Getting Even (6 page)
“Annie, what are you doing here?”
I’m not sure what to say. “We said we’d get together for lunch, remember?”
“And you want to do that here?”
As Samera and I pull apart, I take in what she’s wearing. A white cutoff T-shirt that shows the bottom of her breasts. Instead of a skirt, she’s wearing skintight leather pants and those spiked plastic-looking shoes I call hooker heels.
“Well…sure,” I tell her. “Why not?”
Samera eyes me with suspicion. “You’ve either lost your mind or you’ve found your wild side. And why are you wearing a scarf on your head?”
“Oh, this. I…” I can’t think of a decent thing to say, and pull the scarf off my head.
She takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”
“Are you finished?” I ask her as we sit at the table I’d occupied a moment earlier.
“God, no. I’ve got four more sets to do. But I have around half an hour to spare. Now tell me, what’s up? Because I know something must be up for you to be here right now.”
I blow out a hard breath. “You’re right.”
“Charles?” she guesses, scowling as she does.
I’m not going to lie. “Yeah.”
“What’s the jerk done this time?”
“It’s what he hasn’t done. We’re still not having sex.” It’s strange that I don’t mind sharing this intimate detail with Samera when we’re not very close.
Like I said, I’m desperate.
“What do you mean you’re not having sex?” Samera asks in disbelief. “Didn’t you buy all sorts of toys and stuff to use with him last week?”
“Not
all sorts,
but I did buy an outfit. Something I thought would turn him on, and it didn’t. This really trampy French maid’s out—”
“He’s fucking someone else. You know that now, don’t you?”
“No,” I say adamantly. “I don’t know that. What I know is that my husband is very busy, and somewhere along the way we’ve lost our connection. He’s so busy, he’s forgotten about sex. But it’s not a reason to walk away from my marriage, even if right now it feels like we’ll never make love again. I just need…help.”
“What do you want me to do?”
What indeed? “I don’t know.”
“I’m sure you have something in mind. Or you wouldn’t be here. You could have called me, asked for directions to more shops.”
“Okay. I’m desperate. I guess I thought I’d come here and watch…and pick up some pointers.” My admission surprises me as much as Samera. “And if you have any tips on how to turn things around with Charles and save my marriage, I’m all ears.”
“I don’t know what kind of tips I can give you. From everything I know, you get naked for a guy and he can’t help but get hard for you.”
“I think that works in a relationship when it’s new, fresh. But Charles and I have been married for years. I guess…” It pains me to even think what I’m about to say, because I never thought it would happen to us. “I guess things have gotten stale.”
“Which is exactly why I don’t believe in marriage. Nor long-term relationships.”
“Sammie.” God, I sound whiny. I hate how pathetic I sound, but I can’t help it. I’m as desperate as any of the women on
Desperate Housewives,
and I’m about to lose my mind.
“All right. Let me think. The toys didn’t work.”
“It was a French maid’s outfit, and maybe it was too conservative. Maybe I have to go all out and become really skanky.”
I stop talking when a topless waitress appears at our table. I feel so embarrassed for the woman, I want to use my scarf to cover her breasts. At least they look real, which is a plus. Why can’t men like women the way they naturally are? We have to take
them
the way
they
are.
“Molly,” Samera coos. “This is my sister, Annelise.”
“Hi.” Molly gives me a bright smile, as if I’m a long-lost friend or something.
“What do you want to drink?” Samera asks.
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“Get her a sex on the beach,” Samera tells her, then laughs. “I bet you’d like that right about now, wouldn’t you?”
I grin—painfully—until Molly waltzes away. Then I say, “You don’t have to announce to the world that I’m not getting laid.”
“Relax. Molly doesn’t know anything, and even if she did, she could care less.”
I suppose Samera’s right. “Can you teach me some of those slutty moves you girls do with the pole?”
“They’re not slutty. They’re artistic.”
“That’s what I meant,” I say. I flash Samera a sugary smile, and then we both chuckle.
“Oh, Annie. I know we’re not close, but I hate what Charles is doing to you. Making you doubt your sexual power. You’re better off without him.”
“Sammie, please.” I know my sister feels this way. She made it clear how much she disliked Charles on our wedding day when she cornered me in the bathroom and told me that it wasn’t too late to annul my marriage. Those were the days that Charles and I screwed like rabbits. “Will you teach me to use the pole or not?”
“I can teach you, but maybe what you need to do is make a big change—not just in the bedroom.”
“Huh?”
“You know—change everything about yourself. Start wearing low-cut blouses and tight jeans and strappy sandals all the time.” Samera’s eyes slowly roam over me. “Let’s face it—oversized T-shirts and baggy jeans don’t exactly get most guys in the mood. Is this how you always dress?”
“No.”
Yes.
“Well, some of the time.” At Samera’s doubtful scowl, I admit, “Okay, most of the time. But I want to be comfortable. When I’m at the studio, I get on the floor, on the grass, or climb a tree—whatever’s necessary for the best shot. I need to be able to move.”
“Do you want to get laid or don’t you?”
“I want to get laid,” I reply without hesitation.
“Then trust me. Make a change. A big one. Get some kick-ass skintight black leather pants. And a lot of tight, short skirts. Guys
love
that. It’s easy access, and pretty much wherever you are, all you need to do is bend over for a quickie.”
“Sammie!” I exclaim, mortified that she’d do such things in public. But then I think about my dismal situation, and I can’t deny that if I were out with Charles and he wanted me badly enough to sneak off into a bathroom and give it to me in a dingy stall, I would feel so loved.
Molly appears, breasts bouncing. She places my drink on the table. Then she heads off to deal with some guys at a nearby table who are calling out to her. Thankfully.
“You ought to try sex in public before you knock it,” Samera comments.
“I’d have sex on national TV right now if it meant Charles could get it up.”
“That’d send Mama right to her grave!” A sharp burst of laughter escapes Samera, but as her laughter dies, I see something in her eyes—something that says she misses our mother. “You talk to her lately?”
“Mama?”
She nods.
“About a week ago. She was heading off to some bible something or other in California.”
“You mean they let her out of the compound in Alabama?”
“Sounded like it was a group trip.”
“When is she gonna realize that those fucking assholes are cult leaders?” Samera shakes her head. “Religious freaks. I can’t stand them.”
“She seems happy.” And that’s the best I can hope for, really. I know she’s had a hard life. Personally, I think she suffered some childhood trauma that’s had her searching for peace ever since. I only talk to my mother once in a while, mostly when she has a moment to call me. She’s thrown herself one hundred percent into this new church family of hers, and she doesn’t have much time for me anymore. It’s just as well. I can only take so much of her fire-and-brimstone talk.
Samera scowls. “Forget Mama. You came to talk about Charles.”
Oh, Samera talks a good game, as if she doesn’t care one bit about our mother, but I know she’s does. And I know she was hurt when my mother cut her out of her life. Yet another person who rejected her the way our father rejected both of us when we were little kids.
But it’s not a subject I want to discuss now, even if I think it’d do Samera good. Instead, I say, “Sexy clothes, huh? You think that will do the trick?”
“Not just sexy. Trampy. And don’t just wear them around the house. Wear them when you leave to hang with your girlfriends. That’ll make Charles wonder who you’re going to meet. Seriously, give guys a little competition and you’ll see how fast they try and get you in bed.”
“You might just be right.” When we were dating, if Charles noticed another guy looking at me, he always held me a little tighter.
“I am right. And you know it, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I won’t argue with that.”
“Look, sweetie. Lana’s just finished her routine, which means I have to go back and get ready. But you stay and finish your drink. It’s on me.”
We both stand and hug. “I love you, Sammie.” And I do. With all my heart. Regardless of how little we see each other, she’s always in my heart. As her older sister by four years, there’s a part of me that’s very protective of her, even though she’s the one who could probably kick butt to save my ass.
“I love you, too. And one more piece of advice?”
We pull apart. “Sure.”
“Start checking Charles’s clothes. Check his wallet, his car. Everything.”
“Sam—”
“I’m serious. See if that motherfucker’s got phone numbers hidden and a secret stash of condoms. Because a guy’s a guy. If he’s not fucking his wife, then he’s fucking someone else.”
Lishelle
W
hen Rhonda peeks her head into the hair and makeup room, I immediately cut my eyes at her. I’ve been avoiding her all week. She, too, has been avoiding me, I’m sure. As well she should be.
But obviously she’s decided that she’ll make the first move and speak to me today. Her timing is perfect—Joanie, the hairstylist, stepped out to get coffee.
Coincidence?
Rhonda’s eyes are downcast as she steps into the room and closes the door behind her. “Hey,” she says softly.
“Hey, yourself.”
“I just want to say—”
“Did you know?” I ask. “Did you know that your cousin is gay, or bisexual or whatever the hell he is?”
She doesn’t meet my eyes.
“You knew?” I stare at Rhonda in horror. “Rhonda, why?”
She finally looks directly at me. “Trevor said he feels bad about what happened. That he was having a great time with you before—”
“Before his boyfriend decided that he wanted him back?”
“Trevor really likes you.”
My eyes widen as I stare at her. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I think you could be the one for him. I really do.”
“He’s gay, Rhonda. Or at least sexually confused.”
“Bisexual. Or so he says. But that relationship—it was just a phase.”
“Ah, now I feel better.”
“I’m serious. We had a heart-to-heart about it, and he said he’d gone straight, that he was looking to meet a nice woman and settle down.”
“And you set him up with
me?
”
“He’s really a nice guy. He was just confused for a while. You know.”
Oh my God. I can’t believe Rhonda. I can’t believe she’d set me up with a guy she knew was into men.
“I’m sorry. I thought it would work out.”
“Tell him I wish him luck working things out with his ex.”
“No, that’s over. Honestly. His ex is crazy, like some kind of stalker—”
I hold up a hand to stop Rhonda. “Rhonda, I don’t care if it’s over or not. I’m not into bisexual men. Your cousin or not.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t really get why you wanted to set me up with him.” It’s not like I whine at the station every day about wanting a man in my life. “First of all, a bisexual man is really a gay man and trying to front. Why would you want to subject me to that?”
“I am sorry.”
“No, really,” I persist. “What were you thinking? That I’m dying for a man or something? Is that what people say behind my back? Do I come off as desperate?”
“No, no, of course you don’t. This wasn’t about you. It was about him.” She blows out a frazzled breath. “I was kinda hoping…”
“Yes?” I prompt when she goes quiet.
“Well, hoping that by dating someone as fantastic as you, he’d realize that he’s really straight once and for all.”
Wow. Not at all the answer I expected.
Rhonda seems a bit upset over the whole thing, so I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “It’s all right. I ain’t mad atcha. Just please…no more trying to set me up.”
She cracks a smile, just as Joanie opens the door. Rhonda takes that as her cue to leave.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Sure,” I say. As soon as she’s out the door, I shake my head.
“What was that about?” Joanie asks.
“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”
I’m back in my dressing room later, wiping the excess makeup off my face, when the phone rings. It’s late, after midnight, so I assume it’s got to be someone at the station when I pick it up.
“Hello?”
“You were great tonight.”
I pause. Wait a few beats. “Do I know you?”
“You could say that. Yeah, you definitely could.”
Great, not another stalker. “Thanks for the call—”
“Whoa, whoa. Lishelle.”
Something hits me in the gut like a fastball, winding me. Excitement? No, not excitement. Well, maybe a little. But it’s mixed with caution.
“Glenn?” I ask.
“Who else, baby?”
Oh, Lord help me, not Glenn. Glenn who used to make me orgasm for days when we dated ten years ago. Glenn, who brought out the best in me—and the worst. Glenn, who broke my heart when I found out he was screwing one of his teaching assistants at the University of Atlanta.
I should have hated him and pushed him completely out of my mind and my life. But how can you forget a guy you connected with so completely? No matter how badly he hurt you?
That’s why, even though we’d broken up, we got together for a booty call a few times in the summer after I graduated from Spelman. Then, six years ago just before I met David, Glenn called me out of the blue because he was in town visiting a friend, and again we ended up in bed. He disappeared from my life the next day, I met David and moved on. But I never forgot Glenn.
“How are you?” I ask. I know, that’s incredibly lame, but I can’t think of anything better to say, considering I’m so stunned to be hearing his voice.
“I’m good. Better now that I’m talking to you.”
“Why are you calling me? After what—six years?”
“Six years. Has it really been that long?”
“And counting.”
“My bad. But hey, I’m glad to see how well you’re doing. A big-shot news anchor. You always said you’d be some big shot. I see you on billboards all over town. Congratulations.”
“Wait, wait, wait. Are you living here again? The last time I saw you, you were off in Los Angeles, trying to be the next Denzel Washington.”
“And you know how that turned out.”
“I do?”
“You haven’t seen me at the box office, have you?”
“I haven’t seen anyone at the box office. I’ve been way too busy.”
“You must have at least one man taking you out and treating you right.”
“Not that that’s any of your business, but no.”
“No, man. That ain’t right. We have to fix that.”
I inhale a deep breath. “Glenn, what is this—what’s going on?” Not that I don’t have a pretty good idea….
“I’ve missed you.”
With those three simple words, heat spreads through my body. But I don’t say anything. I don’t dare.
“Did you hear me?” he asks.
“Um, yes.”
“So when can we get together?” Glenn asks, using that soft and seductive voice he always used to turn me on back when we were an item. Damn him.
“Who says I want to get together?” There is undoubtedly a coy quality to my voice though, and the thought of seeing Glenn is already turning me on. When we were together sexually, it was always explosive. That’s the kind of thing a woman doesn’t forget.
And considering I haven’t been laid in so long…
How inappropriate is
that
thought?
“You don’t want to see me?”
“Why would you want to see me?”
So we can have a one-night fling like we did six years ago?
“I just do. You know.”
“No, I don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from you in so long.”
“That’s exactly why I’m calling. To rectify that. Because it
has
been too long.”
“How long are you here for?”
“Till tomorrow afternoon.”
Yeah, another one-night fling. “I can always call you in the morning. We can get together for coffee. What’s a number I can reach you at?”
“Tomorrow?” he asks in that husky sexy voice again. “Why tomorrow? What are you doing now?”
“I’m going home and going to bed.”
“Alone?”
My breath catches. I can’t help thinking of my chat with Rhonda earlier, how I told her I wasn’t desperate. Right now, the fact that Glenn’s voice alone is turning me on, makes me think I’m a big fat liar.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Come see me. I’ve missed you,” he says, his voice an octave lower. “I really have.”
I don’t say anything. I don’t trust what might come out of my mouth. There’s a huge part of me that’s tempted to say yes—the part that wants to have sex with a man after such a long drought. But then there’s the other part—the part that knows having sex with an ex is always a dangerous thing.
“I need to see you tonight.”
My heart rate picks up speed. My body starts to tingle. Should I do this?
“Just come over. We’ll…talk.”
“Where exactly are you?” I ask.
“At the airport Marriott.” He pauses. “How fast can you get here?”
“Thirty minutes.”
“I’m in room 623.”
“All right, I’ll see you soon.”
I hang up the phone and take a deep breath. Then I gather my things and head out of the room.
Thirty-five minutes later, my stomach flutters as I knock on the door to Glenn’s hotel room. The entire drive here, I’ve debated what I’m doing. Because I know that walking into his hotel room at close to one in the morning means only one thing.
Sex.
And when it comes to Glenn—amazing sex. That’s pretty damn hard to resist.
What does he look like?
I wonder. The same, different? The same, I’m sure. He probably hasn’t aged at—
The door swings open, and I reel backward in surprise. One look at Glenn and my heart stops. There he stands, six foot three inches of sinfully gorgeous man. Lean and muscular. He’s dressed in a ribbed undershirt and black jeans.
Shit, I was right. He looks exactly the same. Which is to say he’s still as scrumptious as he always was.
His eyes move over me as his lips pull in a grin. Those eyes. Those intense hazel eyes of his. The kind that with one sweeping look seem to undress you. They’ve always been my undoing.
And he smells so good. The light scent of his cologne drifts into my nose, and my body temperature starts to rise. Every amazing memory of Glenn floods my mind. He’s the one man who knew how to totally satisfy me in the bedroom.
Yeah, I’m desperate for a man.
Fuck, I’m in trouble.
I clear my throat. “Glenn.”
“Mmm mmm mmm, Lishelle.”
I’m wearing an above-the-knee V-neck black dress—minus the tan jacket I wore on top of it when I was on camera. I know it’s hot. Glenn knows it, too.
“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask in a very straitlaced tone.
He holds the door open wide. “Come on in. Make yourself comfortable.”
I slowly walk into the room. Behind me, I hear the door close, and the bolt click. I close my eyes, count to three, then turn to face Glenn.
He’s walking toward me, and I can’t help but take in his incredibly sexy form. He heads straight toward me, and I tense, anticipating an embrace. But he stops before he reaches me and lifts two glasses of wine that have already been poured off the dresser.
He offers me a glass. I don’t take it right away.
“Take it,” he insists.
“Glenn, I came here to talk.”
His lips form a lopsided grin. “Do you really want me to believe that you don’t want to fuck me as badly as I want to fuck you?”
My pussy explodes with heat. Damn him. How dare he know me so well?
I finally take the glass from him and down a liberal gulp. The crisp Chardonnay hits the spot.
But not the spot I know Glenn can hit so well….
Given the satisfied smirk on Glenn’s face, it’s obvious he can see in my eyes what I’m thinking. “I remember what you liked,” he tells me. “I remember
everything.
”
“Do you?” My voice is husky, seductive.
“Oh, yeah.”
He takes the wineglass from me and puts both down on the nearby dresser. He takes my hands and just holds them. Holds them and stares into my eyes.
“You look amazing,” he tells me.
“You look the same.”
“That good or bad?”
“You know it’s good.”
“Lishelle. Here we are, in the same room after all this time. It’s hard to believe.”
My nervous energy is killing me. I’d almost prefer that he rip my clothes off and screw me than make any kind of small talk.
He presses his mouth to my forehead, and it’s like I’ve been hit with an electrical charge. “I meant it when I said I’ve missed you,” he whispers.
“Glenn…” My voice is shaky.
“I want to touch you so badly.” His lips graze my cheeks.
“I don’t know where you’ve been,” I say. “It’s been almost six years.”
“I know, I know. You have nothing to worry about, but I’ve got condoms in any case.”
Still holding my hands, he urges my body closer to his as his lips move to the side of my neck. “Ooh, Lishelle.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And then he’s pulling me into an embrace. I don’t resist, not one bit. I know why I came here, what he wants. What I want.
His lips come down on mine. I open my mouth to him for a deep and passionate kiss. Our tongues tangle while our hands desperately touch each other, like we’ve both been waiting for this moment for the past six years.
Maybe I have. Because Lord knows I haven’t been able to forget the connection Glenn and I shared in the bedroom.
“Oh, baby.” His hands cover my ass and squeeze. “Damn, you still feel so good.”
I pull his vest out of his jeans. Slipping my hands beneath it, I sigh as I feel his warm skin.
“Feel me,” Glenn says in a raspy voice. “Feel how much I want you.”
I lower my hand to his crotch and stroke his erection through his jeans. It’s as hard as a slab of granite, and thick and long like I remember it.
“Damn you, Glenn. You know I can’t resist
this.
”
“I know something else you can’t resist.” He places a finger between my breasts and slowly trails it down my body. He keeps going, until he skims my vagina through my dress. His eyes are on me the entire time, even as he lowers himself onto his knees and pushes the dress up.
“Oh, yeah,” he moans, fingering the edge of my thigh-high stockings. “This look is so hot.”
He presses a kiss to my inner thigh, and I quiver. I grab his shoulders for balance as he kisses my other thigh, this time adding a flick of his tongue.
“Oh, shit,” I mumble, closing my eyes.
His lips move higher, as do his fingers. My legs damn near collapse when he kisses me through my panties.
I’ve wanted this for so long. A man’s hands on me. His fingers. His tongue. I want to stand here and spread my legs and be greedy. Let him feast on my nectar until I’ve come two or three times.