Just Can't Let Go Page 8

  He sat there speechless. Stared at me. Picked up the remote. Turned on the television. I snatched the controller, pointed it at his face, then powered off my seventy-inch flat screen.

  “That’s cool, Blake.”

  The scream I suppressed was not to scare my puppy. My lids did not blink when I told Spencer, “I hate you. I wish I’d never met you. My life wasn’t the best on my fiftieth birthday, but—”

  “Or the day after when Fortune gave you two black eyes. He’s probably the one better off being dead. Don’t forget who was there for you, Blake. Who never left your side for two solid weeks?”

  “I don’t owe you a damn thing.” I wasn’t indebted to Spencer. Wasn’t about to play this immature mind game with his attempt to make me feel guilty.

  My lips tightened, then quivered. I fought to hold back tears. No bow or standing ovation from me was in order for his slinging mud in my face. I could strike back. Ask if Alexis strapped on and fucked him in the ass like his uncle.

  Men started shit, overlooking that women harbored enough ammunition to ambush them. Softly, to throw him off, I agreed, “You’re right. Thanks.”

  He frowned. “I doubt that Billy fucks you the way I do.” He stood, grabbed his dick. “He can have you.”

  I saw the impression and the left hook of his shaft. Not raising my voice, I told him, “Fucked. Past tense.”

  Billy Blackstone was my first love. First lover. But he wasn’t the man for me. What I hadn’t known when I had sex with Billy that night (and the following morning) was he already had a wife. Was there one man in Atlanta not out to fuck and then fuck over a woman?

  Fortune was an inconsiderate asshole who made me feel like a meal ticket, not a sexy, hot woman to feast on the way I admit Spencer had done! Fortune’s heart attack was the best gift he’d given me.

  “I’m glad Fortune is dead. And—” I stopped. Wanted to add, I wish you were dead, too, but that wouldn’t have been true.

  Spencer relocated to my chaise, reclined, placed his hands behind his head, then stared at me. “Is that your idea of a comp, Fab?”

  Comprise? Not hardly. Seriously. After all I’d said. That was his comeback? I was not trying to flatter this man young enough to be my son. I sat diagonally across the room from him in an oversized chair with my legs folded like a chicken wing so he could see underneath my nightgown that I wasn’t wearing panties.

  “Don’t refer to me as Fab, or Fabulous!” I lowered my voice. “My eggs have never been scrambled or fried as my disrespectful daughter, who uses her vagina as a credit card swiping device, claimed in front of my entire family.” Then I shouted, “I’m nobody’s whore!”

  Shit. My Yorkie started barking and clawing at the side of his pen. I rushed and picked him up. Instantly, he calmed me.

  Spencer replied, “That’s debatable. Listen, Blake. This isn’t a pissing match and it’s not about my sister, Alexis. You lied to me. Before I gave you the relationship ring that you’ve stopped wearing, I asked you if any other dick had been inside of your pussy since we met. You looked into these eyes,” he said, pointing two fingers at his face. “You and women like you are the reason why I don’t trust bitches, especially the old ass ones like you!”

  Hairs sprouted on the nape of my neck. I put Max in his pen, sat back in my chair. Rubbing my hands, I blew so hard my jaws puffed. I squeezed the toes on my right foot, exhaled hard. I got up, walked toward Spencer. Stood over him. Looked down at him.

  “Call me a bitch again and I’ll give you a reason. You. You were the one who lied first. You. Slept with my daughter and she might be pregnant with your child. You. Stayed at her house with Chanel and God only knows what happened last night. And this morning.”

  “Precisely.” He placed his feet on the floor, put his hands on my hips, gently pushed me back. His touch felt good.

  “You need to get that out of my face,” he said to my pussy. “If you were fertile you might be carrying Billy’s, Blackstone is it, baby. You fucked him before I had sex with Alexis.”

  “That’s debatable.”

  “Cute. Lead. You’re too old to follow. I hadn’t planned on doing your daughter. It just happened because you betrayed me first.”

  I stepped back. “Regardless to whether I’m leading or following, I’m not slow. Okay. I’m supposed to understand because you’re a man? Oh, I see. I provoked you. Is that it?”

  He nodded. “Yup.”

  Moving away, I gave him a good six feet to keep from slapping his face. “Get your shit and get out of my house.”

  Spencer stood. “Fuck you and all this shit. Keep it. Burn it Angela Bassett–style and hold your breath for the next twenty-seven, thirty-seven, forty-seven, fifty plus nigga that’ll make you squirt the first time he taps your ass. I’m done with you for good.”

  Decent point. Took me five decades to experience ejaculation. Damn, why’d he have to go there? I tried to conceal my flashback to the first time we made love. The mind-blowing sex didn’t make me feel he was the one. It was how he cared for me after Fortune had beaten me. It was the way Spencer dabbed witch hazel on my bruised eyes, cheeks, and lips several times a day for two weeks. I missed our chilling in my Jacuzzi sharing intimate details about our past.

  Spencer Domino could still be my man if my daughter wasn’t pregnant. Secretly, I sided with Mercedes. I prayed Alexis got an abortion. The fact that they slept together, I could deal with his unfaithfulness if he could forgive mine.

  He’d said he was done with me before and here he was. Here we were.

  “You don’t mean that,” I said. “If you were serious, you would’ve been gone by now instead of standing here arguing with me.”

  “Cuddle up with your dog. You two deserve one another.”

  No he didn’t go there. “Good-bye, Spencer. Let yourself out. Go fuck your sister and her girlfriend. Go take care of your unborn daughter, son, niece, nephew. One better. Go get fucked.”

  On that statement, he headed downstairs to my front door. I hadn’t intended on stooping to his level, but I refused to allow him to trash me without scratching his eyes out.

  I refused to chase Spencer. Thank God for Max. I put a cute orange Ralph Lauren polo shirt on him; then I changed into a sexy fitted orange crop-sleeved dress with a pair of three-inch heels. I smeared on pussy pink lipstick, released my ponytail. Wasn’t trying to look half my age. Opening my jewelry box, I put Spencer’s ring in my purse to give myself a reason to show up at his place. I eased into a red thong, oiled my legs, put Max in his RL tote bag, picked up the keys to my red Ferrari, and trotted downstairs.

  “I apologize, Fabulous. Forgive me,” Spencer said.

  He was seated on my leather sofa . . . naked, stroking his big, long, black dick.

  I gasped. My breathing became shallow. Max barked at Spencer. I had to laugh.

  Opening my purse, I removed my relationship ring, flipped it to Spencer as though he could choose heads or tails. He released his dick, caught it midair.

  My last words to this young, disrespectful asshole were, “Let yourself out.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Devereaux

  By the time I got home at midnight, Phoenix was snoring as though he hauled bricks for a living.

  Alexis wasn’t the only one dealing with problems. Our mother, Mercedes. Seems like my baby sister Sandara was the only one without all the extra. But her situations with any one of her baby daddies could pop off in a split second.

  I’d dozed off around two in the morning once the snorting subsided. Woke up at five forty-five, fifteen minutes before my alarm was schedule to sound. Almost four hours of rest was great for me. Phoenix was still asleep. He remained that way when he didn’t have a reason to get up, which was most days when he didn’t have to care for Nya, meet a client, or have breakfast with the boyz.

  My biggest relief was Phoenix’s mom, Mrs. Etta, had volunteered to keep Nya the first half of this week, allowing me to focus on overseeing marketing and promotions. Midweek
my baby was going to Sandara’s. Dropoffs, pickups, Phoenix was not getting out of doing that regardless of his managing schedule for Ebony.

  Careful not to disturb my fiancé, I went into my bathroom, closed the door, washed my face, and brushed my teeth. Removing my bonnet, I combed my hair, snapshot a photo, texted it to Marcus Darlin, with a message: I need an appointment.

  When would I find time to let him care for the natural mane on my head?

  Marcus Darlin replied, Dang! Dev I almost dropped my flatiron. Let me know when. I’ll come to you.

  Staring in the mirror, I texted back, Will do.

  The wide and pointed nose, not full yet not thin lips made me wonder if my father was white. The thickness of my hair suggested he could be Jewish, African. My face was flat. I smiled. There was no real definition in my cheeks. Glossy brown eyes surrounded by long, dark lashes people paid upward of two hundred dollars for. I fingered my brows.

  “You need to eat more,” I told myself. Stepping on the scale, 160. “I’m good.” Easy to put on. Hard to take off.

  I adjusted the water to warm. The pounding soothed my body as I scrubbed head to toe. Straight strands curled more as I applied shampoo, then thoroughly rinsed what was all mine before turning the faucet to off. Massaging in a leave-in conditioner, I checked the time. My hair would have to air-dry.

  This time next Monday I’d be practically residing at the studio and filming at different locations for eight consecutive weeks. Promotional photo shoot starts today with my leading ladies Ebony, Brea, Misty, and Emerald. Their respective men were joining in tomorrow for their pictures. Yesterday at Alexis’s was complete mayhem. I had enough jaw-dropping cliffhangers in my head to spin the first episodes of Sophisticated Side Chicks New York and LA.

  What was up with Alexis questioning James about LA? I wasn’t going to say Alexis should have an abortion, leave Chanel alone, and marry James. At least he was still ready to commit. Obviously, my sister wasn’t. I doubted James would call off their engagement if the kid weren’t his. Whatever “it” was that drove men insane, Alexis should share with me.

  I selected a comfortable pair of yellow cotton pants, a shirt, and a pair of tan split-toe sandals with jewels on top. Entering my office, the scripts for each episode were printed and laid out on my working table. I returned to my bedroom.

  Watching Phoenix breathe heavily, I couldn’t help but wonder where my man was last night? I didn’t want him to open his eyes to drama, but I was disturbed. Misery was not going to become my bed companion. Chaos outside of our relationship was trying to creep into my psyche.

  Yellow represented the sunshine of my profession. Blue, the way his balls must’ve felt each time I’d said, not tonight. Blend the two colors . . . the episodes in my mind were not going to be my reality.

  What were my mother and my sister thinking screwing the same man? One of them could’ve said no to Spencer’s dick. Should’ve been Alexis. More material for me.

  Phoenix fluttered his lids. His dick didn’t pitch the usual morning tent under the sheet.

  I sat beside him. “Babe, I was having a family crisis. You were supposed to have Nya at home when I got back. I left shortly after noon. You dropped her off at your mom’s at three o’clock. How long did you stay at the aquarium with her? And you didn’t respond until my seventh text message asking you to call me. That’s not like you. What were you doing?”

  His brows damn near touched. He rubbed his eye. Slowly he propped his pillow against the headboard, sat up, leaned back. He didn’t look at me when he said, “What difference does it make?”

  Reaching for his cell, he asked, “What time is it?”

  I grabbed his phone. He took it back.

  “Where were you?”

  “Man, I was with the fellas.”

  Politely, I asked him, “Where? The room tone was above your ringtone? Was the strip club jumping at three, four, and five o’clock in the afternoon?”

  Gesturing with his hands, he said, “It’s not my fault you couldn’t go with us. I took Nya to the aquarium by myself.”

  Seemed more like a drive-through shark tank for my baby. While we were waiting for Alexis to come downstairs, I’d spoken with Nya. She said she saw a shark. A shark. No star or jellyfish. No turtles or penguins. What the hell! I wasn’t going to tell him I’d had a conversation with our daughter.

  His eyes shifted side to side. “Then I met up with my boyz at the Rose Bar.”

  Maintaining my composure, I repeated, “The Rose Bar?”

  The tension in his voice increased as he said, “Yeah.”

  “I was at the Rose Bar last night,” I lied.

  This time he stared at me. He was quiet. Hunched his left shoulder.

  “Was the music thumping so loud at six, seven, and eight that you couldn’t hear your cell? Where were you, Phoenix? What time did you get home?”

  “I left the bar early. What’s up with the cross-examination? You getting brand new.” He became defensive. “I’m not doing this.” His voice started cracking. “You’ve always been cool with my hanging out. Your family had a crisis when your mom’s ex-married man slash boyfriend or whatever you want to call him assaulted her. When I did call you, this time Alexis is possibly pregnant by her brother who is also your mother’s boyfriend. Even if I knew you were dealing with all of that, Dev, what could I do to change the situation? Babe, you worry too much. I love you. Don’t let your family’s drama ruin our good thing.” He pressed his lips to mine; then he leaned back onto the pillow.

  Typically, I wouldn’t drill Phoenix, but I’d had a brief conversation with my sister Mercedes at Alexis’s apartment. Mercedes confided that she’d hired a private detective to follow her husband, Benjamin. I knew spying on my fiancé would push him away.

  That Alexis, I knew her well, her sending me that photo of Benjamin with another woman. Alexis had an ulterior motive, more than likely to take the focus off of her. The way Conner offered to help Alexis, I was beginning to believe that I should try to find my father.

  What if my dad felt like Etta and wanted to be in his granddaughter’s life? What if Phoenix and I were related? We didn’t remotely resemble each other, but we could be second or third cousins. God, why did my mother have to do this to all of us? What was she thinking?

  “What if we’re siblings?” I said to switch the subject.

  Laughter filled the bedroom. “We’re not kin. Trust me. Where are you going with this? Do you want to find your father?”

  I wasn’t taking our communication where I wanted. Wasn’t leading my relationship in the direction my sister wanted either. The fact that Mercedes mentioned last night she had something important to discuss with me tonight, then showed me a picture of Phoenix and Ebony at T.I.’s Scales 925 on Friday night. That was when my trust wavered. If he had nothing to hide, why hadn’t he told me they’d met up?

  “Sometimes, I want to find him. My mom is right. I’ve done well, the rest of us had done good despite not knowing and I . . . I don’t know, babe.”

  “You see what happened with Alexis. If this is what you really want, I’ll support you. Do it in two months after the wrap-up on taping our series. I gotta concentrate on building Ebony’s brand.”

  Real seductive, I said, “You know what I want you to focus on, babe?”

  Phoenix smiled. “Yeah, I know.” He tossed the cover to the floor, lay flat, spread his thighs.

  His dick plumped. With each rise, I touched the tip.

  Sex wasn’t on my mind. I cupped his face. “Let’s set a wedding date.”

  His shaft quickly deflated. The head rested on his balls. Resuming his position against the headboard, he said, “A piece of paper isn’t going to change how I feel about you. We’ve got each other. Getting married can wait.”

  I was tired of our living arrangement but clearly understood why he wasn’t. I wanted my status to become legal. Change Nya’s and my last names from Crystal to Watson. Introducing Phoenix as my fiancé at all the pres
creening events, I didn’t want that. I had the ring on my finger. I deserved the next level of his commitment.

  Phoenix lived under my roof because I was determined to make sure my, make that our, little girl never had to wonder what a hug and a kiss from her dad felt like. My, not his, big day was tomorrow.

  The odds of meeting a man in Atlanta who wasn’t gay, bisexual, or pussy hopping was challenging. My mom never married. I didn’t want to be her shadow. The one man who put a relationship ring on her finger was younger than me. Mercedes had a husband. Benjamin was a great guy. Wild as Alexis was, she had a ring from James. James wasn’t leaving Alexis even if that baby inside of her wasn’t his. Sandara had three kids. No ring.

  I’d never have another baby out of wedlock.

  A part of me was envious of my sister Alexis. She knew her father. I texted my mom, I want to meet my father.

  On my own, I’d found my way to a place where love and trust were sacred. Phoenix made me feel safe. I wasn’t going to ruin my engagement. We’d be okay.

  My mom texted back, I told Kendall not to do it. If you want to find him, do it without me.

  I replied, Since you’re pissed with Alexis this is how you treat me. Fine. I’ll do it on my own.

  I knew my man was right about our feelings for each other, but after four years of wearing this heart-shaped diamond engagement ring, I was ready to put on a beautiful designer gown, ease my way down the aisle one small step at a time, and stand beside the man I wanted to share the rest of my life with. Who would give me away?

  “Babe, we really need to calendar a date for the wedding,” I said.

  “Do I love you?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you love me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do I treat you like a queen?”

  Frustrated, this time I hissed, “Yes,” wondering what his definition of queen was.

  “Do I lick your asshole during sex?”

  That made me cringe each time he’d done it. Hearing him say that made me uncomfortable. Assholes weren’t sanitary.