The Marriage Pass

by Briana Cole

  “Isn’t that Shantae’s sister?” Neil spoke up as they all continued to stare.

  “Hell yeah, it is,” Roman pretended to lick his lips in appreciation. “And she fine as hell like Shantae too.” He glanced in Dorian’s direction. “But you better watch out, though. Big brother Dorian gon’ beat your ass you fuck over his baby sister.”

  Dorian cringed. He definitely wasn’t trying to think of Reagan as his baby sister. Not when he was trying to get between her legs himself. His throat suddenly felt dry, so he poured himself another glass from the Crown Royal bottle they all were passing around between them. “Man, I don’t care about that,” he murmured with a little too much attitude. It was a bald-face lie and he hoped no one could tell.

  “When y’all start talking, my friend?”

  “The bachelor party,” Myles said. “Yeah, she was all up on your boy. Just throwing it at me all night.”

  Dorian felt his fingers tighten on the glass. He knew that had to be a lie. Not when Reagan had been pushing up on him all night. He didn’t know why this story was bothering him so much. Myles was notorious for embellishing the truth when it came to his sexual exploits, so Dorian was sure this was no different.

  He tried to tune Myles out as he began to detail their many dates and late-night rendezvous, the way she would sex him down with all the tricks and flexibility of a regular porn star. Yeah, shit was infuriating because not only should that have been him, but Shantae had been ducking and dodging sex for the last three weeks. And to hear baby sis was giving it up so quickly, and let Myles tell it, so frequently, had Dorian itching to punch that little complacent look off his friend’s face.

  Dorian knocked back the rest of his liquor and set his glass on the table. He needed air. Even he couldn’t believe how badly this girl had gotten to him. Never had he ever wanted to fight Myles. Roman, yes. All the damn time. But Myles was generally their little group’s jokester and all-around happy-go-lucky guy. Dorian had never even gotten in an argument with the man in their five-year friendship.

  “You good, D?” Myles broke through his concentration. Dorian glanced around at all three of them watching him. He hadn’t noticed he had risen and was now just standing there in a daze. His vision blurred a little and he blinked a few times before he dared move. God forbid he take a step and tumble face first right there in the middle of the reception hall.

  When he was sure he was steady, Dorian nodded. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, surprised when his words didn’t slur. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You need to go find some ass for that hall pass, bro,” Roman said, and again they all snickered as Dorian stumbled away.

  The DJ had the Black People’s National Anthem “Before I Let Go” blasting, and a terrible harmony of voices lifted over the music to blend together as everyone crowded on the dance floor. Dorian found his way through and headed for the front door.

  It was chilly tonight, as expected for winter. He didn’t know why Roman had opted for a wedding so close to the Christmas holiday season anyway. A few folks were leaving the party early, but other than some stragglers, he was alone to enjoy the night air.

  The music and joyous celebratory noises were slightly muffled but could still be heard from his perch right outside the foyer. Roman had told them Bridget was the youngest of seven, so her family had been waiting to throw the wedding of all weddings for their baby girl. Dorian didn’t know for sure, but he could bet their guest list was somewhere in the ballpark of three hundred folks.

  He sucked in a greedy breath of air and found his way to a nearby bench. At least he felt better. It was just the mix of heat, liquor, and people, he reasoned. No way anything else could substantiate him wanting to fight one of his best friends over his sister-in-law.

  “Dorian?” Damn, speak of the devil. Reagan strolled up the sidewalk, the end of a lit cigarette clasped between her fingers. Dorian couldn’t help but eye her jungle green lace dress. The neckline was low enough to have a little cleavage peeking through, and the hemline easily brushed her knees. It wasn’t even too overtly revealing. So why then, did he want to rip it off right then and there?

  “You okay?” Reagan asked, her lips turned in a concerned frown. “You don’t look too good.”

  Dorian stifled a groan as she took a step closer, bringing with her that delicious-smelling perfume that had his mouth watering. He would be just fine if she stayed back. Any closer and he would likely lose it.

  “I’m good,” he said. “What you are doing out here?”

  Reagan held up her fingers and put the cigarette to her lips. Was it just him or was she exaggerating wrapping those luscious lips of hers around the butt of that cigarette? She inhaled deeply, then lifted her face to blow a steady stream of smoke in the air.

  “They ran out of food in there,” she said. “I just stepped out for a smoke. Trying to decide if it would be rude of me to go get some McDonald’s.” She giggled, and the sound was so low and sultry. Like music to his ears.

  “Tell your boyfriend Myles to get it for you,” he said. Immediately he cursed himself. He hadn’t meant for the suggestion to sound so bitter. He didn’t even recognize his own tone.

  Reagan cocked her head to the side and lifted an eyebrow. It was dark but it also looked as if her eyes were dancing in subtle amusement. “Yeah, maybe,” she said simply. She tossed what was left of the cigarette in a nearby patch of grass and used the toe of her stiletto to extinguish any remaining flame. She started back toward the entrance to return to the reception.

  “I thought you said you weren’t dating him.” Dorian didn’t even know he had said it until the words left his lips.

  Reagan’s shrug was one of nonchalance. “Shit changes,” she said. “Why? Is it a problem?” She waited, keeping her eyes level with his.

  Now it was Dorian’s turn to shrug. “I mean, you’re grown. You can do whatever you want to.”

  Reagan nodded. She reached to pull the door open before he stopped her again.

  “I just didn’t think he was your type. That’s all.”

  She turned again, this time an entertaining smirk on her face. “Oh yeah?” She closed the distance between them and leaned over to Dorian, her face only inches from his. “And what’s my type,” she whispered, her breath tickling Dorian’s lips, “you?”

  He didn’t bother thinking. Fuck trying to be rational.

  His hand circled the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair and dragging her toward him. She could’ve stopped it. He was moving slow enough to see if she would. He had time to catch her eyes for a split second, saw the desire reflected in her pupils before her heavy lids fluttered closed and she sucked in a sharp breath as his mouth crushed hers.

  He wasn’t prepared for the hunger that erupted from the contact. Nor was he prepared for her compliancy, the ease with which she matched his need. He felt her shudder, but he was aroused when he tasted the sweet urgency mixed with nicotine on her tongue, her lips parted both to give and to receive. He swallowed her moan and, on a muffled curse, tugged her hair back and snatched his lips from hers to press against the delicious column of her throat.

  Dorian heard her suck in a desperate breath when her mouth was free, soaked in the sheer pleasure as he explored her neck. On a startled gasp, she stepped back and glanced around the empty parking lot to be sure no one had seen them going at it in the moonlight. Adrenaline had him completely sober now, and he too glanced around. Though he, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn about spectators. Not at the moment.

  She lowered her eyes to the pavement, and he continued to watch her, willing her to look at him. On a sigh, she looked up to finally meet his eyes. “How long are we going to play this game, Dorian?” she asked.

  He wanted to smile when he heard her voice had thickened with desire. At least he wasn’t the only one. But still, he didn’t answer. Instead, he took one of those leisurely full-body gazes, as if he were committing each piece of her to memory. The saying was true. Forbidd
en fruit always tasted the sweetest.

  “Let’s cut the bullshit,” Reagan continued, licking her lips. “You’re my sister’s husband. I don’t give a damn. I’m your friend’s girlfriend. And I still don’t give a damn. If you want me, I’m all yours. Just come get me, Doctor.” She turned and disappeared back into the foyer, and Dorian could only watch. Say less. He fully intended to have her. Because at this point, he frankly didn’t give a damn either.

  Chapter Eight

  “I just don’t get her sometimes, babe.” Shantae’s voice lifted over the water as she ranted.

  Dorian was half listening as he showered. He had caught snatches of the story—at least, he thought he could figure out the gist of it. Apparently, she and her sister had an argument at the wedding after Reagan had asked for money. Again. According to Shantae, she was pissed because this was the second time this week. Something about her baby’s dad Terrell being behind on child support and her son TJ needing a better role model.

  Dorian mumbled some words of acknowledgment, but he knew Shantae wasn’t expecting him to do more than listen. Not that he was trying to. He was thinking about when and where he was going to turn the girl out. He was all but smiling as his wife continued to fuss, but his mind was elsewhere. What would she feel like? Would she taste as good as she looked? He didn’t know his body had been aching for this woman until they kissed, and now he couldn’t shake it. The more he thought about it, the more excited he became. He felt himself rising, and the shit was getting painful. He quickly flipped the handle to send the cold spray blasting and damn near threw his body into an epileptic shock with the sudden drop in temperature.

  “Shit,” he yelled, gritting his teeth at the pressure. Shantae ignored him and just kept right on talking.

  “I guess I’m just supposed to take care of her and my nephew, right,” she was saying. “Like I don’t have my own shit and my own bills to worry about.”

  Dorian cut off the water and snatched his towel from over the frosted glass door. He had calmed himself down, that’s for sure. Now he was feeling the remnants of the alcohol in a pounding headache.

  “Well, she is family, babe,” he mumbled since it sounded like a nice, neutral response.

  Shantae was in their mirror massaging some sort of green paste on her face. “I guess family doesn’t take advantage of family, right,” she snapped, clearly frustrated.

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” Dorian’s voice was weary. He had enough trying to deal with the hangover. He sure as hell wouldn’t be able to handle Hurricane Shantae 2.7 also. He kept his tone gentle. “I just meant that right or wrong, she has no one but you. Hell, I don’t have any siblings—”

  “I know, baby, I’m sorry.” Shantae turned and wrapped her arms around Dorian’s waist, careful she didn’t smudge her facial mask on his arm. She sighed. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It just . . . frustrates me because she has the potential to do so much better, you know? Make something of herself for her and her son. But it’s like she doesn’t care. Do you know she can do hair? Like really do hair. She never went to school for it or anything. Just taught herself, and she’s better than a lot of beauticians I’ve seen. But while she could be trying to get a job or open a salon, she’s dropping TJ off at my parents’ while she’s out drinking and clubbing.”

  Dorian listened intently. Damn he didn’t know half the stuff Shantae was saying about Reagan. “All you can do is keep being there for her,” he said when she paused a moment. “And leading by example.”

  Shantae leaned up and planted a friendly peck on his lips. “I appreciate you, babe. I really do. How do you put up with me?”

  Good question. Shantae gave Dorian’s naked butt a squeeze and turned back to the mirror.

  Dorian wrapped the ivory plush towel around his waist and waited for a moment, not sure how to broach the subject. Best to just come right out and say it. He cleared his throat. Why was he nervous? It had been her idea. Maybe she was calling his bluff. Wanting to see if he would go for it so she could revert to her old ways because she suspected he was cheating. Dorian pondered that possibility a little longer before he shrugged it off. Oh well, he decided. She shouldn’t have offered. And even if she reneged, he sure as hell wouldn’t let her forget it. But at this point, the prospect of sexing Reagan was worth the chance.

  “I was thinking again,” he started, joining his wife at the granite countertop of their double vanity. “If we opted to do the hall pass, when would you want to do it?”

  He caught something flicker in Shantae’s eyes. Very brief, and very subtle. So much so he had to wonder if he saw anything at all because she was now turning to face him, a wide smile that had her dimple winking in her cheek.

  “You keep asking,” she said. “So you must be really interested.”

  “I’m just trying to make sure we both have a clear understanding and we’re on the same page. That’s all.”

  “Well, I’m clear,” Shantae agreed. “More than clear. I really think this will be good for us as a couple. Just as long as we can come home the following day with a clean slate. Like it never even happened. Agreed?”

  Hell yeah, he could. He just hoped she was as understanding at that time as she was right now. “Of course,” he said. Then for good measure he added, “No strings. No questions. And we’re coming out on the other side of this a stronger, closer couple.”

  Shantae nodded, and as if she were completing a business transaction, she held out her hand. Dorian felt silly but he accepted it and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “And no takebacks,” Shantae said quickly as they stood there in mid-handshake. “Not fair to get each other’s hopes up and then the day of, one of us backs out. Might as well see it all the way through at this point.”

  Dorian shook her hand. Like hell he was backing out now. He and Reagan had been playing around for the past few weeks. And now he was going to have her. He was nearly tempted to call her right then and there to set things in motion, but that would have seemed way too eager.

  “So, when were you thinking?” he asked as Shantae turned back to the mirror to continue wrapping her hair under a black satin bonnet.

  “Well, do you have plans or anything this weekend?”

  “Nope.”

  Shantae grinned at his reflection in the mirror. “I guess now we do,” she said and patted Dorian on the chest. “Night, baby. Love you,” she said and crossed into the adjoining bedroom.

  He should have been more excited. Why wasn’t he more excited? Dorian yawned and chalked it up to an eventful day. He knew once he spoke to Reagan and they got their plans finalized, he would be looking forward to the weekend. In the meantime . . .

  Dorian saw that Shantae had used the last bit of toothpaste. He looked under his cabinet first, then hers. Hopefully one of them had remembered to grab some during the last store run.

  The bright pink box caught his attention as soon as he sifted through Shantae’s makeup and hair care products. It was pushed toward the back, but the label was bold enough to have him frowning as he reached to pull it into view. But he already knew. Even as his fingers touched the cardboard, he already knew what the contents were. A quick peek inside the open flap only further confirmed it. Now the question was, what was his wife doing with a pregnancy test? And what were the results?

  “Did you ask her about it?”

  Roman sat back in his executive office chair and stared at Dorian from across the desk. At first glance, no one would guess the educated, well-spoken emergency room physician was the same raw best friend Dorian and scraped up off many a college dorm parking lot back when they met. Everyone knew Roman was the wild party animal of the bunch. So it even shocked Dorian that, except for his bachelor party, Roman had really scaled back on his weekly turn-ups. Bridget had certainly done a number on him.

  Dorian rose to pace his friend’s office, his mind still racing over the recent findings he had divulged to Roman. “No, I didn’t ask her about it,” he answered. “Hel
l, I didn’t know what to say. Or how to say it.”

  “Nah, don’t play. You scared of those results.”

  Dorian winced at the accuracy. Was that why Shantae had asked him about a baby that day at lunch? She was trying to get pregnant? Or was she already pregnant? Dorian tried to rack his brain for the last time they had sex, which, in and of itself was a damn shame, it had been so long. Somewhere around mid-October. With Thanksgiving coming up, wouldn’t that make her about . . . five or six weeks? He didn’t know how that worked.

  “I’m thinking if it were true, she would’ve told me by now,” Dorian reasoned more to himself.

  Roman nodded. “True. So maybe she isn’t, then. Or maybe she is and just wants to be a hundred percent sure. Or maybe she got rid of it. Shit, I don’t know, D. Just ask her. See what she says. But look, we need to get to the real shit.” Roman winked and he sat forward again, his elbows resting on his wood desk. “What are you going to do about your hall pass? You’re doing it, right?”

  Dorian smirked. “Yeah.”

  “I was about to say you a fool if you don’t, man. You decide who yet?”

  Dorian already knew he wasn’t divulging that information. He didn’t even know how true it was that Reagan was in a relationship with their friend Myles. But the fact that she was Shantae’s sister alone was giving him enough anxiety.

  “Still weighing my options,” he lied after a brief pause.

  “Okay, man. It just better be somebody good. Don’t waste it.” He stood and snatched his lab coat from a nearby hook. “I got rounds and then I’m out. You know we’re headed to Bali this weekend for the honeymoon. You gon’ have to keep Myles posted until I get back.”

  Dorian chuckled but didn’t respond. That sure as hell wasn’t happening.

  “And hey,” Roman added as they reached the door. “Remember, you’re not just doing this for you. This is for all of us. If things go smoothly, I’m putting Shantae in Bridget’s ear.” He slapped Dorian’s back. “So don’t fuck it up for me, man.”