayla. Had she altered her appearance for the hot dog of the hour? Not aware Graham looked on, Shayla lifted her face as if to kiss Malcolm: the trespasser.

  Graham was too far away to stop what he knew would happen next. Shayla had replaced him. Had she propositioned “MTT” at a club, too? Had she invited him to taste her sweet cream on the first night, too? Had she screamed his name at the height of her climax, too?

  What. The. Hell?

  Graham saw red. His vision blurred with flashing orbs. He swore he heard sirens in the background because he was ready to kill. What happened next probably saved two lives. His, and this interloping, trespassing, squatter there. The textbook he held went sailing through the air.

  There was a thud.

  The hands, belonging to another, came away from Shayla in a sudden jerk.

  A crashing sound cut through the space.

  A one-hundred-and-sixty-pound lightweight hit the floor.

  Competing sounds of chair legs—screeching on tile floors—and squeaky hinges—thrown wide—joined the chorus.

  “Ouch,” the man bellowed from his fetal position on the floor.

  Malcolm was a whiner. Wait till Graham put his head through a wall for touching his woman.

  “Malcolm.” Shayla exclaimed, he
r voice shrill, and full of concern.

  She dropped to her knees, cradling “MTT’s” big-ass-head in her lap. “What happened?” She asked no one and everyone.

  Graham strode forward, but several doors had opened along the hallway. Young men and women piled into the space, eager to see who caused all the commotion.

  He pushed through the crowd, to find Shayla still on her knees. Reaching down he snatched Malcolm to his feet. The man’s thick black brows drew tight together in bewilderment. Graham was sure the interloper wondered who he was to be dragging his theatrical-ass to his feet. Malcolm would have to wait. Shayla was his priority.

  “Who’s that?” Graham heard someone inquire. During his previous visits, he hadn’t bothered with introductions to Shayla’s friends or colleagues. That would change.

  He delivered a firm clap to Malcolm’s back. “You’re fine. Shake it off.”

  Having exhausted his medical advice, he turned his attention back to the woman staring at her empty lap.

  “Shayla.”

  At the sound of her name, she looked up and everything in him stilled. Her lips parted, and her skin paled. Eyes, round and wide, registered shock at his being here. Desire flashed behind her brown eyes, but then she masked it. Her lips thinned in an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint.

  “Graham, what-what are you doing here?”

  She had to know he would come for her. He may not have put a label on what they had, but she had to know he would come back... to her.

  He pulled her to stand, their eyes locked. “You know why,” he growled. The instinctive pull he’d felt at the first sight of her, intensified when they touched.

  “But, I stopped calling. And where the hell have you been for nine months?” Equal parts anger and suspicion laced her words.

  Shit, he winced.

  He felt like he’d gotten hit with a textbook. The tick in his jaw started to ache. She must have noticed it too because, she tried to pull free of his grip.