by Briana Cole
“Hey!” Charles said, standing to engulf Dorian in a warm hug. “You’re early. Didn’t expect you until later.”
“You know how mother and daughter are,” Dorian teased.
“Got that right.” Charles shook his head in mock disbelief. “Barbara had me up at four this morning cutting the grass. Couldn’t do it yesterday because she wanted it fresh.” He murmured something inaudible, further emphasizing his disdain for the morning task, before glancing down at his grandson. “TJ, what do you say to your uncle?”
The little boy didn’t so much as spare him a glance. “Hi,” he muttered, still completely engrossed in his project.
“Hey, TJ,” Dorian greeted anyway. “How old are you now?”
“Four,” he answered simply, his little voice carrying a touch of childlike annoyance at the disturbance. Right at that moment, his entire world rested on making a dinosaur out of those brightly colored blocks.
Dorian could only stare in awe as his tiny fingers worked to put the pieces together. Since Reagan didn’t come around often, the last time he had seen TJ, he was in a soiled Pampers with a pacifier in his mouth. Now it felt strange watching how much he had grown, decked out in a plaid Polo button-up and khakis, no doubt a recent purchase by his grandparents. Dorian remembered TJ used to have a head full of baby doll curls but those were gone too, replaced by a faded haircut with a front part that brought out his boyish features. Even more so, he remembered Reagan’s body from the previous night, and it damn sure hadn’t looked like she had popped out any children. Dorian frowned at how quickly his thoughts had turned and shook his head at his lack of self-control. He was going to have to do better.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” Dorian said, crossing to the Christmas tree to begin unloading the presents. The topic was safe, the maneuver a welcome distraction. “How does retirement feel?”
“Like a damn breath of fresh air,” Charles admitted on a laugh. “It has only been a few days but boy, have they been a relaxing few days.”
For as long as he had known Shantae, he had known her father as one of the hardest working men in the state. He had put in forty-plus years with the federal government, working his way up the GS pay scale until he was able to retire comfortably with a nice nest egg. Since Shantae’s mom had retired herself as a hospital food service cook two years ago, Dorian figured it was a welcome change as they stepped into this new journey. But knowing them, they weren’t able to sit still too long. Charles had already mentioned he was trying to talk Barbara into buying a boat and traveling the world. But she would never, not when Reagan was so needy and her grandson didn’t have any kind of stability except when he was with them.
“About time for you and Shantae to have babies,” Charles commented. “That would give an old man something to do so Barbara won’t have to find stuff to keep me busy.”
Dorian forced a light chuckle, though he didn’t comment. He knew Shantae’s parents had treaded carefully on the subject of kids given when happened when they were in college. They were one of the ones calling what happened a blessing in disguise. Interesting how far he and her father had come, because Lord knows Charles was ready to lynch him and burn him at the stake after Dorian got his baby girl pregnant. But that was then, and this was now. Shantae’s parents were right. Enough time had passed for healing. And like Shantae had echoed, they weren’t getting any younger.
Dorian thought again about the pregnancy test that he shouldn’t have known about. She never brought it up and neither did he. It must have been handled, in whatever way that meant. Sometimes ignorance was bliss.
“So where is Reagan anyway?” Dorian asked, ashamed he had to struggle to make the question sound innocent.
“Not sure,” Charles answered. “Said she was going to be here later. Who knows when ‘later’ is in Reagan’s terms.”
Dorian kneeled down to begin arranging the wrapped gifts under the tree. The logical part of him didn’t want Reagan to come and would be counting down the minutes until “later” became “not at all.” The other part, the part that had him throbbing, wouldn’t have minded catching another glimpse of her and that sexy-ass body. That was what worried him. The little lingering piece of desire.
Since a child was in the room, Dorian decided against the drink and instead, went back to the kitchen to see if there was something else Shantae needed him to do. He walked in on what appeared to be the tail end of the women’s conversation.
“Just tell him,” Barbara was saying.
Shantae’s sigh was heavy as she leaned against the counter. “But what if he gets upset? I already know how he feels about it.”
The squeak of Dorian’s shoes on the waxed linoleum had their eyes darting in his direction. The subsequent silence was deafening, evidence they had indeed been talking about him.
“Tell me what?” he coaxed, when neither woman made a move to speak.
Shantae glanced at her mother before rounding the island and wrapping her arms around his waist. “It’s not important, sweetie,” she lied, pecking him on the lips.
“Dorian, can you do me a favor?” Barbara gestured toward the two twelve-pack boxes of Sprite on the breakfast table. “Can you go ahead and put those in the refrigerator for me?”
Dorian nodded and walked to the table. He surely hoped Shantae didn’t think she had weaseled out of whatever it was she needed to tell him. He thought again about the pregnancy test, his mind unsettled by the mystery.
His back was turned to the door, so he didn’t even realize Reagan had entered the kitchen until he heard her speak. The sudden sultry voice wafting in the kitchen was enough to have him fumbling over the soda cans. He turned as Reagan peeled out of her coat, revealing a skintight jungle green dress, with her cleavage spilling out of the deep V-neckline. The hemline hugged her thighs and easily met the thigh-high black boots, with only a peep of skin showing between. Dorian didn’t even realize he was staring until he felt his tongue roll over his bottom lip. He snatched his eyes off her and the way her body jiggled with her movements, despite the clingy material.
“Why don’t you answer your damn phone?” Shantae said.
Reagan rolled her eyes. “I didn’t know I needed to,” she snapped.
“Well, yeah, when you’re leaving Mama and Dad to raise TJ, that would be considerate of you to answer your phone when they call.”
“Damn, let me get in the door before you grill me, sis.”
“Watch that language in my house, Reagan,” Barbara said with a frown.
“Mercy, people, really?” Reagan didn’t bother to stifle her groan. “Good fucking afternoon to y’all too.”
“Reagan !”
“Where is my kid?” Reagan said, ignoring the reprimand. Her heels were already clicking across the floor as she headed toward the hallway.
“With Daddy.”
“Fine.” Reagan paused long enough to pinch the sides of her dress and tug the hem down a bit. She glanced in Dorian’s direction, but to his surprise, she didn’t even acknowledge him.
The words had left Dorian’s lips before he even had time to register he wanted to ask a question. “Oh, you not gon’ speak?”
“Hey,” Reagan said dryly, before disappearing into the hall.
Shantae sucked her teeth. “That girl is a trip,” she murmured, before resuming her place at the stove.
Dorian wanted to agree, but he could only shake his head. He knew what her problem was, and he wanted to kick himself for how out of control he had gotten the previous night. He owed Reagan an apology, and since she didn’t answer his messages, he would have to speak to her before the day was over. It was the least he could do.
Chapter Eleven
Dorian let the conversation play around him while he ate his dinner in silence. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous. Reagan hadn’t said more than two words to him, and she acted just as casual as everyone else. So damn casual that he had to replay the previous night just to make sure he wasn’t going crazy
and hadn’t imagined the entire thing. He should’ve been relieved, he knew. But the more cordial her manner, the more it felt like she was intentionally baiting him. And that was racking his nerves and, much to his surprise, causing a swell of disappointment.
Though he sat beside his beautiful wife, all thoughts were consumed by the woman who sat across from him, licking her lips after every morsel, with her titties damn near resting on the table as she leaned over to take in another forkful of food. Guilt was beginning to set in. One, because he knew he wanted nothing more than to hike that tight-ass dress up and have her right there over the pot roast. Two, because he knew his thoughts were wrong. And three, because he didn’t give a damn. Dorian took another sip of wine and struggled to focus on the conversation.
“So, you didn’t tell us what was so pressing you had to drop TJ over here all weekend and not answer your phone.”
Reagan didn’t bother to hide her irritation at her sister’s comment. She glared at her across the dining room table. “Oh, I didn’t?” she said, feigning innocence. “Just had some important business to handle.”
“Well, just call and let us know, sweetie,” Barbara said. “You know we love the baby and never mind keeping him, but just in case we have plans.”
“Mama said you were working,” Shantae said. “But that’s probably doubtful since you always need money.”
Reagan’s laughter was somewhere between hurt and condescending. “Well damn, you never seemed to mind before.”
“You really should get yourself together,” Barbara said. “You’re grown. You make all these choices and it ends up affecting TJ in the long run.”
“Barbie, let it go,” Charles interjected. He used Barbara’s nickname when he was trying to calm her down. This time, it didn’t seem to be working.
Reagan sucked her teeth. “No, it’s fine, Daddy. Let her chastise me for the awful daughter I am and praise Shantae as her favorite.”
“Well, maybe if you acted more like a daughter, then you would get treated like one,” Shantae snapped. “You act like you don’t even have a family until you need something. Or to get bailed out of some kind of trouble. Hell, you pull those disappearing stunts so much and expect people to run behind you.”
Reagan’s eyes flicked to Dorian before meeting her sister’s angry gaze. “Oh, trust me. The ones who needed to know where I was, knew.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
When Reagan simply rolled her eyes, Dorian let out a shaky breath. “Baby, calm down,” he said to Shantae, giving her hand a squeeze.
“No, Dorian. Let her answer,” Shantae said, not bothering to look in his direction. “Let her tell us why she keeps taking advantage of this family.”
“Family?” Reagan spat the word with so much venom. “What family? All Mom and Dad care about is you, Shantae. And hell, you? I don’t even like you. You ain’t never gave a damn about me, so excuse me, dear sister, if I’m not kissing your ass like your family.” With that, she pushed back from the table and stormed out of the dining room.
The silence was heavy, and for a moment, all that could be heard were utensils scraping plates and quiet gulps as someone downed the rest of their wine.
Dorian didn’t know why he felt so bad. They had always treated Reagan like some black sheep and glorified Shantae. He had witnessed it on countless occasions, and though he didn’t necessarily agree, he had never felt it was his place to speak on it. Reagan had always been rebellious, wild, and too damn sneaky. No one had even known she was pregnant until she had called from the hospital, saying she was in labor. Even then, she was hush-hush about the father, insisting her son didn’t have one. Compared to her older, successful sister, Reagan was a stain on the household. A statistic. And she had never fully recovered from the negative association.
“You about ready to go?” Shantae asked, breaking the silence.
Dorian frowned. “Now? We haven’t even finished dinner.”
“We don’t want you to go, baby,” Charles said from the other end of the table. “Don’t let Reagan spoil our celebration.”
In response, Shantae pushed back from the table, her chair scraping the hardwood floor. “It’s not Reagan,” she said. “I’m just not feeling well, Daddy. I think I just need to go home and lie down.” She grabbed her plate and glass and headed for the kitchen.
Reluctantly, Dorian rose to his feet and grabbed his own plate. “I’m sorry, Mama. Charles.”
“It’s not your fault,” Barbara said. Her eyes landed on TJ, quietly watching TV in the adjoining living room, and she could only sigh. “We have never been the closest family. I just hate this happened today. I was wanting to do something nice for Charles. I suppose we’ll try again at Christmas.”
Dorian nodded and followed his wife into the kitchen. He watched her at the sink. Her movements were brisk as she began rinsing dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. He leaned against the counter. “Shantae—”
“Dorian, don’t,” she snapped, throwing up a hand to stop his words. “I don’t really want to hear it right now.”
“Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a bit? She’s your sister.”
Shantae whirled around, her eyes blazing, her forehead creased in an appalled frown. “I’m overreacting? What the hell do you know, Dorian? You didn’t have to grow up feeling like your sister hated you for just being alive. Anytime I got an award or a word of praise, that just drove us further and further apart. And I’ve done nothing but try and bend over backward to befriend Reagan. I would do anything for that girl, but the more I try, the more she hates me. And I haven’t even done anything. How is that supposed to make me feel?”
She was damn near in tears now, and Dorian crossed to her. She stepped out of his attempted embrace and ran her hands over her damp cheeks. “Can you just go pack up the car or something?” she murmured, turning back to the sink. “Just give me a minute. Please.”
Dorian rested his hand on her trembling shoulder, not surprised when she shook it off. He knew when she got like this, she shut off and it was best to just leave her alone until she opened up once again.
He walked down the hallway and turned the knob to enter the bathroom. To his surprise, Reagan was hunched over the vanity, seemingly frozen as she stared at her reflection. Her puffy eyes met his in the mirror and it was more than obvious that she too had been crying.
Dorian shut the door behind him and leaned against it, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was at a loss for words as Reagan watched him, as if willing him to say something. “How you feeling?” he asked.
Reagan shrugged and forced a smile. “Never better.”
“Your sister loves you, you know,” Dorian said. “Your parents too. I think everyone just wishes y’all were closer.”
“No, that’s not it.” Reagan shook her head as if refusing to believe his words. “My parents hate me. Ever since I was about twelve, everything just . . . changed. And then when I got pregnant. . .” Reagan rolled her eyes and turned to face him. “Lord, you would think the world had ended. They haven’t treated me the same ever since. And Shantae, it’s like she rubs it in my face, Dorian. No, I’m not some big-shot banker or whatever, with a few fancy degrees and a rich, sexy-ass husband. But damn, I’m trying.”
Dorian had to chuckle at the summation. “First off, I’m not rich,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. “Sexy yes, but not rich.”
That seemed to lighten the mood a little. Reagan’s lips turned up in an amused smirk. “Whatever. Aren’t you a doctor?”
“Cosmetic surgeon.”
“Like I said. Rich.”
Dorian relaxed into a laugh. “I don’t know who told you that, little girl,” he teased. Reagan always hated when he called her that.
The mood shifted again. He felt it as if someone had turned on a light switch. He didn’t know whether it was the look she gave him, or the way she licked her lips, but the sexual tension had become thick and suffocating.
&n
bsp; “Little girl, huh?” Reagan let her eyes graze over his body. “You didn’t think I was such a little girl last night.” She took a step in his direction and Dorian lifted his hands.
“Wait a minute.” He lowered his voice and glanced to the door. He was praying no one was in earshot. His in-laws’ home had walls as thin as paper. “Now look, we talked about this. You know that was just a one-time thing.”
Reagan shrugged and took another step. “I know. So, what’s one more?” She began lifting her dress, revealing more and more of her thighs. Dorian swallowed, willing his eyes to look away even as he felt his inches rising.
“One time only,” he repeated. This time, he placed his hands on Reagan’s shoulders to stop her pursuit. “I’m married.”
“So? You were married last night.”
“That shit was different, Reagan. You know it. I told you the rules. You agreed, remember?”
“You also said no questions asked. Remember?” Reagan lifted her hands to rest them on his and began guiding them down to her breasts. Dorian again shook his head but didn’t stop her. He was now cupping her breasts, her hands on top of his, her nipples straining against his palms. “She doesn’t ask any questions, remember?” she whispered. Reagan squeezed his hands, coaxing them to begin kneading the supple flesh of her breasts. Damn, he just wanted to suck them. Just once more. As if reading his mind, Reagan removed her hands from his and lowered them to her hemline.
“You need . . .” He trailed off as she hooked her fingers in the straps and slowly began to peel off the dress she wore. The fabric fell to pool at her feet and she stood, completely naked, her brown skin like milk chocolate against the stark white bathroom.
“Fuck.” Dorian tore his eyes from her body and turned to face the shower curtain. He couldn’t do this. Not to Shantae. He had already tried it, pushing the limits with her sister in the first place. But he had permission, to an extent. Now it would just be all-out cheating. And he had never cheated on Shantae since she’d become his wife.
