Better Late Than Never

by Ghiselle St. James

  “How am I gon’ be sure that things like tonight…” she hedges but soldiers on, “or the night of her accident won’t happ’n again?”

  And there it is: feelings she has been harboring since Savi’s accident. I knew it would come back to bite me someday, and I know I must atone for it. I just wish this conversation did not have to come when I’m doped up and loopy.

  “It won’t,” I promise carelessly.

  “Promise me,” she insists. “Promise me things’ll change ’tween you two.”

  I raise my injured hand and attempt a joke, “It already has.”

  But Claire doesn’t smile. Instead, she takes my good hand and licks my fingers, taking one between her lips and sucking. I sober for a moment, my dick rising to attention.

  “Tell me,” she demands. “Tell me you’ll stop talkin’ to her so often.”

  This should have been my indication; this should have told me all I needed to know about Claire, but between the meds and what she was doing to my dick, I could barely think straight.

  Savi and I had long since stopped communicating often, but my groan when she takes my cock in her mouth gives her the answer she needs.

  And if that isn’t enough… “Fuck, Claire, anything.”

  Anything…

  Chapter Nineteen – Let the Games Begin

  Kyle – Present

  GRAYSON’S WORDS PLAGUE me for the rest of the day at work. I’ve fought long, hard and brutally to keep this woman in my life. We’ve been through hell and back, been through a lot of shit to get where we are now. What if I made a mistake and end up losing her forever? Could I really blame her if she decides that enough is enough with us?

  I don’t think I want to stand in her way when she finally removes you from her life.

  No matter what has happened between us in the past, we have always been able to bounce right back; but this latest “game” has me losing confidence. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost her for good. That isn’t how our story is supposed to end. Then again, our story has been anything but what either of us has wanted it to be, and only clinically insane people would continue a friendship like ours. I guess that’s why our friendship works: she’s crazy…

  And I’m crazier for wanting her to be part of my life.

  My intercom buzzes with my Personal Assistant reminding me of my two o’clock meeting with fitness execs. As the public relations manager at Rogue Sports Management, a consultancy and PR firm that represents upcoming, as well as popular athletes across the United States and internationally, it is my job to ensure that the athletes are taking the best care of themselves. I wine them, dine them, and ensure their psychological – and sometimes sexual – needs are taken care of, while keeping them in tip top shape. Thus, my meeting with these fitness execs.

  I’m good at my job, a fucking PR guru. Yet, I can’t keep a purple-haired sprite in my life. In the words of that pallbearer in the show with the kid everyone hates…

  Tragic! Tragic!

  I check my phone one more time, sighing at how dry it is. No angry text messages sent in rapid fire sequence. No series of missed calls. No video calls with a fuming, yet beautiful purple-haired woman. My phone is drier than a peppermint fart. I don’t know what’s worse: that my wedding invitation hurt her, or that maybe she doesn’t even care anymore.

  Tossing my phone aside, I grab my folder and briefcase, along with a bottle of champagne. I have this account in the bag, so there is nothing wrong with celebrating afterwards.

  “Hey, Nova,” I greet my PA when I leave the office. “Can you put this on ice for me?”

  She sets aside the cup of Ramen noodles she was eating and steeples her fingers under her chin. She has been eating these noodles since I got a basket of them last week from a secret admirer. This would have been a cute gift…if I ate Ramen noodles. Ever since Claire and I broke up, I’ve given up on them.

  And Southern belles.

  “A little confident, aren’t we?” she teases, hazel eyes twinkling.

  Nova is a thirty-something, caramel-skinned, athletically built beauty with a penchant for speaking her mind even when she isn’t asked for an opinion. She keeps things interesting around the office, but I can’t deny her work ethic. She keeps me efficient.

  “You know I’ve got the Midas touch,” I gloat, smiling broadly.

  “Whew! Turn down that golden smile of yours, boss man,” she embellishes with her extra ass, holding a hand up to shield her eyes. “I’m not wearing any panties for you to melt.”

  See what I mean?

  “Jesus, Nova,” I groan. “I didn’t need that visual.”

  “It wasn’t one, but tell me when you need an actual visual, babe.” She winks at me and cackles when I hang my head in resignation.

  “Goodbye, Nova,” I bid her, smiling.

  “Oh! Before I forget…” she pulls her notepad out and flips it a few times before she slaps it on the desk in front of me.

  The name I see makes my heart pump faster…

  “Savannah has agreed to meet with you to plan the wedding,” she says, a sly, know-it-all look on her face. “She says she’ll send a link to her virtual portfolio later today, which includes a walkthrough of the wedding planning process for couples.”

  She responded. Hell, she agreed! A goofy, yet winning smile spreads across my face and I quickly conceal it. Too late…

  “What’re you up to, boss?” Nova asks, curious.

  “Me? Whatever do you mean?”

  She looks at me, knowing full well I am up to something and mumbles, “Mmhmm…”

  I chuckle and ask her to set up a meeting with the event planner extraordinaire, but something strikes me. “Why didn’t she call me on my cell?”

  “Oh, that. She said her phone shattered while she was at a bar with her boyfriend, Beastie?” Nova shrugs her shoulders, unaware of the storm brewing in my gut.

  A boyfriend? Beastie? Where the fuck does she find these guys?

  Yet another fuck up trying to come between me and my best friend. I mentally flex my fingers…

  Let the games begin.

  Kyle – Past

  September 2009

  “How is she?” I ask Grayson, as I always do in our cell phone conversations, yearning for an update like a junkie.

  It has been yet another three months since I last spoke to Savannah. Wait…make that three months, one week, two days, two hours, five minutes, thirty-five seconds and counting. In other words, it has been motherfucking agonizing!

  I had to stop baseball due to the fractured knuckles and the pulled muscle in my shoulder. Things have become increasingly tense and awkward between Claire and me. We never argued before, and now we are. She’s been watching me, checking my phone…downright psychotic at times. Yet, I can’t help but blame myself for this sudden change in her.

  Also, in a weird, Twilight Zone episode of my life, Grayson and I have begun to communicate regularly. Only because Becky has frozen me out…something about hoes before bros, or whatever.

  “Like I told your punk ass yesterday, she’s fine,” Grayson huffs out. “God, you two piss me off.”

  Hope flutters in my chest––

  “And no, she hasn’t been asking about you,” my cousin interrupts my thoughts, bursting the bubble of hope that had been forming. “Not that it doesn’t seem like she wants to. She’s so goddamn stubborn.”

  I chuckle because she really is. Stubborn and proud.

  Sighing, I rub my forehead as an ache forms there. Knowing what to do in the time since our falling out has been, for lack of a better word, impossible. She has blocked me…again and has refused my friend request on every social media platform, including that new one about the Book of Faces. I have tried to keep my distance, based on Claire’s wishes, but I cannot hide the fact that I miss my best friend.

  “You just have to wait until she lets you back in, Kyle,” Grayson suggests, knowing I’ll probably be old, gray, or decaying before that happens.

  W
e both start laughing after giving it thought. My Savi’s too proud to break first.

  “I don’t know what you’ll do, cousin, but you’ve gotten yourself out of a Savannah freeze out before,” he says supportively. “I’m sure you’ll think of somethin’.”

  We continue to talk for a bit, catching up on each other’s life before agreeing to chat next week. I release a heavy breath, feeling weighed down. Calling home usually helps to lift my mood, but after a half an hour talking with my folks and baby sis, I am still just as burdened.

  Scrolling through my cell, my thumb hovers over her name when I see it. My heartbeat pumps harder and my foot taps out a nervous rhythm as I contemplate dialing this number I know by heart. I close my eyes and see the unmistakable purple hair that calls this number owner. When was the last time I heard her voice? When was the last time I made her smile…heard her laugh?

  Too long now.

  After a few undecided seconds, I close the flap of my cell phone, knowing what I’m going to hear anyway:

  “The person you are calling is unavailable.”

  Unavailable, my ass; but I guess it’s better than hearing the automated voicemail say, “Stop calling! Have some dignity. You’ve been blocked, asshole!”

  Firing up my laptop, I key in the username and password for my secret account and await startup. After that ultimatum Claire laid down, I decided to make this account that has become a shrine of sorts to Savannah and our friendship. The screen opens with vivid purple hair, and immediately, a kind of peace descends upon me. I rifle through pictures, videos, and even previously saved messages between us and at the end of it all, I smile.

  God, do I miss her.

  Keys jiggle in the door, and my heart rate spikes in surprise. Claire. I hold the power button down at the same time the door opens. It’s a nerve-racking wait as I pray it shuts down before she sees the screen of my laptop. It takes five agonizing seconds, though it feels like fifty, before the forced shutdown is successful. By this time, Claire is already inside, staring at me.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, eyeing me curiously. Did she see anything?

  “Yeah, I am. The laptop froze so I just forced a shut down,” I lie…which I recognize I’ve been doing a lot of lately.

  “Oh…” is all she says before she drops her things at the door and takes her time coming over to me.

  Her face is unreadable, and I feel like she is about to call me on my bullshit, but instead, she sits astride me and starts kissing me. Despite my apprehension, my body responds. It has been a few days since I’ve seen her, but she ensures I don’t need her any less because of it. The day she told me to buy a webcam was the smartest decision I ever made.

  I kiss her with fervency, gripping her ass and grinding her against my shorts-covered cock. Her tiny whimpers spur me on. Freeing her tits from her camisole, I pull a nipple between my teeth and bite it lightly before using my tongue to soothe it. She shudders in my arms and I suck on her nipple harder while toying with the other. Her breathing intensifies, and I know if I continue that she could orgasm, just from this.

  But that’s not on her mind.

  She pushes away from me and drops to her knees, pulling my dick out once she hits the floor. Thank God I didn’t wear boxers.

  My hand comes up to her head at the same time she swallows half of my dick. I guide her as she sucks me off, groaning with pleasure. Eyes closed, purple hair flashes across my mind. Visions of the only time I had her almost make me come apart. She felt so good beneath me, so pliant, so feral after the first time. I loved it.

  I love her.

  Growling, I pull Claire away by the hair now in my fist and spin her to face the computer desk. Without waiting, I pull her skirt over her ass and rip her panties down her legs.

  “Someone sure missed me,” she breathes as she spreads her legs and bends over for me.

  I bend her further with a growl, refusing to voice anything right now, fearing what may actually come out. Smacking her ass hard, I shove inside my hot-as-fuck girlfriend, earning a scream of ecstasy. The hall advisor will give me an earful for that, but I can barely give a fuck enough to slow down. He is already allowing me to get away with murder by having Claire here so frequently.

  “Oh, God, Kyle,” she moans in that Southern twang of hers…that voice that isn’t at all like that sweet, yet husky moan of a certain purple-haired hellion who keeps plaguing my thoughts.

  Pounding inside Claire, grunting and groaning and growling in frustration, it’s not her I see or hear. Purple. All I see is purple. I fucking miss her. I fucking need her. Memories grip me. They squeeze the fucking life out of me. And I’m angry that I miss her so much. And it’s…

  “Kyle! Kyle! Stop!” Claire yells at me tearfully.

  The haze clears, and I look down at her…at the mess I’ve made. My laptop is on the floor, as is the printer. Claire sports a bruise on her waist, and she is contorted in pain. Fuck.

  “What is wrong with you?” she cries, scurrying away from me. “You’re madder’n a Hatter in a hornet’s nest.”

  My hands go to my hair, and I curse the ceiling. I knew what was wrong, but if I admit it, one or both of us will just end up resenting the other.

  I am saved from answering when my cell phone rings. Spying it on the floor, I swipe it up and answer my frat brother.

  “Everything okay, my dude? We heard screaming,” Vince asks concernedly.

  I run my hand through my hair and sigh before answering, “Yeah, we’re okay. Things just got a little…rough.”

  Claire holds her hand out in silent demand for my phone and I hesitate a moment before handing it over. Curious as to what she wants to do, I watch her.

  “Hey Vincent,” she coos over the phone. “I’m sorry we made a ruckus. I ain’t seen him in a week…you know how that can be. We got a little carried away with the lovin’.”

  She pauses, listening, and her eyes find mine. The look she gives me makes my chest tighten. She is coming to my defense and covering this up…but what will it cost me?

  “Okay, sugar, we’ll be more careful next time,” she says. “How’s Stacy? We should all go out together some time, do a double date.”

  From the smile brightening her face, I’m sure he has agreed. She says her goodbyes and closes the lid of the cell before tossing it to me. She rights her clothes, stepping back into her panties and taming her hair. Claire throws me a hard stare before she shoves me back on the bed and straddles my thighs, rewarding me with a deep kiss. It throws me for a loop, but I go with it.

  Nothing scarier than a pint-sized southern belle with an attitude.

  “Remember what I just did, Kyle,” she states. “No matter what you do, I’m gon’ always have your alibi ready.”

  She hops off me and disappears from my room, leaving me with my thoughts. I should think it’s sweet that Claire is willing to have my back in such extreme ways, but it has me second-guessing too many things. I’m not sure what to make of her declaration, or even the threat of her reminding me that she bailed me out just now, but I know that I have to be more careful around her.

  Especially where my thoughts of and feelings for Savi are concerned.

  Chapter Twenty – Should’ve Brought My Toothpaste and Toothbrush For This…

  Kyle – Present

  NOVA ARRANGES THE consultation with Miss Savannah Carpenter, owner and operator of the growing design company, Purple Prizm. She started this company in her final year of college and never looked back. No matter how slow business was, she never gave up to go “slave for the man”, as she put it.

  She started small, throwing various frat and sorority parties, although her first gig was our tenth-grade formal over ten years ago. I wonder if she remembers that. I wonder if she remembers the way we were. Back when our friendship was fresh and blooming and I sniffed my armpits when I was nervous.

  Things were so uncomplicated then. So simple. Just a popular guy and a purple-haired girl trying not to catch feelings for each ot
her. Fat load of good that did. Were we ever meant to be friends? Just friends? Fate had been cruel to us over the years, never giving us an opportune time to be truly together. Yet, we have been even crueler to ourselves, never taking a leap of faith; the leap that would have bonded our souls forever.

  Fear and bad decisions have crippled us, but our friendship has withstood the damage. How much, will depend on my meeting with her tonight. I mean, she agreed, so that should mean something, right?

  Pushing the glass doors open to the restaurant she suggested we meet up, I survey the room. It’s dark but lit in certain areas. It can almost pass for a romantic location, if not for the business meetings I see going on in various sections of the restaurant.

  The place is busy, as waitresses in mid-thigh shorts and black long-sleeved button-down shirts go around the room. I scan the room looking for my quirky best friend’s head of purple…and suck in a hasty breath, unprepared for what I see.

  Or who.

  I stop in my tracks, convinced that from more than thirty feet apart, Savannah has given me a deserving hit to the stomach with her small ass hands. I want to cry foul, wave a fucking white flag in the air, and drop to my knees in surrender to this beautiful woman I’m staring at to the far corner of the room.

  It has been two whole months since I have seen her, and it might as well have been an entire year. The silly anchor tattoo she persuaded me to get with her two years ago now becomes clearer as I experience, quite literally, its significance. Seeing her now makes me feel grounded, makes me feel at peace even as other emotions wage war within. She’s stability; my strongest bond.

  My anchor.

  She’s a vision in pale pink and green floral. It’s a below-the-knee, thin-sleeved dress that ties at the neck. Best believe she tied that motherfucker in a big ass bow. Her hair is down in curly waves around her, shaping her face. She stands out, not just because of her hair, but her entire aura is entrancing. Like flies to pig shit, guys’ eyes dart to her. One guy braves going up to her and bails at the last minute when he is just inches from her.