Intercourse

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2010 by TRIFECTA Publishing All rights reserved, including the right to Reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address TRIFECTA Publishing, 10945 State Bridge Road, Suite 401-250 Alpharetta, GA 30022 Library of Congress Control Number: 2010928602 ISBN: 978-0-9715158-2-6 First TRIFECTA Publishing Co. electronic edition July 2010 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Manufactured in the United States of America For information regarding discounts for bulk purchases, please contact: TRIFECTA Publishing Attn: Bulk purchases 10945 State Bridge Road, Suite 401-250 Alpharetta, GA 30022 or email [email protected] Cover model: Jessie Jamez Author photograph: Alex Kaplan

Intercourse: n. 1 communication or dealings between people. 2 the act of having sex. –origin Latin intercursus. –Oxford English Dictionary, tenth edition.

PRELUDE TO THE DRAMA Bad Girls Aren’t Born, They’re Created.

Kennedy Jacobs Graduation Day Intercourse, Pennsylvania Sunday, June 21st, 1998

Satiny red sheets slithered off the bed. Dainty, pedicured feet thumped on the chilly floor, catapulting her nakedness from the mattress. The frigid air almost felt good to Kennedy’s nude body. Nearly cooled the hot flash of panic that rushed her. But she didn’t have time to enjoy the manufactured breeze. Couldn’t spare a second to think. She had only thirty minutes to get ready and she couldn’t find her panties. And she had to get the next man out of her bed before her fiancé, Jared arrived to pick her up. Desperately, she skirted the queen-sized in search of the flimsy, lilaclace that’d barely covered her kitten hours before. Not finding her thong wasn’t an option. Friday, before he’d left for a medical conference in New York, Jared had gifted her with the panties and matching bra. He’d urged her try them on, then complimented the sexy lingerie. He promised to strip them off with his teeth after Sunday evening’s graduation. Kennedy knew if he found her void of another pair of crotch covers, Jared’s hell would rise and burn her ass. She’d come home missing her unmentionables too many times to mention. Had lied, spun, fluffed and folded the truth into many excuses on too many occasions about why she’d been constantly missing the barely-there underwear.

“I want to see you in these when we get back,” he’d demanded in their Los Angeles condo, dangling the panties in her face and playfully popping the elastic against her caramel-smooth hip. “No excuses, Kennedy.” Jared’s voice had changed, held a trace of a threat. “If you’re not in ‘em,” he shrugged, “I’m going to believe some other man has been. And then…” He’d left the rest to her vivid imagination. She’d pieced it together. He’d leave her. Snatch the perfect life out of her hands before she could own it. Kennedy raked her hand through her unmanageable curls. Stomped her foot. Yelled, “Fuck!” Why she’d put on the lacy thong for the next man, she couldn’t remember. Until her eyes zeroed in on the elegant black-silk bunched in a heap in the corner of the room. Her beautiful dress. The night before hit her then. Rushed her back to a reality she hadn’t planned. Topshelf Vodka. Two borrowed high-dose Klonopins. Entertaining the thought of jumping the broom with someone other than her fiancé. The lake lined with candles in the backyard. The fine brother lying in her bed she’d been with for two days. The wedding. She’d been the Maid of Honor who’d brought the Best Man home. Climbed him like a tree. Wrapped her legs around him and slid down his pole. “Looking for these, Love?” Best-Man asked from the bed. The lilac twirled in the air as he spun them. Then, crushing the fabric against his mouth, he licked the crotch. Kennedy smiled wantonly. She could still feel his tongue where the thong had been. He was freaky with a capital F. Exactly what she’d needed. Love, she could get at home. Sex—the kind Jared didn’t, or possibly, couldn’t give—is what Best-Man had provided. And not just during the last forty-eight hours they’d shared in Intercourse trying to focus on his sister’s wedding. Kennedy summed up him. Thick. Dark chocolate. Long. The sweetest licorice she had ever tasted. He was beautiful. So, so beautiful and manly sweet. The kind of candy every woman longed to roll her tongue around at least once in life. It was his body that had first captured Kennedy’s attention when they were barely teenagers. Now his rich bronze hue glistened under the lemony ray of sun that filtered through the sheers. His presence melted into her. She wanted him. Now. And again. “You gonna give them to me? Or do I have to come take ‘em?” she asked, her palm riding up and down her hip. Her eyes climbed his athletic legs, stopping on his full package that she couldn’t help unwrapping at least

once a week. Twice, if she was lucky. He had something she wanted and he knew it. “Come or cum?” His play on words made her kitten purr. “If only I had time,” she said, snatching the panties from his thick fingers, then rushed to the bathroom. Before the shower’s warm spray hit the tile, Kennedy’s back kissed the wall and her legs spread. Best-Man’s fingers walked up her thighs and entered her sweetness. Made her overlook the clock. Forget Jared’s impending arrival. She didn’t think about a thing except the expert tongue dancing in her mouth and the large hands roaming her nakedness. Easily, she succumbed. Submitted. A mellow moan followed by “right there” gave him permission to slide her down the steamy wall. She quivered when he cupped her full breasts. Easily flip-flopped onto her stomach and assumed the position. She lost her mind and shook uncontrollably as his upper lips kissed her lower ones. Shuddering, she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t her fault. His manly hands had directed her hips. A long, sweet and delicious tongue had made her pretzel into positions she’d never dreamed her limbs capable. It wasn’t love, she lied to herself. Wasn’t lust. It was sex. Just sex. Raw. Intense. And incredible. “In-fuckin-credible! Ooh,” she moaned, biting her lip to avoid calling out the wrong handle. Her pet name for him had slipped her mind seconds after he’d eased inside her. And she didn’t care what his momma had put on his birth certificate. That wasn’t important to her. The long thickness he’d inherited from his daddy was what mattered at the moment. But she knew who he was. The man who’d rocked her until she lost her short-term memory. Too much heat blazing between a woman’s thighs could do that. Cause her to be stuck on stupid if the sex was right. Like a slave, she submitted while he worked her body. After last night’s wedding, from sun down to sun up, he’d rode her until sweat dripped from her brow, ran down her back. Mixed with her cream. Made her forget her own name. Now he was doing it again, this time from behind. She loved it just as much as she had earlier. Tirelessly, she kept up for fear that the lovemaking would end. She needed him. Desperately. Like air, she inhaled what he expertly gave. Had to have him to exist. He’d become her breath. And breathing was very important. And very important for freakin’, she thought, inhaling to balance herself and to stop the bathroom from spinning when he turned her over onto her

back. Parted her lower lips with one hand, reinserted himself with the other. At the top of her lungs, she blasphemed. Begged “Oh, God, please!” when a climax quaked through her. Trembling, she dug half-moons into his thick biceps. Pulled him closer as another eruption threatened to explode. “I love you,” he whispered, stroking deeper. “Don’t…” Kennedy began but couldn’t finish. Another deep stroke interrupted her from telling him not to mess up the mood when things were ending well. For her, love was a small word that carried big problems. And he was one of them. She loved him too. Loved and wanted and couldn’t have him because she’d chiseled out the perfect life for herself as a future doctor’s wife. And Best-Man didn’t have MD anywhere in his name. “Don’t what, Love?” he asked, pausing mid-stroke as her muscles contracted and announced she was getting ready to overflow again. Thrusting her hips, Kennedy tried to work all of him inside her. “Say it, Love. Tell me what you told me last night when you committed to me after my sister’s wedding,” he demanded, swirling the tip of his shaft inside her. Stirred her pudding until it started to melt. “Please,” Kennedy begged, stuffing her panties into his mouth to silence him. He gave her an inch. Just enough to make her cry out in anticipation of the rest. An inch more and she lost it. “I love you, too!” she admitted, her voice rising as he blessed her with the rest of him. Tears tracked down her face. He was the only one who served her body right. Sexed her until she cried. He was the one who knew she sometimes liked it rough and craved for her hair to be pulled. He knew because he’d been the one who’d turned her out and claimed her virginity years before. “Now!” Kennedy warned and urged as he pushed back her knees until they met her shoulders. She moaned, releasing her sweetness in a throbbing flow, and accepted his as it pulsed inside her. For a second, she closed her eyes and welcomed the high, then she switched up. Pushed him off her. Snatched her panties out of his mouth and stood. “Hand wash these while I take a quick one,” she said, handing him the thong, then stepped under the shower’s warm spray. Lathering her body, she chastised herself. She hadn’t meant to sleep with him. Again. Didn’t intend to wrap her legs around him. Again. Hadn’t planned to let him slide his tongue between her lower lips. Again. No, she

hadn’t anticipated anything she’d done. Planning would’ve meant her mind controlled her body, but the night before and this morning, her body had dictated everything. Again. And it’d been hungry, and Best-Man was the only one who could properly feed her. Kennedy got out of the shower, lather still foaming on her body. Quickly, she half-dried herself, then snatched the wet panties out of his hands and worked herself into them. “You’re going to the airport in wet panties?” Best-Man asked, folding his arms and smiling. “You wouldn’t understand,” Kennedy explained, then slid on and fastened the matching bra. “Look on back of the door and pass me my jeans. Please?” “You’re not wearing a skirt? Wouldn’t your panties dry faster if they were exposed to more air,” he teased, handed her the pants. Kennedy looked at him sideways. She loved him but he could get on her nerves. Not because he asked her the obvious, but because he always made the truth so simple. A tactic she hadn’t yet mastered. “I’ll call you later. Jared’ll be here in a second so we can make our plane. I do have a graduation to attend later today, remember? Good thing Cali is three hours behind. I’m barely gonna make it as it is.” “Jared? But what about us? We made a commitment last night. Don’t you remember, Love?” Kennedy rinsed her mouth, then spat mouthwash in the toilet. “Of course, I remember,” she lied. She could hardly remember anything after last night. “A part of me will always belong to you. You know that. But you know I can’t fully commit to you.” He shook his head and grabbed a bath towel from the silver bar. Covering himself, he said, “No, you don’t. You’ll never belong to anybody but yourself.” He walked out of the bathroom. Kennedy followed, hopping into her shoes. “Don’t do that. You know I love you…” she yelled to his back. And she did. Had for as long as she could remember, just didn’t know when she’d fallen. Had it been when they first met when she was a fourteen-year-old New Yorker and he’d come to summer at his aunt’s? Or was it the time they’d played hide-andgo-get-it when she was fifteen? Maybe it was their first real kiss when she was sixteen? Or was it the night he’d carefully slipped inside her secret? Kennedy watched him dress and knew her love for him didn’t need an

anniversary date. It just was. And it had been the reason she’d followed him from New York. Packed her bags and moved to Los Angeles for college, accepting his mother’s offer of using their address so she wouldn’t have to pay out-of-state tuition. Her feelings for him had driven her to do many things throughout her life except be his girlfriend. She’d never officially been his girl. Her father had been against their being together because of their different backgrounds, but Daddy had longed passed. Kennedy’s love hadn’t. Still, her father’s wishes were ingrained in her. She couldn’t have a serious relationship with a man “below her family’s status”, though she had fun being with him. And when Best-Man’s sister had asked to have her wedding at Kennedy’s grandparents’ estate, that was Kennedy’s first thought. I can have him all to myself in Intercourse and have, what else? Intercourse. But it was so much more than sex, she was reminded when she held him with her eyes. Their physical connection had been trumped by her emotional one. That’s why she took the risk of sleeping with him while Jared was practically next door in New York, only a long stretch of highway away. It was the reason she let Best-Man enter her body, because he’d already moved into her heart. “…don’t you know I love you by now?” “You love Jared’s career more,” he simplified the truth again as he dressed. Kennedy watched him walk out the door and knew she’d never love any man or thing more than she loved him. Not even the one she planned to marry.

Miranda Stokes Rebirth Day Manhattan, New York Friday, June 13th, 2003

Miranda crossed and uncrossed her cold, amber arms for the umpteenth time, taking a mental note of the time. The clock above the doorway said she’d been waiting for over two hours. Much longer than the abortion clinic receptionist said she would. A rush of icy air blew from the vents and a constant tapping banged in her ears. She was freezing and irritated. She looked around the waiting room to find the culprit to ask them to stop, then the pitter-patter carried her glance to the floor in front of her. It was her foot connecting with the scuffed linoleum. Pitter-pattering because she was scared. And unsure. Her live-in boyfriend, Rich Clemens, would kill her if he knew what she was about to do. Literally. That she was sure of. But she was also certain that it was the only option. She couldn’t have his baby. Not now. Or ever. Not after what she’d uncovered. Rich was dirty: An undercover thug who dressed in fine Italian suits and hid his filth behind small businesses. He was everything she’d been taught to avoid: a thief, liar and a cheat. The cheating pissed her off the worst and had pushed her to the baby snatchers. Her man was cheating. But on whom? she still wondered. Her or his estranged wife she’d only learned of minutes after the emergency room confirmed she was pregnant? No matter how many times she tried to push it

out of her mind, the reality wouldn’t go away. The police sirens still bellowed in her ears. Panic, that had made her heart race while snatching the required papers from the glove box when she pulled over, still gushed inside. The wave of relief that swept through her when the cops bypassed her, left her after she’d read the name on the insurance and registration papers. Femi Clemens. Insurance coverage: Richard and Femi Clemens. Robotically, Miranda stood when the nurse called her name. Moving through the door, she heard the white-uniform clad woman say something about a consultation first. Miranda nodded. Physically, she was there, but her mind was on Rich’s betrayal. Almost half a grand was all it took to find out about Femi. Two hundred dollars to a DMV employee for an address. Another couple to a girl at the Social Security Administration for a copy of their records. Ninety-nine bucks and ninety-nine cents to a hustler who worked for the phone company who assured he’d had the lowest price because he was a penny under the competition. The rest Miranda found out for herself. Marriage was public record. “I’m sure,” Miranda lied to the counselor the moment she entered the office. She didn’t want to give up her baby. That was the way she liked to think of it. Giving up the baby. Killing the baby was too painful and real to her. She disrobed, then covered herself with the gown they’d issued her. The white cotton kind that didn’t close in the back. Again, she answered when her name was called. The nurse wanted to be sure she was okay. But Miranda knew the nurse just wanted to hurry her through the baby snatching factory. In. Move it. Out. Next! The stirrups felt like ice to the bottoms of her feet. Did they say she could keep on her socks or not? Who in the hell did they plan on sticking with that long needle? A horse? Oh. It had to be long enough to fit in there, she reasoned as she pulled her mind from the room. From the vacuum that was going to suck out her insides, and thought about the revenge she’d taken. Rich had plenty of green stashed. So much cash that he’d never missed what Miranda had pilfered for months. First she’d hit one of the safes in the house that she’d seen him open enough times to commit the combination to memory. Next, she’d drained one of his Laundromats he’d used to launder other people’s dirty money. Last, she’d hit him where he would never expect a good girl like her to. His mother’s. His almost-blind mother who Miranda ran errands for had more money in her house than she had material comfort.

And Momma’s house was plush. Miranda finally drifted off, feeling too much pressure in her vagina. Then the vacuum whirred, sucking out more than her insides. It took her short-term memory too, she realized. She couldn’t remember if she’d called the cops minutes before she walked into the clinic, turning in Rich’s wife to get her out of the way, or not. Or had Miranda just dreamed it? Silence filled her as she felt her body change. She was three-quarters of whom she’d been two minutes earlier. And the rest of her, she vowed, would birth a new woman when the baby snatchers finished with her. She would become a wise sista who wouldn’t take shit from anyone, especially a man, and become just the opposite of the domestic, meek woman Rich had turned her into. She’d be walking sex. Her name was Miranda, and she had rights she planned to exercise the hell out of.

Christa Reid A New Day New York City Saturday, July 7th, 2001

“You love me?” Anthony asked. Through the phone line the Chicago winds whipped audibly in the background of the hotel suite’s nineteenthfloor balcony. Christa blushed, resting back on her elbows atop the bed, rocking her knees from side to side. “Yeah,” she cooed into the phone. Her singsong pitch revealed the little girl Anthony still brought out in her after ten years. “Yeah, what? If you can’t say it you must not mean it.” His raspy baritone wrapped around her, made the truth vibrate inside. “I love you. More than you know and more than I can explain,” she admitted, closing her eyes. Confessing her love for him had always felt like a prayer. Sacred and heartfelt. Anointing. “Enough to…” She sat upright, scooted to the edge of the bed and gripped the corner of the mattress. Her body stiffened and she tried to quiet her heartbeat. She wanted to hear him ask what she’d been praying for him to, loud and

clear. Of course, she loved him enough to give him forever. Now she could relax on giving him the baby he’d been begging her for. She’d vowed she wouldn’t be a carbon copy of her mother; she needed to be married before pregnant. And she wanted both with him. So of course she would marry him. Would jump the broom with him three times without ever divorcing. “‘Enough to’ what?” Anthony laughed. “Enough to… Can you meet me here tomorrow so we can finish this? Can’t wait until this game’s over. Wish it was tomorrow night. I want to see you now. I want to bend you over on this nineteenth floor balcony,” he sighed and grunted in disappointment. “But waiting one more day won’t kill us, right?” Christa smiled, big and wide. Yes, she could wait. She’d waited a decade, so twenty-four more hours wouldn’t hurt, she reasoned. Then her emotions snatched away her patience. Anthony had had such urgency in his voice when he’d said he wanted to see her now. He was emotionally constipated and had never voiced anything like that, and she hated to make him wait. Across the room, the lingerie store’s pretty bags with ribbon handles summoned other thoughts. She’d picked up a few just-because items yesterday—Black Label intimates—all in Anthony’s favorite colors. Yes, she could hold out until tomorrow, she hadn’t lied about that. Or so she’d thought. A devilish smile swept across her face as she grabbed her laptop and booked a seat on the first thing smoking to Chicago. Today. First class. There were only two things Christa hated about Chicago, she remembered as she excused her way through the throng of travelers at Midway airport. One was the oh-hell-no-I’m-never-going-outside-again freezing winter weather. The other was what she was up against now: the overflowing airport that she always chastened herself for flying into. I should’ve flown into O’Hare, she thought, retrieving her bag from baggage claim. The sweltering July heat attacked her makeup as she exited the electronic doors. A beautiful uniformed man was upon her seconds after her shoes connected with the gum-marked concrete. The men. Now that was one of the things she loved about Chicago. Even the skycaps were a sight, her eyes climbed one as he reached for her bag. Craning her neck, she read his nametag. Sedric. “Where ya off to at eleven at night, pretty lady? If I had a woman like

you, you wouldn’t be traveling by yourself. Too many wolves, know what I mean?” Sedric flashed a smile that Christa was sure made him a lot of money, and though she’d bet cash his greeting wasn’t reserved strictly for her and had been used on many women, he’d made her feel like it was. Fifteen dollars later, both she and Sed were grinning. He’d gotten his gratuity, and Christa was off to get hers from Anthony. The hotel hallway was unusually dim, or so Christa believed. She couldn’t be sure because she hadn’t graced this one before. But with a pro-baseball player for a boyfriend, she’d sunk her heels into her share of elegant corridors. Checking her watch, she timed the team. The game had been over for hours. The game they’d won, Christa mused. Winning meant that no matter how tired Anthony was, he’d give it to her good. Maybe even pop the question. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she practiced in a whisper, “Of course, baby. Nothing would please me more than becoming your wife.” Halting in her tracks, Christa realized she didn’t know in which room Anthony was staying, only that he was on the nineteenth floor. And no way would the front desk give out the information. Her mind clicked and whirred until she came up with a plan. Whipping out her cell, she called Anthony. “Hey, baby,” Anthony answered. “Congratulations. I heard on the radio that you guys won. I didn’t get a chance to watch it. What was the score?” Christa asked, smiling. She knew her man and what it would take to make him rattle without pausing. Anything about baseball would make Anthony flow at the mouth for minutes, sometimes hours, with no pauses for breath. “Um-hmm,” she interjected, here and there, where she thought it was needed, and proceeded down the hall, listening at each door for his voice. “It was a great game, baby. Hate that you missed it,” Anthony said. Christa knocked on the door she was sure he was behind, and was pleased it was only five doors down from the elevator. “Damn. Hold on a sec, Baby. Someone’s at the door. Matter ‘fact, let me call you right back. Cap said he might drop by.” Christa moved to the side of the door, away from the peephole, and held her hand to her mouth to block her giggle. She couldn’t wait to see the look on Anthony’s face. She heard him mumble something unintelligible. The door swung open. “Surprise, baby!” Christa yelled, springing in front of the opened door.

Then her chin hit the floor. She froze. A towel-clad woman stood on the other side, her eyes two Frisbees. Her hair everywhere. Sex was written all over her face in sweaty streaks of makeup. “Who is…” Anthony appeared behind the just-one-item-away-frombeing-naked woman and his voice halted. “…Oh, shit!” Christa saw that he wore the same get-up as the woman, then snapped out of her daze. She pushed her way inside the room. Kicked the door closed behind her. Shoved what’s-her-name out of her way. And slapped Anthony so hard her bicep vibrated. “Oh, shit is right. Nasty bastard.” Anthony grabbed the side of his face, and his towel fell to the floor. “I didn’t know…” Christa’s hand connected with his cheek again. “Ask me now,” she hissed, pushing him. “Ask me what you were gonna ask me tomorrow!” she seethed. The woman started picking up her clothes. “Don’t move, bitch!” Christa said icily, turning a deadly glare on the woman, then turned back to Anthony. “Don’t talk to her like that, Christa,” he stammered, then caught himself. “How did you get here?” “Wrong question! And what the hell do you mean by telling me how to talk to her. You’re taking up for your whore?” Christa socked him, tried to blacken his eye but had trouble reaching it, and accidentally busted his lip. Anthony reached for her shoulders, and Christa looked down at his naked body. His penis looked as if it’d been dipped in flour. Dry cum. “You just finished fucking her,” Christa stated coolly, her tone conflicting with the fire in her eyes. “Can you just listen, please? She’s—” “She’s what? I don’t give a damn about her. Let’s talk about earlier when you wanted to know how much I love you. Well, I loved you enough to stay with you ten years. Enough to stand by your side and cheer you on before you made the majors. Before anyone knew your name. And now everyone knows who you are. Everyone except me.” Anthony opened his mouth to speak. Christa held up her hand. “Shut the hell up, Anthony! You had ten years to say what you had to say. Now I’m talking.” She raked her eyes up and down him. “You were gonna ask me to marry you. Well, here is

my answer,” she turned her back to him and patted her behind. “Marry this thought. You could kiss my ass for the rest of your life and I still wouldn’t become your wife.” “I know…” Walking toward the door, Christa spotted a robin’s-egg-blue bag sitting atop the nightstand and an opened, rectangular velvet box lying next to it. Tiffany. A gift for his whore. Christa’s glare went to the naked woman. A diamond bracelet bejeweled her wrist. Ten carats at least. A trinket Anthony hadn’t even gifted her with. The girl’s eyes bulged as Christa stomped her way over to her, snatching her by the arm. “Him,” she nodded toward a gaping Anthony, “you can have. But this…” she unclamped, slid off and held up the bracelet, wiggling it in the woman’s face. “…I earned. I didn’t fuck and suck him for ten years for nothing.” She pocketed it. Anthony moved toward them, snatching Christa’s hand off the woman. “Don’t touch her, Christa!” Rearing back her head and fist, Christa glared at him. “And what are you gonna do if I do put my hands on her? Who is she to you that you’re protecting her from me? We’ve been together for ten years and you’re gonna stand tall to protect a groupie?” His grimace caved, and his tone cracked. “I was trying to ask you to please listen to me a second ago. She’s not a groupie, she getting ready to be the mother of my child…and I’m going to marry her.” Christa’s head wobbled. I couldn’t have heard right. “What? Did you just say—” “I said I’m going to marry her. She gave me something you wouldn’t so she’s getting something you wanted.” She didn’t know how her foot connected with his genitals or her nails raked across his face or her fist punched him in the throat, but she saw it all play out as if she were watching a movie. The groupie screamed, Anthony doubled over, and Christa walked out leaving her good-girl ways behind. She shook her head as she sped toward the elevator bank. No, she wouldn’t become Anthony’s wife. Or any man’s, for that matter, she promised herself. Wives and significant others get played on. “I’d rather be the one the men play with.”

Chapter One Kennedy Jacobs

Everything was wrong. Kennedy’s lips twisted into a sour pout as she gave herself the once-over. Spinning, she re-examined herself in the floorto-ceiling mirrors as if the look might change. To her, the five-thousand dollar wedding gown looked worth all of five cents. But then, so had every other dress she’d tried. “This isn’t it,” she announced, dismissing the ivory garment. Her sister Simone cringed from her seat. “We’ve tried on at least a hundred dresses in under two months, Ken. You haven’t liked one. Is it the gowns or you?” Simone deadpanned, her question sounding more like an accusation than a query. “It’s her,” Miranda answered, sitting next to Simone. “It’s her and we know it. She just won’t admit it.” “You two realize I can hear you, right? The only thing separating us is air!” Kennedy clenched her teeth. It was her but she couldn’t admit it. “And

we haven’t tried on anything. I’ve been the one shimmying into one awful gown after another,” she hissed, stepping off the platform. “This just isn’t gonna work. I can’t get married if I can’t find a dress.” Simone stood, grabbing Kennedy by the arm before she could pass. “Don’t blame it on the dresses. Admit it, Ken. You just don’t want to get married.” Kennedy sidestepped her older sister and pulled her arm from her grip. “I do and I am. Be patient and stop PMSing.” Simone laughed. “PMSing? Please, you’re the one. You have PreMarital Syndrome.” Miranda laughed, doubling over. Kennedy shot her a look. “No. I have pleasurably single syndrome and don’t know if I want to give up the freedom of it,” she finally admitted. She locked herself in a dressing room and tried to free herself from the layers of silk, lace, and fluff. “Somebody get me out of this damned thing!” she panicked, pulling the gown up further over her head. “Can I help you?” A nice saleslady’s nasal voice offered assistance from the other side of the door. Kennedy was lost in the yards of fabric that had wrapped around her neck and refused to budge. “It’s not me you should be concerned about helping, Miss,” she spat. “It’s this damned dress. In three seconds it’s gonna need a seamstress or a paramedic because I can’t get it off. It’s gonna need stitches,” she answered, then mumbled to herself, “I swear it’s intentionally trying to cut off my oxygen. It’s a sign, dammit! A sign.” “If you open the door, Ms. Jacobs, I can help you with it.” Through the fabric, Kennedy’s voice was muffled. “If I could open the door I would. But since I can’t, you better climb under it, or you’ll be short a dress.” “Oh, my…” Kennedy heard the worry in the saleslady’s voice. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle my sister,” Simone cut in. “Unlock the door and we’ll be right out.” Kennedy rolled her eyes under the ocean of fabric. Just like Simone to be polite and helpful in the midst of her tantrum. “What the hell, Ken,” Simone hissed, shutting the door behind her. “Do you always have to put on shows?” She pulled the dress down over Kennedy’s head. “You’re supposed to step out of the dress, not pull it over your head.”

Miranda knocked, then entered the dressing room. Now all three of them were stuffed inside. Kennedy inhaled the welcome air. For a second she’d thought she’d never breathe another breath. Was sure she was going to suffocate or have a claustrophobic attack. Shaking her head, she stepped out of the dress. “What am I gonna do?” she whispered to her companions. “I don’t know, but you better think of something,” Miranda warned. “Jared is growing impatient, and I can’t blame him. First it was the wedding date.” “Then the location, and after that it was Jared’s ring,” Simone added. “Now it’s the dress. If you don’t want to marry the man, Ken, just say so.” Miranda crossed her arms. Nervously, Kennedy bit her lip. “You’re right. But now, the only thing I can say is I want a drink.” Simone chuckled. “And you can buy me a double for your trouble.” The Mandarin Oriental’s Asiate restaurant was a needed relief from Kennedy’s disappointing day. Quietly, she slid her four-inch, crocodile Jimmy Choo Felines under the table and released them to the floor. Her shoes, like her matching JC Teak handbag, clothes and homes served as status symbols of her “making it” like she’d been raised to do. But seventeenhundred-dollar shoes or not, Kennedy felt she’d come up short of her goal. Daily, she’d gotten closer to the realization that money—while thoroughly welcome and enjoyed—didn’t and couldn’t dictate her happiness. And neither could a well-to-do man. At least not the one she was engaged to marry. Simone leaned forward, forking teeny bites of smoked foie gras into her mouth. She closed her eyes and shook her head at the scrumptious flavor. “Let me taste yours,” she said, pointing at Kennedy’s cuttlefish noodles. “And some of that lobster, too.” Kennedy slid her plate across the circular table to Simone. “Don’t dip across the table. Act like you’ve eaten out before. And not at Mickey D’s either.” Miranda laughed again. Kennedy stared at her. “Are you high…already?” Miranda shrugged her shoulders and gobbled her food. “I burned a clip before we came in here. I was in my own car, so you can’t say anything.”

Simone ignored them, still indulging in the food, then licked her lips. “I should’ve had that…” she scooped another forkful of her own food into her mouth, “…and this too.” “If you were screwing, I’d ask you if you were pregnant,” Kennedy said, then cringed at her words. Simone waved away Kennedy’s tease. “You know I can’t have babies.” Reaching across the table, Kennedy grabbed Simone’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I wasn’t.” Simone smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I already have my baby girl—I don’t need or want anymore. But just so we’re clear, who says I’m not indulging in the bulge?” Simone winked. Miranda looked away. Kennedy held up her wine glass. “Well, here’s to someone getting some because Lord knows I’m not.” “Me either,” Miranda added, turning her eyes back to her plate. “Get out!” Simone whispered. “Jared’s holding out?” Kennedy’s eyebrows crinkled. “Not if you call sixty pumps giving in.” “Damn!” Simone threw her beige linen napkin across the table. “Shut ya mouth. Sis, noooo!” Kennedy nodded. “Girl, I haven’t had a good cum since…I’ve had a good cum. My calendar doesn’t date back that far.” Simone settled her elbows on the table and stared at Kennedy. “No wonder you’re ready to leave him.” “I’m not ready to leave him,” Kennedy stated flatly, wondering if she’d been so see-through in the bridal boutique. Miranda sucked her teeth. Simone pursed her lips, her pause louder than any verbal accusation. Kennedy sipped her wine, watching them both. “I’m not!” Simone eased back in her chair and eyed her little sister. “It’s not me you have to convince, Ken. I know you don’t want to leave him. But should you?” Miranda stood. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. This is getting a little too heated for me.” Kennedy thought before she spoke. Simone was not someone she had to lie to or fool, nor could she if she tried. Her eyes roamed the restaurant and its patrons. Everyone looked so happy and content. She wondered if they

were all living a lie like her. From the outside, her world appeared happy and refined. The veil she’d spun was so thick even Jared couldn’t see through it, but she could. And what rested behind it tugged at her conscience a little more each day. But how could she turn her back on him when he’d been so good to her? After they’d had and buried a daughter together, and he’d accepted and raised her now six-year-old son Niles as his own from the day he was born? The glass of wine settled in her stomach before words formed in her mouth. But even the alcohol couldn’t overpower the bitter taste of the truth. Kennedy wasn’t happy. And she felt guilty for being unsatisfied with a man who wanted to please her. Jared had tried so hard to fix something in her that he’d thought their daughter’s death had broken, but just wasn’t his to have. Her heart. “Should you?” Simone parroted her question. “I can’t leave,” Kennedy responded, lowering her eyes to the table. She could hear displeasure lace Simone’s heavy breathing. “You mean to tell me,” Simone snapped, jabbing her finger into the table with each syllable, “that you’re going to live your life for someone else? Give up on your own happiness and have the nerve to preach it to everyone else? If it weren’t for you, I might still be with that asshole Nigel who cheated on me and beat me until I couldn’t bear children.” Kennedy nodded, her eyes still cast on the circular table that separated them. “I know, but…” “Ain’t no ‘but’,” Simone spat. “Happiness is a choice, Kennedy. You should’ve learned that from our brother. You see what Derrick went through. He sacrificed everything for his happiness, including having to move away. Either you want to be happy or you don’t. Decide.” Kennedy’s high-heels click-clacked across the foyer’s marbled floor as she entered the formal living room. The too dark and quiet house told her that Jared was still at the hospital and the babysitter and Niles hadn’t made it back from the park and ice cream. Taking comfort in the dimness, Kennedy pulled back the curtains, allowing the streetlight’s soft glow into the room, then sank her weight into the cushiony suede sofa. Closing her eyes, she allowed her conversation with Simone to replay in her mind. On one hand she was unhappy, but on the other five digits she could count too many times and reasons she’d been more than pleased with Jared. She wondered if they were just going through another lull. Over the past three years their

relationship had survived a few. All seemingly felt only by her. Kennedy had had moments where she’d disliked Jared for no reason. Times he was unable to do anything right in her eyes. And just the sight of his face or the baritone of his voice sickened and irritated her. Other times, she thought, smiling, she couldn’t get enough of him. Had to touch him. Had to feel him. Needed to be in his presence. There were many days, she remembered, she’d called in late to her job so she could lie in bed with him for a couple of hours more. Running her hand through her short, sienna-tinted hair, Kennedy swallowed her confusion. Simone had been right, happiness was a choice. Hers. But in her choices lay a big problem. She didn’t know if staying with or leaving Jared would reverse her unhappiness. Footsteps on the Brazilian hardwood yanked her from her puzzled thoughts. Kennedy opened her eyes, and there he stood, wearing scrubs and an intense look Kennedy hadn’t recalled ever seeing. “Hey,” she greeted, sitting up. Jared held his index finger to his lips and shushed her. Sinking down onto his knees, he grabbed Kennedy’s feet and slid off her shoes. She began to ohh and ahh as he massaged tenseness from her aching feet. “Nice to see you, too,” Kennedy whispered, then leaned back into the cushions. Jared’s warm hands moved from her feet to her calves, traveled up her thighs and pushed up her skirt. Kennedy spread her legs as far as the mini allowed and watched Jared. His touch was amazing but unfamiliar. She’d been with him for years, and he’d never laid hands on her the way he did now. His fingers reached her waist, lifted her skirt over her hips, then gripped the elastic band of her pantyhose. Kennedy lifted her bottom, allowing him to remove the stockings with ease. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Have you?” Kennedy responded, her voice quivering as she felt him slide down her panties to her ankles. They locked eyes when he removed the French-cuts and tossed them to the floor. “What’s happened to you?” she asked. Though she was enjoying the moment, something in his eyes made her hesitate. Her inner voice questioned Jared’s actions. His expression. He licked her knees, confirmed

her thoughts. He was acting strange. It seemed like she’d been prompting him to be aggressive forever, and he’d either ignored her or pretended he didn’t know how. “I wanna fuck you,” he stated, staring Kennedy down. Kennedy sucked in a breath. Now she knew something was different. Wrong. Jared didn’t say things like that, though she’d always wished he would. She was the one with the dirty mouth. Filthy if the sex was good. Kennedy cradled his jaw in her palms. Looked him in the eyes. “Say it again.” Without hesitation, Jared said, “I. Want. To. Fuck you.” Kennedy pulled up her feet from the floor and propped them on either side of her. Displayed what he wanted. “Show me.” Jared stood and scooped up Kennedy from the sofa. “No!” she urged. “Right here.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. “No one’s here but us. Take advantage.” “Upstairs,” Jared answered as he carried her. Kennedy almost smiled. Now this was the Jared she knew. Conservative and just beyond missionary. God forbid she’d want to do it anywhere besides the bed. But not tonight, she decided, gripping her legs tighter. If he wouldn’t give it to her in the living room, she’d get it on the way to the bedroom. Reaching down, Kennedy slid one hand into his scrubs. Jared flinched. Shook his head “no” as Kennedy gripped his manhood, made him pulse in her palm as she pulled out his prize. She moaned as she tried to insert him into her sweetness. Then he wiggled, interrupted her plan. Her back was on the bed before she knew it. Legs were splayed and Jared was between them. She was too hot to care about his avoiding her wanted position on the staircase. All that mattered right now was his fucking her the way he’d said he’d wanted to. He reached his hand down between her legs and spread her moistness. Kennedy’s back arched up in anticipation and her eyes rolled backward when he entered her. His hospital-issued cell phone rang. Jared pumped harder. The phone rang again. Kennedy held on to him, encircling him with her legs. Jared grabbed Kennedy’s shoulders, holding her in place. She reached for his face, tried to bring it down to kiss him. But he didn’t budge. Just held

on tight while he pumped and pumped. Kennedy watched his expression change as he plunged deeper into her, and she knew. “No, baby,” she demanded, “don’t cum. Not yet.” Jared ignored her. Hammered away at her body as if she were a thing, not a woman. …Two. Three. Four. Five, Kennedy counted silently as she watched Jared’s face contort. His body shook and he groaned, and Kennedy knew for a fact that something was wrong. It wasn’t that Jared had been selfish. It was what he did next. A thing he’d never done and said he would rather die than do. He pulled out of her, releasing his fluids onto her stomach. Kennedy sickened. Yes, Jared had wanted to ‘fuck’ as he’d said. But not her. And as he climbed off her, avoiding her eyes and her calling out to him, Kennedy knew that he may’ve been stroking her physically but mentally he’d been sexing someone else. Kennedy stalked into the bathroom behind him, void of feeling. Watched as he turned on the shower and picked up his cell phone. Her eyes moved toward his fingers when he dialed, then spoke to whomever. She slid out of her hiked-up skirt and slipped on a major attitude. She turned her back to Jared, bent over and unfastened her anklet. She purposely gave him a full view of her naked behind. She was just seconds away from inviting him to kiss it. Slowly, she rose and looked in Jared’s eyes. She wondered who he was picturing while he was inside her. “That was great,” he said when he disconnected the call. “For who? Not for—” Kennedy started, then was interrupted by the loud ring of the doorbell. “Can you get that?” Jared asked, opening the shower door and getting into it. “I gotta run to the hospital. Emergency.” Kennedy slipped back on her skirt and ran downstairs to the door, plotting numerous ways to beat Jared sideways and split his head to the white meat. “Who is it?” she asked, simultaneously opening the door. Kennedy’s mouth fell open at the sight before her. Tempting. Reminding. Haunting. The past had resurfaced and he was beautiful. Stunned, Kennedy stared at him. Looked on in amazement. One flash of his smile and she turned to mush. That same smile had gotten her into trouble in the past. Guaranteed even more problems now. How he’d found her, she wasn’t sure. And it really didn’t matter. The only thing that was important now was his standing on her porch while Jared was upstairs.

She squirmed inside. Was sure he was there to unsheathe her hush-hush. Unleash his weapon; their secret. Their hot and sexy transgression would rock Jared’s world if he knew. Turn the life she’d built on its side and make it spin on a different axis. Best-Man.

Chapter Two Miranda Richards

Smoke plumed in the air, wafting around the envelope Miranda held in her sweaty hands. A letter from her ex-boyfriend, Rich. The eighteenth piece of mail he’d sent since he’d gone to prison. He’d contacted her fifteen times since she’d been trying to elude him, making sure that she knew she couldn’t hide. Nervously, she bounced her leg and repeatedly turned over the envelope in her hand before tossing it on the table next to the newspaper. She’d had enough of running. And she was scared. If Rich knew her address, he also knew how to hurt her. Instinctively, she reached toward the ashtray but couldn’t decide if it was a tobacco or marijuana moment. Did she need a cigarette to calm her nerves or a joint to slow down everything? Forget this. Miranda grabbed the joint with one hand, the cigarette with the other. She pulled on the weed until it popped and choked her, then brought the

cancer-stick to her lips and took a deep drag to boost the high the ganja would give. For seconds, she sat, dazed and confused. High as the moon’s shadowy face. Glancing at the cereal boxes on top of the refrigerator, she wished she’d had some Cap’N Crunch left over. Maybe some pound cake she could warm and eat with ice-cream. Chocolate. A big bag of Doritos. The munchies had set in a little too quickly, and she didn’t have anything to munch on, nothing that could fill her. Except the fact that her ex had tracked her down. Again. She didn’t know how Rich kept finding her. She’d moved three times in four years, first to Connecticut and, now, back to New York. Still, she couldn’t shake him. It was as if he’d had some sort of tracking device implanted in her. “Whew!” she exclaimed when she’d smoked enough to make the room blur. “I am so blowed,” she admitted to the empty kitchen, then pinched the tip of the joint until the fire died out. “No use in wasting good Haze.” She reared back on the chair’s legs, contemplated where she could move to next. “Not a goddamned place,” she answered her thought, then pushed her weight forward, snapping the chair back down onto the floor, then unfolded herself from the seat. She had an appointment to show one of the apartments she owned in less than two hours. One of the eight brownstones she’d purchased with cash she’d taken from Rich. Blood-money, that’s what she liked to call it because that’s precisely what she was sure he’d make her pay him back with. Her blood. “F him,” she dismissed Rich. She had money to make and sitting around worrying about his no-count behind wasn’t getting her any closer to the bank. She’d deal with him when she had to. She grabbed her Kors bag from the sofa and prayed it wouldn’t be anytime soon. Baby is fine. Under heavy, still very-high eyelids, Miranda watched her possible tenant swagger toward her. Average height, his muscles suited his quarterback frame. His crisp, navy suit hung on his broad shoulders and draped him as if it were custom-made. On closer inspection, she knew it had been fitted by a tailor. As he walked nearer, she noticed his smile matched his kissable lips too. And his shoes? She zoomed in on them. Imported. But what was his name? She couldn’t remember what he’d told her on the phone. Lawd, I gotta quit blazing trees. But she couldn’t forget his seductive

voice. The smooth, rugged and attention-getting, masculine tone that made her want to give him the apartment and a taste of her without checking his credit or references. Without her knowing him. She offered him her hand when he was upon her. “Glad you could make it. I’m Miranda.” She tried to business-up herself, hoping she didn’t still smell like the funkdafied Haze. “Larenz,” he said, firmly gripping her hand. “Ooh,” Miranda teased, pulling her hand from his tight grasp. “Pardon me, Ms. Miranda. I forget sometimes.” He licked his bottom lip and tilted his head. Puppy-dogged himself. “Forget what?” Miranda cooed. “How strong of a man you are?” Larenz rubbed his hands together, blushed a little. “Nah. Never that, Ma. Strength doesn’t define a man, a man defines strength.” Miranda smiled. That was all she could do. She was too high to try to figure out Larenz’s double talk, but sure liked the sound of it. Her gaze traveled his body, and locked on his glistening baby-browns. One look was all it took for her to know that whatever Larenz had to say, she wanted to listen. Closely. “You smoke?” she asked, opening the door to the apartment and wondering if his eyes were naturally glossy or weed-induced like hers. “Cigarettes are disgusting,” he answered. Miranda moved to the side of the doorway to give him a clear view of the living room. “That’s not what I asked.” “Why? Something you want me to blaze?” he flashed an even-teethed grin, took his turn at charming. “I’m just kidding. This is nice,” he said, his eyes taking in the room, his answer avoiding her question. “What about the bedroom?” Miranda shook her head and kept walking. She knew when she was being baited. He may’ve had the hook and line, but she had what he wanted, and she’d let him sink in it if and when she was ready. “Here’s the kitchen,” she pointed out, “it’s just been renovated. Every appliance is new. Viking,” she informed with raised eyebrows, letting him know that she only went for the best. Larenz nodded. “My better-half would be impressed, I’m sure,” he looked so deep into her eyes that she could feel him peering into her soul, “if I had one. I’m single. And you?” Lonely as hell, she wanted to say, but instead shook away the heat that

slowly crawled up her thighs. Larenz’s voice alone was doing it for her. She hadn’t felt like this since… since Rich, she thought, remembering how he’d introduced her to a heat she hadn’t known before him. “The bathroom is this way,” she stammered and directed his attention as she ran through the list of amenities. “And here’s the bedroom,” she said, then exhaled audibly, realizing for the first time that she had been holding her breath. Larenz walked the circumference of the room, nodding as he did so. Miranda watched him look out the curtains, open the closet, then rest his body on the covered radiator that served as a window-seat. Miranda’s mouth watered. Larenz moved like sex. Good, fluid, down and dirty sex. His pace was quick, then slow, and deep. He paused, looked at her, questioned with his eyes if he’d satisfied her with his proffered status or if she’d needed more. At least her marijuana-high, which was quickly dying down, made her believe. “I’ll take it,” he said. Charm dripped from his words. Miranda sauntered toward him. “Will you?” Larenz stood, licked his bottom lip again and held her with his eyes. “Yeah. I will. What’s it gonna take for me to get in, Ms. Miranda?” Miranda smiled and cut her eyes sideways. Larenz was flirting and so was she. “If you check out okay, the apartment is eighteen-hundred a month. And I’m available for dinner Friday night.” ***** “Well did you hav’ta screw the man on the floor?” Kennedy’s voice blared through Miranda’s Bluetooth earpiece. “I didn’t say I did. I said I wanted to. But believe me, if I didn’t need to rent the place, I would’ve. Right then. Right there. Would’a sexed him on the parquet till he cried for his momma. But I’m not stupid; I got the lease signed first,” Miranda answered, pulling on a joint and holding in the smoke until her lungs threatened to explode. “K. So then you screwed him?” Miranda released the smoke, then snubbed out the joint in the car’s ashtray and whipped into a midtown parking garage. “No. I never said I slept with him,” she answered, driving up the garage’s ramp, then idled the car as she looked around. “Where the hell are you, anyway? I’m on the second level.”

Kennedy walked in front of Miranda’s car and knocked on the hood. “You mean to tell me your high ass has smoked yourself blind? You can’t spot me in this bright, white dress?” She laughed, then held up her palm in a halt sign. “Just say no to drugs, Miranda,” she teased. Miranda smiled, then flipped up her middle finger. “Just ‘cause I smoke don’t mean I can’t see. Weed helps your vision. I’m preventing myself from developing cataracts in the future, not smoking to get high.” She revved her engine, made Kennedy jump out of her way so she could park. “Just bring your behind on,” Kennedy directed as Miranda fumbled out of the car. Miranda quickly flip-flopped her high-heeled slip-ons against the concrete, clutching her purse and catching up with Kennedy. “Keep messing with me, Ken. Hear? You don’t weigh but a minute, and I can make you fly by as quickly as one. You saw that old movie Throw Momma from the Train.” Kennedy elbowed her best friend, and they both giggled. “I may be a momma, but there’s not a soul breathing who can testify to throwing me anywhere. You just worry about who you’re trying to get tossed by.” “Ooh, say it again,” Miranda urged, giggling. Exiting the parking garage, Kennedy paused at the stoplight, cutting her eyes at Miranda. “You seriously need some new dick in your life. Or a new connect. You need to have a man lace you, not your weed,” Kennedy said, crossing at the intersection. Miranda followed, laughing loudly, and linked arms with Kennedy. Suddenly, she calmed. Quietly, she admitted, “I don’t know if I can sleep with some other man…” Kennedy stopped in her tracks. “What! You mean to tell me that you haven’t had a man? Sorry, you haven’t been fucked since… Oh, God. Please don’t tell me since Rich.” Miranda nodded. Kennedy snatched Miranda by the wrist, pulled her to the other side of the street. “Oh!” she exclaimed, stomping up and down like she was filled with the Holy Ghost. “Somebody call an ambulance ‘cause I swear I’m gonna pass out. Say it ain’t so!” She cut into Miranda with questioning eyes. “Tell me you’re lying!” Miranda’s high was blown. She looked at her best friend and almost hated telling her the truth. But if she couldn’t tell free-thinking Kennedy,

who could she tell? “I’ve been celibate.” Kennedy chuckled in disbelief. “Celibate or selling it?” Miranda closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Clearly, getting her point across was going to be a chore. Kennedy just didn’t get it. Keeping your legs closed wasn’t in her vocabulary; she was a self-proclaimed hot momma. “I just don’t know how to be with another man.” “That’s easy. You open up your damn legs, that’s how! Get your whambam on, then thank the man,” Kennedy instructed a little too loudly, shocking even the usually unfazed New York passers by. “Schizophrenic,” Miranda mouthed to onlookers who nodded, dismissing and forgiving Kennedy’s antics. She pulled Kennedy into a Starbuck’s vestibule. “Do you have to be so loud?” Kennedy crossed her arms. “You’re the one who cursed at me first.” “I did not,” Miranda said, pushing open the heavy door. “You said you haven’t had sex in four years. That’s cursing, if you ask me,” Kennedy declared, picking lint from her white business dress and trailing Miranda’s heels. The women decorated their coffee with sugar and flavored creams, and sat down. Something wasn’t right. Kennedy, though a little vulgar, was usually happy. A go-getter who encouraged everyone else to go for theirs. She looked into Kennedy’s eyes, and saw dullness where brightness usually lived. Her girl was stressed out. Something was really wrong at home and Kennedy wasn’t telling, but she didn’t have to. Her actions spoke loud and clear for what her mouth refused to say. Miranda decided to let it go. For the moment. “Okay. So you like this Larenz guy?” Miranda sipped her liquid caffeine. “I’m attracted to him. Don’t know him well enough to like him.” Kennedy’s eyes danced. “Ohh,” she drummed her blood-red nails on the table, “you just know him well enough to sleep with him? What did that take? Twenty minutes?” Miranda nodded, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Ten.” “Remember he is a tenant. Your tenant. If he pisses you off, you can’t put him out. Lawsuit.” “I know he’s a tenant. And I’m a woman!” Kennedy clapped like a cheerleader. “Yay! Now there’s my girl. Fall off one horse, mount a bigger one.”

“Rich sent me another letter,” Miranda said, regretting her words before the last one left her mouth. She and Kennedy had debated about Rich for months. Kennedy had urged her to turn him in for stalking, even suggested witness protection. But there were three problems with that: birds sang, not Miranda. She hadn’t witnessed a thing, and there was no such thing as protection from men like Rich. Kennedy steepled her hands in front of her face and drew her eyebrows together in deep thought. “Write him back or go see him.” “What? Are you sick or crazy?” Kennedy pursed her lips. “Think about it. Wouldn’t you rather deal with him on your terms, while he’s still locked up? Or would you rather deal with him on his, when he’s free to do whatever?” Miranda couldn’t remember ever giving a pair of panties such thought. She’d rifled through her panty drawer, ransacked the one that housed her bras, and couldn’t match a set to save her soul. How was it possible that a woman—a well dressed one—owned nothing but mismatched undergarments? she asked herself. She’d coupled shoes with bags and belts. Bought her jewelry in sets. Even her silver car coordinated with the house’s grey trim. How could she have overlooked harmonizing the color credentials of her sexy essentials? Because I haven’t been getting any. She slammed the drawer shut, deciding to pull a Kennedy. Going to dinner sans panties. The air, free to blow between her legs would keep her cool and, hopefully, prevent her from acting like a bitch in heat. Slipping a dress over her head and shoes on her feet, she went to answer the doorbell’s ring. A glance at her watch told her Larenz was on time. She paused to avoid looking so eager, then unlocked the door. Larenz stood in the entranceway, cradling lavender lilies and the unspoken promise of sex. Miranda breathed deeply, inhaled the scent of both gifts he carried, and decided that although she wasn’t a female dog, she was definitely in season. “Come in. Have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. I’m not ready yet,” she rattled, then hurried to the bathroom and locked herself inside. She leaned against the door, disappointed at her behavior. She didn’t know how to do this. Couldn’t remember what it was like being at ease with a man. She’d been so sexy and forward when she’d shown him the apartment. Had wanted to throw him down and ride him like he wore a saddle. Felt

heat warm her kitten just seconds before. Now she was punking-out and sweating from nervousness. Grabbing a washcloth from the towel bar and Summer’s Eve from the cabinet, Miranda turned on the faucet, then pulled up her dress. Ready to freshen up, she placed a foot on the sink, then heard her cell’s distinctive ring through the door. Kennedy’s voice echoed in her thoughts, reminding her to call her when Larenz arrived. “Miranda, your phone’s ringing,” Larenz called out. “I know,” Miranda yelled back, then bit her lip, hating and hoping she wouldn’t regret her next words. But what else could she do? With one leg cocked up on the sink and her puss showing, she couldn’t have him bring the phone into the bathroom. “It’s my godsister. If I don’t answer, she’ll keep calling. Can you answer for me, please? Tell her I’ll call her right back?” The lie simply fell from her lips. Kennedy wasn’t really her godsister, just the sister she’d always hoped God would’ve blessed her with, and He had. There was quiet on the other side of the door, then footsteps. A knock came next. Larenz’s voice was deep and smooth and thrilling until he said, “It’s somebody on the phone named Rich. He called direct. So I accepted the call for you, since you won’t be charged.” Miranda’s mind went numb. All she could think of was Rich on her cell phone. She’d forgotten that her foot was resting on the bathroom sink. That she didn’t have on panties. And Larenz never crossed her mind when she reached over and snatched opened the door in disbelief. Larenz stood there, holding the phone and his mouth open as he stared at the naked, freshly waxed flesh where her thighs met.

Chapter Three Christa Reid

Naked, Christa lay on the bed enjoying the fan’s emitted breeze between her legs. Ignoring Grant, her Sunday lover, she closed her eyes and slowly swayed her knees side to side. The afterglow of their twice-on-Sunday sex ritual was over. She wanted him to leave. Sitting up without making eye contact, she wrapped the silk sheet around her torso and licked her lips. In her peripheral vision, she saw Grant watching, almost drooling. Faking a yawn, she stretched her arms above her head, allowed the shiny fabric to slide down and expose her bare breasts. “Mmm,” she moaned, sucking the tip of her index finger, knowing her erotic show would entice. Yes, she wanted him to go, but he had to stay. She needed something. But she wouldn’t ask. She had to make him believe it was his idea. Feeling the warm dampness of his palm on her back, she knew she had him. Flinging her long, blond-highlighted hair over her shoulder, she looked at him under heavy eyelids and blinked slowly. Her sensual gaze gave Grant permission to come, touch, and explore. Again.

“Today must be my day,” he said, gently palming her adequate mocha breasts. Christa arched her back, pretending to react to Grant’s touch. “Maybe…” Her purposely cool tone, void of feeling, contradicted her actions. Jumping up, she snatched the sheet from the bed and covered herself. “What’s wrong, Christa?” Grant reached out and beckoned. “Come talk to me—what happened? Is it me…something I did? Anything I can do to fix it?” Christa stood motionless. Facing Grant, she realized he was the perfect man. For someone else. His five-nine frame had become too padded for her liking. Softer than a woman, his body was squishy and his chest damn near bounced when he walked. She was the woman, the only one in their pseudo-relationship who was supposed to have breasts. She would’ve told him to hit the gym, or sprint a few blocks but she didn’t care about his appearance. She shrugged. Grant was what he was. A sorry pain in her butt who was too affectionate and needy. But he had three of her requirements: a big, generous heart and deep pockets, and a wife. “Christa, come on baby…I thought we were—” She shook her head and tightened the sheet around her as if she were cold or afraid. Grant stood, encircled her small frame with his warm arms and held onto her as if she’d slip away. He brushed her hair out of her eyes and rocked her. Swallowing her surfacing laughter, Christa pressed her palm against her chest. It was an attempt to suppress a rising giggle but Grant obviously read more into the trembling of her shoulders. He kissed her forehead. As she stared at him she forbade herself to blink. Not batting an eyelid would make her eyes water. Tears were what she needed; they’d be the ultimate hook. Look at him…just pitiful, Christa thought as her stomach turned and bile rose. Her dramatics sickened her. She hated to perform to get what she wanted but Grant had become lax in his giving. He claimed to have too much overhead but, as far as she was concerned, she was his expense too. You play, you pay. The feigned tear finally dropped. Grant’s eyes glossed as he angled his head sideways. Became a curious puppy. Sympathy. Got him. “Christa, talk to me. Don’t cry…whatever it is I’ll fix it. Promise.” Clearing her throat, Christa pulled away and turned her back to him.

She knew she couldn’t face him without smiling. His naïveté was a joke. “I don’t know…it may be too much.” “Tell me what it is and how much. If I don’t have it I’ll work something out.” “Five thousand or so…” Grant became silent. Christa would’ve given anything to see his face. But facing him would’ve given away her charade. “If you can’t do it…” Grant huffed. “That much? Damn, Christa! What happened? What did you get yourself into?” She would never tell him the truth. Her corporate liaison business was in financial trouble and she needed money to pay her bills—two months of overdue mortgage on her co-op, until she landed a few more heavy hitters or a whale. Just the thought made her cringe, but the economy had her so twisted she’d entertained getting a second job because she’d never turn to her family. She was grown, and adult women took care of themselves. “I had an accident. I didn’t get hurt but the other person and their car… My insurance lapsed.” Flabbergasted, Grant threw up his hands in disbelief. “Why’d you let the insurance lapse?” Christa turned. Her stoned expression, ice. Now she had no problem looking at him. “I didn’t let anything lapse. You did.” Grant pointed his finger to his chest. “Me?” Christa crossed her arms, released the sheet from her hold. Looking down, she and Grant watched it glide from her nakedness and grace her ankles before it fell to the floor, landing on top of his jeans. “Yes, you.” She lifted only her eyes and pierced him with a deadly glare. She pointed. “It lapsed when you stopped sliding I-love-you packages through my mail slot.” “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “That’s quite a bit—” “And so am I.” Christa squatted, widely spreading her knees to retrieve Grant’s pants. She held her position long enough for him to get a glimpse of her softness, then rose slowly. Licking her lips, she moaned softly and threw his pants at him. “Until you know what you can do, you’ll need these. Lock the door behind you. And don’t forget to send the Mrs. my love.” Christa moved her nakedness from the bedroom to the doorway and watched as Grant fumbled his way into his pants. A small part of her felt

sorry for him. He was a nice guy, after all. A man who’d do just about anything for her. For almost two years he’d made sure her car was clean and the gas tank was full. He’d forked over the money for her wardrobe, which she updated seasonally. Paid most of her bills and made sure she had fresh flowers delivered weekly to her home and small office. All her whims were financed by him until he slowed with his spending. She was just about to say something nice, then Grant did something to charge her up. He slipped on his gold wedding band. In her face. Christa quickly changed her mind, reminding herself that men like Grant got exactly what they deserved. He may’ve seemed nice but he was a cheater. And though she enjoyed his gifts, she couldn’t stand men who stepped out on their significant others. She decided that everything he’d done for her was out of guilt. His wife got his real time. Christa benefited from borrowed moments and presents to make up for his absences. “Hurry up,” she rushed him, snapping her fingers and clapping her hands. “Can’t we at least talk about this?” Grant’s expression was serious. Hurt. Christa picked up his shoes from the floor and cradled them with one arm while she pushed him to the front door with the other. Thrusting the hard-bottom loafers into his chest, she said, “Go talk to your wife! I’ve said all I have to say.” Slamming the door in his face, she knew it was time for her to get a new sponsor—but only after Grant came through with the money. Whenever that would be. She was, after all, for sale. Hell, a girl’s gotta pay her bills. Christa walked back to her bedroom, and from the doorway, spotted Grant’s wallet lying on the nightstand. As she neared, she noticed his keys rested next to it. She knew in any second he’d be buzzing her bell, and she had to get ready for what could be the meeting of her lifetime with Mr. Xavier, a corporate honcho with endless connects and check-writing power. Christa snatched up his things. She didn’t have time for him or his childishness. He’d pulled the leave-an-important-belonging behind game before so he’d have an excuse to pop up. “Not this time, brutha,” Christa insisted, grabbing a pink robe from the bedpost on the way out. She wrapped the cotton fabric around her nakedness, and looked out the window. Grant’s car was there, but he wasn’t. “Stoop!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. He’d also been known to sit on the porch steps, pouting like a baby. She exited her place, moved quickly through the tiny lobby to

the front door. No Grant there, either. Christa popped back inside, getting more pissed by the second. Slipping on her flip-flops, she mumbled curse words. Now she had to go outside. The man couldn’t get far without his car, and she knew he wouldn’t walk. He could cab it, but that’d be too much like right. Grant had ways of making things more complicated than necessary, and refusing to utilize taxis and public transportation were two of them. Christa flip-flopped down the cement stairs to the wrought-iron front gate and looked up, and then down the street. Grant was nowhere in sight. Time was ticking, and she had no more to waste. Christa went back inside and shrugged off her robe. She picked up her cordless and called his cell and was sent straight to voicemail. Either his phone was powered off or he’d ignored her. “Lucky for you, your house is on the way to my meeting. I’m going to try to hide your things somewhere safe. If not, I’ll have to take them with me. Check your messages later to find out where or if I hid your keys and wallet,” she said to the voicemail. The cab circled the block twice, then idled on the corner like Christa had paid the driver to. Too many of Grant’s neighbors were out, and Christa didn’t want to be seen. She knew it wasn’t likely she’d run into anyone in such a busy city, but it wasn’t impossible. Many New Yorkers didn’t pay attention to passers-by. They were just simply too busy or didn’t care. Christa sat back and asked the cabby to wait five minutes more. But then someone caught her eye. Grant. He was down the block, leaning against a black car. And he wasn’t alone, but she couldn’t make out the other person. It seemed that he was trying to try to stay in the shadows of the trees, hiding just like she. Knocking on the glass partition, Christa got the cabby’s attention, asked him to drive forward and circle the block they were facing. As the car moved forward, Christa saw Grant hugged up with another woman. His wife? “Slow down,” she said. She stiffened, sizing up the woman she’d heard so little of. Prettier and younger than Christa had expected her to be, the woman seemed so happy with Grant. Christa wondered what he’d done to his wife that was so fantastic that bliss was written all over her face. As the cab passed them, and Christa looked out the back window, she saw why the woman glowed. Her belly stuck out in a sideways half-moon.

Pregnant? Christa winced. Despite the fact that he’d ridden her nerves and sometimes sickened her, she felt as if someone had slapped the taste out of her mouth. Pregnancy and other women still didn’t mix well with her, and served as a reminder that she couldn’t keep the one man she’d ever loved because she’d refused to have his child. Sometimes she still regretted not doing so. She shrugged. Now she knew why Grant had been acting differently, but she didn’t care, as long as he gave her her money. Still, she was angry. How dare he make a baby on her? And with his Mrs.? Stuffing his keys and wallet into her purse, she decided she’d deal with him later for having unprotected sex with his wife. ***** Mr. Xavier’s offices were as empty as Christa had expected them to be on a Sunday. A weird day for a business meeting for most others in the corporate world, but not for her. Being a traveling liaison, she expected to be called on at any time. She sat patiently, combing through files and contracts. She looked at her watch, then scrolled through her BlackBerry calendar to make sure she wasn’t early. She’d used the pass code she’d been emailed by Xavier’s secretary to enter the suite of offices and, now sitting alone, wondered if he’d forgotten their meeting. Resting the files on the seat next to her, Christa unfolded herself from the padded leather chair, then stretched her arms above her head. Her back was deeply arched and her butt was thrust in the air when she heard him clear his throat from behind. “I’m sorry…” Christa began, turning to apologize, but couldn’t finish. Her mouth, along with her thought, had frozen. The man she’d locked her eyes on was probably the most delicious man she’d ever seen, she guessed. His cinnamon-brown skin was a striking compliment to his crisp oatmeal shirt and caramel pants. He was the type of guy who made a woman’s privates tense mid-throb and heart flutter until her chest heated. With a broad smile, he greeted her. “Nothing to be sorry for,” he said, excusing her. “I’m tired too. Sunday is the Sabbath. At least for the lucky ones.” Christa sashayed toward where he stood, admonishing herself with each step. She was a professional, yet she was alluring with her walk. She hoped he hadn’t noticed the hard sway of her hips and subtle thrust of her

pelvis. His look moved from her face to the valley under her midsection, then quickly bounced up again. She smiled. Now they were even. She hated being caught flirting, and his eyes were apologizing for hitting her below the belt. Way underneath it, right where the upper part of her thighs met. “Christa Reid,” she introduced, proffering him her hand. “Emory Epps,” he answered. “I apologize. I must be on the wrong floor. I’m supposed to be meeting—” “Xavier. He wasn’t able to make it. So you’re stuck with me,” he said, then handed her a business card. “I’m Xavier’s attorney.” Christa scanned Emory’s card. Lawyer? What the hell? “If there’s a problem with the contract, I can rework it for Mr. Xavier. It’s just a standard one I have all my clients sign to retain my services.” Emory gave her that smile again. “No. No problem at all. Matter of fact, it was well written. Pretty much iron clad, as if I’d drafted it,” he nodded, “I guess I forgot to mention I’m also a partner here. And Xavier Epps’s brother. Xavier’s his first name.” Christa opened her mouth to apologize again, and Emory seemed to read her mind. He waved his hand. “The contract’s between our companies, not you and Xavier personally. And he’s always on a first name basis, so there’s no need for apologies. Are you ready to head out?” Confusion raced across Christa’s perfectly arched brows. Weren’t they supposed to be meeting here? “You didn’t think we were staying here, did you?” He read her mind again. “It’s Sunday, let’s enjoy it outside. Know a great place where we can get a good, heavy, fattening Sunday dinner like Grandma used to make. And if black-itis doesn’t set in, we can discuss business.” Christa laughed. “Wow, thought I was the only one who put a spin on it. I call it BFS, Black Folk Syndrome. Isn’t nigga-itis vulgar? I mean we do seem to get tired after eating, but all of us aren’t the N word,” Christa said, picking up her files and folders from the chair. Emory reached out and took them from her, tucking them under his arm alongside his own files. “See, we’re going to get along just fine. Not too often I meet someone who gets that. You’d be surprised how many people let that slip from their mouths. Nigga-itis. They won’t say the N word, but let someone get tired after eating and they’ll slip it in.” Christa laughed and followed. She immediately liked Emory. She could

tell he wasn’t all work and stuffy. She looked at his backside as he walked toward the elevator. No, Emory Epps wasn’t stiff at all. He had a lot of play in him. And when he turned and smiled at her, rubbing his chin with his left hand, she saw that he wore a wedding band. He was fine and married. Christa blushed. She’d just found a new candidate who’d hopefully graduate into a sponsor.

Chapter Four Kennedy

For seconds Kennedy stared at him. More stunned that he’d walked back into her life again than at the suddenness of his reappearance. For years she’d dreamed about him. Wondered where he was and what he was doing. Worried if he was okay. Had started to call him a few million times but hung up after dialing the sixth digit. God, he was still beautiful, she thought, then snapped out of her shock. “Hey, you,” she finally managed, breaking their silence. “What’s up?” Her words were simple, clipped. The exact opposite of how she felt. She fidgeted, fiddling with her clothes and wringing her hands. Nervousness wouldn’t allow her to keep still. “That’s all you have to say after all these years, Love? No, ‘Hey Tariq, how’ve you been? I’ve missed you, Mr. Williams’?” he asked in the voice she remembered, calling her the name he’d once said was only befitting of her and what they’d always share. His mellow, raspy tone had always smoothed her over and turned her insides to cream.

She didn’t have time to putty in his presence. Not now, not with Jared upstairs. Her heartbeat jack-hammered loudly in her ears and her breath quickened. Tariq opened his mouth again and Kennedy held up her hand, silencing him. Turning, she looked into the house, searched for Jared on the stairs and then up on the landing. She then grabbed Tariq by his hand and sped past him, simultaneously pulling him down the porch steps with her. The manicured lawn, freshly watered from the sprinklers, squished under her bare feet as she trekked to the side of the house with her first love on her heels. Crouching behind the bushes, she moved her grip from Tariq’s hand to his wrist and tried to pull him down with her. He snatched it away. Straightened up even taller. “I know you don’t expect me to hide from your man. Boys bow down, men man up. I don’t hide from anybody, Love,” he said, looking down at her before pulling her up until she stood as tall and proud as he. “And you don’t have to either. Don’t tell me dude put his hands on you before? Is that why you’re hiding? I didn’t come here for all that, but you know how we do.” Kennedy looked up at him. He was confident. Dominating. He seemed taller than before. Her eyes traveled his body, stopped on the hands that used to hold her, were the first to cup her breasts and part her thighs. They were larger than she remembered. But one thing was the same. Tariq was a full grown man in every sense of the word. And he still had that hypnotic Los Angeles swagger that had mesmerized her years ago. Still spellbinding. “You can’t be here,” she whispered. “Why not? I just came to visit an old friend.” He smiled. “You’re the one acting suspect, pulling me around to the side of the house like we’re creeping or something. If anything, you’re the one making it out to be more than it is. Not me.” Kennedy begged him with her eyes. She knew he was right, but out of respect for Jared she couldn’t invite him into the house. “Tariq, please? You know this isn’t right. Why did you come?” “No, the question is: Why didn’t I come earlier?” he said, then fished a business card from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “Call me. If I don’t hear from you tomorrow, I’ll be back. Sitting on the front porch and inviting myself to dinner,” he threatened. He disappeared around the front of the house.

Kennedy crouched behind the bushes, trying to figure out what had just happened. Tariq hadn’t said what he’d wanted but she knew it was something serious. Looking down at his card, she made out the words. Tariq Williams, Real Estate Developer. God, I wanted to develop and build something with him years ago. Closing her lids, Kennedy ran her palms over her face. Today hadn’t been her day. Footsteps squishing on the lawn made her open her eyes. “One more thing,” Tariq said, standing over her. Kennedy stood until she faced him, crossed her arms. “What now?” “This,” he said, grabbing her and pressing her back against the house. He leaned his body into hers. Ran his massive hands through her hair and gripped what little of it she had at the nape of her neck, held the back of her head in place. Then he kissed her. Passionately. Deeply. His tongue roamed her mouth, made her forget Jared’s antics and her nervousness about Tariq showing up unannounced. As soon as she began to melt for him, he released her, and moved his mouth away from hers. “I’m staying at the W,” he informed. “Which one?” Kennedy wondered if he was extending an invitation. He turned his back on her, walked toward the front of the house, spoke without turning around. “There are only two in the city. It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out,” he disappeared again into the darkness. Kennedy awoke with her son Niles cuddling next to her and Jared’s side of the bed untouched. So he didn’t come home. Normally she would’ve pitched a fit, been ready to find him and drag him home by his collar or his throat, but not today. She’d gone to sleep with a lot on her mind, had awoken with more. And she didn’t have time to hold Jared’s hand and figure out what was wrong with him. It wasn’t her, she assured herself. So it was his problem. Whatever it was. The alarm clock read 6am. She nudged Niles, then kissed his forehead. “Wake up, Pumpkin. You have school and I have work.” Niles moaned, stretched his body and opened his lids. Gray eyes connected with gray eyes. Kennedy smiled. Looking at Niles was like looking in the mir-ror. He was her baby, hadn’t a trace of his biological father, Michael, on his face. She ran her palm over his head, then fixed his bushy eyebrows that seemed to get wilder by the day. Motherly warmth flushed her. God, she

loved him. He was her everything. “Come on. Let’s get dressed.” She turned on the lamp. Niles scooted to the edge of the high, four-poster bed and slid down until his feet thumped on the floor. “What’s on the agenda?” he asked, grabbing a small notebook and pencil from the nightstand. Kennedy sang out a list of to-dos as she flicked on more lights and retrieved an outfit from the closet. She laughed softly, watching Niles scribble in the notebook. They both knew he couldn’t write everything she’d said, but she enjoyed watching him try. “Got it?” she asked when she finished naming the day’s events. Niles bit his lip and flipped a page. “How do you spell Michael?” he asked, appearing to be more sixteen than six. Kennedy tsked him. “Don’t call your father by his name.” Niles laid down the pad of paper, looked at Kennedy as if he were her equal. He raised his hand. “Question.” Kennedy stopped what she was doing and gave him her full attention. She already knew what he was going to ask. They’d gone through this many times. “Why do I have two daddies?” Kennedy scooped him up in her arms and carried him into the bathroom. She set him down on the counter and handed him his toothbrush. Squeezing paste on hers, then his, she answered. “We’ve gone over this. You have two daddies because you’re special. Some kids don’t even have one father in their lives. Michael is your biological father, meaning you and him share the same blood. Jared is your stepfather, meaning you and him share the same heart.” Niles cocked his head to the side. “My teacher said people don’t share a heart.” Kennedy pinched his nose. “Well, your teacher doesn’t know me. Tell her that you and your stepfather share me. I’m the heart of this house.” She began brushing her teeth. “And what about Daddy?” Kennedy removed the toothbrush from her mouth. “Which one?” This daddy thing was starting to confuse her too. “His name starts with an M. And you said I can’t call him it.” “Michael? What about him?” Niles turned on his Spiderman-pajama-clad-bottom and faced her.

“Why doesn’t he like like girls?” Kennedy’s eyes bulged and her jaw locked on the toothbrush. Yes, his biological father preferred men over women. Sure, she didn’t know that until after she was pregnant. And no, she wasn’t ready for Nile’s question. What was her six-year-old asking her? “Hunh?” “He’s homosectional, right?” he asked, messing up the word but his meaning was clear. Oh, shit. How did he find out? And how does he know what gay is… especially at his age when he doesn’t even like girls yet? Or does he? “Homosectional? I don’t think that’s a word, but, still…such a big word, Pumpkin. Wow. He likes, likes…me. Hurry up. We’re going to be late,” Kennedy rushed him, wondering how he’d figured out his father didn’t indulge women the same as he did men. The taxi ride was a shaky one. Not because of New York’s traffic- or pothole-ridden streets, but because of Kennedy’s nerves. She’d phoned Tariq as soon as she’d dropped Niles off at school, and he’d asked her to meet him in the hotel lobby. A place she knew she had no business meeting him after the kiss. “The W,” the cab driver announced as he pulled up in front of the hotel. Kennedy stood in the lobby, fixing up her already flawless face in the mirror. Tariq, who’d always prided himself on being on time, was late. And every second the clock ticked, Kennedy grew restless. Turning over her wrist, she looked at her Presidential, decided she’d give him five more minutes. “Black, like me. Sweet, like you. Four Sugars in the Raw,” he announced from behind, indicating how she preferred her coffee. Kennedy turned with raised eyebrows, and took the steaming cup from his hand. She was impressed he still remembered how she’d liked her liquid rush. Remembered how he’d been her physical one. “Okay. You get a pass for this. You know I don’t like waiting. I was gonna leave.” Tariq smiled. “No, you weren’t. Because you want to know why I’m here. Don’t you?” Kennedy scanned him up and down. Admired how good he looked in jeans and a button-down shirt. If her eyes could taste him they would’ve been consumed with his scrumptious flavor. She just knew he still tasted as delicious as he looked. He’d always made her mouth water. This morning

was no exception. Kennedy swallowed hard, gulped back her lust. She chastised herself. What had connected them had always been more than sex. But one wouldn’t know it if they listened closely. She was sure her kitten could be heard purring, longing for him to pet it. “Okay. Why are you here?” He raised his eyebrows. Looked her dead in the eyes. “I came back to claim what’s mine. Always told you I would.” Kennedy backed down. Her heat extinguished by fear. He could have her. If she was ready to give up the life and lifestyle she’d fought hard for. But she wasn’t. “Stop playing. Why are you here? More importantly, why did you feel the need to show up at my house?” Hotel patrons buzzed around the lobby, sidestepping her and Tariq as they stood in the center with their eyes on one another and no intent on moving out of anyone’s way. She was bull-headed and he was hard-headed. An unbeatable and unstoppable combination that no one else could ever figure out except them. There were no words to describe them and what they’d shared. No titles or categories in which they’d fit. They were what they were. Just Kennedy and Tariq. Two people who’d always loved one another and didn’t know how to show or handle it. Tariq bowed his head and pocketed his hand. His feet shuffled. “We have to talk, Love. Seriously.” Kennedy moved swiftly toward a loveseat in front of the window. She’d never seen Tariq squirm, and his unease made her uncomfortable. He’d always been the strength. Now they were both trying to stand tall on shaky legs. Kennedy set her cup down on the small table next to the cozy couch for two, then looked up at him. He stood centimeters away from her. His breath was labored and his eyes intense. Kennedy blinked slowly and nibbled on her bottom lip. “Where’s your room key?” He answered her with a stare, then a pivot. “Follow me.” He walked toward the bank of elevators. Kennedy picked up her coffee and did as she was told. If Jared, or any man who’d ever had the pleasure of reveling in her strength, saw how submissive she was with Tariq, they would’ve been surprised. But Kennedy wasn’t. She’d always been weak with Tariq, and that’s precisely why she had never settled down with him. Weakness and meekness scared her. She had to run a relationship, not be run by one. Before the elevator doors closed they were all over each other. Her skirt

rose to her thighs and coffee spilled as they ascended. Tariq grabbed her hand, pressed it to his groin so she could feel his hardness. Kennedy moaned in appreciation as he switched up on her, turning her to face the wall. With his large hands working their way down her back, he caressed the outline of her hips, then thighs. She felt the heat of his body sink, then his hands spread her feet shoulder length apart. “Miss me?” he asked, palming the thickest part of her legs, digging his thumbs into her flesh with just enough force to send tingles traveling up to her womanhood. Kennedy reared back her head and arched her back when he pulled her panties to the side. She knew she had problems. Two animalistic addictions that leashed her like a Bitch. An itch that she couldn’t help but scratch, and an instinct to leave her scent on hotel beds. The elevator dinged, then opened when they reached their floor. But Kennedy didn’t want to stop. Not when Tariq’s breath was heating up her inner thighs. “Push a button. Any damned button! Don’t stop now!” She cringed and banged the wall with her fist when she felt him move away. “Come on,” he said, stepping off the elevator. Kennedy turned around. Her makeup was smeared on the side of her face. “You can’t be serious.” She stomped her foot. He held out his hand to her. “Everything I’ve come for is serious,” he announced. Kennedy wobbled off the car. Her body hadn’t caught up with her mind yet. She followed behind Tariq’s long strides. Bumped into him when he stopped in front of a door. She smiled. He laughed. “You know if anybody saw us they’d swear we were together. Wouldn’t guess that I’m as confused as I am.” “And engaged,” Tariq said, grabbing her left hand and looking at her ring. “You know I would’ve given you something heavier. You’d need help picking up your hand if this were from me.” Kennedy twisted her lips, looked at her engagement ring, and knew Tariq was just jealous. Jared had fitted her finger with four carats, and that didn’t include the surrounding diamonds on the engagement ring or matching wedding band. Tariq removed the keycard from the slot, then pushed open the door for her to enter. Latching the lock, he immediately begun to undress. Kennedy

stood and watched. She’d always loved his body. Thick. Dark chocolate. Strong. She couldn’t wait to be under him. On top of him. He folded his shirt and laid it across a chair back, then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Kennedy followed his lead, wiggled out of her skirt. Removed her shirt. At the same time, they unclasped their watches and placed them on the table. Kennedy stopped. Grabbed Tariq’s left wrist and turned it over. She stared at what appeared to be the letter c tattooed on his skin, and knew it wasn’t a letter of the alphabet at all. It was a half circle. The missing and opposite half to the one she had tattooed under her left breast. “Two halves make a whole. Remember?” she said, kissing it. “A circle is completion. Only we can complete each other. Do you remember that? Your words.” How could she forget? Time. Distance. Another man. Nothing had ever pushed Tariq from her mind. She looked down at her engagement ring. Knew she shouldn’t be here, but couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not until he told her what was so important. As if he could feel her guilt starting to build, Tariq interrupted her thoughts. Placed his lips on hers. Walked her backward until her knees connected with the mattress and bent. She fell back on the bed. Welcomed his weight on top of her. “I did miss you,” she whispered. Tariq lifted himself up and stared at her. “Why, Kennedy?” “Why what?” He dipped down, flicked his tongue across her lips. Then took the bottom one in his mouth and suckled on it. Kennedy was on fire, wanted him to extinguish her. “Why, what?” she repeated, barely able to speak. Tariq got up. Straightened his shoulders. “What is it?” Kennedy sat up and asked. Her legs were still spread, exposing her moistness peeking through sheer panties. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Kennedy rested her weight on her elbows. She had no idea what he was talking about. “Tell you what?” she snapped. “About our child.” Kennedy gulped. “My daughter. Kharri. Didn’t you think I’d find out?” he asked, pacing. The intensity in his eyes turned up with each step.

Kennedy swallowed. “Come on, Ken. It’s obvious. Kharri. Tariq Khar’ri. You even named her after me, just left out the apostrophe. Pronounced almost exactly the same though. Car-ee and Car-ree.” A tear fled down her cheek as she thought about the precious four-anda-half year old daughter she’d lost. She shook her head. “Don’t let the name fool you. I gave it to her because I liked it. Always have, you know that. She wasn’t yours though, Tariq. I used to wish that she was at times, but some things you can’t wish into existence. Naming her that was my way of remembering you. I thought that every time I called her name I’d be forced to remember you like I hope you’d never forget me.” The way he nodded his head and glared told Kennedy he didn’t believe her. His words confirmed it. “We’ll see. And I’m not leaving New York or you alone until we do.”

Chapter Five Miranda

His hand slid down into the groove of her back where her waistline met the roundness of her behind. There was nothing sexual about his subtle move, his palm against such a sensitive part of her, but it sent heated tingles traveling north and south of her equator. Miranda quickly glanced over her shoulder at Larenz as he guided her through the jazz club. Dimly lit with flickering candlelight and the soft glow of the small stage where the musicians made instruments sing, the atmosphere took on a life of its own, and sambaed in the depth of Larenz’s pupils. A rush of dormant energy hit her, pushed aside the uneasy one she’d had since he’d caught her in the bathroom with opened legs. It was a feeling she faintly remembered and hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. Interest. True and genuine, minus alcohol, sex, or weed. Just plain and simple interest coupled with a dash of curiosity and a quick prayer of hope. Miranda sat as Larenz pulled out her chair, and was thankful that he’d obviously been raised right. She took in all of him in seconds, admiring him

as he took two steps to reach the opposite side of the table. His gait was long and his hands were large, she noted, sizing him up for many things. A massage being one, she thought, raising her brows as she noticed his nicely manicured nails. She looked from his fingers to his face when he called her name, and was greeted with a smile. “What are you drinking?” he asked, motioning toward the waitress. Miranda politely nodded. “Wine. Red.” “Any specific kind, Ma?” rolled out of Larenz’s mouth as if it were nothing. “Sorry. Merlot,” Miranda answered, wondering if he called everyone Ma, and if he did she’d make sure he never called her it again. It was too easy. Swallowing hard, she checked herself. She was assuming way too much way too soon. It was him accidentally seeing between her legs, that’s what it was. She hadn’t felt totally comfortable since. “So, Ma, you’re just gonna be quiet all night?” he asked. The laugh that left Miranda’s mouth was more of a hunh than a giggle. “I’m not being quiet. I’m just taking everything in, that’s all. This is a nice place. Mellow.” Larenz reached across the table, took her hand. “Yeah, alright, Ma. I’ll take that for now, but you are being quiet and we both know it. Unless you were just unusually talkative the day you showed me the apartment…” he hesitated “…or are you being quiet because I caught you in a compromising position earlier?” Miranda began to answer, then he silenced her, pulling her from her seat. “Let’s dance. We can step to this, Ma” he said, covering her mouth with his palm and leading her to the floor. Miranda moved his hand from her face. “You can’t just say something like that and think I’m not gonna address it…” “Ssh.” He placed one finger to his lips, then spun her twice. “Wait,” Miranda protested. “I’m not that great a stepper.” “I don’t believe there’s a thing you’re not great at. I don’t know you all that well but I’d bet money on it.” He grabbed her other hand, backed away from her, stepped forward and back, then quickly pulled her to him again. Pushing away his comment about seeing her untouched-in-a-long-time sweetness, Miranda laughed. Not at what he’d said, but at his insistence and follow-through. She could tell he didn’t care if she protested; he was going to make sure she danced with him. “Now I gotta be embarrassed twice in

one night,” she murmured to herself. Larenz moved his body behind hers, pulled her close, then paused. “What? I know you’re not still talking about the bathroom incident.” Miranda nodded, resting her weight on him. “Psss.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Ma, you don’t have a thing to be embarrassed about. Trust me.” He rocked her body to the music, then kissed her shoulder. “But answer me this one thing,” he said, turning her around. “Who’s the dude you hung up on…homey that’s locked up? That’s your man?” “That’s the past,” Miranda said as she walked off the dance floor. Just as her feet were about to touch the carpet, she turned and said: “You just going to stand there, or are you joining me for drinks?” She winked and kept moving, trying to play down his question. Rich was the last person she wanted to think about, especially tonight. When Larenz had handed her the phone earlier, she hung up without speaking. Rich may have had the ability to upset her, but she refused to let him spoil her night. It was as Kennedy said it was; Miranda possessed the power to make Rich bend to her terms while he was away, and that’s what she’d decided to do. Make him dance to her beat. “The past, hunh?” Larenz didn’t seem to want to let it go. Miranda nodded, rolled her eyes a little. “That bad?” Larenz persisted. “I’m sorry to hear that.” “Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry. We have way too many sorry men out here as it is. We don’t need another one.” She sipped her wine, looked him straight in the eyes. He laughed then. He reached across the small table and rubbed his hand on hers. “What you meant to say was you. You don’t need another sorry one. Let me find out you’re sizing a brutha up to be your man, Miranda,” he teased. Miranda blushed. Felt the teenager in her resurface and blossom into a full-blown smile. “I’m not good at this…this…” He sat up then. Moved a little closer across the table. “Good at what, Ma? Being treated right? Or the give and take of a woman and a man—” “It’s not the giving I have a problem with. It’s the taking. Somebody’s always taking something. They take your good, your all, your kindness for weakness, your loyalty for granted.” Miranda nodded in defeat. “Something. Everything, if you let’em. So, I’m not good—”

“I already told you I don’t believe there’s a thing you’re not great at,” Larenz cut her off. “Don’t let your past mold your future. You can be good at whatever you choose. But first you have to choose it.” He sat back, sipped his drink, and stared. “Everyone doesn’t take. I’ve worked for everything I have.” He licked his lips and held her with his glance. “You ever considered a giver?” Miranda shook her head. Rich had messed her up so badly that she’d reduced all men to being as base as he. She shrugged. “Don’t think I know any, not with a penis anyway.” Larenz stood and stretched. He walked to the other side of the table and helped her from her seat. “Well, now you do. And if you give and I give, how can either of us be without? Consider that for me, Ma. Would you?” She almost laughed when she realized that the Merlot had flowed as easily as their conversation and the passing of time when the back of her knees weakened, almost buckled. Or was it what he’d said to her all night that had affected her so? Grabbing his bicep, she held on for support and gazed into his eyes. In less than five hours the man had caught and kept her attention. Something that hadn’t been done in a long time. “You good?” Larenz asked as he wrapped her lightweight, summer throw around her. Good was an understatement, Miranda thought. If I dreamed him up, pieced him together a la carte…hell, if I created and breathed life into him myself, he couldn’t be better. At words, she reminded herself. Larenz was good at talking the talk, but how good was he at placing one foot in front of the other and making it happen? “I want to kiss you,” she let slip as they exited, and immediately wanted to kick herself. Where had that come from? Sure, she was attracted to him. Wanted to wrestle him to the ground, rip off his clothes, and mount him, but she hadn’t planned on saying anything or making a move. Not first. Larenz’s feet froze in place. He grabbed Miranda by her shoulders, made her turn to face him. “I’m sorry—” Miranda began. “Oh Ma, don’t. Please don’t be sorry,” he threw her words back in her face. “There are way too many sorry girls out here masquerading as women. Never be sorry. Be a woman, full grown and real. All the time.” Miranda reared back her head to get a good look into his eyes. His words had struck her, and he was too close. Made her feel as if he doubted her

ability to be who she was born to be. She clenched her teeth, looked him in the face to make herself clear to him. “I am a fully grown woman, and there’s nothing fake about me.” He grasped her shoulders tighter, backed her against someone’s car. “I hear you talking, but what about kissing? You said—” “Shut up,” Miranda tittered with just a touch of venom. A hint of the power and control she’d forgotten she possessed. She grabbed him. Turned him. Switched places. Pushed him against the car, then stood on tiptoe. Grabbing his face, she pulled it to hers and traced his lips with her tongue. As badly as she wanted him, as much as her mouth watered for his, she wanted to take her time. She wanted to enjoy every second of their moment. “This is gonna change everything.” Larenz pulled her into his arms and spun her. Once again taking the dominant position, he pressed her back against the car and his mouth on hers. He took his time planting small kisses, then delving in as if Miranda were the last delicacy on earth. Finally parting her lips, his mouth was warm. His tongue, demanding, yet soft. Miranda closed her eyes, dug her heels into the ground to prevent herself from encircling him with her legs. Floating. Melting. She’d been kissed before, or so she’d believed. But this was different, more. Larenz wasn’t just kissing her; he tasted her soul with every swirl of his tongue. “No, Ma,” he said, pausing for one more kiss. “This is going to begin everything. Hope you’re ready.” She’d never considered another relationship. Actually, after Rich she’d convinced herself that she didn’t need a man. Mentally anyway. Physically, her body told her she was wrong. She may not have needed a man to disrupt her thoughts or heart, but her flesh craved one from time to time. Especially tonight, her body reminded with a sweet pulse as Larenz released her from his magic, and they made their way to his ride. The streetlights whirred by in a flash while she looked out of the passenger side window. She’d just met him and already he was altering her world. It wasn’t supposed to be happening so fast, Miranda told herself. The way Larenz already read her mind and voiced her thoughts, smoothed her wrinkled insecurities. How a simple touch of his warm palm caused the surface of her skin to heat and simmer until her womanhood percolated underneath. Most importantly, she filled with wonder, how he made her smile from within and stroked her with intelligence—two things she’d been waiting for.

“Where do I turn?” he asked, interrupting her daze. “Here. There. I mean…at the next light.” She was rattled, trying to figure out where they were. Larenz laughed, reached over and touched her leg. “Wow, Ma. You okay, or tired…or lost? Hope you’re not lost, ‘cause if you are then I am too.” “Make a right at the light. Then it’s the second brownstone on the left,” she instructed, then pointed at his gps. “You can’t be lost, not if you used this to get to my house earlier.” “You got it,” he admitted, turning into her driveway. Not yet, but I will. She opened her door, and made it to the porch as quickly as she could. Purposely, she left her summer wrap in the car. Inserting the key into the lock, she turned and waited for Larenz to get out of the car. He stood between the open drivers’ door and the car, just staring at her. “Your shawl. You accidentally left it in the car,” he informed her. Miranda licked her lips, smiled. “Let me ask you a question, Larenz.” He leaned against the car. “What’s that, Ma?” She stepped one foot into the house and stood half in, half out, straddling the doorway. “Do you believe in coincidences, accidents or mistakes?” she asked, already knowing his answer. He shook his head. “Me either. I didn’t accidentally leave a thing. I’m sure you can find a reason to give me my wrap another time,” she said, walking into her house and closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, damning and praising herself at the same time. She’d wanted Larenz something terrible, The Almighty knew she did, but she couldn’t give it up so soon. Even if she did want to. If she didn’t learn anything else from her past ordeal with Rich, she knew she had to know who she played with before taking it any further. Fanning her hand to cool her senses, a part of her told her she was crazy. She was grown, fully so, and sex on the first date didn’t matter, not as long as it was what she’d wanted. But that’s precisely the thing that had gotten her heart in trouble before, what she’d sought, material and otherwise. “It’s about what I need,” she reminded herself of the promise she’d made. “What I need and require and am worth.” Material things, thanks to the money she’d borrowed from Rich and invested in Real Estate, were easy. She’d purchased several buildings, held plenty of rental properties, and

though the economy was bust on multiple levels, her head was high above water because if New Yorkers did nothing else, they rented. And Miranda collected. Her every whim and want was at her fingertips except the ones she desired that held no price tag. Love and marriage and a baby carriage. She let herself into her unit. Walking to her bedroom, she bee-lined to her nightstand to retrieve a toy or two. “Rabbit or Bullet?” she asked, then decided to be greedy and good to herself, taking both into the master bathroom. She didn’t feel like bathing alone, and if she couldn’t have Larenz physically, she could have him in her mind. “Me and Larenz sitting in a tree, s-e-x-i-n-g.” She turned on the shower, hopped in under the warm spray, and put in work until her sweat and the water became one.

Chapter Six Christa

Emory had proved to be an enigma. Christa studied his full, moist lips as he spoke, silently craving to kiss them. But could she? she wondered. They had met four times in two weeks, and she still wasn’t able to get a full handle on him. Mr. Epps, always easy going and attentive—sometimes overly so, was just that and nothing more. Business. Still Christa questioned whether she should push up on him or not because he’d sometimes given her cause to pause. His gaze roamed her body and ventured to peaks and valleys married men were barred from. He flashed her a wink and made the decision for her. The lines were blurred and someone was confused. “So what do you think?” he asked. Christa shrugged. Nodded. Smiled. She had no idea what he was asking her opinion on but she could recite backward with her eyes closed and hanging upside down his every gesture, facial expression and lick of his lips between words. “I don’t know. I mean, I think…I think…” Emory cleared his throat, and saved her the embarrassment. “I know it

needs some work. However, I guarantee you this: by the time this is done and fleshed out you’ll be so thorough and versed on it, and it’ll be so iron clad it’ll be impossible to challenge.” Christa nodded again. “Well, maybe if you let me take it home while you’re tweaking it. I might see something different…give you my opinion,” she BS’d, still clueless to the new project they were supposed to be reviewing together. Emory walked to her side of the conference table, pausing a little too close for business comfort. “How do you do it?” “It? What it of mine are you curious about?” her question purred. He nodded, then chuckled, easy and smooth. “I set myself up for that one.” He hesitated, looking her in the eyes. “How do you go from dayto-day hustling, representing someone else’s company or firm—being the bearer of bad news…the bad girl. The, ya know.” Christa finished for him. “Bitch?” Emory nodded. “You said it.” “I enjoy what I do. I walk into a company, turn it around, straighten out the higher-ups who thought they were untouchable, and I regulate. All without marring my name, but still elevating my image and worth. I do dirt in the name of someone else and get paid for it. I’m anonymous, Emory. I love anonymity. Don’t you?” He placed his hand on hers. “Can we meet later this week, when you’re free?” Her nephew Niles locked his little arms around her legs and held onto them. Christa looked down, laughing. For months they’d had a bet that he couldn’t lift her. Convinced that he could, he tried to pick her up every time they saw one another. “So what’s up, big bro? Not too often you drop by unannounced,” Christa asked Jared as Niles grunted with each attempt to lift her, and Christa hoped her brother would get the hint that she didn’t like it when people unexpectedly popped up. She had things to do, and babysitting her brother and nephew weren’t on her agenda. Emory Epps was. They’d played phone tag all week, comparing and correlating schedules, exchanging mutual interests while growing comfortable. Conversation with him was easy, fluid. He was a genuine listener who didn’t find entertainment in talking about himself. That made him more appealing and interesting, and she’d found herself

opening up in ways she hadn’t remembered ever doing with anyone. In a short time, he became her shoulder, and she’d offered hers if ever he needed one. Yes, Emory had captured her. He seemed to be just what she’d wanted, and she couldn’t wait discover his world. She snuck a look at the clock on the wall behind Jared. In less than three hours she was to meet Emory in front of Central Park, and Jared wasn’t making her preparation as easy as she’d have liked. Jared sat back on the sofa, laced his fingers together and fiddled with his thumbs. Christa watched her usually confident brother, and knew something was bothering him. She’d only seen him fidget four times before. When he’d taken her with him to pick out Kennedy’s engagement ring. When he’d awaited the respective births of Niles and, his and Kennedy’s late daughter, Kharri, to be born, and when he’d waited to see if he’d been accepted into medical school. Christa raised her eyebrows, wondering if he’d make her an auntie again. A slight smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, but he snatched it away before it could completely surface. “Nothing.” Jared’s lie was obvious. Christa pursed her lips, insulted that her brother thought he could get away with telling an untruth in her face. “Yeah, okay. And Niles just picked me up,” she said, her feet firmly planted on the floor. “Not yet, Auntie,” Niles pointed out, grunting and heaving, still trying his best to lift her from the floor. “There are juice boxes in the fridge and chips in the cabinet…maybe cartoons on TV,” she suggested to her nephew, then winked when he took the bait, loosing his grip from her legs. “My strength is dying down and I gotta check on my sidekick. I need to replenish my super powers,” Niles said, flexing his little muscles before disappearing into the kitchen. Christa sat down next to Jared. “Replenish?” Jared nodded. “I know, and he’s only six. Can you imagine…” Grabbing a pillow, Christa held it. “No, I can’t. Imagine what seven will bring.” Jared shook his head, rubbed his chin. “I wish I could, Sis. But I can’t even say I will be living under the same roof as him when he’s seven.” Christa got up, grabbed Jared’s hand and pulled him from the sofa. “My room. Now!” she ordered in a harsh whisper. She could be coarse, she knew, but children where her weakness. Her nephew, especially, was her soft spot.

Pushing Jared into the bedroom, she closed the door behind him and leaned her weight against it. “Sit down and tell me what’s up. First you lie and tell me nothing’s wrong when clearly everything is, and now this? What do you mean you don’t know if you’ll be in the same house?” Jared’s hand pressed make-believe wrinkles from the knees of his scrubs, and he looked up at his younger sister. For the first time, Christa realized how tired her brother looked. Haggard, even. Like a child, he shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s just something I feel. Maybe it’s all I’ve put up with over the years. Kennedy’s attitude. Our break ups and make ups, then recycling those all over again. Then there’s Michael—my not being Niles’s real dad—” “Real dad?” Christa winced from the verbal slap, then exhaled fire. “What do you mean by real? Real as in biological?” She folded her arms, tapped her foot. All Jared could do was nod. “Bullshit, Jared. You are his real dad. You love him. Raise him. Hell, you were there when he was born. So what in the hell do you mean by real?” Jared opened his mouth to answer, and Christa held up her hand, silencing him. “You better come up with something better than that, big brother. Because If I recall correctly, the man we love and know and call Daddy didn’t donate his DNA to either of us, remember? Our sperm donor did just that—donate…then disappeared after you were born, and only resurfaced long enough to help Mom make me before he pulled another Houdini. You’re just as much Niles’s dad as Daddy is ours,” she huffed, tearing up. Jared stood and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, Sis. I forgot how sensitive you are about Daddy. It’s just I don’t know what to do, Christa. It’s like my whole world is sinking and pulling me under with it.” “So don’t let it.” She pushed away from him. “You’re a man, Jared. A real man—the only real one I know other than Daddy. You’ve been one since we were little. Why stop being one now?” Jared shrugged again, then rubbed his chin and moved his eyes from hers. Reaching up, she tried to turn his face toward hers, but no luck. He simply refused, and his neck muscles were clearly stronger than her hands. Christa let go of his face, ignored the childish antic. Rearing back her head, she noticed something she didn’t like. A look. Taken aback by the mask her brother now wore, she paused for breath. She knew that look all too well,

and it panged her. Not Jared. Not my brother. “Another woman?” Silence. “It’s another woman. Isn’t it?” Christa asked, waiting for him to answer her and hoping like hell that she wasn’t right. Jared just shook his head. “So you’re just going to stand in front of me—in my house, and not answer me?” Stupid was painted all over his face. “Whaddaya mean?” Christa pushed past him, wondering if he was really jumbling his words or had it been a part of her imagination. Had her brother, the one she loved and admired and had always looked up to as a real man, really fallen so low? “Say that again,” she ordered from the doorway. “I said: What. Do. You. Mean. Another. Woman?” Jared clipped his words, walking up to her as he spoke. “Why does everything have to be about someone else? Maybe I’m just unhappy. That’s not enough? You’re my sister, not Kennedy’s, worry about me,” he pointed out, walking past her into the living room. “And I’m your brother, not a dog.” He picked up his jacket, then yelled for Niles to hurry so they could go. Christa shrugged, following behind him. “I hope so, Jared. I’d hate to have to lose respect for you.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall next to the front door. A smile parted her lips when Niles ran as fast as he could to Jared, sticking his arms into his jacket. “Auntie Christa, this is great! First me and Daddy hang out, then I get to come see you and, and, and on top of it all—the biggest and greatest and gi-normous thing happened in the kitchen. My favorite movie of all time is available in stores everywhere on Tuesday! On dvd!” Christa and Jared both laughed. “You mean gigantic, sweetie. Not gi-normous, right?” “You, lose respect for me?” Jared whispered as Niles continued talking. “You can’t lose something you don’t have. Baby Sis, you lost any semblance of respect a long time ago. Self-respect. You might’ve left it lying on someone’s bed when their wife wasn’t looking,” he spat, guiding Niles out the co-op to the front door of the building with Christa tagging behind. Niles shook his head while walking down the porch stairs. “A remix, Auntie. Gigantic and enormous equals gi-normous.” Christa feigned a smile at Niles, nodding her head to hide the stabbing pain shooting through her heart. Jared knew how to hurt her. “Yes, Gi-

normous,” she mouthed to her nephew as he bounced down the walk. Gi-normous like her brother’s attitude and problems she hoped wouldn’t erase the smile on Nile’s face. He deserved to be happy, all children did. Self-respect? Self-respect? Did Jared think he was belittling her as if she’d deserved it? He wasn’t concerned about self-respect when she held a community fundraiser to buy his medical school books though she was the younger of the two. He also hadn’t given either word a second thought when she covered for his disappearing a few times with whomever, on Kennedy years ago. Now that he believed his life to be stable, he wanted to judge her? Bullshit. A surprisingly cool breeze blew, suddenly caused her to flinch. She pulled her head back into the building wondering if Emory had any children whose lives would be affected by the playing she’d planned to do with their father. For a second she caught her breath, was almost ashamed of herself for having a moment of weakness—a guilty conscience. As she closed the door, she chuckled. When did other people’s lives start trumping her needs? “Never,” she checked herself, then went to prepare for Emory, wondering if he’d prefer to see her in red or black. Every man had a favorite flavor, and she would be his before the week was over. She’d see to it. “Forget Jared and his sanctimonious behind. Self-righteous doesn’t pay the bills and it damn sure doesn’t curl your toes,” she whispered as she entered the bath. The warm spray of water felt good cascading down her skin, washing away thoughts of earlier. She didn’t know why Jared had the power to affect her the way that he did. Was it because he was her brother or because of what he’d said that’d aggravated her so? She’d never once had to give self-respect such a second thought before. She did respect herself and her choices. It was the men she dealt with who were lacking it for themselves and their wives. Lathering her arms, she decided to kill the notion. She wouldn’t lose sleep over a seven letter word or any more time pondering if she had enough r-e-s-p-e-c-t or not. She had a man to see. Her quiet was interrupted by a noise. Christa paused, listened, and heard nothing. It must’ve been her imagination, she believed. Then, she heard the sound again. Wood floorboards yawned and creaked as weight was applied, then lifted. A chair’s leg scuffed a dull whistle as it was pushed back into place. And then came the erasure thud of rubber soles against the floor. Did Jared have on sneakers? “Jared?” she called out. “Stop playing! Did you forget something?” she asked, wondering how he’d gotten into her place. He didn’t have a key so

she must’ve accidentally left the front door unlocked. There was no answer, just footsteps again. “Jared!” she screamed out again, reaching out for the shower handle to turn off the water. But she didn’t have time to stop the rush of spray. Didn’t have another second to call her brother’s name. All she had time to do was catch her breath. The shower curtain flew back, causing cold to greet Christa’s body and fear to enter her heart. Yelling out, she stopped when she saw Grant standing on the other side of it. “Going somewhere?” he asked.

Chapter Seven Kennedy

The porcelain mug warmed her hand and the granite kitchen counter cooled her behind as she adjusted her body, tried to find a snatch of comfort on the hard surface. But there was no balance, no quick fix she could squirm her way into this time. The discomfort just had to be dealt with, she thought, knowing her uneasiness was about more than just her current position on top of Michael’s countertop. It came from within, and lasting relief would only come from curing her situations. Plural. Not singular. She had problems with an s, and try as she might, Kennedy knew solace wasn’t to belong to her anytime soon. Troubles had confronted her, and she had to answer them. Tariq thinks that Kharri was his, and Jared’s cheating. “He is…” she said, co-signing her last thought. “He is what?” Michael stood across the room, holding an envelope, staring at her. “And who is the he you’re referring to?” He walked toward her, handing her the letter, then moved slippered feet to the other side of the island, glided more than walked, and sat at on one of the barstools.

Kennedy perked up. She hadn’t realized she’d made the comment aloud. That hadn’t been her intention, not yet, anyway. She’d first wanted to work up the nerve to complain to one ex about the other two. “Nothing,” she lied, realizing that she’d already started to consider Jared past tense. An ex like Tariq. “Humph.” She looked at the envelope. “What’s this?” He shook his head. “The other reason you came, remember? That’s the receipt for Niles’ cord blood storage from his umbilical.” He tsked her. “And what do you mean by nothing? Come on, Ken. This is me you’re lying to. Yo’ baby daddy, remember? He chided, laughing. Prompted her to do the same. They both hated the disgraceful title. Kennedy set down her mug, threw up her hands in surrender. She was so wrapped up in her problems that she’d forgotten about the bill for banking Niles’ stem cells. “Okay, you got me. I’m lying. Sorry. I don’t think I want to marry Jared. For a couple of reasons. One, the sex isn’t the same. The last time we fuck—” “Hey. Hey. Hey! Too much. We may not be together, but I’m not ready to hear about you and Jared’s sex life. You and I do have a son together.” Kennedy hopped off the counter, elbowing Michael as she walked past him. “Puh-leez! I’m the last one you’re interested in,” she said, batting away her tears. She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. She picked up the remote, and powered on the Plasma tv mounted over the fireplace. She settled her body onto a butter-soft lime leather sofa, then channel-surfed while she tried to make her mind switch gears. Michael followed, carrying both their cups of tea. He sat next to her, stared into her watery eyes. “Alright, Ken. Enough is enough. You don’t have allergies, sweetheart. And you didn’t just yawn. Those are tears. I may be gay, but I’m still a man. I can’t just sit here and watch a woman cry and not do anything about it. Especially not one who belonged to me for a short while and carried my son. This is about more than Jared and a wedding. I can tell.” She ran her hand through her hair. Bit her lip. Toyed with her necklace. Did all the things she did when she was emotionally overcome. Throwing back her head, she looked up to the heavens, swallowed the lump growing in her throat. Exhaled. “You’re right. It’s about so much more than a wedding…” she began, then let go, allowing her tears to cascade. “It’s about cheating,” she admitted to the ceiling. There was no way she could look at Michael. Not after she’d trialed and hung him in the past for his indiscretion

while they were together too, she had prematurely wrapped her legs around Jared before the jury had come back with a guilty verdict confirming she’d had the right to do so. She shook her head, glad that she could still turn to him, thankful that he’d hand her the truth and nothing more. A faint smile surfaced through her tears. Michael was more than Nile’s father, he was her friend. Despite their past, padded with mutual deceit and a traumatic ending that had exposed them both for who they were and what they’d really wanted, they still had one another. Yes, he’d been a closeted gay man who had slept with her brother Derrick, but she’d answered his peccadillo by sleeping with Jared. Fair was fair, and they’d broke even so no one came up short or harbored ill feelings. Pushing away the tears, Kennedy moved closer and rested her head on his shoulder. She inhaled him—his scent and comfort. He felt like home. Not like Tariq, the manly man she’d craved so much she’d wanted to move into him, or Jared, the proverbial provider and security many longed for, but a completely different type of home—one a girl found in her father. Safety. “I really fucked up this time… And why do you keep serving me tea when you know I prefer coffee. I need caffeine.” Michael lifted her face to meet his, then chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’m not here to give you what’s good to you; I’m here to give you what’s good for you. Isn’t that why you’re here? And when, by the way, don’t you fuck up?” he teased, trying to lighten her mood. Kennedy shrugged and laughed with him. “I know, right? But seriously, I have really messed up this time, and Jared has too. There’s somebody else.” Michael softly pushed her back, then sat erect. “Someone else? Not Jared. Not Mr. I-Love-Kennedy-So-Much. Don’t tell me he has someone else?” She nodded, then admitted: “Not just Jared, I have someone else too. Rather, I did a long time ago, and now he’s back. And he thinks that he fathered Kharri,” she began, then confessed her and Tariq’s story to him, recent elevator ride and all. Michael sat back and took it all in, grunting a disbelieving sound here and there but never uttering a word or casting a judgmental look. Kennedy crossed her ankles, wilted her head, then breathed deeply when she had finished, feeling as if she’d just lost an extra hundred pounds. “So that’s it,” Michael steepled his fingers, rested them on the bridge of

his nose. “Two children, four fathers?” Kennedy flinched, almost jumping out of her skin. It wasn’t that his words scared her, the numbers did. Not only were they inaccurate, they made her feel like a whore. A wretched one. “Two children, three fathers!” she corrected, her calculation not making her feel too much better than his. Michael held up each of his index fingers. “You came here for the truth and I’m going to give it to you. Keep in mind I’m an accountant, so I know my math, Sweetheart. In a court of law Kharri’s and Niles’ paternity suits would’ve been tested respectively and individually to determine the father. It doesn’t matter that Jared would’ve been a common denominator in both cases. First Jared and Tariq would’ve been tested for Kharri, then Jared and I would’ve been tested for Niles. Two separate children, possibly two separate court dates and, definitely, two tests. Two men tested for one child plus two men tested for another is…say it with me…four.” He rubbed her leg and patted it. Kennedy glared. Whorish. That’s what she felt. No matter how it was dressed it up, no matter how she carried herself outside of bedroom doors, what happened between her sheets dictated that she had a reason to be fitted with a scarlet letter on her left breast. Yes, there’d been a DNA test taken to determine the paternity of Niles. No, Tariq wasn’t Kharri’s father or a candidate. Jared was the only man she’d slept with and who could’ve fathered her daughter. No ifs, ands, or buts. But Tariq’s wondering if he were was enough to trigger the wrong thoughts in anyone’s mind. His question was enough to make her seem like the whore she was starting to appear to be. “It was a long time ago, Ken. Everybody has growing pains. And though sometimes you carry yourself as if you’re immune, like you’re above the law, you’re no exception. You just need to forgive yourself. You couldn’t help it.” Kennedy stood, walked over to the bank of windows in the loft. Stared blankly at the cars moving on the street below. “That’s the problem, Michael. I couldn’t help myself and I’m afraid I still can’t. I wouldn’t call it an addiction, but it’s definitely a perpetual itch I long to have soothed.” Michael walked up behind her and massaged her shoulders. If it were years ago, she would have relaxed, rested her body against his and thrust back her hips until she felt his hardness against her. She rolled her eyes. So sad.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that I just love men. I mean really, really love’em. It’s like I can’t get enough of them and what they can give me— and I’m not talking about material things either. Hell, I’m not even referring to time.” “I know.” He continued to massage her. “I’ve been there before.” “And I love Jared. Or at least I’d like to believe I do, but my thoughts— my earlier actions with Tariq say the opposite. It’s like I’m always looking for, for…something. I don’t know what, though. And I’m scared for Niles.” Michael’s next question was laced with concern. “Niles? What about Niles?” Kennedy waved her hand. “No. No, nothing like that. I’m not putting our son in harm’s way. I’m just scared to hurt or confuse him. He already can’t understand having two fathers—” “One father,” Michael corrected. She nodded. “You know what I’m talking about. My concern is that if I leave Jared, then what? A third man in his life, possibly a fourth and fifth and a sixth because I’m insatiable? Niles has to respect me, not see me as some sort of floozy. I’m his roadmap to women. I’m supposed to set the perfect example of what kind of woman he chooses and how he’ll treat her.” The tears came again. Crying she hadn’t anticipated. She’d never before really thought about how her lack of satisfaction with men could ruin her son. Michael grabbed her shoulders. “Look, now you’re thinking too much. Niles is fine. Trust me. If he can handle me being gay, he can handle you. And you haven’t exposed him to anything,” he pointed out, sounding more as if he were questioning her. “Besides, you’re not insatiable and you’re not a whore. Your problem is you’re not happy, Ken. And you never will be as long as you settle or have questions about what could have been. It sounds to me like that’s the problem—loose ends you need to tie up. You’re just confused because you and this dude never had closure, and in your mind you’ve made it out to be more than it is, maybe what you once wanted. But if you really had of wanted it, wouldn’t you have had it—or at least gone after it? Think about it. You’re beautiful, successful, and have more confidence than any woman I know. Your self-esteem skyrockets.” He started counting on fingers, “You educated yourself. Had two beautiful children. Captured all your dreams. Built a beautiful life with a man who loves you—and our son, dearly. Don’t throw him away because he had a bad day.” Kennedy lifted herself on tiptoe, wrapped her arms around Michael

and hugged him with all her might, hoping to convey her thanks with her embrace. He’d given her just what she’d needed. More than anything, her curiosity about Tariq piqued more than her interest. But he hadn’t come for her; he’d resurfaced because he thought she’d given birth to his child. She still couldn’t understand how he’d reached that conclusion. Their love affair was all in her mind, an old flame that was hard for her to put out. Yes, she wanted him something serious. But she couldn’t throw away Jared. Some you play with, some you keep, she reminded herself. Releasing Michael, she grabbed her tote and was on her way to clean up her mess with Tariq so she could get her house in order with Jared. “By the way, Ken? How long do we have to keep paying the blood bank? And why are we doing it again? You never told me.” Kennedy laughed. “That’s because I always paid, remember? We can bank them forever as far as I’m concerned. I froze his stem cells in case anything bad ever happens to him. My mother died of cancer, and someday his stem cells may be used to treat cancer and other major diseases such as leukemia, sickle cell, and something else that has to do with bone marrow if he ever needs to.” Michael hugged Kennedy one more time. “I’m glad that you’re my son’s mother. Who else would think of that? Now go fix your business.” The wind blew what little hair she had as she stood curbside waiting for the doorman to hail her a cab. A faint smile crept up on her as she relaxed, finally knowing what she had to do. First, she’d drop by the hospital to see Jared, maybe christen an operating or examination room—find a different place for her to leave her scent and spice up their love life, then she’d move on to Tariq, make him disappear by proving to him that he hadn’t fathered Kharri, a feat she could hardly believe she had to accomplish. Yes, she would snugly piece her life back together. She and Jared would once again be so tight that nothing or no one could ease between them. “Never mind the cab,” she said to the attendant, deciding to walk to get to her man. She was, after all, a New Yorker. Reaching into her tote, she grabbed the one accessory just about every professional woman who wore heels to work had on her at all times: a pair of bust-downs. Exchanging stilettos for flip-flops, Kennedy made haste. Walking was natural to her, and a mile or two was good for maintaining the smooth and supple thighs she was proud to still have. Blocks had quickly passed as she thought of moving up their wedding date and designing her own dress since she couldn’t find one that suited her.

If you can’t find a bridge, build one, she decided as she rounded the corner and set her eyes on the hospital entrance. Anticipation speeded her pulse and quickened her steps. She couldn’t wait to get to him. She licked her lips, imagining the look on his face when he realized that she was bringing him her treat. Remembering the floor plan in her mind, she knew exactly in which room she wanted to accost him. She’d sex him until he needed a breathing treatment. “Poor thing doesn’t even have asthma,” she whispered, then froze. Lost all her newfound energy and poise. “Oh hell no!” she exclaimed, kicking up her heels as quickly as she could until she broke into a full sprint. But her flip-flopping on the cement couldn’t get her there fast enough. There, in full view of any and everybody, Jared hugged and kissed some woman on the forehead, then proceeded to get into, what Kennedy assumed to be, her car. Speeding up, she screamed his name. She was going to lay hands on him. Kill him. Take her stiletto from her bag and juke him in the eye with the ice pick-like heel. She called out to him again, and this time he looked at her. He did, she convinced herself. She hadn’t imagined it, he’d seen her through the faintly tinted window, then sped away, taking Kennedy’s hopes of fixing their relationship with them.

Chapter Eight Miranda “Seven? In the morning. You’ve got to be kidding me. “Dammit!” she said looking at the clock, wondering who was ringing her doorbell. “One second!” she yelled, rolling out of bed. She grabbed her robe from behind the adjoining bathroom door, looked in the mirror and stuck her tongue out childlike at the monster staring back. Her hair stood at attention, circles rounded her eyes, and she had gray crust on one side of her mouth. She rubbed her forehead, splashed water on her face, then ran down the hall hoping whoever it was didn’t get too close because she didn’t have time to brush her teeth. “Who is it?” she asked, opening the door. A familiar looking young boy, no more than fifteen-years-old, stood on the other side sporting a fitted baseball cap and a smile. Miranda raked him with a glance, summed him up. He was gorgeous. Fresh braids, babysmooth skin under a five-o’clock shadow he was too young to have. Muscles for weeks, and a deadly smile. Where were guys like this when she was growing up? There definitely had to be something in the milk. “Delivery!” he shouted, a little too loudly.

For the first time, Miranda noticed he held a beautiful bouquet of Birds of Paradise in one hand and a medium-sized box in the other. She stared for a second. Tried to make sense about why he was on her steps so early, and stopped herself from cursing him. Tilting her head, she looked at him. She was sure she knew him from somewhere. “Morning.” She greeted him a voice much deeper than usual, then held out her hands to accept her delivery. He stepped back, still grinning. “Pick one.” She crinkled her brows. “Come again. Did you tell me to pick one?” The man-boy nodded. “Just one and only one.” Miranda ran her hands through her already messed up do. It was way too early in the morning for this. “Just pass me whatever you came to give me. I’m still tired, and a little too old to play games with you.” “Look. I’m just doing what I’m being paid to do. Pick which one you want, and I’ll bounce.” He held out the Birds of Paradise in his right hand, then switched up, presenting the box in his left. Miranda admired the flowers and was curious about what was in the box. She wanted both, but snatched the cardboard before the boy told her she couldn’t pick anything. “The flowers are beautiful, but I have more than I need. Not like those though.” She nodded her head toward her front lawn at the gorgeous floral displays her landscaper had designed. “You sure I can’t have both?” He shook his head no. She decided to hit him with a barrage of questions. “Who sent you, anyway? And you look familiar; don’t I know you from somewhere? And aren’t you supposed to be in school or something?” Already bouncing down the steps, he turned, flexed his jaw muscles. “I’m on my way to school now. It’s only after seven. Dang! I gotta make my appearance around eight-fifteen. And I’m Reddy, by the way. R.E.D.D.Y. I live two doors down, and always deliver flowers to the older lady next door—the one who makes me throw them away because she’s allergic and doesn’t want old dude she’s seeing to know.” “You mean Ms. Mabel? She has a boyfriend?” Miranda asked, inquiring about her seventy-three year old tenant. “Yes. Ms. Mabel. I don’t throw them away though, I take’em to my moms. Gonna do the same with these other ones. And maybe there’s a card in the box or somethin’. I would’a put one in there for you.” He winked. Reddy as in ready. Miranda couldn’t help but smile. The little teenager

was trying in his adolescent way to pick up on her. She craned her neck, watched him bop down the street. She shook her head. Reddy was definitely almost ready for something. Whew! No, lawd!” They didn’t make them like that when she was younger. Pulling herself back into the house, she nodded and closed the door. She took the box into the kitchen, set it on the table. Flipping it over, she looked for a label or a card, but there wasn’t one. Shaking it gently, she guessed it weighed a couple of pounds, and it was a much bigger than a shoe box. Setting it back down, she took a knife from the drawer and opened it. There, just inside the flaps, was a note. I guessed right, you are the adventurous type. A woman not afraid of the unknown, hunh? I like that. I can’t wait to see you again. Would breakfast this morning be too soon? I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet…at least I hope not. Now you know the reason for the early delivery. In the meantime, enjoy something beautiful, Ma. I’ll be waiting for your call. Opening the box all the way, Miranda smiled. There was another bouquet of Birds of Paradise. Lifting the flowers from the box, she brought them to her nose and inhaled. The subtle smell was soft and sweet. She admired Larenz’s taste, glad he hadn’t opted for the usual roses so many men had played out by over giving them, then drew her eyebrows together. Reaching back into the box, she took out a pair of leather flip-flops, and held them up. She guessed they were at least one size too big. “Okay…” Glancing down, a bright, almost blinding yellow pulled her attention. Snatching it up, she realized it was a raincoat, then laughed at what came next, an old-school Members Only jacket. Charcoal gray, complete with the neck strap. “What in the world,” she said, laughing even louder. Either Larenz was crazy or he was fun. She was betting on the latter, knowing she’d find out soon. The doorbell chimed again. Her cell phone rang. Miranda cradled the Members Only jacket, tried to decide which to answer first. Grabbing her phone, she saw it was Larenz. “Ooh,” she said, grinning and pressing the talk button while walking to the door. She just knew it was him on the porch. “Hello,” she answered the cell and simultaneously opened the front door, cheesing the whole time. “Hey Ma,” Larenz greeted on the phone. “S’up Miranda?” Kennedy’s words were as dry as her expression. Miranda stepped back, allowing room for her sister-friend to enter. Torn

between happiness on the opposite end of the cell phone and Kennedy needing her, she grew quiet. “You there, Ma? Did I lose you or something?” Larenz asked, then whispered to himself. “Damn. I must’ve hit a dead spot.” Kennedy waved for Miranda to finish her call. Miranda held up a finger, mouthed “one sec” to Kennedy. “No, Larenz. I’m here.” She walked into the kitchen, laid the jacket on the table next to the other items he’d had delivered. “Thanks for the package. I don’t know what it all means, but I’m enjoying it.” “Good. Good. That’s what I hoped. Look, I can be around your way in an hour or so. Want to go to breakfast?” Yes, she wanted to go. But she knew she couldn’t, not with Kennedy in the other room clearly needing a friend. “Can we do brunch or lunch? I got a couple of things I have to take care of, then I’m all yours.” He laughed. “Word? Well, if waiting a couple hours means you’ll be all mine, I welcome the wait. The reward’s too good to pass, Ma. Call me when you’re almost ready.” Disconnecting the call, Miranda set down her phone. She took the coffee canister from the counter, scooped two huge spoons in the espresso maker, filled it with water, then turned it on and went to see what was going on with Kennedy. Kennedy sat in the corner of the sofa, with her legs tucked and staring off in space. She was biting her lower lip and playing with her necklace. Miranda leaned against the archway, holding her tongue. Sometimes less was more, and this was one of those much needed silent moments. She knew her friend well, and Kennedy would speak when she was ready. Miranda had only seen her cry twice and, then, it was only because of death. Everyday problems had never really moved Kennedy. She owned a strength that Miranda had always admired. Kennedy wiped her eyes, and her action alarmed Miranda. “Damn,” Miranda muttered under her breath. This morning wouldn’t be an easy one. First she’d been awakened at an ungodly hour, then she couldn’t go out to play with Larenz when she wanted, and now she’d have to press Kennedy for information. Find out what was wrong so she could help fix it, and go on with her day. A tinge of guilt slapped her, she didn’t want to rush her friend or seem cold but it’d been a long time since a man held her attention, and she wanted to be with him.

“You want coffee? I put some on a minute ago. Or perhaps something stronger? It’s early, but I’m sure you have reason.” Miranda walked over and stood in front of Kennedy. Kennedy shook her head. “All I need is a moment. And a gun,” she stated flatly, held not an ounce of joking. “A gun?” Miranda was on the sofa now, squeezing herself between Kennedy and the armrest. “What for? What happened? Who do you want to shoot?” rolled off her tongue. “Jared.” “Jared? Nooo. Not Jared. Why?” Kennedy crossed her arms, threw Miranda a look of stone. “Why in the hell does everyone think Jared’s exempt from doing wrong? First Michael and, now, you with the “No, not Jared”s. Well, yes, Jared.” Miranda bit her tongue. She was seconds away from straightening out her friend, but she let it go. Kennedy was just ranting, she assured herself. “Well, let me tell you about you guys’ precious-can-do-no-wrong Jared. That lowdown bastard is cheating—” “Get the hell outta here!” Miranda exclaimed, jumping up from her seat. She placed her hands on her hips, looked around the room for the ashtray. She was sure she had a clip of weed left, and she needed to smoke it. “You sure?” Kennedy shot her another look. “Ok. You got it. How do you know?” she asked, locating the ashtray, and lighting up. She took a deep drag, and held it in the back of her throat, let her body absorb the smoke’s THC through her windpipe. “I saw him with my own eyes,” she began, then told Miranda the whole story. Miranda stood there and listened intently, wondered if Kennedy were reading too much into it. Her sister-friend had been known to go overboard a time or two, and hadn’t really witnessed a thing except Jared kissing some woman on the forehead. She wondered if it were possible that the woman was a distant relative, a play sister, someone other than a chick on the side. Another look at Kennedy, and she knew not to ask her if she’d considered other possibilities. Kennedy’s mind was clearly made up. Her seething told Miranda so. Still, Miranda felt that she had to risk it all and be a real friend. She wasn’t placed in Kennedy’s life to hold her hand and always take her side. She was her comrade, compadré, a sister-friend who’d done all but

take a vow to be real with her. If she couldn’t hand Kennedy the truth, what was the point of their being friends? “Make sure you’re one hundred percent sure before you put the noose around his neck and push him off the chair. Ok?” Kennedy stood now. “What do you mean by sure? I saw that mu’fucka with another woman, his lips on her, and you think I need to be sure? Hell, I can see, you know?” Miranda held Kennedy’s wrists hoping they wouldn’t exchange blows. Both were strong women who didn’t take mess. But she needed to make sure she had Kennedy’s undivided attention. “Look, Sis. Believe none of what you hear, half of what you see. We’ve all heard that before.” Kennedy snatched away. “And?” “And you need to calm down, that’s what. Don’t come over here and give me grief like I did something to you. We don’t sleep together, so don’t treat me like we do. I’m your friend. Your man effed up, not me,” Miranda spat. She was half awake, half high, all the way irritated, and tired of holding someone’s hand who obviously didn’t appreciate it, or couldn’t in her state. “You came here for a reason. I’m assuming you didn’t come here for me to lie to you or pretend.” Kennedy rolled her eyes. “I came here for some quiet, that’s all. I can’t rest at home.” Miranda stormed through the room. “Well, take your ass in one of those bedrooms back there and lie the hell down then. Take a nap and a moment, then get over yourself,” she hissed from the living room’s archway. “I got a grown, grown-ass man waiting to see me, and you and your nasty disposition are holding me up from getting ready for him.” Kennedy placed her hands on her hips, snaked her neck. “So go get ready then. I’m not stopping you.” She walked out of the room, passing Miranda. It took every ounce of energy Miranda had in her not to stick out her foot and trip Kennedy when she strutted by like the head peacock in charge. She loved her friend, but God knew Kennedy could work her nerves when she put on airs and got indignant. She does have a reason, Miranda calmed and told herself, remembering how she’d felt when she discovered Rich had had something on the side. “Damnit!” she cursed, and padded down the hall toward the back bedroom where Kennedy had just slammed the door. At the rate she was going, she’d be ready for Larenz by next week. “I’m—”

“—sorry, Miranda.” Kennedy had opened the door and hugged Miranda before Miranda could finish her sentence. Miranda rubbed her hand on Kennedy’s back. “Me too. I’m sorry I wasn’t more understanding.” Kennedy released Miranda from her hug, forced a smile. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I will be, anyway. Really, I just needed some quiet—a place to stay so I can clear my head. Go get ready. Have fun.” “Sure?” “Yes, just go. Go get your man, girl!” Kennedy closed the bedroom door. Miranda exhaled, relieved that Kennedy seemed a bit better. She knew her friend’s dilemma wasn’t over, but there was nothing she could do until Kennedy made a solid decision. Then, she could support her but, for now, she refused to get in the middle of other people’s relationships, especially Kennedy and Jared’s. In the past, they’d had their share of downs and ups, and had always made it through without her interfering. It was no use in her starting now, she decided and went to call who she’d been waiting to see. He was mouthwatering again, Miranda thought as he held open her car door. Stepping out, she could barely keep her hands off him, and purposely brushed up against him. Larenz possessed an intelligence she found attractive. He held a Masters degree in business from Stanford University, had lived in several countries, and spoke four languages. She’d learned all this on the one-hour ride to Long Island, where he’d said the rest of her surprise awaited. Earlier, he’d taken her to breakfast at a Moroccan restaurant, where he’d hand-fed her and wiped the corners of her mouth with a hot towel. Now, he’d gotten down on one knee and untied her strapon, high-heeled sandals, and placed a flip-flop on either foot. “You may want the raincoat now,” he said laughing and holding her hand. Miranda looked up, shielding her eyes with her hand. The sun beamed blazing bright. “I don’t see any clouds. Didn’t know it was supposed to rain,” she said, holding his hand and following his lead. The beach seemed endless, stretched out in front of them. Now she understood why he’d sent her the flip-flops. Her heels wouldn’t have survived the sand, and her calves would’ve set fire from working so hard. “I need you to trust me.” He looked down at her with a serious gaze. Miranda smiled. “That takes time. You have to earn my trust. I don’t

volunteer it.” Letting go her hand, Larenz gently turned her head and pointed. “See that white blur in the distance?” She squinted, focused on where he pointed. Sure enough a big white blur met them. “Yes, what is it?” He grabbed her hand again, took off running in a slow jog, pulling her across the bright, warm sand. “I hope you don’t get seasick.” With his help, she’d boarded the speedboat when they reached it. White and sleek, she admired its beauty and was surprised by its size. She was hesitant about taking it out though. Life vest or not, she wasn’t a sure swimmer. Yes, she could pull off a lap or two, had waded in water plenty of times. But an ocean was a lot different than measurable water housed in a cement circle. Turning the key, he opened up the engine until it purred. The vibration caused Miranda to stiffen from nervousness. Walking behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, held on as if she were on the back of a motorcycle and about to fall off while he took a corner. “You alright, Ma?” He laughed. “I haven’t even taken her out in the water, and you’re holding on for dear life. You’re safe with me.” Miranda rested her head on his back. Inhaled him and the salty, bitter smell of the Atlantic Ocean, and believed him. She felt safer with him than she had with anyone in a long time. She only hoped she wouldn’t regret it. “Am I? Am I really safe with you?” He glanced back at her, then turned completely around. He looked her in the eyes. Grabbed her chin, put his lips on hers. Gave her a slight kiss. “Of course, Ma. Of course. What do you have to be afraid of?” She didn’t know why, but she wanted to tell him about Rich. Wanted to confide things in him she’d held to herself and had only shared with Kennedy. She felt the need to forewarn him about what he might be walking into. “Nothing,” she lied, looking him dead in the eyes, afraid of scaring him away with too much. She knew she had no right to invite him into her home until she had cleaned out her dirty past with Rich. “You can strap into the co-captain’s seat. Put on the raincoat first, it’s gonna get a little wet,” he instructed. “And get ready cause you’re gonna need that Member’s Only jacket soon, Ma.”

Chapter Nine Christa Grant didn’t want to leave her co-op. He’d sat there, on her sofa, in her place, sucking up all the oxygen. The more his fat belly took turns ballooning and deflating, recycling air, Christa’s stomach churned. She watched him, repulsed by his presence and girth. Now that she was done with him, his flaws were magnified, and his weight seemed to have quadrupled. Standing in the doorway, popping gum and tapping her foot, she crossed her arms. She had nothing for him. Not a kind word, not a pleasant gesture. She had made him wait until she dressed, moved around him as if he didn’t exist, and had taken Emory’s call with him sitting in front of her. Still, he’d refused to leave. She could’ve made him make tracks; had even entertained phoning her favorite boys in blue who lived off the taxes she paid, but didn’t see the need. She had other ways of making him suffer, and him staring at what he could no longer have was poetic justice because she knew it was killing him. She’d donned herself in a yellow, sexy dress with gold strappy stilettos

and matching bag. The clothes hugged all the curves he could only pray to touch, and Christa hadn’t one doubt that she was extra beautiful. Clasping his hands, he raked his eyes up and down her body, then back up again. “You’re just going to leave, Honey, with me sitting here?” Christa gave him a desert-dry look. “And you’re just going to sit there with me leaving? What right do you think you have?” He stood, defiant, pocketing his hands as if he were afraid that if he didn’t he’d choke the life out of her. “I guess none since I didn’t pay your insurance.” His sharp words hung in the air like a dagger waiting to drop. “My insurance? Grant, puh-leez. You think this is about my insurance?” She picked up her handbag and keys, ignoring his effort to intimidate her. He looked at the hand she held the house keys in, then zeroed in on her eyes, glaring as if she’d stolen something. “That was your problem earlier. Isn’t that what all our problems are about? Money? My money?” Christa’s laugh was deceptive. “Not this time, Sweetie. Un-unh,” she sneered, shaking her head. “All our problems are about you and your pregnant heifer of a wife. I saw you two together.” She pivoted, looked back over her shoulder and winked. “You don’t think I deserve my money after that? I mean…unless you want me to go knock on your door—talk to your Mrs.,” Christa threatened, set on going to meet his pregnant wife if he didn’t fork over the five-thousand dollars she needed. If Grant wanted her to be quiet, he’d have to pay her to hush. With a baby on the way, she was certain he didn’t need any more problems like alimony and child support. His neck relaxed and his head drooped. She’d defeated him, and had no problem rubbing it in and smiling about it. “I guess now you’ll be leaving,” she said, making her way to the door and holding it open for him to go. “Okay,” he said, inching past her. “I’ll get your money, but now you understand why I slowed down. With a baby on the way…I have bigger responsibilities now, and they need me more than you do.” She put her hand on his back, ushered him out. “Grant, I know this is cold. But I don’t give a damn about your wife or baby. I need to eat. How you feed them is your problem. Just give me my money and I’ll disappear.” Emory was right where he’d said he would be, on time and wearing a smile. Suited up as usual, Christa wondered how he’d look in casual clothes as the taxi came to a stop a few feet away from him. He was next to the car, paying the driver before she could get out.

“I could’ve done that,” she said, as he took her hand and helped her. Emory shook his head. “Your money’s never good when I’m around. I know you’re all independent, Ms. Anonymous. But I’d be less of a man if I let you pay for anything when you’re with me.” Christa grinned. She liked him more and more. Without her teaching him, he knew what it took to get her attention—catering to her whims. And footing any bill she’d incur while they were together was definitely a surefire way to keep holding her attention. “I appreciate that,” she said, digging into her purse and fishing out a twenty dollar bill. “I’m a big girl, Emory,” she pointed out, trying to hand it to him. He refused. “Stop it. I can take care of myself, at least pay for my own cab. Besides, it’s a business write-off. You know that. Or isn’t this a business meeting?” she flirted. Emory locked arms with her, caught her off guard as they walked down the block toward the park’s entrance. “Everything is business. That’s how you run your life and how I run mine, that’s why we’re well oiled machines. Therefore, that little traveling expense of yours is also a write-off for me too, and not because we contracted you.” He stopped them in their tracks, looked her square in the eyes. “I’m going to take care of you when we’re together because I’m a man, Christa. Granted, I’ll give you leeway on many things, but not that one. My being the man is non-negotiable. Got it?” Christa almost lost her balance and passed out on the spot. If he weren’t holding onto her arm, she was sure she would’ve busted her head on the cement. A grown man. A real grown one. She hadn’t faced one of those in a long time, if ever. Sure, she’d met many who claimed to be real men, but she’d always broken them, exposed their front for what it was—a façade. But Emory’s declaration was different. The tone of his voice, inflection of his words, and seriousness of his eyes told her he wasn’t to be played with. He was forceful in a take-charge, I-am-the-man-hear-me-growl way. And as long as he could be what he proclaimed to be, she’d let him. But it wouldn’t be easy, and it certainly wouldn’t be cheap. “Okay,” she conceded, then pushed, “but what about me? I don’t know how to be anything else but in charge. So if you’re the man, and you are, tell me what’s supposed to be my role in being the woman?” she set the bait. Holding her hand, he walked them to the curb and hailed a taxi. “Can we talk about it in a few?” Christa clutched her bag to her side as the traffic blared. Endless lanes of cars moved up the street, throngs of pedestrians filled the sidewalk. Every

now and then, she’d purposely bump a soft part of her body into his, giving him a feigned apologetic face when he looked at her. It’d been at least ten minutes and not one cab stopped. Christa tapped him on his arm. “Step aside. Man or no man, hailing a cab is a woman’s job in New York…if you want a ride, that is.” Christa stepped off the curb, then pulled her arm away from Emory, who was trying to make her step back onto the walk. “That’s dangerous,” he warned. Christa eased her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, and looked up at him over the rims. Daintily, she pressed her fingertips to her chest. “Darlin’, let me do what I do. This part I know.” She walked a foot or two into the busy street, staying just close enough to the walk not to get hit. Thrusting out her leg, then her hip, she waved her arm. Two taxis stopped. “Pick one,” she said to the full grown man behind her. A uniformed gentlemen with a bright smile and salt and pepper hair peeking out of a conductor’s hat opened the car door, then took her hand to help her out of the vehicle. Christa looked up, admiring the brick, pre-war building. Outsized windows hinted at the largeness of the rooms they opened to, and the top floor was hidden somewhere high enough in the sky to tickle the clouds. The architecture, the older gentleman and the feeling gave her comfort, and she wondered where Emory had brought her. Standing still as the dead, she eavesdropped, waiting for him and the doorman to finish small talk, hoping to get a clue as to where they were. Could be Xavier’s place. She pressed her lips together in thought. “Thanks for the tip, Mr. Epps,” the doorman said to Emory, then turned to Christa. “Pleasure to have made your acquaintance, Missus,” he spoke in crisp English, winking his eye at Emory as if wishing him luck. Christa held her head proud and tall as Emory led her by her elbow into the building and to the elevator. She’d dated men of high status before, but he was different. He wasn’t just paid and clean-cut. He was distinguished and powerful. Walking next to him elevated her, made her feel more important, stately. A smile spread over her lips and she blushed. She could get used to this, she thought when he done what she’d always believed impossible. He’d raised her up a level. “This way,” he said, leading her to the left and down the red carpeted corridor to the apartment at the end of the hall. Still in wonder, she stood waiting for him to knock or ring the bell, but he didn’t. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a keychain, then looked at

her. “I’ve never done this before,” he explained, inserting the key into the lock and opening door. She drew her eyebrows together. Could it be possible that he were taking her to his home? Was he crazy? Christa’s shoulders tensed. Yes, she was interested in him. No doubt. But she wasn’t out of her mind. Every woman who dated a married man knew rule number one: don’t do your dirt where his wife lays her head unless you’re ready to face possible death. Clutching her bag to her side again, Christa turned around. “Emory, I’m afraid I’m going to have to go. This isn’t a good idea.” Emory touched her shoulder. “Why, Baby? Because—” “Because this is where you live. I know we’re all business, but your wife.” He stuck his foot in the door to prevent it from closing, then turned, grabbed her and spun her around. “My wife is in Philly, she works there.” Quickly changing her mind, she nodded her head, turned and entered. She couldn’t help herself. She was interested in him, and one way to know something about someone was to see how they lived. And Emory, she found, lived a very simple life. His apartment was beautiful, yet simple. High ceilings, working fireplace, and beautiful windows minus coverings, spoke of the large price tag of the place. A charcoal-gray suede sofa, two club chairs and a television furnished the living room, and a stately mahogany desk took the place of a table in the dining room. That was it. There were no paintings, statues or floor coverings. Nothing that bespoke of Emory or told the story Christa was now even more desperate to know. Glancing his way, she raised her eyebrows. Smiled. “Nice apartment, Emory.” “Take off your shoes.” He was flat. “Hunh?” She clutched her bag again. “I said take off your shoes,” he said, walking toward her. She paused a little, embarrassed. Not everyone allowed shoes to be worn inside their homes, and she guessed Emory wasn’t one of them. “I’m sorry for walking all over your floor,” she apologized, bent forward and began slipping the strappy heels off. He was kneeling beside her before she was on the second foot. “Let me do that for you. And it’s alright, really. I have someone come in and clean every week,” he explained while removing her shoe. He placed them by the front door.

Christa released her frame onto one of the club chairs, not sure if she should relax or not. Didn’t know if she could. She placed her bag on her lap, crossed her legs at the ankles, and waited. She’d follow Emory’s lead to know what to do. Usually aggressive and controlling, she wasn’t used to this. She wanted this man but didn’t know if she could act on it for a couple of reasons. One, he sent mixed signals as to whether or not he was interested. Two, more or less he was her boss, and she needed the money his family’s company was paying her. Christa closed her eyes for a second, contemplating if she should come out with her feelings. She was sure he had to have a clue after all the flirting she’d done with him. He sat on the sofa and called her name. “You know we need to talk.” He looked at her, his eyes staring and unblinking, didn’t just hold her, they made love to her. Reciprocated feelings were obvious. He sat forward, clasped his fingers together. “I don’t know what this is between us, but I like it. I didn’t want you to take off your shoes because that’s the rule around here.” He looked down at his shoes, still on. “I wanted your shoes off because I want you to be comfortable—around me, in my space. And I wanted to see your pretty feet. I needed to know that something of yours—uncovered, had touched something in my apartment.” Christa sat up erect. She eased forward just a little, enough to match his posture. Looking him in the eyes, she licked her tongue over glossed lips, seduced him with one of her best assets—her mouth. “Why is that, Emory?” she purred. Unclasping his hands, he rubbed them over his temples, never once taking his eyes off her. He tensed a little, then relaxed. Shrugged his shoulders like a confused child. “I don’t know—” “Yes, you do.” He exhaled. “Let me finish. I was saying I don’t know how this happened. We haven’t spent that much time together, maybe more than necessary for work, but not enough. I don’t know you that well, not as well as I’d like to. Do you see where I’m going with this? I’m married, Christa. Never cheated.” She eased out of her seat, went and sat next to him. Almost on top of him. Locking looks with him, she put one hand on his leg, traced his face with the other. “I know exactly what you’re saying because I’m saying it to. Haven’t you heard me?” She turned his face toward her, embraced it with both hands. She kissed him. “Are you listening now?”

Emory grabbed her, ran his hands through her hair, pierced her eyes with his. “You do know what you’re doing, right? I don’t want to confuse you, and I won’t lie to you. No matter how far this goes, we have to be clear on one thing. I’m not ever going to leave my wife.” Christa smiled, wide and genuine. “You promise?” Her question was serious. She didn’t want to break up his happy home; she just wanted to play house with him when it was convenient. His wife could have the real life, she wanted the fantasy. “But just to be more clear. Why am I here, when is your wife coming home?” “My wife doesn’t live here; she lives in Philly. This is my work apartment. I commute home on the weekends, when my schedule allows.” Christa moved forward, kissing him again. Yes, she could do this. She’d have him five days a week, and still had the weekend to do what she wanted. She was almost certain that she wanted him, but she wasn’t a fool. She couldn’t commit until she knew what she was committing to. “Hungry?” Emory nodded. “I can eat.” I hope you can, Honey. I certainly hope you can. Christa lay on her stomach with her calves in the air. She’d taken up residence on the plush, California king- sized sleigh bed, feeding herself green grapes and a daily dose of CNN. She was so comfortable that she couldn’t believe this was her first time at his home. They’d talked, gotten deep into childhoods, college dreams and growing pains. She smiled. With him it was quickly becoming about more than just money or sex. She’d found herself a friend, and genuinely enjoyed his company. She could barely focus on the television. She could hardly believe that’s all they’d shared—intimate time. No sex, promises or lies had taken up space or had padded their conversation like she’d grown accustomed to with past male interests. Because he’s a man. “You need a T-shirt, Baby?” he asked, emerging from the bathroom in sweat pants and sleeveless pullover. Christa turned, wrinkle her brows. When did he change, and why? “Going somewhere?” she asked, straightening her dress. “Yeah. Going to meet my boys at the gym. Going to get a quick workout in, then shoot a couple games of hoops.” He took a pair of sneakers out of the closet, sat on the edge of the bed and began putting them on. “Oh.” Christa sat up, thinking he was rude. If he wanted her to go, that’s

all he had to say. She threw her legs over the mattress, felt the coolness of the floor. “I guess I’ll call you later.” Emory looked over his shoulder. “You’re leaving?” Her eyebrows almost lifted above her forehead. “Don’t you want me to?” He shook his head. “No. Stay. It’ll be nice to come home and see you here. To smell your scent when I walk in the door.” He stretched across the bed, took a strong whiff of her. “You know you smell good. I could smell you before I walked back into the room.” He kissed her on the forehead, and headed out. Christa knew she was out of her head, because before the front door closed she was wondering if he had anything she could cook for him. And she didn’t cook for anyone.

PART II

Speaking of Intercourse…

Chapter Ten Kennedy She’d dialed his cell phone too many times to count, had called and harassed the hospital receptionist more than she’d ever admit. Even pretended to be the nurse at Nile’s school, but still couldn’t contact him. Whoever her competition was, she had to be good because not once had Kennedy gotten through to Jared. “What if something happened to Niles?” she asked no one, becoming more incensed by the second. Her suitcase lay open on the bed next to her smartphone as she thought about what she was about to do. She should’ve just stayed at Miranda’s until she figured it out, but knew better. The silence over there was driving her crazy because she knew she had some decisions to make, and pretending didn’t fix a thing. Should she leave and flee the madness or stay and fight for her man? A man who was with another woman. She sat down, cupping her face in her hands. He wasn’t hers, she realized. If he were, he wouldn’t have been with someone else. But, then again, she’d almost been with Tariq and hadn’t a trace of guilt when he’d raised her temperature. The irony of the reversal struck her with a force and pushed her to the brink. She wanted to

lose it. Dumb out. Snap and come back with a vengeance. But she couldn’t cry. She’d have given anything for the tears to come, wash away some of the pain, but they wouldn’t. Thirty minutes past angry, she was too mad to shed tears. Mad as in crazy, and crying couldn’t fix it because crying didn’t do it—Jared did. Her mouth watered, making her thirsty. She thirsted for blood, craved Jared’s head, wanted to bust it till his scalp showed. She stood, slammed shut the luggage. No way was she going to leave her home because he’d decided to show out in public and parade some hussy around as if she were his fiancée. Kennedy looked at the diamond engagement ring on her left hand and clicked her teeth. It was hers, just as everything else she’d worked hard for. She’d spent too many nights on her back, too many hours on her knees to earn the carats decorating her finger. She didn’t care who footed the bills, her name was on half of everything in the house, maybe more. Most importantly, it was on the deed. And if another woman wanted her position, her four walls with a roof, or her man, she’d have to best it out of her. Kennedy decided right then and there, whether she wanted Jared or not, she wasn’t willing to give up without a fight. No woman, not one, was going to get anything from her unless she chose to give it to her. That wasn’t going to happen. Her cell rang as if on cue. Tariq’s name popped up on the screen. Kennedy smiled through her tears. She remembered how he’d always been there for her in the past to intervene when she’d had a problem. “Hey,” she answered, sniffling. “I was just thinking about you a minute ago. Can you come get me? I don’t wanna go to jail,” was all she said, all she needed to to get the response she was certain was coming, the “Yes Love. I’m on my way.” The situation she’d just created was crazy, she knew. But she needed him. She’d always yearned for and turned to him in times of crisis, and not once had he let her down. She slid the suitcase back under the bed, put some of the clothes away, and threw the rest in an overnight bag along with toiletries. If Jared could play, she could too, but harder. “Go hard, or go home,” she said, and went to wait for the man she’d once loved more than life. Her doorbell rang before her feet touched the foyer floor. Setting down the overnight bag and purse, she hesitated before answering because she knew it wasn’t Tariq. As magical as his touch was, as much as his sixth sense tapped into her life, he was no Speed Racer! He couldn’t have possibly

made it there so soon. Without inquiring who came over unannounced, Kennedy snatched opened one of the double doors. Simone stood, smiling and holding up a bag. “Hi,” she sang, “I got goodies. Thousands upon thousands of calories all rolled up in a delicioso Turtle cheesecake. I’m telling you this is better than a man curling your toes…well, maybe not. But you know what I’m saying.” Before she knew it, Kennedy had wrapped her arms around her older sister and held on. Her life coming undone made her want to hold onto constancy. And if no one else had proved themselves to be one she could count on, other than Tariq, her siblings Simone and Derrick had. “God knows I missed you,” she confessed, inhaling the sweetness of Simone’s perfume and spirit. Rubbing Kennedy’s back with one hand and desperately holding onto the bag of cheesecake, Simone rocked the baby sister she had mothered after losing their mother when Kennedy was just a child. “I missed you too,” she admitted, stepping back. “What’s wrong, Ken?” Kennedy grabbed Simone’s hand, guided her through the house and into the kitchen. “Nothing. Everything,” she flipped a lie into the truth, reduced her problems with Jared into bullet-pointed facts along the way, making sure to omit anything about her and Tariq. In the kitchen, Simone was a machine. Removing the cheesecake from the bag, she set it onto the breakfast table, took two plates and forks, a knife, and began slicing. Kennedy took a seat and watched her sister. Her nose flared, the inside of her lips kissed her perfect teeth when she sucked them, and her eyes almost rolled out of their sockets. Simone was angry, but she held true to her grace. Not one for violence and getting in grown folks’ business, Kennedy knew Simone wouldn’t utter a word, not until asked her opinion. “Oh. Okay,” was all Simone said, then began serving them in silence. “Wait. Wait just a god-dammed minute,” she broke her routine. “You mean to tell me you saw Jared with your own eyes? And he’s still breathing? Look, that is just unacceptable.” She sat the serving knife down, and began to dig in her purse. Retrieving her cell phone, she asked for his number. “Bet he’ll answer my call. If he knows what’s good for him, he will. I’m so tired of these grown men acting like babies. They all need to be whooped. We need to call Derrick. That’s what we need to do.” She stood with hand on hip, phone in the other, waiting for Kennedy to respond.

The doorbell rang. Kennedy jumped. Simone darted to answer it. “I hope that’s him. He’s probably too damned scared to walk into his own house.” “Wait!” Kennedy called to her sister’s back, following her to the foyer. “Oh. Hey!” was all Simone said, shock etched all over her face as Tariq stood on the other side. Tariq entered the house, pausing only to kiss Simone on the cheek as he made his way to Kennedy. “You okay, Love?” he asked, pulling Kennedy into his arms. Kennedy held onto him just as she had her sister, but this time she couldn’t prevent her tears. She didn’t try to stop them, it was no use. Not only had he always been her human savior, she found comfort in his strong arms and inner strength. If she could have, she would’ve chastised herself for being so dramatic. Her life as she’d known it for the past few years was unraveling, but she’d seen no point in breaking down then. It wasn’t if someone had died, only her reality. Maybe she was hormonal, she reasoned. Or maybe I’m just torn between two men and don’t want to hurt anyone again. She’d been here before; divided by two men. This time it was different though. Last time she was split between Jared, her daughter Kharri’s father, and Michael, who ended up fathering Niles, and had waltzed into her life offering more financial comfort than she’d ever imagined. After discovering and accepting Michael’s sexuality, she’d accepted Jared’s proposal. But why? Back then she had believed that their ending up together was because her heart was with him, but now she wasn’t so sure. Had she gone with Jared because that’s what she’d wanted or because he had given her what she’d needed when she needed it? Her head wilted in shame as she clung to Tariq, allowed herself to get lost in the love she’d missed—knew that her feelings for him hadn’t dissipated with years of separation. She shook her head, almost disbelieving the mess she’d created and so desperately wanted to erase. But she couldn’t avoid it. As always, she’d invited her own drama. It didn’t matter whether it was now or in the past, she had still extended the invite. She was the creator of it all. Had she not lain with him and exchanged I-love-yous, he wouldn’t have had reason to resurface. “You ready, Love?” he broke their silence.

Kennedy, still holding him, turned to look at a baffled Simone. “We were getting ready to have cheesecake. Have some?” Simone asked, walking past them and raising her eyebrows at Kennedy. Kennedy stepped back, and shrugged her shoulders. “I apologize. I didn’t know she was coming over. As you see, I’m all packed up and ready to go.” She nodded toward her overnight bag. Tariq looked around, surveyed the house from where he stood, then walked in front of a picture of Niles. A smile parted his lips, and he glanced at Kennedy. “Wow. He looks just like you. Where’s Kharri’s picture?” Kennedy gulped, motioned her head toward the opposite wall. “That’s her over there.” Tariq turned to the left, faced Kennedy and Jared’s engagement picture. “Other way,” Kennedy directed. He walked to the other side of the foyer and froze. Taking Kharri’s picture from the wall, he walked back over to the engagement photo of Kennedy and Jared. His eyes ping-ponged between the two, clearly comparing. Again, he stared at the image of Kharri. Teared up. Threw Kennedy a disbelieving look. “Forget the cheesecake, Love. Let’s go. I want to see you try to explain that she wasn’t my daughter. Yeah, like your little boy, she looks a lot like you— gray eyes and all. But she also looks a whole helluva lot like me, not that dude in the picture with you. Maybe he couldn’t see it because he was disillusioned and wanted her to be his—hell, who wouldn’t? But not me. I know my seed when I see it. And I planted this one right here,” he said, holding up Kharri’s picture and pointing at her angelic face before tucking it under one arm. He grabbed Kennedy’s overnight bag with his free hand and walked out the door. “Hurry up, Love. And tell Simone I’ll see her later.” Kennedy was stuck on stupid. Standing in the foyer with hands on hips, she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn’t curse him like she would’ve anyone else who had the audacity to speak to her in the tone he had. She couldn’t break his pride or kick his ego or tell him to go screw himself. No, she couldn’t try him like she would’ve and had with Jared. All she could do was listen—and follow because she respected him. Admired him. Needed him. “You okay? Where’re you going?” Simone asked, appearing from the hallway that led to the kitchen. “I gotta go, Sis. Tariq said he’ll see you later. You don’t mind locking up, do you?”

Simone wiped her hands on a dry-towel. “I don’t know what’s going on. Maybe I don’t need to. But I can guess one thing—you’ve got your hands full. Don’t let Tariq and Jared within reach of each other, and if they do bump heads, you better duck. Please call me and let me know you’re okay. I know you’re in good hands.” She hugged Kennedy, then whispered: “But just in case, where are you two staying? It’s been a minute since I saw him. And people change, you know?” Kennedy told her at which W they were staying, then walked out the door with Simone on her heels. Reluctantly, she made her way to the car, not ready to deal with what was at hand. She stood by the passenger door waiting for Tariq to get out and open it like he always had in the past, insisting that “Queens never open their own doors.” Kennedy reached for the handle, realizing that she’d been demoted because he didn’t make an effort to move. Hearing feet connecting with the sidewalk, she stopped and turned. Simone darted down the cement, calling her name. Breathless, she pushed Kennedy inside the car. “I can see Jared’s car coming up the street. He’s at the light,” she whispered in Kennedy’s ear, then bent forward. “Take care of my sister, Tariq,” she urged, almost slamming the door on Kennedy’s foot. “I got her. Don’t worry,” Tariq assured, then did the unthinkable. He opened the car door, got out, and walked around to Simone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t give you a hug. I didn’t mean to be rude—” Kennedy cracked opened her door. “Later for that! Let’s go!” Tariq shot her a look. “Jared’s coming. Now!” She turned to see his car slowing as he looked at Simone and Tariq, then her. “Fuck!” Tariq released Simone. Pointed. “Who him?” “Please just get in the car, Tariq,” Simone begged. Tariq gave a quick head nod, made his way to the driver’s side, and took his time getting in. Kennedy’s heart jackhammered; her breathing was rattled. She knew she had a right to play dirty with Jared after seeing him with whoever that woman was, but now wasn’t the time. Not with a time bomb like Tariq with her. Not with the secret he wanted to explode. Kennedy looked at Jared as Tariq started the car and pulled off. His look was questioning, hers scared. Tears tracked down her face as she mouthed “I’m sorry” to Simone. Tariq was making her life more hectic than it had to be. He knew just like she did that Kharri wasn’t his, of this she was certain.

There was no way, none at all, he could’ve believed any different. If he wanted her, that was all he had to say. He didn’t have to use her daughter to break up the unhappy home she lived in. Her house of cards had done everything but fallen. “You did that on purpose. I have to live with him, you know? Me and my son.” “That’s terrific,” he answered. “But what about my daughter?” “Why do you keep saying Kharri was yours?” she yelled as he rounded a corner. “Why do you keep saying she wasn’t?” he snapped back, turned toward her. The look he gave pierced her soul, his words dug deeper. “How could you not know who fathered your child? Any respectable woman would.”

Chapter Eleven Miranda

With perspiring palms, Miranda gripped the steering wheel. Absolutely hating what she was about to do, she felt the sting of guilt with each passing mile. Rich had contacted her twice in two weeks, and she was on her way to the land no man wanted to go. He was wrong to keep harassing her, and she was no different, not after last night. Not after the last few weeks she’d spent all comfy and cozy in Larenz’s arms and life. The day he’d gifted her with the pair of one-size-too-big flip-flops had changed their lives. There was no erasing the footprints in the sand that led to their stroll on the beach, on the unforgettable speedboat voyage to an old-school, shake-what-yo-mommagave-ya hip-hop party where admission was a Member’s Only jacket. Miranda smiled. She’d wopped, cabbage-patched and prepped all night, and couldn’t remember ever having so much fun in a vertical position. Horizontal either. She exhaled, remembered Larenz and his supercharged tongue. Just the thought of him gave her quivers and made her wonder what the hell she

was doing going to see her ex-boyfriend. Gotta clean house, she thought, stretching. She was going to trash the old so she could enjoy the new, she reminded herself, trying to rid herself of the tiredness that’d started to move in on her mission. Having driven for four hours, she chastised herself for leaving at two in the morning, right in the middle of her normal dead-to-theworld time. Yawning, she looked at the clock on the dash. Couldn’t believe she had a couple more hours to travel. The sun, beginning to rise, burned and pushed its way through the clouds in a yellowish-gray, illuminating haze, and Miranda hoped like crazy she’d beat the neon orange, blinding blaze that would soon become the sky. Visiting hours started at eight, and she wanted to be one of the first ones in line. Accelerating, she pushed the car as fast as she thought she’d get away with for miles, then thought better of it. The last thing she wanted was to be harassed by a hard-up-for-tickets cop. She knew once she made it through the gates she’d have to deal with being treated like she was a prisoner instead of a visitor, so she slowed, opting to face the law when she arrived. Pressing the button on the car door, she powered down the win-dows, wanted the wind to kiss her face. She craved its crisp coolness, hoped it would help her stay awake. The almost four hundred mile drive stacked with quiet time was taking its toll and beginning to weigh her down. In an effort to stay up, she widened her eyes. Rest, she could get later, but now she had to focus and build up her courage. She didn’t want to see Rich, but had to. Feeling forced, she realized that there was no way around it if she wanted it to be on her terms. She breathed in and out in measured breaths, trying unsuccessfully to calm herself. Confronting him grew closer with each mile, and so did her nervousness. “What the hell does he want?” she questioned, looking at the address on the envelope. Attica. She was pissed. Driving all the way to Attica State Prison to have it out with a man she no longer cared about wasn’t what she considered fun. She loved Rich though she wished she didn’t, that she couldn’t deny. But caring for him, his needs, his wants, had fled like last season’s clothes and just wasn’t in for her anymore. He’d hurt her. Cheated. Sold her a beautiful false dream of their being together for life. Now she believed he was harassing her over money she rightfully deserved and had earned with a broken heart and spirit. He’d pushed her hopes down in the dirt, and now she had to get up and dust off her life until she shined like new gold.

There must’ve been ten heads ahead of her as she made her way to the quickly growing line. Mothers were there to visit their sons. The older ones dressed in their Sunday best, the younger ones, showing they’d been knocked up as teenagers, still had club clothes painted on them from the night before. Miranda crinkled her nose and almost laughed aloud. Popeye’s Chicken. The woman in front of her smelled like freshly fried yard bird, and Miranda was sure the woman had hidden the fast-food somewhere on her person. A group of wives who Miranda assumed to be the regulars, sported children from newborn to seventeen and wedding rings on their left hands many had purchased themselves. She couldn’t believe the women had the nerve to brag about how many carats they’d paid for; their husbands could hardly afford such luxuries on the measly pennies an hour they earned working for the State of New York. Her turn had finally arrived to get in. Moving wordlessly, she handed her government issued id, along with her clear purse and visiting form to the correction officer at check-in. The more the COs harassed her with stupid questions, the more peeved she became at Rich. He was the one on lockdown, yet they’d treated her like she had been prosecuted and convicted. Smirking at the ghetto-fabulous female co with multicolored braids and acrylic nails too long to properly wipe her behind, Miranda decided if things didn’t go smoothly with Rich, she’d give them a reason to treat her like a criminal because she’d catch a charge alright—a drug charge. They’d cuff her for dragging Rich up and down the visiting room aisles, and making him scream like a punk like she used to when they were in bed. A powerful smirk pouted her lips and twinkled her eyes. Yeah, I made him bitch up in bed alright, she reminisced, then stiffened when she spotted him making his way in from the prisoner’s entrance. Oh God, she thought, beholding him with her eyes as he walked toward her, tightly holding her with his. Stares held, teeth revealed themselves between parted lips. Damn. Damn. Damn. Prison, though ridiculous, had been good to him and his handsomeness. Skin, smooth and flawless like refined cocoa, was highlighted by close cropped hair with wavy grooves deep enough to cause the Atlantic envy. Muscles flexed and protruded on their own as his arms swung to and fro as he walked. Miranda gulped. He seemed taller, bigger. His presence took up most of the space in the room. Gripping the sides of the hard, plastic seat, she prevented herself from standing and spreading her arms. Had to stop herself from offering a warm

and inviting welcome. Damn, this is gonna be hard. He stood in front of her with head high, shoulders squared and hands clasped in front of his groin. His intimidating stance that spoke volumes. His quiet was ice at first, then he let her in. Freeing his hands from each other, he licked his lips, smiled. Held out his hand to her. “You just gonna sit there, Miranda? Came all the way up here and a brutha can’t get no love?” Miranda hesitated. This was the tricky part she’d feared and knew would come. She thought she’d prepared for it, but hadn’t. Not totally. Anger converging with missing, yearning and remembering revealed what she was trying to hide behind her poker face. She gulped back the lump pushing its way up her throat, batted tears into mist, and raised her brows to keep a straight look. Clearing her throat, she proffered her hand from her seat. “Hi Rich.” Pulling her to her feet, Rich took her back to the time when she was his with just a simple wrap of his arms around her. Instinctively, she laid her head on his chest. He squeezed her with masculinity and muscles. Sniffed her hair. Bent forward and rubbed his face against her skin. Tingles from his shaven stubble replaced nervousness, and for a moment she was his all over again. Only for a second. She inhaled his soapy scent, then pulled away. She hadn’t come for this. As much as she wanted to welcome the feeling and the man—as much as she needed to hear the I’ve-missed-and-still-love-yous he was whispering in her ear, she couldn’t cave. She had the upper hand, and he deserved to be slapped with it. He had to feel what he’d made her feel. Hurt. Betrayed. Unappreciated. She placed her hand on his shoulder, made sure he and the moment were real, then looked around. Reality cut into her, sliced through her wall and made her pity the situation. As much anger and resentment as she held for him, it hurt her that he’d been locked up like a rabid dog. He’d always been such a go-getter, free and fluid, moving about at will. Now the state of New York dictated his every move, and his boundaries were limited to sections behind the confines of a barbed wire fence complete with armed guards. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you came. So glad. You don’t know how excited and shocked I was to see that you are here. I didn’t expect…” he rattled without pausing. Miranda sat, nodded. She was at a loss for words. On one hand she wanted to curse him, the other pushed her to tell him that despite all the hell and high-water he’d caused and she’d survived, she missed him. He was

all she knew, and it was hard to forge ahead without him. But I didn’t really know him. Did I? “It’s nice to see you too. No. No, it isn’t nice. It’s hard. Really fuckin’ hard to see you, Rich. I’d pay a penny and a dime to slap your teeth out. No more because you’re not worth it.” Her face twisted into sourness. “I gave you all that I had, and you played me. Now you wanna call, send letters—track me down. Made me drive all the way up here to North Khakalackie.” Leaning forward, he grabbed her hands in his. “Listen to me, Miranda. I won’t lie. I did a lot of dirty shit, but not what you think.” Miranda jerked her hands away. “Not what I think? Or not what I know? I have the damn papers, Rich. The insurance, bank accounts, deed—your marriage license. And it’s not what I think?” She laughed. “Puh-leez!” Rich sat back, resting against the chair back. He rubbed his brows, then temples. He sat forward again. “Listen to me, Miranda,” he asked in a loud whisper. “Listen closely because this is what I’ve been trying to contact you for. Yes, all the paperwork you have is valid—to the courts and county clerks office, but it doesn’t apply to us. Yes, I married Femi, but only as a favor—a paid one—to make her a legal citizen here. Me and her people do—did some business together, and ya know…one hand washes the other. They fronted me some paper; I married their daughter so they could plant their roots here. You know how that goes; people do it all the time in the streets.” Miranda rolled her eyes. This fool must’ve thought she was slow. “Yeah right. If it was an arranged and paid marriage then how come she came to my house breaking fool, like I had her house and her man, then?” Rich bit back a smile. “My Miranda. You don’t get it, do you, Sweetheart? That was all a part of the game. I was mad as hell when I found out what went down, but I understood. The heat was all over us—me, her family and a few others. She flipped to make our marriage seem authentic, to make it seem like she was going to see a woman for messing with her husband because that’s how it goes down in the real world. If she had’ve just laid low and not reacted, they’d have suspected something. What woman you know wouldn’t confront another woman for messing with her husband?” Miranda shrugged her shoulders. “Exactly. But believe me when I tell you this, I ain’t never been with her, Miranda. Not like that. We broke bread, did a little BI here and there, but that’s it.” He scooted closer. He grabbed her hand again, slipped something inside.

Miranda gripped her hand closed, felt the folded paper. “What’s this?” “That’ll prove everything. I may’ve been a fool to get locked, but I kept a paper trail. Piece it together, then you’ll see I’m not lying.” He shot her a serious look, one that she’d witnessed many times before when he knew he was right and dared anyone to prove otherwise. She just sat there, her hand in his, confused. Unable to believe that this is what she’d been ducking and avoiding for years, she gripped his hand. Gulping, she found she couldn’t swallow the tears this time. Wanting to believe him, she told herself to slow. Not be so easy to accept or forgive. He had, after all, hurt her. He’d known about the woman flipping out, disrespecting her like she was some side chick, and fighting her like a teenager. He knew that the police had seized her house, car, and many belongings, yet did nothing. “What you expect? What could I’ve done? It was The State of New York versus me?” He pounded his palm against his chest. “I could only sit and wait or try to reach out to you, so I tried both.” He read her thoughts, then shook his head. Put on a look of disgust. “And me and you? Sweetheart, I thought we were better than that. We were supposed to be. You,” he pointed “of all people, should’ve known me better than that. Y’know I wouldn’t leave you hanging. Not you, Miranda. Think about all we went through. All we built. How I always put you and your needs before my own, then tell me I’m wrong.” Miranda hung her head. In seconds he’d fixed everything with a few words, answered every question she’d been too afraid to ask. Here she had refused him communication, taken his money, and turned her back on him after he’d provided for her for years. She was no criminal, but what he’d said made perfect sense to her. If she were under investigation and risked being thrown out of the country she’d have put on a front for the government, too if it meant she’d be allowed to stay. The U.S. worked her nerves with crooked politics, absurd taxes, and hiding from its people that it was nothing more than a corporation. Still, she wouldn’t trade it. She’d visited several other countries, and for her, the good ol’ U. S. A. was the best. “I don’t know what to say,” she admitted. “Don’t say anything. Just promise me that you’ll go investigate. I want you—no, I beg you, to check out everything. I’m solid, Ma.” Chills traveled her spine. She loved when Larenz called her Ma, but it sounded so good coming from Rich’s mouth. “Okay,” she agreed, right

before his lips met hers. Closing her eyes, she gave in to the familiarity that was home, melted a little with each flick of his tongue. She’d missed him more than she knew. But anger had a way of concealing true feelings, and had allowed her to make herself believe she didn’t care. But she did. She cared for Rich and Larenz, and felt guilty because she found relief in not having to deal with it one hundred percent. Rich wasn’t due to come home anytime soon. That would give her time to discover the other man waiting back at home for her. “You love me?” he asked, still cradling the back of her head. Miranda nodded. Yes, she did. “Well I’m gonna trust you’ve been holding it tight for me then,” he said in a threatening voice. Tilting her head sideways, she just looked at him. “You know what I’m talking about, Miranda. Don’t play games with me. If I find out another man’s been up in mine there’s gonna be problems. And you know I can find out whatever I want. I found you every time you tried to hide, didn’t I? Your man’s got eyes and ears everywhere, Sweetheart. The streets belong to me.” Damn. Damn. Damn.

Chapter Twelve Christa

Everything had been moving so fast. Dinner, movies, plays, days and nights out on the town, coming in at the wee hours of the morning, tripping over one another like college students who’d just turned twenty-one. Christa sat in the office space Emory had given her in the company’s business suite. She had no reason to be there; they both knew that. She could, and usually did, work from home. But he’d just come back from Philadelphia, and they had to make up for lost time, plus Emory had kept her closer than his own rib since the first day he’d brought her to his apartment. After she’d satisfied both of his appetites, they’d been almost inseparable. Which was going to prove a problem today. Grant had called and told her to meet with him later so he could give her half the money. And some was better than none, she thought, still looking out the glass at Emory. They were good together. They worked hard, and played even harder. In spite of the spread of papers in front of her, Christa continued watching him through the glass wall, wishing he was all hers. She’d been doing that lately, wanting him all to herself. She

shook away her thoughts, and stared. He was striking. Dapper in a navy suit and melon shirt, his wire rims made him look distinguished and caused Christa to smile. She’d put it on him so good this morning he’d walked out of the apartment forgetting to put in both contacts. Looking down to her lap, she realized she’d also come to work missing something—her panties. Yes, she thought, everything was work to him as he’d said, and he was very serious about taking care of business. Still throbbing where her thighs met, she was so happy he was. He stuck his head in her office. “Hey, Baby, you okay in here? If not, I have a better space for you. It’s closer to me.” Pressing her lips together, she paused. “How close? Like on top of your desk close?” rolled off her tongue without a trace of joking. Emory stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and stripped down to the man she’d known this morning. “Damn, Baby. Is that where you want it? ‘Cause that’s where you can get it.” Christa, grabbed some papers and folders. Clutching them to her breast, she bee-lined to where he stood, bumped him out of the way with her hip and opened the door, then said loud enough for the employees to hear, “Yes sir, Mr. Epps. I’ll go make a copy of these documents right away, and then meet you in your office so we can go over them.” He was behind his office door waiting for her to enter. Before she was all the way inside, he was pulling her, securing the lock, and freeing her hands of papers. Taking her by her wrist he led her past his in-office bathroom, and pushed her against the wet bar. “You want it on the desk, huhn?” Christa breathed deeply, and tried to stay quiet. His hands were under her skirt and parting her thighs, headed to the place her panties would’ve covered if she’d wore some. With expertness, he wagged his index finger against her clit, then pinched it ever so gently. “Yes,” she managed to answer. “You sure?” he asked, hooking his finger and sliding it inside her. Her juices were already escaping. Him. The office. The employees just outside the door. The thought of being heard or caught. It was all too much, and pushing her to a level she hadn’t been to. “Ooh,” she moaned and gripped the counter. “Ida-know,” she stammered, running three words together until I don’t know became two words. “Oh, you know. Tell me,” he demanded, flicking his finger back and forth inside her. Her eyes rolled and one leg shook. She couldn’t believe he was getting

her off by finger-popping her. She hadn’t experienced anything like this since her teenage days. Another moan climbed her throat, and she grabbed his biceps. “I’m going to…to…” “No, you’re not,” he ordered, “not yet. Hold it, Baby.” He slid out his finger from her wetness, and put it into his mouth, cleaning it of her juices. “Mm.” Grabbing her by her shoulders, he swung her around. Pushed her so hard he nearly threw her into one of the chairs a few feet away, then he bent her over the back of it. He was on his knees and his face was pressed into her gap. Lapping her sweetness, he gripped the back of her legs to balance himself. Christa shuddered, fought to stay quiet. God, I want him. She heard him unzip and knew what was coming next. He rose to his feet, unclasping his belt and slacks. Looking behind her, she saw him release himself from his boxers, and instantly her mouth watered. She wanted to taste him. Wanted to feel his pretty penis tickle the back of her throat. I need this man. This time, their sex was urgent. He confirmed it when he spread her cheeks, opened her up so he could better access her lower lips, then teased her with the head of him. Twitching her hips, she tried to back up and slide him in her, and almost cried because she wanted him so badly. Wanted him to enter her and play in her sweetness until he was spent. More importantly, she wanted him to feel her. He’d never done that before. They’d never had unprotected sex. Now, here he was, almost inside her, and she was already melting. She didn’t care about protecting herself or him. His tongue had splashed in her juices many times, and she’d had him in her mouth more than she could count. They’d tasted each other’s essence over and over. All she wanted to think of now was him inside her. Lifting her hips, she successfully slid the tip of his pole into her slit. She clawed the chair, bit her tongue until she tasted the metallic tang of her own blood. He’d opened her, pushed inside her, and was stroking deeply. The intercom buzzed. His secretary spoke. His wife was waiting out front. Emory jumped off Christa faster than she could blink. Pulling down her skirt, she stood and tried to collect herself, but he didn’t give her time. “Open the blinds!” he ordered in a whisper, while running into the bathroom, hiking up his pants along the way. From where she stood, she

had a clear view of him opening a bottle of mouthwash, and throwing it back like it was a fifth of liquor. He rinsed, then gargled. Started the whole process all over again, washing away and spitting out any trace of her and her smell. “Lay those papers on my desk. And I’ll call you when I can,” he said as he emerged from the bathroom, straightening his tie. Christa shifted her blouse, and tried to hold her composure. Just seconds ago he’d had his tongue so far up her sweetness and his face pressed so hard against her gap that someone would’ve thought he was trying to climb inside her. “Lay the damned papers on your desk yourself. And I’ll call you,” she said, taking her time. She wasn’t married, had no husband waiting on her in the building. If he wanted to rush, that was on him. She wasn’t about to put skates on her feet and scoot out of there at top speed for anyone, especially the competition. But she would use the free time to meet Grant and pick up her money, maybe even let him finish what Emory had started. As she unlocked the door and turned the knob, she literally bumped into his wife. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just about to knock on the door. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you before. I’m Dr. Epps.” Emory’s wife proffered her hand, and wore a beautiful smile. She was confident, and had reason to be. For as long as Christa would allow. Hershey skin and perfect teeth, she was cute in her own way, but rail thin. Christa didn’t know whether to shake her hand or feed her. Poor chile has not one curve; chest is flatter than this floor. His wife’s appearance baffled her; what was his taste? His wife was her total opposite. Purposely gliding her hand over her curves, Christa tilted her head. She hated this part. She’d met other men’s wives before, but had never really cared about the husbands, not like she cared about Emory. Christa introduced herself. “Nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Reid. Not doctor as in md, doctor as in phd.” Normally, she wouldn’t have referred to herself as doctor anything, and hated when others did it just to put on a show. With head held high, she excused herself. She may not have liked the situation, but she wouldn’t let it dissuade her. His wife could borrow Emory for the moment, but he’d come back home to her when the Mrs. was away, she was sure, because if Dr. Epps knew how to do her real job—her husband— Christa wouldn’t be working him for her. She felt dirty on the way home. Unclean and mad. She speed-walked to her office, grabbed her things, pretended to have an out-of-town emergency,

and dipped out, heading to the subway before Emory caught wind of her taking off the rest of the week. For a moment her mind toggled between keeping Emory and finding a real man of her own. Not a married one, but one she could be monogamous with. Sometimes she wished for that. Other times she’d reminded herself that she’d tried it before and it wasn’t a good fit. Heartbreak didn’t compliment anyone, and suffering one was enough to last a lifetime. The train ricked sloppily into the station, causing riders to bump into one another. The motion almost toppled a baby stroller next to Christa. Holding onto a bar to steady herself, she reached out as quickly as she could and caught it. Locking eyes with the passenger, her heart fluttered and warmed. A sweet little girl no more than three smiled up at her. So pretty. “Hey MaMa,” Christa greeted the little girl, wrapped up in her smile. It was hard to take her eyes off the child, but she managed to just long enough to nod “no problem” to the child’s mother who kept thanking Christa from stopping her baby from hitting the floor. The doors opened, and she began to exit with a grin plastered on her face. She paused just outside of the train, waved bye to the beautiful girl in the stroller, and almost wished she’d had one of her own. Her biological clock had to be ticking, she thought, because the beautiful little girl stayed in her memory. Babies, in general, seemed to be everywhere in her mind and had affected her life. First, she’d lost Anthony, the one love of her life, because she wouldn’t have his baby and another woman beat her to it. Now, Grant, who’d admittedly dried up funds due to his wife’s pregnancy, acted like he could only pay her half her money. Ascending the train station stairs, she turned right, wondering. Like the worlds of Anthony and Grant, would hers come to a stop—change if there were a baby in her life? Would she push everyone to the side because of a little one? Was there such a thing as that much love, a love that superseded all else in the world? Christa thought about it all. She’d never known love like that, didn’t think it existed, and was now curious. She turned another corner with pep as she neared the sushi restaurant where she was to meet Grant. It wasn’t far, and she needed the air and welcomed the sunshine. Her day, so far, had been bleak, and a little time on foot would give her time to clear her head. The warm concrete felt good to the bottoms of her feet, and the laughter of the children lifted her. At

one time, she couldn’t stand them. Hated to hear the sounds of their voices because they served as a reminder that she’d broken her own heart by refusing Anthony a child. Christa smiled. Now the kids’ voices were like music, a favorite song she wanted to play again and again. She rounded the corner of the block the restaurant was on, wondering if Emory had a child. He’d never said he didn’t, but he’d never talked of one either. There were no pictures, no goodnight-daddy calls when she was around. Just his conversations with his wife, the competition. She spotted Grant before he saw her, and she cringed, slowing her pace. He wasn’t alone. His pregnant wife was there. Just what she needed, she thought. Two wives in one day? This should be good. Shaking her head, she hoped Grant wasn’t having a moment of conscience, one where he wanted to confess all his sins to his wife. If so, he’d be doing it by himself. Christa was there for one reason only. Her money. Hastening her steps, she decided to get this over with. If she had to meet his wife, so be it. Bills had to paid. To her relief, his wife disappeared around the other corner before she reached him outside the restaurant. “Hey,” she said to his back. His face drained color when he turned to her. She’d startled him. “Um. Hi.” He looked at his watch. “You’re early.” Christa smiled, and rocked back and forth on her tiptoes like a child. “Um,” she looked at her watch too, mocking him. “I know.” He fumbled over words, clearly uncomfortable. “Our table’s not ready. Wanna go somewhere else?” Christa turned her head back and forth. “No. Here is fine. As a matter of fact…” her words trailed when she saw his wife approach from behind. She was just about to tell him they didn’t have to eat. She wasn’t above taking his money in front of the restaurant. The younger woman wrapped her arms around Grant from behind. “Sorry, Baby.” Grant stiffened. The younger woman, head pressed against Grant’s shoulder blade, looked Christa’s way. She froze, then tried to collect herself but couldn’t. “Oh. Um,” she stumbled, stepping around Grant and warily offering her hand. Grant was stuck on stupid. His mouth kept opening, but nothing came out. He reached out to grab his wife, but his hand wasn’t cooperating.

The pregnant lady continued, barely able to look in Christa’s eyes. “I’ve heard so much about you. All Grant talks about is you: his wife.” Grant hung his head. Christa cocked hers to the side. She couldn’t have just heard what she thought she did. This young woman wasn’t his wife. This pregnant heifer was his mistress, too. “Come again, sweetie?” The woman turned away, and Christa addressed what she was thinking. “No need to worry. I’m not his wife, I’m his IRS and I’ve come to tax his ass. Yours too if you get in the way of my money,” rolled out of Christa’s mouth, sounding nice and sweet. Grant pulled composure out of the air. Stepped around the pregnant young lady. “Now you know.” He reached into his pocket, handed her a knot of money. “That’s two grand. That’s all I’m giving you. I got a baby to prepare for.” “Oh, so it’s like that?” Christa spat, startling him as she stepped closer. “So you’ve been messing around? On me? And think you can get out of paying me? Puh-leez!” Grant huffed, indignant then. “Look, Christa!” he raised his voice. “She’s pregnant, and I’m not giving your trifling ass nothing.” Christa rolled her eyes and rotated her neck like a turkey. She placed her hands on her hips. “And her being stupid enough to have your baby means what to me? That’s not the five thousand dollar answer to my five thousand dollar question! Just give me the rest of my money. Or else.” “Do what you gotta do!” he snapped, still holding out the wad of green. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, but she was hurt. Now she had lost two men because of a baby. One she didn’t care that much about, but it was the principle. She wasn’t supposed to lose men; she was supposed to leave them. She freed his hand of the money. “So it’s like that? You decide to cheat on me, and think you’re not going to pay for it? I’m going to get my money, Grant. By hook or by crook. I promise you I will.” She pivoted and walked away, held up her hand for a cab, and heard the pregnant girl flipping out. “That ain’t yo’ wife, Grant? So who is she then?” she screamed, catching on too late. Christa stopped, turned, and whipped out her cell phone. She took a picture of Grant with his arms wrapped around what’s-her-face. “Hell no, Darlin’. I said I’m not his wife. But me and her are about to be friends.

You’re welcome to join the circle,” she said, hopping into a waiting taxi. She exited the cab on the corner and made a hard right, trekking up the block and stomping her way to his house. With a quick ring of the bell his real Mrs. answered. “Yes?” she asked from behind a screen door. Christa flipped opened her cell and held it up to the door. She showed Grant’s wife the picture of him hugged up with the other woman. “Your husband is cheating on us,” she said. “What?” his tired-looking wife asked. “I said your husband is cheating on us. He’s cheating on us with this other pregnant woman.” His wife came out on the porch. “Other? What the hell do you mean by other?” “Other meaning I’m pregnant too,” she lied. “And if you don’t want me to have this baby, either you or your husband need pay me the three grand he owes me,” Christa uttered slowly, making sure Grant’s wife understood her. She handed her a piece of paper with her name and number on it, and walked off.

Chapter Thirteen Kennedy

Kennedy sat in the car wondering where they were going. She’d called Michael, informed him she was powering off her cell phone, and had given him Tariq’s number in case of an emergency. Tariq didn’t say a word; he just drove. They’d traveled through the Lincoln Tunnel, carefully cruised the New Jersey Turnpike until it turned into the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and now they’d just passed a sign welcoming them to Lancaster, PA. Turning her body 90˚, she stared at Tariq, hoping to get his attention and make him speak. For the two plus hour ride, he’d held his tongue and kept his eyes glued to the road in front of him. Occasionally, he glanced out the window next to him, or looked past Kennedy as if she weren’t there. She’d willingly gotten into the car with him, but now he was starting to make her feel like she’d been abducted. “Either you tell me where we’re going or I’m going to jump out the car,” she threatened, sitting up. He turned the car, accelerated, and zigged through the Amish town as if

he were a resident. Finally he stopped in front of The Lancaster Arts Hotel. “If you were going to jump you’d have done it by now. Wait here—don’t move,” he demanded, getting out of the car. Kennedy watched him as he walked toward the hotel entrance. As mad and confused as she was, she couldn’t help but appreciate his masculine essence. His walk was confident and said with each stride that he owned the world. His jaw line, strong like the muscles she knew were hidden under his clothes, contrasted with his warm eyes. Even when he was mad enough to start a fire with just a glance, his eyes, penetratingly serious, held a softness that told her his heart was good. He turned and stopped. Motioned for her to roll down her window. “Stay there. I’m not playing, Love. I know you. Just do me this one. Okay?” he said, deceptively winking at her. Like a child she did as he asked. Besides, she questioned, where would she go, anyway? For a horse and buggy ride? She nodded. Yes, she’d do just that after all this was over. Whatever this is. Lancaster, though she really didn’t know much about it, was only a few minutes from her maternal grandparents’ estate in Intercourse. She hadn’t visited in years like Simone and Derrick, but she remembered. Her days of using the home as a getaway had come and gone with the newness of her and Jared’s relationship. She smiled, moved by the fond memory of her and Tariq christening as many rooms as they could when his sister had married on the property’s backyard years ago. Together they’d been magical. Other than their complexions, it was hard to tell where his body ended and hers began. That’s how much they were into one another—how much he’d been inside her. Kennedy reared back her head, exhaled a breathy “whew!” then laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. Heating from her center, tingles traveled to her limbs, and made the hair on the nape of her neck stand. A flashback. She’d heard of them, maybe even experienced one or two, but never like this. This one made her sweetness throb, feel as if she’d just been touched by him. “Dangerous,” she whispered to no one as she continued to giggle. A man you could feel years later, one who was intelligent, strong, with a delectable scent, couldn’t be anything less than. She inhaled, sure she could still smell him. “What’s so funny?” he asked, startling her. She hadn’t heard him open the door. Didn’t witness him get in the car. She had smelled him, though she’d believed it was caused by reminiscing, because she’d also felt him. Now, looking at him, she craved to feel him

again. Everywhere. Whatever she’d felt towards him minutes before went away. All at once she didn’t care where they were, what they were there for. The only thing that mattered was getting to him. Getting to him and making him get into her. She devoured him with her eyes, and couldn’t speak for seconds. She shook her head, and again exhaled audibly. Damn. Just the sight of him, the memory of them together, had stolen her breath. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t said more than four words, and already she was creaming her panties. Squirming in her seat, she moved her hips side to side, trying to settle and not expose the heat blazing between her legs. A smile and a knowing look spread across Tariq’s face. “Soon, Love. Soon,” he promised. He fished in his shirt pocket, handed her a room key. “The number to the suite is on there. I’ll be back soon. Got some things to take care of before I can take care of you.” Kennedy took the key and stepped out of the car, taking her overnight bag from the backseat. She didn’t know what he was up to and, at the moment, didn’t care. She needed a moment to herself. She craved solitude, if only for a few minutes. Her life back home was in shambles and as much as she wanted to escape, the thought of leaving scared her. She could run away with Tariq for a day or two, hide under the covers in some strange hotel bed, she could even decide to leave Jared for good, but she’d still have to go back home and deal with her demons. There was no getting around that. “Please don’t take all day. I want to hurry up and get this over with. But I’m going to need at least an hour or two to sort some things out.” Opening her eyes, she zeroed in on the brick walls, then the Jacuzzi in the corner of the tastefully decorated suite. For a second she paused and tried to recall where she was. Her overnight bag, next to her clothes on a bedside chair, jolted her memory. The plush mattress felt good under her scantily clad body, and she hated to rise. Rolling over onto her back, she stretched. She just wanted to fall back to sleep, wake up and let the nightmare be over. But it wasn’t to be so. She knew when she heard the doorknob to the room turn. Quickly, she sat up. Looked from the door to the window, then at Tariq. It’d grown dark outside, and he wore a look that matched the sky. He all but snarled at her. Kennedy stood and threw up her hands in surrender. She’d grown tired of all of the questions and accusations, especially the unspoken ones like

whatever he was hanging her for now. “What?! What is it now! What could I have possibly done in the short time you were away and I was asleep? You better tell me something, Tariq—or else,” she threatened. “Do you love this cat you’re engaged to?” He squared himself, looking prepared for anything. Kennedy just shot him a look. Why did she feel as if she were arguing with her man? She hadn’t seen Tariq in years and, truth be told, didn’t owe him a thing. Especially an explanation about her love life or lack thereof. “You don’t really think I’m going to answer that, do you? What difference does it make?” He walked toward one side of the bed, unclasping his watch on his left arm along the way. He laid it on the nightstand, then turned his full attention on her again. He stared as if he could see through her, then broke the hold and looked at his tattoo. Again, he held her with his eyes. “Does this halfcircle of completion still mean anything?” He waved his hand. “Never mind. Look, Love, are you in love with this dude or not? I need to know.” Kennedy crossed her arms one over the other and began to rub her hands on her skin. His look and questions had given her chills. She knew he didn’t realize it, but he’d asked her three separate ones. Loving someone and being in love were two different things. Yes, she loved Jared. Dearly. But was she in love with him? That, she didn’t know. She’d been questioning the same thing for months. Wondering if she were capable of giving that much of herself to anyone other than her son. To have and to hold from this day forward…Until death do you part… Both had plagued her mind because they were so final, and she wasn’t sure she could sign away her life like that. “I love him,” she answered. Tariq’s temples pulsed as he clenched his jaw. If Kennedy didn’t know him as well as she did she would’ve broke camp and gotten the hell out of there. He’d displayed two signs of anger without words, and she prepared for the worst knowing he’d never lay hands on her. “Stop playing with me, Love. And don’t fuckin’ patronize me. You know I know there’s a difference between loving this cat and being in love with him. We debated this love topic years ago. I told you that.” She raised her eyes, almost nodded. She was impressed that he knew and remembered. “Why?” she asked again, this time more softly. She toyed with the elastic on her Brazilian-cut panties, then turned her attention to her bra straps. She needed another focus. She had to avoid looking Tariq in the

eyes. All of a sudden she felt underdressed, exposed. Walking over to her, Tariq grabbed her by the shoulders. “Stop fidgeting, Love. It’s a simple question.” Heat traveled from his palms to her shoulders, coursed through her and stopped in her throat. It stayed there, and began to form a knot. She tried to swallow it along with tears that threatened to surface. Why did he keep making her cry? Because he knows me better than anyone, she thought. No, she couldn’t BS or push him away. She had to answer him, especially because he had her in the middle of another state. “Nothing about my life is simple,” she admitted honestly. “I’m a walking ball of confusion—like static electricity. Every thing I go near frazzles. You may want to stay far away from me or I might affect you too.” Releasing her shoulders, Tariq moved to the chair, scooped up her clothes and tossed them to her. “Get dressed and meet me outside. I’ll be out front in the car waiting.” He walked out. Confusion painted Kennedy’s face. She thought—hoped—they’d discuss Kharri, maybe argue about her and Jared, then make up in a most delicious way, one that would’ve led to her calling his name. She was in the car before she knew it, strapping the seatbelt over her, and simultaneously holding on as Tariq floored the accelerator. Her thoughts slowly dissipated as the car rounded corners, answer-ing any questions she may’ve had. A right turn onto N. Prince from Harrisburg Pike made her sit up. A left onto Chestnut Street caused her to take notice and anticipate the upcoming exit onto PA-340, Old Philadelphia Pike. It would take them straight to Intercourse and, she was sure, her grandparents’ country estate in the small Amish village. Bypassing a museum, an art gallery or two and a few farms, Kennedy held the town with her eyes. It had been a while since she’d visited. Looking down at her arm, she held it up to the window. She compared her complexion to that of the few townspeople she spotted, and was reminded why she’d avoided coming. As light as her skin was, it was never light enough for her maternal grandparents, who had been dead set against her white mother marrying her black father. They’d disowned Kennedy’s mother, their only daughter, yet willed everything to them. And Kennedy never felt comfortable in their home, even after each one’s deaths. Her grandparents, mother and father, all gone. Daddy was the most recent, succumbing to heart failure. Clenching her teeth, she wished she could be like her brother and sister, take each visit as poetic justice. Try as she might,

she couldn’t find comfort in knowing that as much as her grandparents were against them being in their home, they ended up with it. “You cool?” Tariq asked, turning onto the almost hidden dirt road off RT 340 that led to the house. “I remember you don’t exactly like coming here.” Pursing her lips, Kennedy threw him a look. “Well, if you remember, then why?” Reaching over the car’s console, he laid his palm on her thigh, rubbed gently, then gripped it. “Because I need you to remember, that’s why.” He turned into the driveway, and drove for almost a quarter mile. He killed the engine. Finally, he let go of her leg and held her with a deep stare. “I hope you have a key,” Kennedy said, realizing that she’d come emptyhanded. Reluctantly opening the car door and stepping out, she shrugged. “I forgot my purse.” “You mean the Jacobs’ family doesn’t have one stashed somewhere out here? There’s nobody close you can call who has one?” Kennedy shook her head. “Only me, Simone, Derrick, and Miranda have keys. And the only one who’d be willing to drive here would be Miranda, but that’d take forever.” She inhaled deeply, looked around the dark yard, admiring the trees wind-dancing in the moonlit breeze. As much as this place sometimes sickened her from a distance, she couldn’t help but relax once her feet touched the ground. The sky was clear, a midnight canvas filled with millions of stars the buildings in Manhattan constantly blocked from her view. The air, crisp and clean, almost made her choke because it lacked the pollution she’d grown accustomed to in the city. “I don’t have a key,” Tariq admitted, an embarrassed look washing over his face. “We don’t need one, anyway. Let’s walk,” he said, making his way to her and taking her hand. Dampened grass flattened under her feet as they made their way to the back of the estate. From the corner of the house, she stopped, trying to envision the beauty it held in the daylight. A smile parted her lips. No matter how long she’d been away she’d never forget how it’d looked lined with candles the night Tariq’s sister married in the backyard. “You remember how beautiful it was back here the night of the wedding?” He let go of her hand, and wrapped her in a bear hug from behind. Rocked her. Kennedy smiled. They’d always seemed to be of one accord. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she moaned and tilted her head. His lips had met

her skin, planting warm kisses on her neck. Her chin touched her chest as he bent her head forward, licked the top of her spine. Her moan turned into a tremble. Gripping his legs, she pressed her body back into his, felt him grow. “Right here?” she asked. “Why not? This is where we made it happen ten years ago.” His answer was breathy in her ear. “No,” she protested. “In the bedroom. In the bathroom. The dining room. Upstairs veranda. Never back here. I want you inside—like before.” She pulled away from him, walked toward the large wraparound porch. “Come help me get inside. There has to be a way to get into one of these windows.” Simultaneously they checked the windows to see which, if any, were unlocked or loose—easy to pry open. Taking off his shirt, Tariq wrapped it around his fist, busted it through a glass panel on the back door. Reaching inside, he felt for the lock, then turned to an awaiting Kennedy. “I don’t think it’s in reach. I remember Simone saying something about having a locksmith relocate it somewhere further down than average. We had a break-in a couple years back. I’m sorry, I forgot,” she apologized. She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him. Squeezing, she held on as tight as she could, standing on tip toe. Painted his lips with small kisses. “There’s always right here,” she offered, hiking up her skirt and gapping open her legs, grabbing his hand and putting it between them. On her back before she knew it, she fought to get her panties down and off. “Hell,” she whispered, pulling them to the side. “Like this, we can take our clothes off later,” she instructed, then froze when a light blinded her. “Hate to break up your little party,” a cop pestered, shining a flashlight on them, as he laughed and elbowed a fellow officer.

Chapter Fourteen Miranda

Rich. Larenz. Rich? Larenz? Miranda’s heart had flip-flopped between the two since her visit a few weeks ago. Time had breezed by and tapped her on the shoulder, reminding her that the hour of decision was growing close. She looked over at the fine brother who’d waltzed into her world barely over a month ago, and almost wished he hadn’t. Reaching over to trace her finger over his brow, she pulled back, deciding not to rouse him. To wake him meant to ride him; their recent bedroom history proved that. And right now sex was the last thing on her mind. Her focus was on how to prevent hurting him and the letter she fingered under the pillow from Rich. Larenz was great, but Rich had been better. But Miranda didn’t need a had-been, she required a now. And a right-now lay next to her offering her what she’d prayed for: a lifetime of love if she wanted it. But now she didn’t know if she desired forever with a man or just a little while. She enjoyed Larenz, his company, and appreciated his efforts to make her happy. He was gentle,

soothing, understanding. More attentive than she could’ve imagined. With him there were no red flags warning of possible problems. He went to work, came home to either his place or hers, and devoted all his free time to her. She gripped her pillow, kept her eyes glued to him, then swallowed. That was the problem. Too much of him. The thing she had once yearned for was becoming too much. Where he’d once seemed to decorate her bed, now he was overpowering it. Where he’d filled her empty life, he was now drowning it. She tsked, ashamed of her uncontrollable ways. It’s Rich’s fault. She eased out of bed, unable to take the pressure. It was all Rich’s fault. If only he went away. Disappeared. Been the liar and cheat I thought he was, I would be happy. But she was to blame too, she decided, shedding her gown. She swapped her bed attire for workout clothes. Rich had been tracking her for years but that didn’t mean she had to entertain him. No one had put a four-five to her head and made her do anything. She’d run to Attica. Heard him out. Wanted to believe him. Ran a check on the paper he’d given her, and really believed him. Now she was confused and needed to clear her head or haze it in a different way. In the bathroom, she searched the counters, certain she had a stash of Hydro somewhere. She snapped her fingers, reached behind the multiple bottles of perfume she had accumulated like a Macy’s counter, and found her fix staring back at her in a one-hitter. A strike of a match, a double toke, hold and release, and she was ready to take on an altered world. “Is that weed I smell?” she heard his voice ask from the other room. She shook her head, couldn’t believe herself. Here this man had been good to her and she’d reduced him to a pronoun, a he. All because of Rich. “I’m about to run out,” she said, ignoring his question and stepping into her sneakers. He made his appearance at the bathroom door, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “Yo, you smokin’?” Miranda clicked her teeth. “Smoking makes it sounds like I’m a basehead or something. I’m about to run. Need to clear my head,” she said, walking past him. Grabbing her arm, he stopped her. “I got something to clear your head, Ma.” He looked down at the rise in his boxers, totally neglecting to ask her why she needed to clear her head. Miranda followed his eyes, and wasn’t impressed. She’d been there. Done that. Had better.

He licked his lips, walked behind her, and pulled her close. Kissed her neck. Damn. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered, gently biting her shoulder blade. She puttied. It was his teeth sinking into her flesh that caused her knees to weaken. She was supposed to stay strong, get out the house and feel her heels slap against the worn cement that was as cracked as her split decision. Shake Larenz for Rich or keep him? Him and that damned mouth of his, nibbling on her skin and making her neck involuntarily arch, giving him better access. She didn’t want to give in. Had no intention of gripping his legs or perking her breasts, waiting for him to squeeze them with large hands. But his mouth was relentless; his tongue was unforgiving. Damn. Pushing down her sweat pants and panties just below her hips, Larenz exposed the sweetest part of her vulnerability. The cold air kissed where she overheated, and pushed her to the brink. She became the Exorcist girl, eyes rolling back in their sockets with levitation threatening to follow. Without hands, Larenz had made her that hot. Heat rose, literally. Rich ain’t here to do this. Can’t from behind the wall. Distant lovers were good for making love to your soul. Miranda needed something tangible. She could miss and desire Rich until there was no tomorrow, but today she needed something she could wrap her fingers around. She craved the precise thing Larenz was poking her in her back with. “I can’t. I need to jog.” She tried to fight the battle she’d been losing at least twice a week. “No, you don’t. Last thing you need to do is run from me.” He was persistent, pulling her back through the bathroom doors and into the bedroom. “I haven’t showered,” she warned, feeling her body fall back onto the bed. Her pants were still around her hips until he slid them down to her ankles. Lifting her legs, he pressed against her knees, made them fold until they almost touched her shoulders and cut into her breathing. Like he planned on diapering her, he held her in place with one hand. She was locked in, could only squirm as he licked down the backs of her legs and nibbled on her thighs, then he sunk his incisors into her butt, bit her hard. She moaned and wiggled, not because he’d hurt her, but because it felt good

in a painfully twisted, pleasurable way. With mouth still partially open, he flicked his tongue and licked her sweetness, bathed every exposed inch and crevice. Miranda shook, cried out, and tried to climb the wall when he took his pointer and middle fingers, stuck them in his mouth, wetting them. He watched her as he dipped them inside her juiciness, then splayed them in a peace sign, and slowly filled both her spots. Double damn. This is how he did it. How he drove her crazy in the beginning. This was the part she wished would last. It was the foreplay she loved and couldn’t get enough of. What followed the introduction is what she would’ve liked to be better, but the intro outshone the main act. Today it’ll be better, she tried convincing herself as he released himself from his boxers. Looking down, she just couldn’t figure it out. He was fairly well endowed. Equipped enough to be able to please her, but he didn’t know how to use his equipment like he should’ve. She turned her head when she heard the condom wrapper tear open. It only took seconds for him to slide it on, then take the head of his hardness and introduce it to her cream. Roughly, he pushed inside her, and for a second she believed it would be different this time. Then he whimpered, and she knew. She lowered her lids because she didn’t want to blink, because all it would take was one bat of the eyes and he’d be through. In the beginning she’d given him a pass, blamed it on the newness—him having to get used to her, or just sheer excitement. But after a few times too many, she realized that his sex was just a dud. A bomb that wouldn’t blow. And even when he did hang in there, pushed through for twenty minutes or so, it was dull. The pumping and panting and crying out happened, but only from him. “Damn. Ma. It’s so good. Pussy real good. Like it?” Miranda rolled her eyes. Does it seem like I like it? Hurry up. “Tell me, Ma. Tell me how good this dick is.” Why? she wanted to ask, but cleared her throat instead. Looking at the ceiling, she searched for anything. A crack in the paint, a chip in the paint, a spot. Then she began ping ponging her eyes between the corners of the room, creating a blur in her vision. Talk about forever? This was taking much longer than she wanted, and she felt helpless. If he wasn’t holding her legs in place she could pump back, twist her hips and dip—make him explode. But now, like this, with her pinned down, his orgasm was up to him. “Shit!” she cried out in frustration, quickly deciding it was the wrong

thing to do because now he believed he was doing something. Hurry up! Time wasn’t on her side today. It had gotten stuck, and refused to move. And Larenz, to her surprise and disappointment, had found stamina. If life ended now I wouldn’t be mad—I’d be relieved. “Oh. Shit. This my pussy, Ma,” he told her, thrusting like he was doing something. Miranda rolled her eyes again. The sad thing was he was in a fight all by himself and didn’t know it. Inhaling, she fought hard to push out her breath. Her knees being up and her legs restricted by her sweats had cut into her oxygen. Panic set in. Rich. Rich. Rich. She mentally called on the man she wished were on top of her. If she could swap out Larenz for Rich, she was certain she’d damn near be in tears by now, knew tomorrow she’d feel as if she’d been brawling because their lovemaking had always been so intense. This is bullshit. Her mind had been confused for weeks. Before she’d found out that Rich wasn’t the bad guy she’d believed him to be, Larenz’s sex wasn’t bad. Average, maybe? But not revolting. Who am I kidding? It was good. She remembered how she couldn’t get enough and had cum a few times. She shook her head. Her mind—her guilt—was playing tricks on her. Being torn between two men twisted her reality and was making her suffer. The grass on the other side of the fence always seems greener, she reassured herself. But she’d been on the opposite side of the fence, knew and tended the lawn, and had made it become a deep hue of money green. Because I took care of it, nurtured it until resembled a freshly watered field. Miranda closed her eyes, pushed Rich out of her mind, and concentrated on the beautiful specimen on top of her. He wasn’t so bad. Not at all. And with her help he’d become great in bed, just like Rich, she lied to herself and wondered if her vibrator needed new batteries because she’d have to please herself if she wanted to reach her peak. Sitting under the dining table, Miranda held the furniture oil bottle in a choke hold. She sprayed and rubbed. Spritzed and polished. Worked the dust-rag in circles, waxing on and off, until there was almost a donut shape worn in the wood. Frustrated as all hell, she figured if she couldn’t work through it in her bedroom, she could take it out on her place. She’d spic-and-spanned, Mr. Cleaned, and bleached until she’d felt momentarily better, then started over again when she relived the horrifying eighteenpoint-five minutes that had taken place on top of her sheets. She sickened

at the thought of her playing Alice the Maid while Larenz relaxed in the four poster resting from the fantastic sex he’d had all by himself. He’d cum, rolled over and went to sleep before she could count to ten and slide out. Wiping dampness from her brow, she stood and gritted her teeth. She set down the furniture polish, then questioned why should she be upset in her own haven? Larenz could go home for all she cared. He was wrong and deceiving, no matter how she looked at it. No, he hadn’t lied about any of his stats. He was employed, single, serious and caring. He was even a provider. He possessed plenty of positives that would make him seem like The One to many women, Miranda was sure. But she had her own stats, equivalent to his, maybe better. She had an income, was available when she met him, didn’t play games, had a heart big enough for the right man to move into, and could catch him if he fell financially. Yes, she could almost do it all, but came up short in one area. The one area Larenz was supposed to handle: pleasing her sexually. Hell if I gotta do it by myself, then I’m gonna do it by myself! She walked into her bedroom prepared to put him out. If she was hungry, he’d feed her. If she was hurt, he’d soothe her. But if she wanted to cum until her toes curled and thighs stiffened and her expression contorted, why couldn’t he provide that? Standing at the bedroom door, she spotted a pillow on the floor. Miranda twisted her face, remembering how he’d thrown the pillow off the bed and out of his way like he’d planned to really get it in. Picking it up, she let it soar through the air, and waited for it to hit him on the back of his head. “What the fu—” he asked, rubbing his head. “Get up! I got stuff to do and you got tracks to make.” Miranda stood with her hands on her hips. “Tracks? Ma, what’re you talkin’ bout, tracks?” “Your feet. You need to get up and make tracks. Go home. Leave or some—” she lost her train of thought and words when she noticed the letter from Rich sticking out from under the other pillow on the bed. Damn. Frustration had pushed it out of her mind. Larenz sat up, scratching his head. He yawned, covering his mouth with his fist. “What’s wrong, Ma? What do you mean I got to go home? What happened when I was asleep?” Miranda snatched the letter from under the pillow before he could see it, and tucked it under her arm. “Nothing happened while you were asleep or

awake, for that matter. Not for me.” His expression twisted into confusion. “Yo, Ma. You just lost me. What you saying?” Miranda turned toward him and looked him in his eyes. She’d never been so serious in her life. “You wanna know what I did after you went to sleep?” she paused. “I laid next to you with a vibrator, a bullet, and a rabbit, and did what you couldn’t, wouldn’t or can’t—made myself cum. This ain’t the gotdamned Color Purple, I ain’t Celie and you ain’t Mister. You not just gonna jump on top of me and do your damned business. If I can’t get mine, you can’t get yours.” She started to walk away, then thought better of it. “Get up and leave. Go take a stroking class or a magic sex pill. Do something to keep it up and learn how to make me cum!” She’d snapped and knew she should’ve felt wrong because she could’ve, probably should’ve, handled it in a different way. But she wouldn’t apologize, not after he’d just stood there, watching her change the sheets, then followed her into the bathroom, waiting while she washed off his scent. He’d never said a word but, then again, what could he have said? How could a man defend his not being able to screw? He couldn’t. The only thing Larenz could do was what he did. He’d given her a nonverbal goodbye once he’d finally gotten the clue that she wanted him gone. But he’d even done that wrong. He’d made his exit by slamming the front door behind him without so much as an “I apologize, Ma” or, better yet, an “I’m sorry. Next time I’ll make sure you get yours” as she believed he should’ve. She may’ve not been in the right, but she wasn’t alone. Not only had he joined her in wrongness, he’d beat her there by being exactly the thing she’d forewarned him not to be. She’d told him in the beginning that she didn’t need a sorry man, and his sex didn’t even stand up to that. “Talk about a throw-off,” she complained, looking out the window, waiting for his car to pull away from the curb. She had to be sure he was gone before she delved into the letter that was burning her hand, waiting to be opened. Miranda needed to hear what Rich had to say. She couldn’t believe she had avoided him all those years because now she looked forward to corresponding with him. Craved the sound of his voice, missed the touch of his hands, and tried to remember his scent. Technically, she didn’t belong to anyone. Not him. Not Larenz. But she felt like it every time the phone rang and she was afraid to answer because Larenz was there, and she didn’t want to seem like she was cheating on either one of them. Especially Rich.

Even behind the gate his reach was long. He could touch her and Larenz if he wanted. Miranda’s heart raced in anticipation as she released her body onto the living room chair, simultaneously fingering the envelope. She couldn’t wait to see what Rich had written. Just to see his handwriting made her smile. “Yes, baby,” she squealed, then frowned. A warm wetness between her legs alarmed her. “I know the hell he didn’t,” she yelled, dropping the letter and running to the bathroom. She almost busted her behind, trying pull down the fresh black thong she’d just changed into minutes ago. “Dammit!” she yelled, “that nasty, sneaky dog.” She sat on the toilet staring at the cloudy stain in her underwear, knowing she’d regret what she did next. Taking her index finger, she swiped it through the discharge, then held it to her nose, smelled Larenz’s cum on her hand. She sickened. Either the condom broke or he’d pretended to put it on and okey-doked her. Her stomach turned as she decided he’d purposely played her. He hadn’t put in enough work to break a condom. Couldn’t even if he did. I’m gonna kill’im. She hopped off the toilet. Zigzagged around the bathroom, removing her pants and panties, while grabbing a Summer’s Eve from under the sink. Removing it from the plastic wrapper, she was inserting it inside her before she knew it. Squeezing it with all her might, she prayed it’d rinse him out of her as the vinegar and water rained down her walls and into the bowl. “I hate him,” she said, half drying before jumping into the shower again. She needed her whole body cleansed. Him cumming inside her made her feel nasty and dirty. Scared. She wasn’t on birth control, and he knew it. There was no way on this side of hell she’d go through what she did years ago. Abortion wasn’t in her vocabulary anymore. “Please God,” she begged. Her body wrinkled from being under the spray so long, and her womanhood almost dried up from a second and third douching. She was so clean she almost heard her puss squeak when she walked back into the living room with a towel wrapped around her. She sat back down, readying herself for Rich. She needed to read his words now more than ever. She needed a diversion to free her mind from Larenz’s spilling in her. Digging her nail behind the sealed flap, she tore open the letter and counted the pages before attempting to read it. There were five in all. The doorbell rang. Tucking the letter under a pillow, she went to finish having it out with

Larenz. Why couldn’t he had of just said what he needed to before leaving? There was only one way to apologize for being bad in bed, and that was not to be. She wrapped her hand on the knob, turned it and pulled open the door. “Make your next move your best move,” she said, then almost passed out. “What’s up, Baby? Daddy’s home!” Rich stood on the opposite side of the door wearing an outdated outfit and big smile.

Chapter Fifteen Christa

Once she’d powered off her phone, at least part of her week had been silent. No Grant. No Emory. Sure, they’d both called. Had rung her cell so many times she thought her ringer would explode. Emory had sent flowers twice, then showed his face at her building. She’d watched him from the window but refused to surface, then packed her bags and driven over to her mother’s Long Island home for a reprieve. Her mother had been riding her, digging into her life. She knew something was wrong; she said her motherly instinct told her so, but Christa wouldn’t share. How was she supposed to tell her mother she had fallen for one married man, and was blackmailing another—that she’d done everything contradictory to how she’d been raised, and had slept with them both? Momma won’t play that, she reminded herself. Her biological father had abandoned her mother for another woman—one who didn’t bear his children, one who didn’t need him. Momma was a victim of heartbreak, too. “You still not eating?” Momma Reid asked her only daughter. Momma

Reid, the name the church had given her because she was a mother to everyone, sat across from Christa. “Nah. I’m not really hungry, Ma.” She scooted her chair back from the breakfast table. She was ready to go. Momma Reid placed her hand on the tabletop. “Not so fast, baby,” she said. “I know you’re running from something. Tell Momma what it is.” Christa smiled and became the little helpless girl she once was. Yes, her mother had been trying to stick her nose in her business, but Christa knew her intention wasn’t to harm, but to help. Holding her mother with her eyes, Christa’s heart warmed. She had a great mother, a wonderful step-father too. A man so kind that he’d adopted both her and Jared while they were in their single digits, and had given them his last name. “I’m okay, Ma. Really. I just think my biological clock’s ticking, but I’ve been so wrapped up in work.” Momma Reid almost jumped out of her seat. She clapped her hands. “Thank you, Jesus!” she exclaimed. “My baby is finally coming to her senses.” She shuffled her house shoes around the table, and hugged Christa as tightly as she could. Christa leaned back onto her mother’s chest, engulfed in her love and fragile bones, and realized that her mother’s years on this earth were drifting faster than she would’ve liked. “So, you got yo’self a nice man-friend, then?” Christa just smiled. She had a man-friend, that was true. Emory couldn’t be anything more to her than that—a friend—because his marriage was in the way. “I guess so, Momma. You could say that.” Still holding her, Momma Reid asked: “Is he a good man?” Patting her mother’s hand, she basked in the love surrounding her. “Yes, Momma. He’s an attorney. He’s stable.” Momma Reid tilted her face toward Christa, then turned Christa’s head. “That’s not what I asked you, Darlin’. I don’t care what he does or if he’s stable. Well, I do care if he’s stable, that’ll help for sure if you’re talking about babies,” she said laughing. “But what he does doesn’t make him good. Is he a good man?” Christa nodded. Emory was a good man. “Well, do you love him? Does he love you? That’s the real question. Always get a man who loves you more.” She was silent for a moment, realizing the magnitude of what she was about to confide in her mother. She never thought it’d be possible for her to

feel it again but, yes, what she felt for him was love. “I do love him, and I believe he loves me, too,” she answered, unsure of the second part, but not letting it show in her voice. Momma Reid stepped around to the side of the chair to get a better view. She smiled, showing off perfect dentures. “Well, go get that good man then, Darlin’. Go get him first before someone else does, then have me a grandbaby. Plenty of ‘em. It’ll be nice to have a wedding and some new babies around here.” Christa took Momma Reid’s advice and drove back to the city. She’d gotten the doorman to let her in, and now stood outside Emory’s apartment door, determined to get her man. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she would. Some things were worth fighting for, namely a good man, and with his wife far away Christa stood a better chance. Music wafted under the door, then the song ended before it was done, and a new track began. Sure that he was inside, she pressed the doorbell. In seconds, he’d opened the latch to the peephole, then opened the door. The look he wore concerned her, and she contemplated leaving. He seemed angry and confused at first, then he smiled, changing her mind about going. “Baby! Come in.” He reached for her bag and stepped aside. Christa entered and immediately wanted to leave. His place was a mess. She took a good look at him, realized that his apartment and him were twins. One hell matched another. She took her blouse, shook it and tried to cool herself. Talk about hell? His place was hotter than the devil’s lair. “Whew!” she exclaimed upon inspection. Used plates and glasses were on the floor. Newspapers and business documents covered the furniture. She turned, saw the source of heat. Something burned in the fireplace. She cocked her head, and wondered who burned a fire in the summer. Then she found her answer, and walked toward it. Pictures of him and his wife glowed, turning to ash. Why’s he burning pictures of them? She had to prevent herself from smiling. He was obviously having a hard time, and she didn’t want him to know she was celebrating it. “It’s a mess. I know. I would’ve cleaned up if I knew you were coming,” he said from the other side of the room. Christa almost answered, but then something caught her attention. She held up her hand, silencing him. There, on the floor, next to the fireplace, were divorce papers. Her heart stopped beating. Her breathing ceased. Her

hopes rose. Divorce? She couldn’t stop the smile from surfacing any longer. She turned to him. He was raggedy in clothes that looked worn and old, and he needed a shave. She’d never seen him like this before. “What’s going on in here?” He raised his hands in defeat. “I tried to contact you. I wanted to say how sorry I was—am—for the other day. I just missed you so much; I didn’t realize how much I needed you. I never meant for you and her to meet. Didn’t know she was coming,” he rattled, omitting the divorce papers. Christa looked at him, could tell he didn’t realize she’d seen them. She walked over to him, held him in her arms, then moved back. “Whoa!” Emory sniffed under his arms. “Sorry. I’ve been locked in here working for a few days.” Working? Yeah, right. “Don’t worry. Go shower and dress, and I’ll straighten up this mess you let accumulate,” she said, deciding to go with his story. If he wanted to pretend everything was alright, so would she. “Okay,” he said, then held up a finger, almost ran to where the divorce papers were. He picked up a nearby folder and stuck them inside. “Just some client’s important documents. A case I’m working on. Confidential,” he explained, lying. “No problem. I understand.” She ran with his lie, and began cleaning up when he disappeared down the hall. Divorce! Divorce! Yes, she was going to get her man. If his wife didn’t want him, she’d certainly take over. Hell, she’d been working the job too hard not to receive benefits anyway. Taking the last of the dishes into the kitchen, she loaded the dishwasher and filled the detergent dispenser with liquid. Pressing Heavy Load, she went to straighten out the newspapers and documents. Discarding some, she filed others in neat piles. When she picked up the last Wall Street Journal, she found a gem under it. A letter from Dr. Epps, his wife. Christa looked up, searched the area for sight or sound from him. It was clear. She did a quick run-through of the letter, and couldn’t believe what treasure she was holding. She’d never held the key to her future before, not knowingly. She re-read it over and over, and one paragraph kept jumping out at her. Her story in reverse. I know our dilemma hurts you, but you have to understand the pain it causes me. I know how much you want me to get pregnant, but I need you to know that I just can’t. Not now, maybe never. You don’t know how hard I work and suffer alone here everyday. You’re not here to help, yet you

have the nerve to call me selfish? In turn, I ask: How dare you? You don’t face what I do on a daily basis, and have no idea what my life is like when you aren’t here on the weekdays. Well, life is made up of more than just weekends, Emory. So as much as I’d like to give you a beautiful, healthy child, I can’t. We tried that once, remember? We tried and I failed, and so has this marriage. Please free me. Christa folded the letter and put it in her purse, deep in the back of her wallet. So that was the problem, the reason for the divorce? A baby. For a second she was human, empathized with his wife not wanting to have a baby because of work and life; she’d been there before. But she was here now, she reminded herself. She was here alone with the man she wanted to spend her life with, the same man who was married to a woman who refused to give him what Christa decided she would. A beautiful baby. She pulled out her vaginal birth control ring, wrapped it in a paper towel and tossed it into the kitchen trash before she could count to ten. She was certain she wouldn’t be instantly fertile, and knew it would take at least two weeks for the hormones to fade from her body. But she didn’t care. They could start practicing, she decided, heading to Emory’s bedroom to spread her legs on his mattress like sheets. His eyebrows almost touched his hairline when he saw her. “Wow,” was all he said. Christa lay on top of his bed with her knees spread hip-width apart. With one hand between her legs, she played with herself. “Wanna help me, Darlin’? We didn’t finish last time.” Emory’s towel dropped, and he stood there in all his naked glory. Erect, he didn’t need to answer her with words. He gave her the answer by saluting her with his hardness. “Keep touching it, Baby. I want to watch.” His eyes bore into her sweetness. Christa licked her finger, slid it between her slit and rotated her hips. She had never done anything like this before, and was amazed that she’d had the nerve. Masturbation? Sure she’d done that plenty of times, just never in front of someone, and found that his watching, enjoying, and ooh babying her turned her on more. For a short eternity, she got into it. Forgot he was in the room. Her leg shook and her eyes rolled, then she felt something. Him grabbing her ankles. “Keep touching it,” he ordered.

She did as told, kept playing with her clit, and almost passed out from euphoria. Emory’s face was pressed against her sweetness again, his tongue darting in and out of her. “Yes,” she moaned, thrusting her hips as he made love to her with a strong tongue. “Kiss me,” she begged, sitting up to meet him as he crawled on top of her. With strength out of nowhere, she flipped him over. Straddled him. This was going to be her show. He was going to be her man. “Oh, Baby! I like that. Take what you want, girl,” he urged, watching her open her lower lips and slide down on him. “Damn! I knew you would feel good.” Christa rode him like a rollercoaster, up and down and side to side. She didn’t care how weary her legs got, how many times she wanted to pass out from climaxing. She was going to hang tough. Ride him long enough for her to get what she wanted. Grabbing her hips, Emory thrust like a wild banshee, then collected himself. “Get up, Baby. I’m going to cum.” Christa moved her feet forward, got into a full squat position. Lifting herself up and down, she told him to look and began pumping harder. “Watch baby. Watch your dick play peek-a-boo in my pussy,” her words were nastier, and she was about to explode too. “Damnit, Christa, get up. I’m cumming,” he said, trying to buck her off him. She held on as tightly as she could, grinding her hips. “Go ahead, baby. We’re good.” “We’re good?” “Yes.” And he let go.

Chapter Sixteen Kennedy

The Intercourse police station was cold, dreary and quiet. Nothing like a New York City precinct that stayed abuzz with people, problems, and an ever revolving door. Kennedy sat on the metal folding chair next to a nondescript desk for almost three hours. The first two she’d spent alone, waiting for whatever. The next, she’d been joined by a female officer. Her cluttered desktop, soiled with newspapers and celebrity gossip magazines and tabloids—testified to the officer not having much legal work in the small town. Kennedy guessed the most they had to deal with was an occasional speeding ticket. “Mmm Humph.” The disinterested female cop batted away Kennedy’s explanation of who she was. “And where’s your id, again?” Kennedy rolled her eyes. She was exasperated, being treated as a liar, a thief. As a black woman, she assumed, she wasn’t welcome in the mostly white village. That pissed her off. Being of two races, she’d suffered more than her share of racism, and could distinctly feel when she was being

judged because of one. Not caring how caramel her skin was, she had more than a right to break into the house, she just couldn’t prove it. Yet. “Look, I told you nine thousand and ninety-nine times. Still you’re not listening to me?” The officer whose name tag read Renyolds said, “I heard you.” Kennedy looked at the rosy-cheeked woman with the mousy brown hair, and silently played connect the dots with her freckles. She waited for her to look at her. Evident that the woman had no plan of looking at her while addressing her, Kennedy slapped her hand on the desk, got indignant. She had a right to, she told herself. It was, after all, her house they were holding her for trying to enter. She just didn’t know about the silent alarm either Simone or Derrick had had installed. “Can you please look at me while you’re speaking to me? You don’t have to be so rude. I know you heard me, but you weren’t listening. Listening is a skill. Had you listened you would know my purse is at The Lancaster Arts Hotel.” Officer Renyolds nodded, chewed on an already gnawed ink pen. “And you say your last name’s Jackson? And you were brought in with your husband?” Kennedy sucked her teeth. “Serious? Jacobs. J-A-C-O-B-S Jacobs. And no, that’s not my husband, he’s my friend. I told you that too.” The officer still didn’t look up from the paper she was holding. “Well, according to him you two are married.” Kennedy rolled her eyes. If she were a celebrity she’d have sworn she was being Punked. “And according to this marriage license you are.” “What? And according to what?” The officer snapped straight the piece of paper in her hands. “This—” Snatching the paper from the officer, Kennedy all but fell dead from surprise. There, in her own hands was something she couldn’t dispute. A Landcaster County marriage license with her and Tariq’s names and signatures, dated June 19th 1998. “Here’s your purse,” Tariq’s voice said from behind. “Where’d you get—” she began holding up the paper, shooting Tariq a look. “Oh, the guy at the hotel. The concierge. He brought it over. Now we can walk because you can prove who you are—you can thank me—” “—this marriage license?”

The officer’s eyes ping ponged from Kennedy to Tariq, then back to Kennedy again. Clearly, this was more interesting than the trash on her desk. “Where else, the County Clerk,” Tariq said, “that’s where you go get certified copies of marriage licenses.” The hardwoods creaked, giving in under her small frame as she paced the floor at her grandparents’ estate. Having been able to prove her identity after the concierge delivered her purse, she guessed the password for adt on the first try, producing a house key and an old utility bill with the Intercourse address, Kennedy had been freed, but still felt like a prisoner in her mind. She had no recollection of ever getting married. “We got the license the same day my sister did. Went to the Clerk’s office with her and her husband,” he explained. “I know. I know. I was there, but we didn’t get married. If we did, I would remember. Don’t you think?” Tariq shrugged, wore a dumb look. “Maybe you wouldn’t.” He sat on one of the oversized, floral sofas that Kennedy detested, swore she’d update. She put her hands on her hips, pivoted. Faced him. “What do you mean ‘Maybe I wouldn’t?’ Why the hell not? Who gets married and doesn’t know it?” Steepling his hands over the bridge of his nose, Tariq rested his elbows on his legs, looked at her over his fingers, and said something undecipherable. “What?” she snapped. “Don’t whisper. Say it!” He straightened up and cleared his throat. “I said someone who was under the influence wouldn’t remember.” Kennedy tilted her head, crinkled her brows, and tried to recapture that long ago day in her mind. She’d been nervous, anxious. Excited about seeing Tariq and having him all to herself for days. There’d been vodka, she remembered. Plenty of bottomless martinis floating around. “So I had a few drinks…” “A headache and performance anxiety,” he finished for her. Closing her eyes, Kennedy transported her thoughts back to that day. A throbbing headache had turned into a full-throttle migraine. His sister wanted to back out of the wedding. Kennedy didn’t have the anxiety, his sister did. She’d just given her the pills to get her through, and had taken one herself as a means of prompting her, and because she was already drunk herself. Kennedy shook her head. “Oh God, what did I do?”

“You married me, that’s what. I didn’t realize you weren’t yourself until the next day when you hurried me out so you could get to Jared. You seemed perfectly sane that night, not under the influence of anything more than a drink or two. Hell, we all were. But when you grabbed my hand and damned near drug me to the altar, you seemed clear that that’s what you wanted.” She leaned against the wall, closed her eyes and held her banging temples. “Why didn’t you say something the next day, Tariq? It was Sunday, we could’ve torn up the license.” Tariq stood and walked over to her; he grabbed her shoulders, shook her gently. “Because I didn’t want to, Love. Can’t you understand that? I wanted you to be my wife. I wanted that since the first time we kissed.” Kennedy raked her hands through her head. It all made sense now. “That’s why you think Kharri was yours.” “No, that’s why I know there’s a helluva possibility she was. You do the math, Love. That was ten years ago. She would’ve been nine years old now, right? We didn’t use protection back then, and I can’t even count how many times I let go in you. We went at it like rabbits.” Kennedy’s heart sank and her breathing stopped. For a few seconds she was overcome. She’d promised herself that she’d never be in this position again. Having to figure out who fathered her child had never been on her to-do-list, yet she’d be forced to do it twice. How do I end up in these situations? she asked herself. Because I spend too much time on my back. She felt dirty and would’ve loved for tears to come to wash away some of the filth, but they wouldn’t. The nasty feeling she had was trumped by a more immediate one: Jared. Pulling away from Tariq, she walked into the kitchen. She opened and closed drawers and cabinets, looking for nothing in particular. She had no reason to be there other than to escape, steal a few moments. She needed to busy her mind, her hands; she’d do just about anything to get the newest dilemma off her mind. True, she hadn’t been sure she wanted to marry Jared, but at least she’d had a choice. Tariq, with his secret, had taken away her option. What if she had really wanted to be Jared’s wife, no questions asked? More importantly, she wondered how she was going to explain to him that their engagement was a farce. He’d never believe her. “So you’re just gonna run away? Act like everything is everything?” Tariq asked from the doorway.

Kennedy turned and looked at him. Glowered. She loved and couldn’t stand him at the same time. He’d waltzed back into her life, turned it upside down, and spun it out of control. Now she had to find a way to catch it, slow it down, and find some sort of normalcy. “It is what it is.” Her words were cold, a good fit for her attitude. He’d advanced on her in three steps. Daring. Forward. Focused. “You’re my wife, Love. My wife. Don’t you get it? Do you know what that means?” She turned away from him, stared down at the floor. She refused to look at him. Feeling deceived, confused, torn. Now that she couldn’t become Jared’s wife, she felt cheated. Raped of her right to decide. “You know what, Tariq? Fuck you. Fuck you and you showing up and messing up my life. I had it all together,” she spat, cut into him with her eyes, “I worked hard to get where I am. Got a man who loves me and Niles as if he fathered him. And now you show up, swaggering into my world as if it were yours. I wish for one second that I were bigger than you. If I were I’d beat the shit out of you—take you outside and drag you up and down the street. Give these tired-ass cops around here a bonafide reason to arrest and hold me.” She pushed him back with all her might, then swung, connected her palm with his face in a loud slap. “I didn’t ask to be your wife!” Rubbing his face, he smiled. Walked back up on her. “Yes, you did. You did, and you’re mad that you don’t remember. It’s not my fault that you took and washed some prescription pill down with a drink. But in your words, Love, it is what it is, Mrs. Williams.” He palmed her cheeks with two hands, pulled her face to him. His lips, insistent, yet full and soft, covered hers. Reluctantly, she gave in, parted her mouth and accepted his eager and delicious tongue. Tears flowed as their tongues danced, making each breath more urgent than the last. A mixture of pain, shock and yearning, she grabbed his thick biceps, tried to pull him into her being. She couldn’t hold on tight enough. He couldn’t be close enough. With him there had never been enough. Pulling her from the wall, Tariq walked her backward until the breakfast table collided with her bottom. Her back arched ninety degrees before kissing the surface. The tablecloth slid. Salt and pepper shakers rattled and fell. Kennedy’s thighs parted, pushing up her skirt, inviting him. Her previous rant was easily forgotten the second he pulled back, kissed his way from her neck to her chest, to her sweet spot. Tickling the thickest part of her legs with his goatee, she lifted her hips when he blew warm breaths through

her panties. Grabbing his head, Kennedy tried to pull him up to her. She wanted his mouth on hers—the one on her face and the one between her legs. Both watered for him. They’d been here before, performed this same song and dance. The needing, teasing, begging. This time she wanted to feel him, needed him to fill and feed the void. His strength overpowered hers. Biting the crotch of her panties, he held them with his teeth, began pulling them down with his mouth, then finished with his hand. Her eyes rolled and hips squirmed when he parted her with two fingers and journeyed into her warmness with another, stirring slightly, then stopping. She damn near jumped off the table when his tongue took over, painting her juices front to back as he enjoyed her other delicate spot. Sliding up the table, Kennedy almost climbed the wall behind her. His mouth felt too good. His thick fingers, now digging into her thighs, made her quiver. He hadn’t even entered her and she was already erupting. They were here again, at the place where her knees were on the sides of her face. He’d turned her into a pretzel; limbs bent this way and that. Askew with her back arched in an upside down u, she reached down, unzipped and released him from his pants and boxers. Begged to feel him. Grabbing her hips, Tariq slid her off the table. Tucking his arms under her thighs, he lifted, then lowered her. Rearing back her head, she moaned when she felt his thickness part her lower lips. Cried out when he eased her down on it and simultaneously thrust himself all the way inside her. Gripping his neck, she held on as tight as she could as he bounced her up and down until tears rolled down her cheeks, causing her womanhood to cry with her. She had gone from creeping with an old flame who was hard to put out to sleeping with her husband in less than a day. “My husband…” “Yes, Love. Your husband,” he whispered in her ear, holding her in a tight bear hug as he see-sawed her up and down his pole. Her husband, she thought. Now all she had to do was figure out who’d fathered her daughter. Her husband, Tariq, or her husband-to-be, Jared. How the hell am I gonna do that?

Chapter Seventeen Miranda

Her eyes were playing tricks on her. Or was it her mind? Miranda stood there, body frozen, chin to the ground. She couldn’t believe he was standing in front of her free from the confines of walls and armed guards. He was here. Right in front of her where she could touch him. She didn’t know if she should speak or hug him, be happy he was home or mad because he hadn’t forewarned her. “What, no hug for Daddy, Baby?” he asked, holding out his arms. Miranda just stood there. Her emotions were in the way of her words. “I…I…” Rich stepped forward, and pulled her into his strong arms, squeezed her. Tears fled her eyes. A smile spread her lips, and warmth moved through her as she relaxed in his embrace. She didn’t care about anyone outside being able to see her in a bath towel. She had forgotten about Larenz. The wind blew and she didn’t feel it. All that mattered and was real was Rich. He held her like he used to.

“What, Baby? I can’t come in?” he whispered in her ear. Miranda stepped back, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, you can come in. Of course you can. Wow,” she said, moving to one side to allow him access, then noticing that he had no bags or boxes. “Where’s your things? You staying with someone?” She followed him into the apartment. Rich stood in the front of the living room, absorbing her space and looking out of place. He moved around for a moment, clearly uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he ran his hand over his wavy hair, pocketed his hands, then caught his cool. Licking his lips, his temples throbbed. “Nice joint,” he said. “Plush leather couches. Red. Italian.” He nodded. “Hardwoods, fireplace. And ahh, that’s one of them plasma joints. Day’um.” He walked into the living area, went and ran his hands over the tv. “This damn near bigger than you.” He turned and looked at Miranda. “Look like you been living it up off my paper.” A lump stuck in Miranda’s throat, almost choking her. Damn. She was so happy to see him on her doorstep that she’d totally forgotten that he could darken it if he wanted. “Look, Rich.” He waved his hand. “No, Baby, don’t worry about it.” A genuine smile showed on his face. “You did what you had to.” “I still have some money.” She was honest, sort of. True, she had borrowed his money, and had no intention of ever giving it back, but she’d been smart with it. Not only had she invested it in real estate, she’d also sunk it into Wall Street when it was profitable, then pulled it before the market had dropped under hell. But she wouldn’t tell him that. He didn’t need to know that she had all of his money and had flipped it many times over. She’d earned it, worked it, and wouldn’t part with it. Love him or not, she wouldn’t be placed in the same posture she once was. She’d never be financially dependent on a man again. The look he gave her at first was quizzical. Then relief painted his face, relaxing his eyebrows and glazing his eyes. “Word? Say word,” he asked for confirmation. Miranda smiled and nodded. “I do…have some of it.” His arms were back around her. “Knew my baby wouldn’t let me down.” He kissed her on the top of her head. Rearing back, she looked him in the eye. “You didn’t answer my question, Rich. Where are your things? You staying with somebody?” She braced herself for his answer. She’d disappeared long ago, and had given him time

to move around. Prison or no prison, he’d been in high demand before he’d been sent up, and Miranda knew vultures would swarm down on him if word had gotten out that they weren’t together. Other women had time to send letters, visit, and put money on his books. It wouldn’t surprise her if they had. Women had been after him their whole relationship. Handsome. Borderline rich. He’d had a swaggar out of this planet, a swagger other women found hard to resist, but Miranda kept them at bay. At least to her knowledge she had. Rich shook his head. “Nah, Baby. I’m not staying with someone else. Used my mom’s address for parole though. Can change it if you want. Try to, anyway, if my PO will go for it.” He cracked his neck, then hunched his shoulders. Brushed them with his hand. “I left my things behind for my boys. You know how I do. Gotta look out. Plus I need to gear up, buy some new ‘fits. Everything new.” Miranda laughed. This was her Rich. He’d always been a little extra, had to shine. She should’ve known better than to think he’d be comfortable in old clothes, even for one day. “Okay,” she said, pulling away from him. “Just let me get dressed, and we can shop.” Rich grabbed her hand, snatched her back to him. Pressed his body against hers. “Well, Baby, we can do that later. Buy up the whole damn city. New cars and all. But it’s something I need a little more than clothes, right now.” He bit his lip, then licked the bottom one. He palmed her butt through the towel, then reached under it. Miranda stiffened, feeling his hand slide up her crack. Forcing herself to giggle, she pulled away, playful. She needed to buy time. She’d just douched another man’s juices out of her, and had a hard time digesting having two men in her temple in one day. She questioned how she could get out of it. “I know, Rich. But don’t you want to shower first? I’m not sure how you got back home. Bus?” To her relief, Rich laughed. He sniffed under his arms. “I smell clean, but you’re right, Baby. I do need to wash off that bus ride they made a brutha get on, and use some real soap for a change. You should’ve seen that shit they subjected us to. I think it had bleach in it.” Miranda took Rich’s hand in hers, and led him out of the living room. Padding down the hall, she stopped at the linen closet. Like a child, he stood next to her, watching and waiting. Retrieving the biggest and freshest bath towel she could find, she handed it to him, and smiled when he smelled it

like it was the finest thing his nose had ever encountered. Carefully, she selected the best body cleanser she could find that didn’t smell too feminine, then a toothbrush and baby oil. She figured if prison had terrible soap, his skin probably hadn’t been properly moisturized. “Come on,” she said, hooking her finger in a come-with-me motion. They entered the bathroom, and Rich cheesed. Wore a serious Kool-Aid smile. “Word? A Jacuzzi?” He nodded, carefully placing the toiletries she’d given him on the marble counter. “I’m gonna be here for a minute, Baby. I want to take a bath, not a shower. I haven’t been able to soak in a tub since before I got sent up. No baths in prison.” Miranda looked at his happy expression, and it hurt her. The simplest things made him gleeful. It cut her to her core. Here this man had had everything that money could buy and he’d desired, and now a small thing like an oversized bathtub sent him reeling with joy. “Take your time, Rich. We got all day,” she said. She left the bathroom and hoped she was right. She prayed Larenz wouldn’t pop up ready to talk out their problems. As soon as she was sure Rich was in the tub, Miranda zoomed through the house. She had to get rid of any evidence that a man had been there. She was sure Rich wasn’t a fool, but she didn’t want to rub her life without him in his face. One thing she’d learned a long time ago was that men were possessive, and didn’t want to entertain the idea of another man even accidentally stepping on his woman’s foot, let alone entering her body. Her memory went into overdrive as she recalled all of the places she’d put trinkets and evidence of her and Larenz. Cards from flower deliveries, movie tickets, pictures, she thought of them all, and collected them as she did so. Locking them away in a safe she had hidden in her closet, she snatched the hamper on her way out and headed toward the laundry room. No, Rich had never been a fool, and she hadn’t either. She wouldn’t leave one single thing he could hang her for. Especially not linens with another man’s scent on them. In the kitchen she was stuck. She couldn’t think of where to take him so he wouldn’t be trying to get in her panties, and she couldn’t decide what to cook for him. They couldn’t stay at her place, that would be a nowin situation if she wanted to elude sex play. Her phone vibrated on the table, and Kennedy’s name scrolled across the screen. Miranda snapped her fingers. “Thank you, Sis!” she mouthed, but didn’t answer. She could hardly believe Rich was in her home, and she wasn’t ready to go through

the motions with Kennedy about it. Not yet. But Kennedy had fixed part of her problem. She now knew where to take him, a place that would take a couple of hours to travel to. Intercourse. Kennedy’s family’s estate that Miranda had keys to. “Done,” she said, searching the kitchen to figure out what to make. She knew it’d been a while since he’d had real food, and since she didn’t want to feed his sexual urge, she opted to fill his stomach. There were steaks in the refrigerator that she’d planned on cooking for Larenz. Shrimp too. She looked at the clock on the wall, saw it was still early. “Brunch,” she exclaimed, taking the eggs from fridge and grits out of the pantry. Nervousness made her move quicker than usual, and before he could show up in the doorway, the food was done. Turning the oven on low, Miranda hurried out of the kitchen to get dressed. Her being half naked was too much temptation for a man who was fresh out of the penitentiary. He, starving for her body, was too much for her to handle. She’d never had two men in a week or a month, and she damned sure didn’t want to divide her body between two men in one day. It wasn’t that it was physically impossible; a woman’s anatomy was made for sex. She didn’t want to do it because she thought it disgusting. But, oh, how she had craved him. “Please, God. Help me through this,” she prayed, then went to retrieve the Intercourse keys and find the tightest jeans she could. The harder it was for him to access her goods, the better chance she stood at avoiding what she wanted to bless him with. The food had been in the stove warming for almost an hour when he made his appearance in the kitchen. Miranda sat, holding the letter he’d written her. She’d read it three times, and couldn’t believe how much love he’d expressed. They had been together for years and he’d never opened up like that before. She had to question if it was jailhouse talk, or genuine. Rich smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Baby, something smells good.” Miranda set the letter on the table and stood. “Made you a lil’ something, something. Steak. Shrimp. Eggs with cheese. Grits. Figured you’d be hungry.” Patting his stomach, Rich played nonchalant. “I could eat.” Miranda walked toward the counter where she’d set the plates out, elbowed him on her way. “Yeah. Right.” She laughed. “’Yeah, right’ is right!” He trailed her, almost stood on her heels while she fixed his plate. “Hit me off with a little more grits, Baby. Damn, I missed

you!” he said, kissing her on the cheek and relieving her of a heaping plate of food. He was darn near done with the steak before she’d turned completely around. The way he held the fork, wrapped in a fist, while he shoveled the food into his mouth, caused her to lose her appetite, and made her angry about what he’d endured while away. “You not eating?” he asked, as he picked up his plate and headed to the stove for a refill. “No, I wasn’t hungry. I was just going to wrap up my plate for later,” she lied. She didn’t want to make him feel bad. He was readjusting, and she didn’t need to make it any more difficult. She’d bet a dollar to a dime he didn’t know he was inhaling his food. “Sure?” he asked, piling his plate, and not waiting on an answer before digging in. Miranda nodded, covered her plate with plastic wrap and put it in the refrigerator. Glad we didn’t go out to eat. She loaded the dishwasher, then scrubbed the pots. She hated a dirty kitchen, and didn’t want to come home to one. Rich was rubbing his belly when she finished. “Ready?” she asked. He crinkled his brows. “For what? Some of that right there?” he pointed below her belt. Miranda grabbed his hand, pulled him out of the kitchen. “No. We’re going to shop. Then I have a surprise.” He reared back his head and crinkled his nose like he smelled something dead and stinking. Miranda played up to him. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m gonna take care of you. It’s just that I want to get everything you need out of the way so we can lay up for days. And I need to prepare too. It’s been awhile, ya know? That’s cool?” She’d hooked him. He slapped her on the butt. “Yeah, it better had been awhile. A while as in years. But it’s cool, Baby. I gotta make a run first though.” Now it was her turn to look at him like he was crazy. She knew he didn’t plan on dipping out on his own. Hell, as far as she knew, he hadn’t been with a woman in years, and she didn’t want to give him a second alone to take his sentence out on another female.

“What you looking at me like that for? Like you wanna kill me. I didn’t say you couldn’t go. You can go anywhere I go,” he said, laughing. “I just need to make a pit stop and collect some things I left behind.” The doorbell rang. Rich’s eyebrows raised, and Miranda acted as if she didn’t hear it, picking up the dishtowel again and wiping already clean counters. “Yo. You just gonna ignore the buzzer?” Miranda put one hand on her hip, and waved the towel in the air. “I always do. Most of the time. These kids around here play with bells all the time. Probably somebody looking for the tenant upstairs I evicted a couple of weeks ago,” she fibbed with a straight face, and wished that she and Rich had already left. She should’ve known that Larenz would be back soon. He was an apologizer, and didn’t like to leave things messy without trying to clean them up. Rich nodded. “Word?” He pressed his lips together in thought. “Well, I’m home now. And there’s not going to be any playing with doorbells when I’m here. Either you answer it or I will.” Still wiping the sparkling counters, Miranda worked her way to the stovetop. When they met face to face she didn’t want to be there. “You can answer it. I’ll just finish getting my things for the trip.” Her heart fell to her shoes when he walked away, and her breath began to leave with each fall of his footsteps. She closed her eyes when she overheard him talking to someone, but she couldn’t hear the voice. She wrung her hands, not knowing what to do. So she did the best thing she could, she bowed her head because God’s help was what she needed. That and a miracle, but Rich didn’t give her time. “Yo Miranda! Come out here.” Miranda exhaled and walked out the kitchen to meet her doom, but instead locked eyes with her fine little neighbor, Reddy. “Hi Reddy, nice to see you. How’s your mother?” she greeted him, putting on a thick show for Rich. Rich winced. “So you do know him? He brought you flowers but won’t say who they’re from.” Miranda looked at Rich then back to Reddy with a big smile still painted on her face. “Flowers? For me?” Reddy ran his hand over his braids, searching Miranda’s expression. “I keep telling him it’s a mistake. I meant to take them next door, but dude

won’t let me leave.” Miranda walked all the way to the door, gave Reddy a slight hug and whispered in his ear, “Just run with it.” Letting him go, she turned back and stood next to Rich. “It’s okay, Reddy. You can tell him. This is my fiancé.” Reddy’s face was quizzical. “Uh…Uh—” Miranda cut him off. “The flowers are for next door, but Reddy always gives them to me because Ms. Mabel can’t accept them.” Now Rich’s look was quizzical. “What? That don’t make no sense.” Miranda laughed. “I know. I know.” Reddy jumped in. “Ms. Mabel’s like eighty or something.” “Seventy-three,” Miranda corrected. “Right. And she has this old dude who sends her flowers and she’s allergic.” Miranda shook her head. “Ms. Mabel is courting this distinguished gentleman and doesn’t have the heart to tell him she’s allergic to the flowers because she doesn’t want to offend him. So Reddy always brings the flowers to me or his mom. Woman thing.” Rich threw up his hands, and began walking away. “Alright cool, but why don’t y’all just tell pops…” Miranda slipped Reddy a twenty when Rich was out of sight, thanking him. She closed the door and grabbed her things. They needed to leave now. That was one call that was too close.

Chapter Eighteen Christa

Christa held her stomach, rolled side to side. A dull fire burned in her abdomen, lower back and calves. Merciless contracting muscles caused debilitating cramps, and her temples banged like hell. Pulling herself from under the sheets, she summoned the strength to get out of bed and walk to the restroom. Lifting her gown, she pushed down her panties to her ankles, sat on the toilet and freed her bladder. Thoroughly wiping herself dry, she looked at the toilet tissue, and found the culprit. Despite all the bedroom play she and Emory had partaken in, her monthly had come calling anyway. “Damn,” she whispered. She’d been at Emory’s for days, and hadn’t prepared for her “girl” to show. She thought about it, and remembered she had panty liners in her purse. Ever since she’d decided to have Emory’s baby, she’d invested in those, had taken up the habit of wearing one daily. She’d needed something to catch his juices when they exited her. The last thing she wanted was to be in a meeting and have something run down her leg. “Emory!” she yelled, opening the bathroom door. “Can you bring me

my purse?” Emory appeared at the door with purse in hand. “What do you need?” He began sticking his hand inside, searching her bag. Christa stood in a half squat and snatched the purse from him. “Didn’t your mother teach you never to go in a woman’s purse?” She sat back down on the toilet and moaned. “You got some painkillers?” Emory pushed the door all the way open, and walked past her. “What’s wrong? That time?” He opened the medicine cabinet, moved things around. “I got some prescription meds.” Searching her purse for the panty liners, she contemplated whether it’d be a good idea to take prescription strength medication when she was planning on conception. Finding the liner, she removed the strip from the back of it and pressed the sticky part onto the crotch of her panties. Emory, leaning against the sink, smiled with two bottles of medication in his hands. Christa’s eyes met his, and they both laughed. They’d gotten to a point in their relationship where peeing in front of one another was as normal as sneezing, and her taking care of her feminine needs was no different than his shaving. Of course, if there were something he could see, something a little too graphic that would embarrass her, she wouldn’t have put the liner on in front of him. Some things he just didn’t need to be privy to. He shook the bottles. “Two choices. Strong painkiller or knock-you-out painkiller.” Christa wiped again out of habit, pulled up her panties, and flushed. She turned on the faucet and began washing her hands. “I’ll just go pick up something from the drug store. I need some feminine stuff anyway. Then I’m going to head to my place and grab a few things. I can’t keep recycling clothes, even if I do wash them.” “Alright,” he said putting the medication back. “At least we know your birth control is working. I was a little bit worried, ‘cause as much as I’ve been releasing in you, you’d be pregnant by now if it wasn’t working.” He laughed. She laughed with him. “You’re too funny. Don’t worry, won’t be any accidental pregnancies up in here,” she forewarned, still laughing and watching him. From his expression she could tell he didn’t catch it. The feminine aisle at Duane Reade was as crowded as the rest of the pharmacy. Christa bumped her way through it, excusing herself as she made progress. Like the other women, she stood staring at the multiple brand

names like she was going to change her mind about the kind she usually bought. Tsking herself, she retrieved what she’d come for and cradled the box to her as if someone were going to take it. Making her way back down the aisle toward checkout, something caught her attention. There, next to the pregnancy tests, she spotted ovulation kits. “When did they start making these?” she asked herself. She didn’t realize she’d actually spoken out loud. “Oh, a while ago. Years,” a skinny white girl with multicolored hair, broad smile, and little boy in her arms offered. Christa scrunched her brows at the woman. “Really?” “Yes. And they work too.” She nodded her head toward the little boy. “He’s proof. Him and the one I’m carrying now.” Christa looked at the lady’s stomach. “Not yet. It’s too soon for me to show. I’m just over a month.” “Wait. Wait a minute. So how do you know then? Isn’t it too soon?” The friendly woman pulled an ovulation kit off the shelf and a box containing multiple pregnancy tests. She handed them to Christa. “These together? Fantastic. And you don’t even have to miss a cycle to know. Modern medicine: it’s the greatest!” A whole spread of possibilities lay in front of Christa on the kitchen table. She studied the instructions from her birth control because she had to see how long it would take for the hormones to wear off. She’d read it too many times, but that section wasn’t that clear, so she and had given up and called her GYN’s office. The nurse had told her anywhere from two weeks to a month or more. She could live with that, she thought as she opened the ovulation kit, and unfolded the pamphlet that came with it. After reading it carefully, she discovered she needed to start checking herself on days ten through seventeen of her cycle to see when she was ovulating. And though the little nice white lady had told her she didn’t have to miss her monthly to know if she was pregnant or not, she opted to open the box of pregnancy tests. She knew all she’d have to do was pee on one of those sticks, but she needed confirmation. Opening the directions, she discovered the lady had been right; she didn’t have to wait. She could test as soon as she suspected. Christa picked up her cell, began adding appointments to her calendar. She would start testing for ovulation one day earlier than recommended, just to be sure. She didn’t want to risk anything, especially a month. Her doorbell rang, interrupting and alerting her. Quickly, she started putting the evidence away. Even if she didn’t care who was at her home, she didn’t want

anyone to know her plans. Scooping the rest of the tests into the pharmacy bag, she yelled, “One second!” as loudly as she could. Rushing out the kitchen toward the front, she stuck the pharmacy bag into the coat closet, and answered the door. Grant stood there seething. His breathing was labored and his anger was clear. She’d never seen him like this before, yet she didn’t care. Her hands were on her hips before she knew it, and she shot him a nasty look. How dare he show his face? Unless he has my money. She stuck out her hand. “Got something for me?” He pushed past her, walked into the apartment. “You got something to tell me?” She turned and looked at him like he was crazy. He’d never had the nerve to walk into her house uninvited, and he’d done it with such audacity. “Since when did you start coming in without being invited?” “Since I found out this isn’t just your place.” She cocked her head. Had no idea what he was talking about. But she did know one thing, she didn’t like his attitude. The more he spoke the louder he got. Christa walked past him into the kitchen. If he wanted to huff, he could huff. But he’d do it where she had knives to defend herself. Please God, don’t let me have to stab this man. ‘Cause I will, Lord. You know I will. “Now what do you mean this isn’t just my place? I’d like to know who else’s name is on the mortgage and deed.” She started unloading the dishwasher, putting away the clean dishes. Knives. Meat cleaver. Ice pick. She began tallying all the things she could juke him with if he got violent. “This isn’t your place because this is also my baby’s place.” “What?” Christa stopped, turned to him with a glass still in her hand. Grant walked closer to her. “My baby. That’s what you told my wife, right?” Christa put the glass in the cabinet, and quickly picked up a knife. She pointed it toward him. “Don’t come any closer. If you do, I’m going to hurt you.” Stepping backward a few steps, he put up his hands in surrender. “Whoa, wait a minute. I didn’t come here for that. I’m not here to start trouble.” Slowly, she kept advancing on him with her fingers still wrapped tightly around the knife. “Yes, you are. You did come here to start trouble because you’re definitely not here to try to make friends. So what, your wife told you I’m pregnant. And what if I am, then what?”

Grant stopped at the table, began pulling out a chair. With his eyes on her, he sat down. “Then that means we’ll be having a baby, I guess.” Christa just stared at him. Pitiful. Fat, pitiful, and a cheat. “Why would I have your baby when you cheated on me? Not only did you cheat on your wife, you cheated on me. And you think I’m stupid enough to deal with that forever? Nah,” she shook her head. “That’s not going to happen. Let your missus deal with that.” Placing his hands palm-side down, he stared at her through misty eyes. Clearing he throat, he swallowed. Coughed. I know this man isn’t getting ready to sit here and cry. “Look Christa. I know I was wrong, I admit it. I never should’ve cheated on you—or my wife, but I couldn’t help it. I’m a man.” “A man? Is that your excuse? Really? You cheat and can’t help but cheating because you’re a man? That’s what you’re telling me?” She shook her head in disgust. “Grant, puh-leez! Save that excuse for the stupid broads who believe all men cheat and men cheat because they’re men,” she pointed out, walking to the table. Staring at him from the opposite side, she continued, tapping the knife against the top. “All men don’t cheat. Matter of fact, boys cheat, not men. And don’t worry about me, worry about the woman you married. I’m not pregnant, and how could I be? We never had unprotected sex. I just want my money. Give it to me and I’ll go away,” she told him, then walked back to the other side of the kitchen and continued putting away dishes. He put his head in his hands, paused for seconds without saying a word. “You ruined my marriage, Christa.” She turned, not sure she heard right. Grant looked up at her. Tears in his eyes now. “Did you hear me?” he yelled. “I. Said. You. Ruined. My. Marriage.” His words were loud and clipped. Christa still held the knife in her free hand. “Me? How did I—” Grant stood up from his seat, and banged his fist on the table. “You and your big-ass mouth, going over there and showing my wife that picture, telling her you’re pregnant, too.” Christa rolled her eyes. This was getting redundant. Snatching the phone off the counter, she pressed 911 and held her finger over the send button. “Look, you can leave now. If you came here to start something, go ahead. The cops will be here shortly, cause I swear I’ll call them. And you, you

ruined your own marriage. I told you to give me my money and I’d go away—” “Your money! Your god-dammed money?” he yelled, reaching into his pocket. Pulling out a rolled stack, he threw it at her. “Take your damned money.” She didn’t care if he threw it at her or not. She wanted it and needed it. Scrambling to pick up the knot, she exhaled, then told him the truth again. “I’m not pregnant.” Grant looked down at the floor and held up his hand. He bent over, picked up something and stared at it. From where Christa stood she could tell it was a pamphlet, but which? He waved a folded paper from the pregnancy kit in the air, and she cringed. “Thought you weren’t pregnant!” “Get out of my house, Grant!” she yelled, pressing the talk button, making the phone dial 911, and hoped the cops wouldn’t have to carry one of them out feet first.

Chapter Nineteen Kennedy

Relief coursed through her when Tariq pulled up to the curb in front of her home. Jared’s suv wasn’t in the driveway, and there seemed to be no life moving about inside the house. She sat for a moment, not sure of what to say. She didn’t feel comfortable showing Tariq that she was relieved her fiancé wasn’t home, not anymore. A few days ago she didn’t care. But everything had changed. Grabbing her purse, she opened the car door and held up her hand, stopped Tariq from helping her. She could and would get her own overnight bag. Whether Jared was home or not, she refused to openly disrespect him by having another man help her to the door. Last time had been different because she’d spotted Jared’s lips on another woman. She cringed, repulsed by the thought. Her getaway with Tariq had caused her to forget. But now she remembered, felt it as if it had just happened. Guilt now fell from her body as easily as her clothes had with Tariq. She unlocked and pushed open the front door to her house, held her pinky to her mouth and her thumb up to her ear in a “call me” gesture, then waved goodbye.

The quiet swallowed her when she entered the house and kicked off her shoes. She checked each room. What was she looking for? She was sure the babysitter wasn’t there because Niles was with Michael. But she had to check anyway. Needed to make sure she was alone so she could take time to unpack, unwind, and think. Figure out how to confront Jared and explain why she’d left with another man and had been gone for days. Their relationship was dying if not already dead. Jared with another woman, and she wrapping her legs around Tariq were two indications that they’d clearly gone too far. The respect just wasn’t there anymore, but for the sake of Niles, she’d work hard to keep some semblance of a comfortable, happy home for him. As much as she wanted to storm down on Jared, she’d tread carefully not to affect or alert Niles to the problems whirling through their lives. “He’ll be okay,” she assured herself, taking her cell phone from her purse and powering it back on. She began to unpack. But will I? She had to confront Jared, think of a way to dna test a daughter who was no longer alive, deal with the results, and figure out how to deal with her newfound husband. She put things away robotically while she thought. Not one easy thing lay in her path. She breathed deeply, sat on the bed. She had to work tomorrow, and needed to get at least one thing out of the way today. “One day at a time, one thing at a time.” Feeling like an addict, she blamed her body for her problems. If she didn’t enjoy a good screw the way she did, she wouldn’t be in this predicament. Getting up from the mattress, she ran her hands through her hair. She knew sex was only part of the problem, the rest was emotional. For whatever reason, no man could please her on all levels. Maybe it was because she wanted too much, had too much, could get too much on her own. “Or maybe it’s because I went with the safer man, not the one who really had my heart.” Her phone rang, interrupting her moment of truth. She exhaled, relieved to see Simone’s name pop up on the screen. “I’m good, Sis,” Kennedy informed before Simone could ask her anything. “Great. Now get over here. Immediately.” Simone hung up. There was going to be a hanging, Kennedy believed when she pulled up to Simone’s house and noticed her brother, Derrick, was there. His car was parked on the opposite side of the street. For all three of the Jacobs’ siblings to gather at a moment’s notice, it had to be something serious. Reluctantly, Kennedy exited her car, and dragged her feet to Simone’s porch. Before she

could knock, the door swung open, and so did Derrick’s arms. “Hey, Baby Sis!” he greeted, pulling her inside and hugging her. Squeezing her brother, she relaxed a little. She hadn’t seen him in awhile, and would’ve normally chastised him for referring to her as Baby-anything, but she made an exception. He’d always call her his baby no matter what, so she decided to let it go. “Hey, yourself,” she said, stepping back and taking a good, long look at him. “You looking kinda spiffy,” she teased, grasping his arms. “All cut up. What, did you move into the gym?” Derrick laughed and flexed his muscles. He sat down on a loveseat, patted the spot next to him. “Sit here. Our sister’s panties are in a twist.” Kennedy joined him, cocked her head. “Simone’s panties are always in a twist. What’s wrong now?” Derrick turned his head, avoiding her question. “What’s wrong, D?” He looked back at her. “You. Let’s just say she called me in to mediate.” Kennedy stood. Her hands were on her hips, and her neck snaked while she spoke. “Mediate for who? Me and her? I didn’t come here for any mess. I just got home, and I need to work some things out. Later.” She rattled her keys and headed toward the door. Derrick hopped from his seat and beat her to her destination. “Whoa!” He held up his hands. “Don’t leave. Nobody’s starting anything with you— nobody in this family, anyway.” Kennedy dropped her purse to her side, exhausted. She was tired, mentally, emotionally, and physically, and didn’t have the time or the patience to entertain any other drama. Her life was high drama enough. “Well, what is it then? Who has a problem with me now?” She drug her heels as Derrick locked his arm through hers, and pulled her toward the living area. “This is your problem!” Simone walked in holding up a letter in her hand. “I opened it because it was addressed to Ms. Jacobs and it came here,” she said, shrugging. “So naturally, I thought it was mine.” “Well, what is it?” Kennedy asked. Simone handed her the envelope. “Did you know you’re being sued?” Kennedy dug into the already opened envelope, almost tearing the paper inside. She’d pulled it out so fast. “By who?” she asked, unfolding the paper. “Tariq,” Derrick’s voice bellowed from behind. Kennedy read and reread the letter addressed to her from Tariq’s attorney.

“Fraud? Why the hell fraud? Can a husband sue his wife for fraud?” “Husband?” Simone and Derrick asked in unison. Kennedy paced, ignoring both her brother and sister. “But I just left him. Just slept with him. He never mentioned suing me.” Simone shook her head, yelled out: “Enough, Ken. What the hell have you done now?” Kennedy held up the letter. “You read it. You should know.” Simone walked over to her, grabbed her hand, held it. “I know what that letter says, and I called both you and Tariq over so we can settle this—” Kennedy jerked away. “You did what? You called him over here after you saw that he’s suing me. Why would you even want to talk to him?” Derrick stood between them. He was cool and calm, kept his voice low while Simone went to answer the doorbell. “Because we love you and we don’t want to see anyone hurt you or drag you into court. And because we know him.” A different voice startled Kennedy. Niles. “Hey, Mommy!” Kennedy turned, plastered a smile on her face for her son, but met cold eyes instead. “Hey!” “Who’s going to hurt you and drag you in court?” Jared asked, his glare digging into her. Kennedy shook her head. Simone had to be the most careless woman she knew. Clutching her purse and keys in one hand, Kennedy stormed away from Derrick. She scooped Niles up in her arms and walked out. She’d deal with all this later. Right then she just needed to focus on her happiness. And her son was just that. Before her Blahniks hit the bottom step of Simone’s stoop, Jared was behind her, grabbing her arm. “So you just going to take Niles and run?” he asked through a grittedteeth smile. Kennedy put Niles down. “Go in the house, Baby. See if Auntie Simone has a snack or something. Maybe make Mommy a PB&J?” Niles was up the steps and bounding back into the house before she could exhale. “Okay. A triple stack!” Kennedy nodded, smiling, until he closed the door, then let her smile fade. “What do you want from me Jared? Really?” She crossed her arms, waiting for him to answer. He threw up his hands and shrugged. “No, the real question is ‘What do you want, Kennedy?’ I’ve waited years for you, and I’m done waiting.”

Kennedy waved him away. “And that means what?” Jared took her hand, walked her out of the front gate. “You know how many years ago I proposed? Six. Kennedy. Six. And all you’ve done is put me off. The wedding. The dress. The music. Me. It was always a problem. Then you up and disappear in a car with some dude. Wouldn’t answer your phone. You didn’t know if it was me or Niles calling.” Kennedy crossed her arms and looked at him. “First off, my son was fine. I spoke to him. He was with his other dad. Secondly, I can point fingers at you, too. Who were you fucking that day in the bedroom when you had that emergency at work? Cause it wasn’t me. Maybe it was the woman I saw your lips on in front of the hospital days ago?” He froze. Put his hands in his pockets. Tapped his foot. Then laughed. He shook his head and began to walk away. Looking over his shoulder, he hit her with a pitiful glance. “I don’t understand you woman. I don’t. I give you the world and you give me bullshit in return. I love you, don’t you get that? But I got to go because you don’t know what love is, Kennedy.” Kennedy stood on tiptoe, trying to keep Jared all the way in sight as he walked further away. “I do know what love is,” she yelled. “Do you?” Tariq asked from behind, scaring her. Kennedy turned and faced her husband. She swiveled her head the other way, looked at her fiancé. For over ten years she’d been caught in the middle of these two men, in one way or another. One had half her heart, the other owned what was left of it. Her glance kept ping-ponging between the two, and for a second, just a nanosecond, she questioned if she knew who had fathered Kharri. Jared kept walking, and Kennedy assumed he didn’t hear or see Tariq. Either he hadn’t, or he just didn’t care anymore. She walked down to where Tariq stood. “Why are you suing me, Tariq? I thought we just had an okay couple of days together. I never said I’d fight you on finding out about Kharri.” Tariq stopped in his tracks. “I left a message for my attorney not to go through with the case before we went to Pennsylvania. I guess he didn’t get it. You can tear the papers up. I’m not suing you—if you agree to a DNA test.” “Do you know what you’re asking me to do? You’re asking me to break up my family. Jared will leave me if he finds out that there is a question he didn’t father Kharri. He already forgave me for Niles’ paternity.” Tears

streamed down her eyes then. Simone’s front door opened, one house down, and Niles bounded outside. He held up a sandwich wrapped in a paper towel. “I got it, Mommy. A triple stack PB&J.” “One second, Sweetie,” Kennedy replied, then turned back to Tariq. “See? What you’re asking me to do is going to hurt him, too.” Tariq shook his head. “Not if we do it right. I’m not here to hurt your son. I just wanted my wife back, but now that I see that’s not possible, I’ll go away. But I do want to know if I fathered that beautiful little girl who looked just like you. I gotta go home and wrap up some business. But I’ll be back, and maybe we can trade a DNA test for a divorce.”

Chapter Twenty Miranda

The bank. Gucci. Louis. Bergdorf Goodman’s. Cartier. Ferrari. They’d hit all of Rich’s spots, and now Miranda was tired. She sat in the car, feet hurting and eyes heavy, wondering how much money Rich had picked up. They’d made his pit stop. Went to a house tucked behind a bigger one way in the back of Jackson Heights, Queens, where he’d left her sitting in the car for a few minutes, then appeared with a duffle bag on his shoulder and a smile on his face. She wondered into whose account he’d deposited the money in the savings and loan. He’d asked her if she’s wanted to come in, and she’d declined. Some things she just didn’t want knowledge of, but she was certain whatever account he’d used didn’t have his name on it. He was a parolee who’d been sent up for dirty money, among other things; he wasn’t stupid enough to hang himself twice. At least she hoped. “Where’re we going, Miranda?” he asked, driving with traffic over the George Washington Bridge. “Pennsylvania,” she said, putting her aching feet up on the dash. “A little

place not too far from Philly. Head south toward the New Jersey Turnpike until it becomes the Philadelphia turnpike, then we can switch places at one of the gas stations.” It had taken an hour and a half before they gassed up and switched seats, then one more before Miranda pulled into the Intercourse estate driveway. Rich sat up, taking in the view, and Miranda questioned what was wrong with him. He’d grown unusually quiet, became nervous-like. Because the Rich she had known before prison had never shown an ounce of uncomforting energy, she remained quiet. She’d let him volunteer what was bothering him. “We staying here?” She put the car in park and turned to him. “Yes. Isn’t it beautiful? Told you I was gonna have you all to myself. We won’t have any distractions here.” “I don’t like it,” he surprised her. “I spent too much time out in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t want to see one more possum or raccoon. Whose spot is this, anyway? One of yours?” Miranda didn’t know what to address first. She just assumed he’d like it, hoped he would, anyway. Out here she didn’t have to worry about Larenz showing up to her door. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. This is Kennedy’s family’s place.” Rich gave a slight nod. “Oh, hers.” Miranda shot him a look. She knew that he and Kennedy had never really cared for one another, but he didn’t have to rub it in. After all, when no one else had her back, Kennedy had. “I know that’s your girl. Sorry, I’ll just let it go. Well, we’re here now. Might as well make the best of it,” he said, getting out of the car, and walking to the trunk. Miranda grabbed her purse and hopped out. She headed to the front door with key in hand and let herself inside while Rich unloaded the trunk. She ran to the alarm keypad, punching the code in before the beeping stopped. Surprised she remembered it from when Simone had relayed it to her, she leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. So far, so good. She’d pulled the day off. “I’m in here,” she called out to Rich from the hallway. “Had to turn off the alarm,” she finished, walking into the foyer. Rich transferred the countless bags from the porch to the foyer, then closed the door. “We’re here now, Baby,” he reminded her, pulling her to

him. He was on her before she could respond. His mouth covered hers, his warm tongue dipped inside, moved against hers like they’d never been apart. Shivers swooped through her, and she knew she couldn’t fight. Didn’t really want to. “Yes, Daddy. We’re here now.” Her hands clasped behind his neck as she whispered into his mouth. Her thigh wrapped around his leg, and her lips were all over his when she pulled him into a dark room, and found a sofa against the wall. Working her way out of tight jeans, she decided it was too late for her to worry about her and Larenz’s earlier episode. There was no way she was going to get out of sleeping with Rich, so she was going to enjoy it as if she’d never been touched by another man. “I’ve been wanting you all day,” she told him as he pushed her back onto the pillows while he splayed her legs in a v. He couldn’t move fast enough. His hand couldn’t touch her where his stare had caressed her earlier soon enough. She wanted him now. ASAP. The only thing she’d craved more was oxygen so she could do it again. Her hair, he could mess up and sweat out. Her clothes, he could tear and dampen. She didn’t care. “Here,” she directed and offered, grabbing his hand and putting it where she wanted it. Rich kneeled, moved his hand from her sweetness, and replaced it with the tip of his tongue. He brought her back to her youth, tracing shapes and connecting the dots until he made his way to the succulent valley that led to her moistness. “Damn, I love you.” His statement echoed in her head, pushed her to her limit. She enjoyed what he was doing to her, how he manipulated his tongue and nibbled on her clit, but she wanted more. It had been years—long, much too long a time—since she’d felt him. She wanted him in her. Needed him to do what Larenz was incapable of. “Please. Let me feel you.” She pushed him off her, moved her hand a gazillion miles an hour, unfastening his belt and pants, finally getting to his boxers which she almost tore in the process of snatching down. She moved so fast she surprised herself. Somehow she’d gotten him on the sofa and was straddling him. Yes, she wanted him and would have him, but she didn’t want to be on top. She wanted him on her, taking out all his anger and frustration that had built up inside him from spending years up north. She wanted him to sex her roughly, make her call his name and make her wake up in the morning feeling like she’d been in a fight. He used to do

that to her, make her use muscles she hadn’t used before. “Take it, Daddy,” she ordered, climbing off and sliding under him. “Do it like you used to. Beat my back out.” Yes, she was going to enjoy him again and again, she discovered as she worked her body right.

Chapter Twenty-One Christa

Either Grant or his wife would be the death of Christa’s serenity, she was sure of it. After her last meeting with Grant, Christa had heard from one or the other everyday, with no pauses. His wife harassed her, wanting to know if Christa was aborting the baby. He blew up her line, calling and begging her to keep it. Christa tucked her purse under her arm, and looked behind her. She took her time walking away from their home, hoping somebody would surface. She’d gone to the doctor and had her blood tested for pregnancy—the most thorough and accurate test there was—to prove to them that there was no baby, and had stuck the results under their front door as one final try to convince them that they were wrong. She was starting to believe that they wanted her to be with child because she’d consistently told them, each and every time they spoke, that she’d lied, she was not pregnant. Neither believed her. Turning on the walk, she strode to the corner, taking in the sun and throngs of people on their way everywhere. Today seemed three times

brighter because she’d caught up on her mortgage, wouldn’t have to deal with Grant or his wife anymore, and she was on her way to see Emory. It was the thirteenth day of her cycle, and she was ready to let the babymaking games begin. Whipping her cell from her pocket, she dialed his, and was sent straight to voicemail. She called the house and received the same. Finally, she called the job and was sent straight through to him. “Hey, Darlin’,” she cooed, hailing a taxi. “Hi, Ms. Reid. How can I help you?” he said in a business tone. She knew someone was in his office. “Weren’t we supposed to meet for lunch to go over the final documents?” she asked, playing the game right along with him, just in case whoever was in his office could overhear. Silence. “Mr. Epps? You there?” Christa asked. “Sorry, Ms. Reid. I’m here. I…uh. I…uh. I have to go to Philly this weekend. Getting ready to leave out of here in a couple of hours. Is it something Xavier can help with?” Christa looked at her phone. Philly? Not this weekend! This is my weekend. Hell, I may be ovulating this weekend! “I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware of that. And I’m afraid there’s nothing your brother can do,” she began calmly and coolly, then her voice changed, and lost any trace of businesslike demeanor. Her tone was dead serious. “You know what, Emory? Meet me in two hours. And you know where.” She hung up, and tried to stop her heart from panicking. She needed to be in Philadelphia this weekend; she had to be near him to get what she wanted. But how? She snapped her finger. Of course. She scrolled through her contacts, and selected her future sister-in-law, Kennedy. Kennedy had a place in Pennsylvania. “Hey, Sis!” Kennedy answered. “What’s up?” Christa cradled the phone to her ear as if trying to prevent the driver from hearing. “Listen, don’t you guys own a place in Pennsylvania near Philly?” “It’s not that close to Philly, but not that far either. Why? What’s up?” “Well, I have a client I need to meet, and I was hoping to find a quiet place to work—” The phone rattled on Kennedy’s end. “Sorry. I dropped the damned phone. Say no more. Just pick up the keys from the house. I won’t be here, but I can leave them in the mailbox if you’re coming right away.” Christa thanked her future sister-in-law and told the cabdriver where to

take her. Incense smoke plumed in the air and Maxwell’s first CD played. Christa, naked and ready, lay with her legs spread on Emory’s bed. She looked at the clock on the nightstand and it told her he was late. The ovulation test she’d taken earlier said he may be early—she wasn’t ovulating yet. Her eyes focused on the spinning ceiling fan overhead. She needed a diversion because the last thing she wanted was stress to get in the way of her being successful. She’d barely made it on time herself, fighting against the clock in the backseat of a taxi in the throes of New York traffic. But here she was. Now where was he? She heard him enter, if slightly off-cue. The door slammed, then the lights turned on, and then back off. Footfalls grew louder as he neared the room, and Christa began to worry that he’d try to rush off because he didn’t remove his shoes. “Mm, something sure smells good in here,” he said, his body a shadow in the doorway of the dark apartment. Christa sat up on her elbows and stared at his shadow. “That would be me, Darlin’.” He stepped in the room and flicked the light on and off. “Yes, and that’d be you that looks good too.” He paused. “Now what are you up to? You knew I had to go to Philly.” Christa stood, sauntered her way toward him with her arms out. “No, I thought that was tomorrow, or maybe that’s my schedule I’m thinking of.” She wrapped one arm around him, and started unbuttoning his shirt with the other. He stepped back. “You’re going to Philly? For what?” Christa stepped forward and picked up where she’d left off, unbuttoning his shirt. Where she opened it, she kissed. “I won’t be in Philly exactly, but close,” she said in between kisses. His hands were on her then, touching her here and there and pushing her back toward the bed. “Why? Why are you going to Pennsylvania?” Christa laughed softly, covered his lips with her index finger. “Ssh. I don’t ask you what you do in Philly. Don’t ask me.” His hands were under her thighs then, lifting them. “What? What did you just say, Christa?” She could tell he didn’t like her words, but they were true. She also knew they were enough to make him want to come see what she was up to while

near his family’s city. “I said, ssh, baby.” “Don’t tell me to ssh,” he ordered, unfastening his pants. “And you better not be seeing somebody there.” “Why?” she asked, pausing a little when she heard him fumble with his underwear. He was titanium hard when he moved himself between her lips. Inhaling sharply, she grabbed his biceps and dug her nails in his flesh when he rammed himself inside her, but she refused to be quiet. “Why, Emory? Why? You’re seeing someone in Pennsylvania…” She let her words hang in the air so the possibility of what she was implying could linger in his mind. For minutes, she didn’t know if they were freaking or fighting. Her words had fueled something in him, a hidden jealousy or rage that made him plunge into her over and over, harder with each stroke. She wasn’t sure what kind of emotion she had sparked in him, but she liked it. And loved it when he spilled inside her and made her promise to call him when she made it to Pennsylvania so he could come see her. He had to know where she was staying. Christa had passed the driveway to the Intercourse estate three times before she pulled over. The car’s navigation system kept telling her that her destination was up ahead and to make the next right, but it was nowhere to be found. She sat there, on the side of the road, ready to give up and head to Philadelphia. But then an empty space between a sea of trees caught her attention, and relief swept through her as she noticed gravel spilling into the road. She put the car in drive, and eased toward the loose rocks. She hooked a right when she saw the address on the mailbox that was hidden in the overgrowth surrounding it. “Whew,” she exhaled, glad that she’d made it. Her arrival couldn’t have happened at a better time. According to the ovulation kit, today was the day. When she’d peed on the stick the lines turned bright pink, indicating that she was fertile. Plus, she’d already called and given Emory the address, and he was to meet her in under an hour. Putting the gearshift in Park, Christa removed her bags from the trunk. Locking her car with the remote, she shuttled her things to the porch and unlocked the door. The house was dreary, yet light. Setting her things on the floor, she walked into a living area and opened the drapes. Sunlight beamed in, illuminating the place. The room was tastefully decorated in muted floral damask and hardwoods. Christa ran her hand over the intricately carved

fireplace, admiring the beauty of yesteryear. They didn’t make things like this anymore, she thought, taken by the ambiance. The room, the furnishings. The pillows? She walked over to the sofa and picked up the throw pillows that sat in front of it, and placed them where she believed they should go, and wondered how they’d gotten there. She shrugged. Kennedy had said no one had been there in a while. Her phone rang and she fumbled trying to get it out of her pocket. “I’m here,” Emory said before she could speak. “In the drive-way. Should I pull behind your car or next to it?” Christa walked out on the porch and pressed end on her cell. “Park where you want, Darlin’. We won’t be here too long any-way.” Emory left his car behind hers, and killed his engine. Stepping from the car, Christa noticed he was dressed to go out. Chocolate leather hard bottom loafers graced his feet, cream slacks and a shirt draped his frame. He was beautiful in a masculine way. Christa admired him from where she stood, imagined what their baby would look like, and knew it would be gorgeous. “So where are we going?” he asked, climbing the steps. “I saw a few shops when I drove in. And I heard about this museum. Well, I Googled it. I was thinking we could check it out and have lunch.” Emory flipped his wrist and looked at his timepiece. Where do you have to be? “You have time?” Emory smiled, grabbed her face in his palms and kissed her lips. “Yes, Baby. I was just checking how much daylight we have left. I thought it’d be nice for us to walk around the village instead of driving everywhere. Been a minute since we’ve done that.” Any doubt or questions she had were erased. She wanted nothing more than to stroll with him hand-in-hand through Intercourse. The Amish town was relaxing and inviting. Wood-carving shops, stores that sold handmade quilts, good old fashioned food. Christa had searched and wanted to visit them all, but she didn’t know how much time they had, and was almost afraid to ask. She was happy he was here, and didn’t want to face disappointment. Kissing her forehead once more, he let her go, and patted her on her butt. “Hurry up, Baby. We don’t have all day.” She raised her brows. He didn’t come with a bag so she knew he wasn’t spending the night like she’d hoped he would. “Well, how long do we have?” He shook his head. Tsked her. “Figure of speech, Baby. We have as

much time as we need. I’m here for you.” Walking into the house to retrieve her purse, she looked back at him over her shoulder. Yeah, right. You’re here to make sure no other man isn’t. Checking the foyer, then the living room, she found it on a chair. Before she could pick it up, she jumped. His hands suddenly on her hips scared her because she didn’t know he’d followed her in. There was no slam of a screen door. No footsteps. Just him, standing behind her with large hands holding her by the waist. “We here alone?” he whispered in her ear. Christa nodded. “Yes.” He planted soft kisses along her jawbone, then her neck. “Don’t you want to show me around before we leave?” Christa turned to him. “What would you like to see first?” She walked away slowly, pacing herself to ensure he stayed on her heels. “This is the foyer,” she said, waving her hand in the air and pronouncing the word correctly. Foy-ay. “This is the hallway,” she instructed, pushing open a door. “And this is…” she waited to see what it was herself. “…the bathroom.” “Good. We need to use it.” He pushed her inside. Had her back against the sink, and his hands all over her. “I couldn’t wait until you got here. Seemed like forever.” Christa reared back her head while he kissed her neck. She knew the only reason it seemed like forever was because he wasn’t sure if she was meeting some other man or not, but she didn’t care. She found his curiosity and jealousy cute. Closing her eyes, she felt his hands on her pants. Unfastening. Unzipping. Tugging her pants down her thighs and past her ankles. He lifted her, set her on the sink and spread her legs. Placing himself between them, he kept kissing her. Melting under his touch and in his presence, Christa had a moment of conscience, and wondered if she were doing the right thing by taking a baby from this man. But any doubt she had, he killed it. “Tell me something, Baby.” “What, Emory?” she whispered into his mouth. “Do you love me, Christa?” She didn’t know if he was asking because she’d planted the seed in New York that there may be another man lurking somewhere in Pennsylvania or because he genuinely wanted to know. “Why? Do you love me?” She felt his hardness, warm and stiff press up against her exposed softness. She tingled. She hadn’t even felt him release himself from his

pants, but the way his head was now poking her, it was obvious he had. He reached down between his legs, grabbed himself and found her opening. Gently, he pushed inside. “You know I love you.” Grabbing the side of the sink to brace herself, she shared her heart. “I love you too, Emory. I love and I want you.” The more her body warmed, and legs quaked, tears filled her eyes. There, in that bathroom, on that sink, she was sure a baby was made. The sex was different, deeper on a whole different level. Wrapping her legs around Emory, she held him in place as he exploded. It was only a quickie, but they could have a do-over later. “Sorry, Baby,” he apologized, pulling out of her. “I was just so excited to see you. And you feel so damned good.” Christa slid off the sink and kept her legs gapped opened. Damn. She didn’t even have a towel to clean herself. “Darlin’, can you go find me a towel? I think there’s a pantry or linen closet nearby. I didn’t see one, but there has to be one. Don’t you think?” Emory laughed, reached around her. He opened a linen closet and handed her a towel. “Here it is behind you. Guess you don’t know your way around. Whose house is this anyway?” “Family property,” she lied. He nodded and rubbed his stomach. “Are you hungry? I am.” Her stomach growled before she could speak. Embarrassment streaked her face. “No,” she answered, laughing. “I know you wanted to go out, but how about you get cleaned up and settled, and I’ll go grab us a quick bite to snack on, then we can tour the shops.” Christa threw a towel at him. “Ok. But you gotta take a Hoe-bath first?” “A hoe-bath? What’s that?” Christa turned on the faucet, let the hot water shoot. “Hoe-bath…you know a whore-bath. You know when hoe’s have to wash up between men. A quick wash-up.” She must’ve been dreaming, she believed, as she thrust her hips and accepted all of him inside her. The thickness invading her body, pulsed inside her, turned her on more and more. Her legs spread and she opened her eyes. It was real. He was on top of her. But how? She turned her head to the side and saw a bag of carryout sitting atop a chair. Then she remembered. She’d

climbed the staircase, found an empty room and laid down waiting for him to bring her a bite to eat. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep, though. “Hey, Sleepyhead.” His voice was deep and gruff. “Hey, yourself. Why didn’t you just wake me?” she said between moans. He made her knee kiss her shoulder as he criss-crossed their bodies and worked her sideways. “I did. Don’t you like how I woke you?” For minutes she couldn’t speak. She moved with him, climbed on top of him, gave in when he flipped her off him and worked her from behind. Grabbing her hips, she grimaced when he planted himself so deep it was painful, and she knew. He continued moving inside her as if he were trying to move in. Christa relaxed her muscles and accepted his seed. When he let her go, she flipped over on her back, held her legs in the air, and prayed they’d been successful at making a baby. Emory got up from the bed and started looking for something. He picked up his pants, pulled out his phone, and was reading either a text or an email. “Aw, man. I gotta go, Baby. Where’s the bathroom. I need to shower first.” Christa sat up as much as she could without putting her legs all the way down. “What do you mean you have to go? What happened?” He turned, looked her directly in the eyes. “I got to go. My daughter’s in the hospital again.” “Daughter?” Her stomach sickened because she thought he was childless. “You didn’t tell me you had a child!” A huge smile spread on his face. “Yes. I have the most beautiful little girl. Two years old.” The wonder of a proud parent painted his face. Christa crinkled her forehead. “But you’ve never mentioned her. I never heard you talk to her. There are no pictures, no clues. Nothing.” The smile was still on his face. “That’s because my place is only a temporary place. I keep all her pictures in my wallet. And she can’t speak. Not usually. She has HI, Congenital Hyperinsulinism disorder.” Christa sat silent, unsure of what to say. She wanted to cut into him, lash out, but didn’t know how you could curse out a parent of a sick child. “It’s a rare disorder that causes low blood sugar. It’s something that we believe she’ll grow out of. That’s why my wife works at the university hospital in Philadelphia, because my daughter is treated at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia at the HI Center next door,” he said, straightening his clothes. Wife. He’d said the word so easily, when he should’ve said family.

Because that’s what he had, a family. The family Christa wanted to give him. She slid out of bed, asked him to wait a second, then went to get her purse from the dresser. Finding her wallet, she opened it, stuck her hand in the slot behind the credit cards, and retrieved the letter his wife had written him. She handed it to him. “I found this while cleaning up your apartment— the same day I saw divorce papers from your wife. It says she can’t give you a baby, that you tried that once.” Emory looked at the letter, pointed to the page. “It says she can’t give me a healthy baby. There’s a fifty-fifty chance of our next one having the same disorder as our daughter.” His eyes widened and his voice changed. “Why do you have this anyway?” Christa shook her head. All her plans were backfiring in her face. She loved this man, wanted and needed him, that’s what she told herself. What if I’m pregnant and my baby has the same disease?

PART III

The Price of Sex

Chapter Twenty-Two Kennedy

Kennedy’s perfect life was quickly turning to shambles. She sat in her home office, tapping her freshly manicured nails and staring at her computer screen. She was supposed to be working from home, but couldn’t. The emails she’d received from Tariq and the constant bickering with Jared wouldn’t allow her to. The last thing on her mind was business, and she couldn’t concentrate. “Damn them,” she said, taking her phone out of the cradle and calling her job. She had plenty of vacation and sick time accumulated, and now she needed both, but opted for an emergency sick leave because that’s the first thing that rolled off her tongue when she was transferred to Human Resources. And with a doctor for a fiancé—or, soon to be ex-fiancé—a medical excuse was easy to obtain. With her eyes still glued to the monitor, she pushed back the ergonomic chair, and contemplated replying to Tariq. He still loved her and would be arriving in two days to get his woman back, his email informed her, enlarged

on the computer screen. It had been almost eight weeks since she’d heard from him. For days she’d believed that she was in the clear, and wouldn’t have to deal with him or his insistence on a DNA test. Why? She didn’t know. He’d always been a man of his word. A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. Jared peeked inside, swept his eyes over her and the office. “Can I come in?” Kennedy stood, readying herself for whatever. They’d barely spoken in weeks, and she didn’t know what to expect. “Sure,” she said, wishing she had a second to shrink the email screen, but he was already in and she didn’t want to give him reason to be suspicious. Neither one of them were close to being happy. They were just existing together. Not full time. Jared spent as much time at the hospital as possible, sometimes pulling double shifts, and Kennedy kept herself buried in her office whenever he was around. After their disagreement in front of her sister’s house, he’d lived his life and she hers. There were many days they’d gone without speaking, acting as if the other weren’t present or capable of feeling. She’d begun to feel like a visitor in her own home, had grown to despise his presence, and avoided it at all costs. Her only reprieve from him and their dysfunctional relationship was her son, in whom she invested her few snatches of happiness. He was the cause of her laughter, smiles, reason for pushing through a hectic day. Jared was reluctant when he stepped inside her office, and barely moved from in front of the door, but he kept his eyes on her. “So how are we going to do this? We know it can’t go on like this.” She leaned against her desk, her back to the computer. As far as she was concerned there was no this to discuss. He’d obviously been busy doing God-knew-what——or whom——at work, and she’d been trying to figure out how to make her next move her best move. Undoing their complication was simple. Divide their assets and go their separate ways. Pursing her lips, Kennedy thought of how to tell him there was nothing to figure out; it was over. But, try as she might, she couldn’t say the words. He had to end it. “So you’re just not going to say anything? We’re supposed to act like nothing’s happening?” Crossing her arms, she protected her feelings. What did he expect her to say? “Well, nothing is happening, right? You live your life, I live mine. We stay under the same roof, eat off the same plates, walk on the same floors. Hell, we even sleep in the same bed, just not together. We share a lot of the

sames, but nothing is the same.” Jared walked over to her and searched her eyes. “So you don’t love me anymore, Kennedy. Is that it?” She flinched. She hadn’t expected him to ask her that. “What does it matter?” Placing his hands on her shoulders, his eyes locked on hers. “Oh, it matters! It matters a hell of a lot. I’ve been walking around this house for weeks not knowing what to say—if I can even say anything to you. I began packing my bags more times than I can count, then turned around and put my things back. Part of me wants to leave, the other part of me says we’ve come too far to give up. Are we supposed to just throw our love away because we hit a bump?” The lump ballooning in her throat was hard to swallow. “No, maybe we’re supposed to throw it away because I saw you kissing another woman,” she stated flatly. He shook his head. “You didn’t see anything.” Kennedy shook away from him, pushed him as far back as she could. “How’re you going to tell me what I saw? I saw you. Better yet, I felt you. The last time we had sex—eons ago—you weren’t making love to me. That was obvious. Since when did you pull out of me?” “Since when did you start disappearing with some other man? Let’s talk about that—” “You don’t want to, believe me. Let’s just let bygones be. You’ve done your dirt in the past, I’ve done mine. You know that, Niles is proof,” she said, walking out of the office and forgetting Tariq’s email was still enlarged on the computer screen. Jared almost stepped on her heels, he was trailing her so fast. Grabbing her shoulders, he pushed her back against the wall. “Look at me! Look at me, Kennedy. Dammit!” She was glad Niles was over at Michael’s because if he witnessed her and Jared going at it, he’d be devastated. Holding her stare to the floor, she gritted her teeth. “I’m going to give you two seconds to get your hands off me,” she warned. Jared let her go. Held his hands in the air. “I’m not trying to hurt you. When have I ever laid a hand on you? I’m just trying to love you—keep you.” Kennedy’s eyes rose from the carpet. Her look was evil and honest.

“That’s the problem. I don’t want to be kept. And sometimes, love isn’t enough.” His temples throbbed as he clenched his jaw. “Why? Why isn’t love enough? Because some man’s emailing you?” He stormed back toward her office. He had seen it. It was her turn to step on his heels. She ran behind him, then past him. Zoomed in her office, and tried to close the door so she could lock it. But he was quicker than she. Stronger. Leaning her back against the door, she dug her feet into the floor, pushed her weight against it, but it was no use as he rammed into the door. She felt her heels lift and body fly. A loud thud sounded when she hit a bookcase, but she didn’t feel it. Collecting herself, she ran toward her desk, but it was too late. Jared looked from the monitor to her. “So he’s coming to get his woman back, hunh?” His breathing changed, became sporadic. His chest rose slowly and fell, and he clenched his fist. “And you’re his woman, right?” Rubbing his palms together, he waited for her answer. All Kennedy could do was shake her head. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. They were supposed to end it on their own terms, not because of an outsider. She didn’t want to live with that guilt, and wasn’t so sure she wanted it to end. Things were bad, but not unfixable. She loved Jared, and now she started to realize how much because she could feel him leaving her. She’d done her dirt, but she wasn’t ready to let go. “No,” she began, then stopped. Everything moved in slow motion before she was ready. His hand swung in the air. She shut her eyes. Winced and braced herself for the blow. But the crash of the monitor hitting the floor pulled her from her state. Opening her eyes, she saw Jared’s back moving toward the door. “Get the hell out of my house!” he spat, never looking at her. She kept up her balance by holding onto the desk. “This is my house too, Jared. Me and Niles’.” Jared looked at her like she was scum. He completely ignored her assertion that Niles had any claim to the house. “You cheated. So you forfeited the house. Have your man put you up. I don’t take care of other men’s women.” “No! You cheated. You and that damned hussy I saw you with at the hospital—” “No, that’s where you’re wrong. There is and hasn’t been another woman. The woman you saw me kissing on the forehead is an old colleague

of mine—a doctor who I worked under, who I was comforting and driving to pick up her husband from the airport because she’d just found she has a disease that’s going to claim her life—there’s no cure for it. I can prove that right now if you want. What can you prove to me?” He turned again when she didn’t answer, and began to walk out of the office. Stopping in the doorway, with his back still to her, he rubbed her powerlessness in her face. “I didn’t think so.” She had packed her and Niles’ clothes and waited on the sofa for Jared, but he never came. For a whole day she tried to call him, and thought about going to the hospital but stopped herself. She’d already been embarrassed enough; she didn’t want to make a spectacle out of either one of them, especially at his place of employment. He was, after all, a respected doctor. She’d already hurt him; she didn’t need to put his business on the street and mark his reputation, too. Reluctantly, she pushed herself up from the couch, remembering she still had to box up paperwork and few other things. In her office, her eyes took in all she had to gather. There was just too much and she didn’t know where to start. The furniture could wait, she decided. She could always buy more or come and get it later. She looked at the locked filing cabinet that contained all her important papers and documents. A good place to begin. Those were the things not easily replaced. Taking a box from near her copy machine, she unlocked one of the cabinets, and stopped. Kharri’s file was there behind Niles’, sitting in the front, not in alphabetical order. She smiled. Her children had always come first. Biting her bottom lip, she pulled Kharri’s file and began to finger through it. “Her birth certificate. Social security card. Insurance papers,” she said aloud, then stopped when she saw the next document. “Her stem cell receipt from the cord blood bank.” Kennedy looked closely at the document, saw that the bill was on auto-payment. She wondered if it was still so. Must be from Jared’s account. Folding the receipt, she put back Kharri’s file and closed the drawer. If she were lucky, she held just what she needed to get a DNA test done on her deceased daughter. Then maybe Tariq would give her a divorce and leave her alone. Then maybe I can get Jared back. Her car crawled to a stop in arrivals at the airport. With swollen eyes, a dry mouth and a reluctant heart, she’d driven to pick up Tariq after he’d phoned. It’d been two days since Jared disappeared from the house. Fortynine hours since he’d refused to take her calls. Like a baby, she’d bawled. Like a funeral mourner, she’d grieved the death of their relationship. It’d

taken every ounce of energy she’d had to meet Tariq, and she had only done so to control the show and immediately take him to the cord blood bank, then to the facilities where their DNA could be tested. “Hey, Love,” Tariq said, opening her door and peeking his head inside. “Can you pop the trunk for me?” Without looking at him, Kennedy pressed the button on the console, then waited in the idling vehicle. The trunk closed and she stiffened. It was time to have it out with the other man in her life. He got inside the car and closed the door. “So Love, how’ve you… hey. Hey? You okay?” he asked, reaching over and turning her face to him. “What happened?” Tears fled Kennedy eyes causing her to feel like mush. She hated being this soft. “You happened.” She put the car in drive, and began to pull off. Tariq grabbed the wheel gently and guided the car to the right. “Pull over, Love. You can’t drive—not in this condition.” Kennedy parked the car and killed the engine. Opening the door, she got out and walked to the passenger side, pulled open Tariq’s door. “So you drive then.” Tariq got out, his height and size making her resemble a child. He stood in front of her and pulled her to him. Then he hugged her. His embrace was strong, warm. Needed and necessary. And Kennedy caved, releasing two days worth of heartache on his shirt. “Tell me what’s wrong, Love. I can’t help you unless you do.” The airport traffic whizzed by them as vehicles were making an exit. The wind blew her hair and dried her tears as fast as they came. Vulnerable, she felt exposed, like the whole city was witnessing her pain. “Jared knows about you. He put me and my son out. And I found a way to do a DNA test,” she rattled. Tariq held her back at arms’ length and stared in her eyes. “Shh. Shh. Shh. Don’t worry about all that now. I’m here and I got you,” he pointed out, and kissed her. Her lips welcomed his. His tongue danced with hers. And now she was more confused than ever.

Chapter Twenty-Three Miranda

Miranda had a dilemma. She hadn’t heard from Larenz, not directly. He’d called her when Rich was around and she couldn’t answer. He’d left messages, sent emails and texts, even paid Reddy to deliver gifts to her once, which to her relief Reddy had disposed of by re-gifting them to his little girlfriends throughout the borough. Larenz had done everything except answer her calls or return them when she’d asked him to on his voicemail. The problem was he’d refused to pay the rent after she’d ignored him, and she didn’t know how to collect it without Rich finding out that she’d been involved with Larenz. He’d turned into a deadbeat, a squatter who’d made it clear that he wasn’t paying her shit—that’s what one of his messages said verbatim, then told her when and where to meet him. Now she sat in her car in front of one of her rental properties waiting for him. Holding onto the steering wheel, she steeled herself. This was a confrontation that she expected to happen sooner, but she was ready. She

didn’t care if she had slept with him, he still had to pay. Besides his sex wasn’t worth a bag of trash let alone the two months’ rent he owed. She saw him approaching in the rearview mirror and braced herself. Kennedy had warned her about sleeping with a tenant, but she didn’t listen. The hunger between her thighs had deafened her and disrupted her good sense. But it was over now and it was whatever it was going to be. He stopped on the passenger side, and she powered down the window. “Do you want me to get in, or are you going to follow me?” he asked as if they didn’t have a problem. Miranda paused for a second to think. Did she really want to go anywhere with him? “I thought we were just going to meet here.” Larenz shook his head and stared at her like she was appetizing. “Nah, Ma. I thought we could at least have the last supper.” Last supper? Was this fool going to attempt something stupid, she wondered, thinking she might need to tell him that her man was home from jail. Rich specialized in anything dirty if need be, especially clearing the city of debris like Larenz. “I’m not hungry. Let’s just handle this here.” Larenz bent forward, stuck his face in the passenger side window. “Look, you said you wanted to meet. You didn’t say where. I’m hungry, period. Follow me.” He stepped back, banged his palm on her roof twice, then strode off to his car. She was reluctant to turn her key in the ignition, but what choice did she have? She wanted the rent money and him out of her building and life. Pulling open the ashtray, she picked up a joint and sparked a lighter. Inhaling the weed smoke, she held it in her lungs, and let go only because she had to. If she was going to break bread with him, she was going to be under the influence of her choice. And the sticky, icky green was her preference over him. Like they weren’t together, she’d stayed in her car and waited for him to enter the diner. Walking in two minutes later, she slipped on her sunglasses and looked around, and found him sitting in a booth tucked in the rear. She took her time. Taking in the environment, she realized how much things changed when a woman didn’t deal with a man on a certain level anymore. No more fancy restaurants, no menus without prices. She sat across from him, picked up the menu and saw she’d been demoted to lunch specials for five dollars and ninety-five cents. Her stomach growled loud enough for both of them to hear. Miranda lifted her eyebrows, and decided to order more food than necessary. Not only was she hungry, she had the munchies,

and if he thought he were doing himself a financial favor by bringing her to an under ten-dollar spot, he was fooling himself. She’d order ten different things whether she had a taste for them or not. “You hungry, Ma?” Larenz asked from across the table, hiding behind a plastic-coated menu. She all but rolled her eyes. Ma used to be cute, now it was getting downright irritating. “No, not really.” He folded his menu, set it on the end of the table, then motioned for the waitress. He ordered a turkey club sandwich with fries and a soda. How bland. Miranda looked at him good. He was still cute, but had totally lost his swagger. It still showed in his walk, his thick New York accent, and gestures. But her knowing he wasn’t bedroom savvy killed the dream for her. She was starting to see him for what he was. He was sorry in the bedroom, and even sorrier as a man. Men paid their bills, boys lived off of a woman’s dime. “And what about you? What can I get for ya?” the waitress asked, turning to Miranda. Miranda read her nametag. Alice. She almost laughed. “I’ll take some fried chicken wings, French fries, onion rings…mozzarella sticks.” She pursed her lips together, thinking she needed something healthy. “Do you have Caesar salad?” Alice couldn’t contain her laugh. “Yes. It’s kind of big though.” Miranda looked from Alice to Larenz, then back to Alice again. Both of their faces were bewildered, like she was on the verge of committing a major offense. “Let me get one of those with bacon and chicken. That’s it,” she said, then thought better of it. “I want some key lime pie too. Two slices. And some shrimp, buffalo style.” Alice wrote the order down. “Nothing to drink?” “Water. Bottled. And a diet Coke. I have to watch my waistline,” she joked, then looked over at Larenz whose jaw was just about on the table. “You wanted to come eat. Not me.” She cut to the quick. “So what’s up? You have my money?” That’s why they were meeting. Steepling his fingertips over the bridge of his nose, he stayed quiet. Finally, he sat back in his seat, just watching her. “Nah, Ma. I don’t have it.” She wanted to hop the table and wrap her hands around his neck. “What? Then what the hell did you have me meet you for, my health?” “Look, Ma—”

“I’m not your damned mother, I’m your landlord.” Larenz sat forward, placed his arms on the table and grimaced. “You’re not the lord of anything that has to do with me. Yeah, I have the money, I’m just not gonna give it to you. Why should I? Your man’s home now, right? That’s why you shook me. Get your paper from him.” She winced. She didn’t know how he knew about Rich, but that wasn’t a good thing. That was blackmail material. “Leave him out of this.” Larenz stood, put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of money. He peeled off a hundred dollars and threw it on the table. “I can do you one better. I’ll leave him out of this—if you pay me to. I know about your man, and you do too. If he finds out I was hitting that and, that you told me where he kept his stashes while he was away, he’ll destroy you.” Her head almost came off, she’d turned it back and forth so hard. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I didn’t tell you anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Don’t matter. My word against yours, Ma, and possession is nine-tenths of street-law, too. I’ll be in touch in a couple of weeks.” He walked away, passing Alice who was delivering the food. ***** Miranda lay on her side staring at the wall. She felt sick to her stomach, and could hardly summon the strength to move. Rich stood at the end of the bed, drying off. He’d been quiet most of the night, dead silent all day. The energy emanating from his spirit was negative, causing bad vibes to bounce off the walls and through Miranda’s conscience. Ever since her meeting with Larenz, she’d been uneasy, and she hoped she was wrong about the scary feeling churning in her gut. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but felt like it. Rich’s avoidance of words made it worse, like he was silently pointing a finger at her. He bumped the bed with his leg. “So you’re just going to lay there,” he finally spoke. “Or you gonna get up and eat. You’ve been in the bed for two days.” She looked at him, wondering who the hell he thought he was. This was her house. Her bed. She could lay in it until the walls crumbled if she wanted, but she dared not to speak the words. Not when he was a walking firecracker, lit and burning. He could pop at any moment. “I just need

another second.” “No, you don’t,” he said, pulling up his pants and walking to the side of the bed. He pulled her arm, then searched her eyes. “Damn, baby. I’m sorry. You really don’t feel well, hunh?” She sat up, swung her feet off the side of the mattress. The floor was ice to her feet. “Mm-mm. Must be the flu coming on or something. I’m cold.” Rich lay the back of his hand on her forehead, checked for a temperature. “You don’t feel hot. Lay down,” he instructed, helping her under the sheets and tucking her in. She watched him walk out the door; he returned just moments later with a tray. “How’d you get that food so fast?” she asked in disbelief. Rich laughed. “Baby, you must’ve fallen asleep. I’ve been in the kitchen for a good half-hour.” He set the tray on the bed. Cheese eggs, sausage, ham, grits, and biscuits greeted Miranda’s eyes. She didn’t think she could eat, but held open her mouth to accept the fork while Rich fed her. Here she’d been worried about him being angry at her, and he was proving himself a prince. Her eyes almost rolled in the back of their sockets, the food tasted so good. Wiping her mouth with her hand, she took a real good look at Rich. Cooking the way he did, she couldn’t figure out why she didn’t marry him a long time ago. “Good in the bed, good in the kitchen,” she began, parting her lips for another bite. “My mouth is watering.” Rich laughed, aiming a forkful of grits for her mouth. “Hold on a second, Baby. I’m moving as fast as I can without spilling it.” “No!” Miranda yelled as she stripped off the sheets from her body. Almost made the plate tumble from the bed. She couldn’t move fast enough, or get to the bathroom quickly enough. The bottoms of her feet lifted from the floor, carrying her to the toilet. Falling to her knees, she gripped the seat, stuck her face in the bowl and introduced Rich’s breakfast to the water. Heaving, she knew the problem. Too many smells on an empty stomach. The various scents from the collage of foods comingled and made her sick. Weak, she pulled herself up, elbows still mounted on the seat to keep her balance. “You okay, Baby?” Rich asked from the doorway with a wet washcloth in hand. He passed it to her, kept his eye on her while she wiped her mouth. She looked at him through teary eyes; she pulled tissue from the roll and blew her running nose. “Yeah. I’m okay. It was just the scents. Too many.

Too strong.” Rich bent slightly forward and hooked his arm through hers. He pulled her to her feet and walked her to the sink, then leaned her against the counter like a standing mirror. She was silent as she watched him move the shower curtain, start the faucet, then click the lever allowing the showerhead to rain. Damn, he’s good. “Hop in, baby. I’ll bring you some underclothes. Don’t worry about nothing. I got’cha. Cool?” Miranda nodded. Yes, it was cool. “Alright. Then we can go somewhere, do anything you want, besides eat,” he teased. As soon as Miranda stepped under the warm spray, she lost herself. Just the right temperature, the water felt like heaven to her naked skin, and made her want to stay in it for as long as she could. Before she knew it, she’d stuck her head under the cascade, not caring what her hair would look like later. She could always wear a head-wrap and slip on some funky diamond hoop earrings. “You still in the shower, baby?” Rich called out. Miranda stuck her head out of the curtain and saw him positioned at the toilet. “Don’t forget to let the seat down.” “You know you been in there twenty minutes?” he asked, shaking, tucking and adjusting. Miranda looked at the clock on the wall. The shower had felt wonderful, but she didn’t realize she’d been under the spray that long. “Wow,” she began, then covered her mouth. Wet, she leapt out of the tub, slipped on the floor and almost fell. She caught herself by gripping the counter, then she staggered to the toilet, dropped to her knees again. She heaved, pushed up whatever was left. Rich stood over her, handing her the wet towel again. She held the toilet again to brace herself, then looked up, and inhaled deeply. “Here,” Rich said, handing her a box. “It’s a pregnancy test. I picked it up at the corner store while you were in the shower.” She stood and pushed the box out of the way. “I don’t need that.” “I been home two months, Baby, and you haven’t been on strike one time.” Pursing her lips, she just looked at him. He was right, her monthly had gone missing, slipped right by without notice. Taking the box, she ripped

it open and tore the inside package, then removed the white stick. She put down the toilet seat and sat down. Releasing her stream, she stuck the pregnancy stick in it, then held it in her hand. Two pink lines appeared in seconds. Pregnant. A baby was growing inside her. But whose baby?

Chapter Twenty-Four Christa

Christa finished putting her belongings in the filing box. Picking up a picture of her and Emory lecturing a room full of employees, she topped off her office accumulations with it. Looking down, she took in the photo and smiled. They were standing side by side like they were meant to be. Her run had been good at the firm, but now it was over, and it saddened her. She would definitely ache for seeing him at the office every morning, pretending as if they hadn’t spent most nights together. She would also miss the job and was thankful for her the months she’d been there, but it was time to go. Picking up the box from the desk, she shut off the lights on her way out. Plastering a smile on her face, she bid employees goodbye and went to get her just due. Her final check had been cut and was waiting on her at the reception desk along with flowers and cards.

She took the envelope when the receptionist handed it to her. As she walked toward the double glass doors that served as the entry and exit, a memo that read bonus on top caught her attention. She balanced her things on one hip and ripped into the envelope. With raised eyebrows, she began to feel better about her departure because the extra money proved she’d been appreciated. How much? she wondered, pulling the contents out. Too busy focusing on the check, she didn’t see the doors fly open or feel the box sail in the air. But she felt the intensity of the blow as she collided headfirst with the steel frame that housed the thick glass. Her skull and feet switched places. Her toes pointed up in the air and her cranium cracked against the floor, knocking out Christa. “You okay?” someone’s voice she didn’t know asked. Opening her eyes, it took her seconds to remember where she was. A few more for the space to clear. Her vision had blurred, but she could see the uniformed guard’s face hovering over hers. She sat up slowly as the receptionist and higher-ups gathered around her. “I’m fine.” She laughed, trying to play it off. “I’ll just get my things and go.” “I’m afraid you can’t do that,” the security guard informed. “It’s building policy that you go to the hospital. For insurance reasons. You understand. We have to protect ourselves.” Christa shook her head to rid herself of the fog that was taking its time clearing. “Can’t I just sign a release or something?” “No, Baby,” Emory said, walking up to her. He closed his eyes, blinked slowly. From the look on his face she could tell he’d caught his slip. He wasn’t supposed to call her Baby in front of everyone. “Ms. Reid, I mean. We need to make sure you’re okay. Don’t worry, our firm will cover the medical expenses.” She’d lain in the freezing emergency room for two hours, com-plaining. The MRI had been clear and all her levels were okay, so she didn’t see the reason it was taking so long to release her. She’d hit her head, not passed out on her own. Yet, they were treating her like she had. There was no history of diabetes, seizures, or fainting. She was there because she’d been too focused on money instead of where she was walking, that’s what she’d told the doctors, nurses, and the triage intern who’d demanded a urine sample as soon as she’d been admitted. No one seemed to listen to her until she asked them to send for her brother. Once she’d mentioned Jared’s name, her quality of treatment elevated, but she’d also noticed any mention of release

had ceased. Jared, in scrubs, pulled back the white hospital curtain. Immediately, she noticed he still looked weary, tired. She didn’t know what was wrong with her brother, and it was obvious he wasn’t going to offer. Holding her chart, he looked at her and gave her a fake smile. Checking her pulse, he felt her forehead for fever. “I know this isn’t part of the routine,” he said, forcing a laugh. “It’s just a part of ours, right? It’s the first thing Momma checks for.” Christa joined him in laughter because he was right. Their mother always checked for a fever first, everything else was secondary to the head. “What’s wrong, Jared? You look like hell.” She cut to the quick. He avoided her eyes. “I’m good, Sis. Don’t worry.” Christa grabbed his face and made him look at her. “I’m not worrying about it, I’m asking about it. What’s wrong?” “Wedding’s off. Don’t want to talk about it. Now, how in the hell did you walk into a door?” He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, moving his eyes from the chart to her. She hesitated before speaking, trying to determine if she should listen to him and not pry. His face said he’d been hurt enough; she didn’t want to make him suffer more. “Hell, I saw I had a bonus check. I was looking to see how much of a bonus I deserved,” she laughed again, making light of the situation. He shot her a thankful look. “Don’t blame you for that one. Do us a favor next time and count your money at your desk or when you get home.” She sat all the way up and began getting off the bed. “Now I can leave.” Jared stuck out his arm, blocking her from unfolding herself. “Not yet.” Christa stopped and looked at him like he had an eye in the middle of his forehead. “Why not? I’m good.” “Yeah, you are.” He agreed, pointing at the clipboard, “according to this chart.” “So what’s the hold-up then?” “You’re good. But they need to do an ultrasound and make sure that the baby’s okay,” he said without feeling. He was in doctor mode. Forcing past his arm and to her feet, Christa got off the bed. “Baby? What baby?” Jared shook his head, switching back to her older brother. “Obviously my niece or nephew. And also according to this chart, you haven’t had a period in almost two months.”

She was pregnant. Pregnant! Christa didn’t know whether to celebrate or cry. She’d gotten what she’d wanted, what she’d planned when she’d taken out her birth control ring, but she hadn’t expected it to happen so fast. “Okay,” she conceded and lay back down. “Tell them to hurry up.” The doctor came and went and Christa was relieved. She’d dressed, been released, and was thankful. At least the baby’s okay, she thought as she walked out of the emergency room to find Emory sitting in the waiting area. Forcing a smile, she waved at him like he wasn’t there for her, and walked toward the signs directing her out of the hospital. He was beside her before she knew it, just like she’d expected him to be, but not how she would’ve preferred. They weren’t together, would probably never be a couple. That part she hadn’t worked out, not yet. When she’d thought about conceiving his child, she’d never really factored in his wife. Mrs. Epps had nothing to do with her plans. In her head it was just she and he and their baby. Unrealistic? Yes. But believable and doable then? Another yes. That was before she knew he had a child with his wife. She’d just assumed a divorce was forthcoming, and he’d leave his home to make one with her because she was willing to give him what the woman he’d married wouldn’t. Standing before the elevators, she’d pressed the button, waited patiently for one to come. Still, she said nothing to Emory. She was doing her best to act like he wasn’t there. At a loss for words, all she could focus on was the child she was carrying. Their child. The bell dinged, and the doors opened. Emory stood in front of the door, waiting for her to enter first. Christa nodded a thank you, stepped inside, then gave him her back when she pressed the button for the lobby. She didn’t want to see or speak to him. As far as she was concerned they’d talked enough—in bed. Their conversations, with his midsection speaking directly into hers, had only proved trouble. Shrugging her shoulders, she tried to shake him off. He was everything she had wanted him to be in the beginning. Handsome, well-to-do, generous and married. He’d had all her prerequisites, but somewhere and somehow, her requirements had changed, too late in the game. She wanted him for herself with everything that came with it. Period. But the M word that had drawn her to him had now made it impossible. Emory reached around her, pressing buttons on the panel. The elevator stopped mid-floor, sounding off an alarm. They both ignored it. “So you’re not going to say anything? Are you okay?”

Turning to look at him, she smirked. “What is there to say? I’m okay with being your woman on the side? I’ve given you my heart and all you’re going to do with it is hold it? Or it was a pleasure being your bed buddy? Tell your family hello when you see them? Other than that, what exactly do you want me say, Emory?” “Christa,” he began, holding up his palm in a halt signal. “I’m sorry.” When he said nothing she wanted to hear, she faced the doors. Reaching, she pressed buttons on the elevator panel. Again, they began to descend. If he wanted to talk, he could do so looking at her back. If she had her way, that’d be all he would remember about her. But she knew she would have to talk to him again. Circumstances dictated it. Trouble they’d created together in bed. The doors opened and she stepped off. Zoomed out of the hospital. He was on her heels, passing her before she’d made it to the corner. Stepping in front of her, he grabbed her arms. Christa looked down at his hands as if he had the plague. Catching his error, he let her go. “I apologize for touching you. But could you just please talk to me? Is this about you leaving the job or what just happened in the hospital?” he asked, then snapped his fingers. “I got it. It’s about my family. We were fine, then you changed after you found out I was a father. All this, you’re going to throw us away because I have a child? I don’t understand.” Stepping around him, she began walking toward an awaiting cab, but someone else beat her to it. “Damn!” She stomped her foot, mad that she couldn’t escape sooner and because tears began to fall. Turning in the other direction, she walked to the curb. Wiping her eyes with one hand, she signaled for a cab with the other. “Let me take you home. Don’t take a cab. We need to talk.” He stood beside her, defeated. A taxi pulled up in front of Christa. Looking from him to the cab, she was stuck. She wanted so badly to be with him, but needed to be alone to get her thoughts straight. Caught up in emotions, she wanted to literally run away. She wanted to kick up her heels and feel the wind flow beneath them, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t a runner and had been advised to take it easy. Searching his eyes, she saw love there for the first time. Love she’d longed and prayed for, but she knew it wasn’t reserved just for her. And sharing him would never be enough. She’d never be satisfied with stolen moments. Opening the back door of the taxi, she got in and slammed it

shut. Rolling down the window, she forced what she hoped was a confident smile. “There’s nothing to talk about, Emory. We had a nice time, but you have a family in Philadelphia.” He bent forward, placed his hands on the cab to brace himself. “But you knew that already, and you’re still hanging me for it. You’re persecuting me because I have a child.” A devilish look swept her face. “No, I’m hanging you because you have two families…two children.” She powered up the window, told the driver to take off and gave him her mother’s address. Her mother’s home was welcoming as always. Cool air mixed with the comforting smell of fried chicken. Christa set down her purse and called out to her mother, but didn’t receive an answer. She walked toward the back of the house to the kitchen, and smiled genuinely. There her mother was, bent over in front of the oven, tending to something Christa knew was delicious. “Hey, Ma!” she greeted, then frowned. Her mother’s eyes, puffy and red, streamed with tears as she stood, holding Christa’s stare and simultaneously closing the oven. “Hey, Darlin’.” Her words were dry, but heartfelt. “We need to talk. Let’s go in the family room.” She walked past Christa. Christa followed, concerned more for her mom than herself. Her mother crying was a thing she wasn’t familiar with. Her mom had always been strong, positive—the heart of the family that carried her and Jared through life. Momma Reid picked up a photo album from the seat of a recliner, cradled it to her chest as if it were a baby, then sat down. Motioning her head for Christa to take a seat, she pursed her lips. “What’s wrong, Ma?” Christa sat on the edge of the sofa. “Why are you crying?” Momma Reid wiped her eyes. “I missed your daddy today.” Wrinkling her brows, Christa was confused. “Why? Where’s Daddy? Is he okay?” Now she was really concerned, and wondered if Jared knew something had happened to their father and neglected to tell her because of her own problem. Momma shook her head. “No, Baby. Your Daddy’s okay—the man you know to be your daddy. He’s upstairs asleep. I’m talking about your other one, your biological one.”

Christa winced. She hated hearing anything about the man who’d abandoned them and had donated his sperm for her and her brother’s existence. “Why would you miss him?” Her words were venom. Momma wiped her tears, nodded, then flipped open the photo album. “I loved him. I loved him more than any other man,” she said softly, “even the one upstairs.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why, it just happens like that sometime. Did I ever tell you what happened to him? Really happened?” “He left. Abandoned us—” “But do you know why?” Momma asked. Christa couldn’t answer. She’d never really thought about why, never questioned. All she’d ever known was that he’d left when she was a child; he’d broken her heart. She didn’t need to know the hows and whys, not when she clearly remembered how many nights her mother had cried from heartbreak, and she’d joined her because her father didn’t love her enough to be there. No matter how many tears Christa had shed or how hard she’d prayed for him to return, he never did. “Well, he left us for some other woman. A woman with no children. Pretty, successful, educated, she was everything I wasn’t.” “No, Momma,” Christ interrupted. “You were and are very pretty. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You’re a lady.” Momma shook her head. “No, Darlin’, I was a very beautiful woman, but then I became a very beautiful mother. That’s how your father looked at me. I was a mother, no longer a woman. I had y’all, you and your brother— responsibilities——things he didn’t want, not with me. But with this other woman, this younger woman, he did.” Tears had begun to trail Christa’s cheeks, too. “What do you mean?” “She got pregnant and, I guess, he thought it’d be easier——better to raise one child with her than two with me. She was moneyed, her family anyway, and she was younger.” This was sounding all too familiar to Christa, and it scared her, made her feel horrible. She was the other woman, a woman just like the woman who’d come and stolen her father from under their family. “So he left us for another woman?” she asked again. Momma Reid nodded. “Yes, Darlin’. Don’t you do the same, hear? Your brother called me and told me you were pregnant. Please tell me it’s not by a married man—especially one with children. I don’t know why I get that feeling but I do. Maybe because you haven’t brought him around.

It’s something though. Don’t take a man from his family. Don’t be on the opposite end of what me and your brother’s suffering.” Christa nodded. She would try. She didn’t know if she would succeed, but she would certainly try.

Chapter Twenty-Five Kennedy

This was going to be hard and embarrassing, Kennedy knew, as she and Tariq walked into the laboratory that stored her children’s cord blood. Going to the desk, she was paranoid, thinking that the receptionists were looking at her sideways, knowing why she was there. Jared’s name was listed on Kharri’s records as the father. Now she was bringing in another man to have his DNA swabbed and tested against Kharri’s umbilical cord blood. It had been taken at to establish paternity. Tariq stood at her side, rubbing her back, reassuring her. “It’s going to be four-hundred seventy-five dollars, Ms. Jacobs. And the results take three days to process if you’re swabbed too. It makes the process easier because it eliminates your strain,” the receptionist said, talking above Kennedy’s head. Kennedy nodded, then looked at Tariq. Tariq reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and credit card. He handed it to the receptionist. “Okay,” he said. “You can charge the fee to

my card.” “The test is a legal test and holds up in court. And the DNA is tested twice to be sure. With both of you being swabbed the test can show a 100% match, as opposed to a lower one when just testing the father.” The receptionist spoke clearly, and anyone could tell she’d repeated this over and over on a daily basis. Kennedy poked Tariq and told him she was going to sit down. She wanted this to hurry up and be over with. She nodded. “I understand, Ms. Jacobs. This won’t take long, and you’re next,” she offered, as Kennedy walked away, then found her a seat. Tariq took the seat next to her and patted her leg. “It’s going to be okay.” She couldn’t look at him. Didn’t want to face anyone. She’d been here before, and had sworn it would never happen again after Niles. But how was she to know Tariq would show up claiming he was Kharri’s father, and she would eventually question if he was right? She couldn’t have possibly known, she assured herself. Still, it made her feel low because without a DNA test, she didn’t know for certain who fathered her child—either one of them. I hate being here. I feel so whorish. Last time the test had been performed in the hospital, so she’d never actually gone to a DNA clinic before, but the result was the same. She was careless and irresponsible and didn’t know what a woman—a real, accountable mother—should. Their names had been called, and they’d been labeled, numbered, swabbed and put in a sterile, non-biodegradable cylinder, then sent on their way with a three-day call back notice. Exchanging glances on their way out, they now shared a common bond beyond the possibility of Kharri being their daughter: the answer that would alter both of their lives was sealed in a plastic container waiting to be shipped off to a lab. She was all his for the night. That’s what she’d told him when they got inside her car. Niles was with Michael; she was no longer with Jared. She was free to do what she wanted without having to consider anyone else’s feelings. It had been awhile since she’d been able to focus on what she’d wanted, what would make her happy. The problem was, she didn’t know what she desired or needed. She hadn’t for a long time. She’d just been stuck, flowing with what was convenient and felt right because she’d been used to it. But that was no longer enough, and she wondered what was. Tariq pulled the car up for valet service. She grabbed Tariq’s arm as he opened the door for her himself, not waiting on the valet to do so. He held

her with one hand, her overnight bag with the other. She gripped him tightly, comforted by his presence and assuredness, then leaned her head against his shoulder as they walked toward the hotel entrance. “So this is who you want?” Jared’s voice called from behind. Startled, Kennedy turned. Sweat beaded on Jared’s forehead and his temples throbbed; intensity showed in his eyes. She looked to Tariq. His chest was puffed out and his grip tightened on her. “What are you doing here, Jared?” Tariq cleared his throat. Kennedy elbowed him lightly to let him know to let her handle this. Jared kept his focus on her eyes. “The question is: What are you doing here? You couldn’t wait even three days?” The hotel valet walked over to them, asked if there was a problem. “You put us out. Why should you care what I do?” She freed herself from Tariq and walked closer to Jared. She knew it was a stupid move, leaving herself vulnerable, but she didn’t want a yelling match. “God-dammit. Because I love you. Why else would I follow you? I don’t want to lose my family. I’m not going to lose my family! You’re supposed to be my wife!” His voice rose, and her heart dropped. “Not gonna happen, partner. You can’t marry a woman who’s already married,” Tariq interrupted. Kennedy’s whole world stopped cold. The wind stopped blowing. Cars ceased to move. Tariq became invisible. All she saw was the look on Jared’s face, and the blood drain from him. She’d never seen a living man turn gray like the dead. “What?! What did you just say, man?” He drew his eyebrows together and questioned. “And who are you anyway?” Kennedy stood quiet. She was in disbelief. “This isn’t happening. Tariq, please! Just go in the hotel. I’ll handle this.” “I’m your fiancé’s husband, Tariq,” he said, introducing himself like it was the most normal thing. “Kennedy and I have been married for over ten years.” Jared waved his hands in the air. “Bullshit. We’ve been together longer than…” His voice trailed off as he looked at Kennedy. His eyes became as dead as the hue of his skin. He reached out his hand, and gave Tariq a pound like they were old friends. Kennedy watched as the old hood he’d worked so hard to climb above surfaced in him. “Cool. That’s you then.”

Her eyes almost jumped out of their sockets as she watched the interchange between the two loves of her life. They were passing her off like she didn’t have a say. To watch Jared give up pained her. He was supposed to fight for her. “Jared, what are you doing?” she asked, pulling on his arm. With one move he shook her off. “No, go with your husband. I’m done.” Tariq called her name, and she waved him off. “No, Jared. Not like this. We need to talk. I need to explain,” she begged, grabbing his arm again. Tears ran out of her eyes and her nose followed suit. There she was in the middle of busy Manhattan crying like a baby. Torn between two men, she was too divided to think straight. Her past had come back to haunt her. The one who was supposed to be her future didn’t want her anymore. “I was on medication. I didn’t know about the marriage until the other day,” she yelled, pulling on him as he began walking away. “So we raised and buried a daughter and you were married to another man?” He stopped in his tracks, turned to her. She’d never seen so much hate come from a person’s eyes. “Wait. If he’s your husband…you didn’t marry him the first day you met. How long have you been knowing him?” “Since I was a child,” she whispered, already knowing where he was going with his question. “And Kharri was my daughter, right? Tell me she was my daughter.” He grabbed Kennedy and threw her up against a building. Tariq ran to them and pulled Jared off Kennedy. “Tell me she was my daughter!” he demanded again, shaking Tariq off. “Look man, don’t make me get in this. I’m trying not to, but you’re making it hard,” Tariq warned. Jared pushed him. Kennedy jumped in the middle, trying to keep them apart. “Tell me!” “She can’t!” Tariq yelled. “Tell me, Kennedy!” “I can’t. I don’t know. I won’t know for three days.” Jared held up his hands. He looked at Kennedy. “You’re not even worth fighting for. You want her, you can have her. Seems everyone else has.” Kennedy sank to the ground as he walked away. There was no way to make this better. No explanation that would suffice or clean it up. It was what she’d caused, and she felt like a whore because of it. She bawled, hitting Tariq’s chest as he picked her up from the ground. He carried her

back to the hotel. Through the doors, the lobby, in the elevator, and into the room, her tears hadn’t stopped. Tariq set her down on the bed like a fragile piece of paper, then stood there making sure she didn’t fall. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted. “On one hand I’m happy, the other I feel like I’ve ruined your life.” “I ruined my own life,” she uttered. “What do you want me to do, Kennedy?” he asked, sitting next to her. “Can you just please hold me?” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her head to his chest. Like a baby, he rocked her, kissed her forehead and wiped her tears. She caved, relinquished all the pain that she could, then lay back as he guided her to the mattress, still in his arms. Kennedy closed her eyes, prayed for Heavenly forgiveness and that she could also forgive herself. Every problem that had happened in her life had been her doing. But so had the good things, she told herself. She’d done a lot of good, had great health and a wonderful son to prove it. It could always be worse. And it could always be better, she reminded herself, feeling the warmth of Tariq’s lips part hers while she welcomed him with her tongue. His kissing her made her give in. She was vulnerable, he was taking advantage, and she was going to let him, and enjoy it, too. Next time, she told herself as he undressed her, she’d remember to pray for that, too. Self control. Her body would never allow that. Only a Higher Power could save her from scratching her itch and leaving her scent on hotel beds.

Chapter Twenty-Six Miranda

Since they’d met at the diner, Larenz had called her twenty-seven times demanding money. He wanted twenty thousand dollars in two days. “Not a penny under and not in forty-nine hours,” were his exact words on her voicemail. Miranda scrolled through her list of contacts, found his name, and held her breath. With a heavy finger, she selected him. She didn’t want to speak to him, but had to. She wanted and needed to get him over with as soon as possible but, as she had done with Rich, she’d do it on her own terms. Larenz wanted something from her, so he’d cooperate or come up short of what he was blackmailing her for. And if she were lucky, she’d have something on him too. She didn’t know what, but she was sure he was hiding something because he’d done his best to avoid her coming to his place. If he were crafty enough to know Rich was home before she’d told him, to know something about Rich’s stashes and to hold a concocted lie over her head to squeeze money out of her, he was no fool. And to know dirt you had to have

played in dirt. The streets were written all over Larenz, and she planned to erase some of the ugly graffiti scrawled on his swagger. He answered on the first ring like he’d been expecting her call. “It’s about time. I’ve been calling and calling.” “We got trouble,” she began, sitting in her car. She kept speak-ing, lacing her voice with a fake cry when he tried to interrupt. “Someone else knows about us and now they’re blackmailing me and you,” she lied, sniffing like she couldn’t hold back her tears. “Guess you aren’t too clean yourself, and must’ve rubbed somebody who was locked up wrong. Whoever they are, they’re home now, and they know Rich.” She was reaching and she knew it. But if he knew that Rich was home, then someone had to have told him, so they must’ve had some common denominator. His voice was edgy; it held a trace of concern. “What you mean, Ma? You alright? I rubbed who how? And they were locked up where? Did you catch a name? Who they run with?” Miranda cracked a smile. When he hit her with a barrage of questions he was unknowingly showing he was nervous. She had him. “Oh, I caught a whole lot more than that. I can’t speak on this phone though. Can you meet me in Staten Island in an hour? I’ll be off of the first exit on the Staten Island side—not Brooklyn—so don’t take the BQE. I have your money. But I’m scared, Larenz.” “Make it two hours. I’m tied up in Jersey. I’ll swoop through Bayonne, come in the back way.” He’d taken the bait easier than she’d thought, and now she was taking advantage of it. Equipped with a master key, a screwdriver and cordless drill, and Kennedy, Miranda was going to get into his apartment, find something—anything she could hang him with. She looked in her rearview mirror. She wondered what was taking Kennedy so long. She’d promised to meet her and be on time, but Miranda wasn’t banking on it. Kennedy was always late, so she’d told her to be there a half hour earlier than she needed her. As if on cue, Kennedy’s car eased down the street. Miranda clambered out of her car, and began waving her hands to get Kennedy’s attention. Miranda owned a few buildings on the block, and knew her friend didn’t know which one they were hitting up. She was at Kennedy’s car door before she’d turned off her engine. “Damn, you aren’t playing,” Kennedy said, getting out. She raked her eyes over Miranda’s attire. Torn jeans, faded t-shirt, fresh sneakers: Miranda

was dressed like a teenager. Miranda shrugged. “I gotta be able to move around. Get in, get what I need and get out. Why are you wearing heels?” She handed Kennedy the screwdriver. Kennedy opened the back door of her car and removed a pair of slip-on driving loafers. “I’m good,” she said, swapping out one pair of shoes for the other. “Come on.” Miranda headed toward the building with Kennedy on her heels. “So you’re breaking and entering in a pair of seven-hundred-dollar Louis’?” Kennedy scrambled behind her up the steps. “Don’t matter. Good traction is all that matters. I bet I can scale and climb into a window faster than you. And I’m not breaking and entering. You own the building.” She walked through the entrance behind Miranda. “So what, we gotta pop his lock?” Miranda shrugged, climbing the steps. “I hope not,” she whispered. “I have a master key.” “Good. Because I have enough problems of my own and I’m not trying to see another jail cell.” Miranda stopped in front of a door, Apartment 2A. She stuck the master key in the bottom lock and it turned. Then she tried the top one, and it wouldn’t budge. Larenz had changed it. “No problem,” she said, replacing the key with a drill bit. Pressing her finger all the way down, she revved the engine. Red sparks popped and a burning smell emanated. In under a minute, she’d pushed the steel of the drill through the lock. “Pop! Construction drill!” she said to Kennedy, widening her eyes and opening the door. The place was immaculate, almost in the same condition as when she’d shown it to him. It was also close to empty. One high back chair sat in front of the window opposite a cd player propped on phonebooks atop a cheap filing cabinet. A cell phone charger was plugged in the wall, and a pair of Timberland boots sat alongside a pile of stacked moving boxes. Miranda moved through the apartment. All of the rooms were furnished with the same sparseness. Larenz only had one bath towel and washcloth, one bar of soap, paper plates and plastic cutlery. But the one thing that caught her and Kennedy’s attention the most was the bedroom. There wasn’t a bed in it. “Damn. He has nothing! Not a bed, a mattress, a futon. Nothing!” Kennedy

exclaimed. “How can he live like this?” She opened the closet. Miranda was surprised at the one shirt, one pair of pants, and shower slippers. “He doesn’t live here.” Kennedy waved her over. “But he has a stash of boxes tucked in the corner of the closet though.” She scratched her head. “We’re going to have to go on a literal eight-point-five by eleven-inch paper chase to find anything on him.” Miranda nodded. Kennedy was right. If they were going to find anything, it’d be on paper. “I’ll start in the living room. We have at least an hour and a half, so we should be good.” She walked out of the room, then heard Kennedy yell damn, and utter something about a gang of files. Grabbing the box on top of the others, Miranda opened it, and parroted Kennedy. There were files upon files. Miranda took out the first one and thumbed through it. Tilting her head, she realized he had other people’s lives tucked away in manila folders. “He’s stealing identities!” she said excitedly. First try and bang, she had him. She had nothing to hold over his head on the streets, but she guessed what she was looking at would get him a pretty good stretch in somebody’s federal penitentiary. She’d never been one to snitch, but she could trade one blackmail for another. What was in front of her had to be worth more than the twenty thousand he was trying to strongarm from her. Fishing through the box, she saw that it was the same thing, file after file. In alphabetical order no less. “I’ll be right back,” she called to Kennedy. “I have to run this box out to the car. I’m not taking any chances.” Kennedy appeared in the bedroom doorway, then walked slowly down the hall. “You might want to wait a sec. Matter of fact, let me run it to the car. At least two of those can fit in my trunk. There’s something you need to see,” Kennedy said quietly, as if she were sparing feelings. She held up a manila folder that was identical to the ones Miranda had gone through. “What’s this?” Miranda asked, taking the file from Kennedy and setting it on the filing cabinet on top of the radio. Picking up the box she’d searched, she handed it to Kennedy, then loaded another on top of it. “It’s something you need to see. It involves you,” Kennedy said, making her way out the door. She looked around the side of the boxes so she could see. Without even knowing why, Miranda took the file into the bathroom. For some reason she felt the need for privacy. It was the tone of Kennedy’s

voice, the trace of concern. After she closed the door, Miranda sat on the toilet and opened the folder. Her whole world changed in the time it took her to skim the top page. With urgency, she began swiping through paper after paper, note after note. She couldn’t believe her luck, her life. She’d been set up the whole time and didn’t know it. “This motherfucka! These motherfuckas,” she screamed, pulling a picture from the stack. There in her hand was a picture of Larenz and Rich in prison together. “They were cellies?” she asked herself in disbelief. Rich had sicked his prison cellmate on her, had set her up so he could find out where she’d stashed the money. That’s what the short letter behind the picture said. It was the principle, he’d written. He expounded, telling Larenz how Miranda had never deserved shit, wasn’t worth shit, so feel free to treat her like and run through her like shit. Miranda hung her head. She’d fallen for and had become victim of the game, but she hadn’t been a total fool. She’d never admitted to having all the money, never told she had way more than he’d left behind. “No, I just slept with both of them, and don’t know who fathered my child,” her words were painful to her ears. Saying it out loud made it more real. Getting up from the toilet, she slid the picture of Larenz and Rich in her back pocket along with the letter that explained she wasn’t worth shit, then walked out of the bathroom. Kennedy stood in the living room, looking down the short hall at her. “You okay?” Miranda nodded her head. “No, but I will be.” She cleared her throat. “I got enough on him to hurt him or stop him, and hopefully something on Rich, too.” Tears stared to fall. A cry she hadn’t planned. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa,” Kennedy said, walking toward her best friend. “What’s wrong? Don’t worry. We’ll get them. Okay?” Miranda looked up from the floor. “They got me, Ken. They got me real good, and now I’m having their baby.” She laughed at her own revelation. She was having their child. Not Rich’s. Not Larenz’s. Both of theirs. Kennedy winced. Miranda’s not knowing who fathered her child was something Kennedy was an expert at. “I can get you through this. Trust me,” Kennedy grabbed Miranda’s arms and playfully shook her. “I’m seasoned.” Her tears began to fall, too. Miranda sucked up her tears. “Wait a minute!” she laughed. “This is my breakdown moment,” she teased, now trying to lighten Kennedy.

“I don’t know who fathered Kharri,” Kennedy admitted. Miranda rubbed Kennedy’s arms. “We’ll be okay. We’ve pulled through worse.” His voice came from behind Kennedy, startling both of them. “Word, Ma? You think so?” Larenz asked, standing in the doorway. “Something told me to come home. You think you’re slick. I got something for you.” He rushed toward them. Kennedy placed her body in front of Miranda, the screwdriver ready to stab him. “Aw little momma, what’re you gonna do with that? I’ve been playing with screwdrivers, pencils, and sharpened toothbrushes for years. We got all kinda shanks in prison.” Kennedy didn’t flinch. Holding her ground, she dared him. “Try me if you want. I’m little, but I’m powerful. And it’s not this screwdriver you need to be worried about. It’s what my girl’s carrying that should concern you.” Miranda didn’t see how he did it, but he’d managed to flip Kennedy, had brushed right past her like a Mack truck leaving her to soar in the air. His hands were around Miranda’s neck but he hadn’t start squeezing. “So what are you carrying, Ma? A gun?” A sneer was on his face. Miranda looked him square in the eyes. “Maybe. A gun— and a baby.” “What?” he asked, then winced. “She just told you she’s carrying a baby. And I just told you not to try me,” Kennedy spat, twisting the screwdriver in his back as she dug it in as far as it could go, then pulled it out and started over.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Christa

Christa sat next to Emory void of feeling. She sat in a hard, plastic orange chair, imagining how many hundreds, possibly thousands, of women had sat in the exact seat before her. Goose-bumps rose on her arms and neck, and not just because she was freezing. The air blasting through the vents didn’t help any, and she wondered how something so arctic didn’t spit out ice chips instead of AC. It was beyond cold in there. Bleak. Gray. The monotone atmosphere matched her feelings, made her second guess why she’d come in the first place. Emory patted her thigh and offered her a comforting look. But he could’ve kept it. It didn’t help, and neither did him coming along for support. She was going to kill her baby. That’s what she’d come to do. Get rid of the one thing that they’d created together and could call their own. But it wouldn’t happen, not the life of the child whose heart was beating

somewhere in her womb. It was the best thing to do, they’d both decided. She couldn’t have him, and he couldn’t leave his family. Christa’s stare dropped to her stomach. It looked the same as it had a year ago. Flat with a couple of folds of skin that surfaced when she sat down. But she knew no matter how much a look deceived, it wasn’t the same. Someone was behind it, she just didn’t know who. That’s what had made it easier coming here, no pudge or morning sickness, no indication that she was pregnant besides a missing period. “It’s going to be okay. Everything will be back to normal soon. I’m here,” he said. Will it be okay? Really? she wanted to ask. How did he know? And what, exactly, was normal? Had they ever been? “We’re doing the right thing,” he offered again. Advice she hadn’t asked for. Still, she said nothing. The decision to abort the baby had been hard. They’d argued. She’d cried. He loved her, he’d said. She loved him too. Wanted him all to herself because it was meant to be. But he couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t leave his family. He’d been adamant about that from day one. They weren’t killing a baby, they were aborting a fetus. It couldn’t have been any bigger than a peanut, so how could it feel anything. A lone tear sailed down her cheek. Her baby, the one she’d wanted, had been reduced to an it. Their baby was a just pronoun to him. He and his wife’s daughter was a child. There was clearly a difference already. He checked the time. He’d checked it three times in the last thirty minutes. She huffed, unable to believe how much of a rush he was in. “You know you can leave if you have somewhere else to be,” she said. “No. No. I’m good for time. This place is just uncomfortable.” She almost crossed her eyes, she cut her glance at him so hard. “Why, because they’re killing babies in the back?” She couldn’t help what came out of her mouth. The truth was that they were executing babies. Tearing them limb from limb. He winced. He’d made it more than clear that he didn’t like her choice of words about the abortion. “Christa, Baby. We’ve been over this. I’m not twisting your arm to make you have an abortion. It’s your body, your choice.” “Bullshit!” she raised her voice, then caught herself. “No, you aren’t twisting my arm. It’s just that if I don’t do this, we’re finished.”

“Baby, whatever gave you that idea? I didn’t say that.” He was incredulous. He was right. Those weren’t his exact words, but he’d implied it, stating he couldn’t leave his family and if his wife found out that would be the end of him and Christa. He’d really tanned her behind when he said it was just a fetus, an it. Not a baby. “So if I get up and walk out of here right now, that’d be okay?” He looked her in the eyes with softness. “Yes, Baby. But that’s not what you want to do, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You said so yourself, having a baby isn’t the best idea.” Christa stood, grabbed her purse and clutched it to her side. “Let’s go.” He cocked his head. Twisted his face. Grimaced. “What?” She reached down, and tried to pull him up by the arm. “I said ‘let’s go’. I want to leave. I’m keeping our baby.” He’d snatched her back down before anyone could see. “You’re just nervous.” Christa sprang back up. “Don’t tell me what I am. What I am is pregnant and keeping it.” She pivoted and walked toward the exit. He was following her shadow as she pushed the door open and walked into the warm sunshine. Instantly, she felt better. Her midsection tingled, thanking her. The sun kissed her face and illuminated her spirit. She was keeping their baby. “Christa!” he called her from behind. She heard the bottoms of his shoes hit the concrete as he jogged to catch up. “What?” she said, stopping and turning. “Thought you didn’t mind.” Words came from her lips but she felt nothing. He was angry now, but she knew he’d come around. What choice did he have? She was having his child. “Let’s just take a couple of days and think about it.” “Okay.” She smiled. “Really?” He seemed relieved. “Why not? I mean I’m going to think about it for the next couple of trimesters anyway. Why not focus intently on our baby for a couple of days?” “Christa?!” It was a yell, but it wasn’t Emory’s. She closed her eyes. Her luck couldn’t have been worse. “What, Grant?” she snapped without even turning to see him.

He was up on them before she could count to five. This would be the perfect time to disappear, walk back into the abortion clinic, sit in the hard chair, and wait for her name to be called so she could change her mind all over again. If she could that would’ve bought her time. She shrugged. So much for wishful thinking. The look of confusion on Emory’s face was intense. He proffered his hand. “I’m Emory. Christa and I work together.” She wondered why he felt the need to introduce himself. Grant shook it. “I’m Grant. I’m her baby’s father,” he said, pointing to Christa’s stomach. It took her only a second to pick up her jaw from the sidewalk. Her head began rotating again, almost shaking itself free from her neck. Immediately her eyes went to Emory, saw his blank look. “No, he’s not. Why do you keep saying that? Do I need to call the police?” Emory took one step back. He turned into a human sponge and absorbed everything. “That’s what you said, right?” Grant huffed, embarrassment covering his face. “That’s what you said!” Anger began surfacing. Christa wagged her finger at him and snaked her neck. “We never had unprotected sex. We haven’t messed around in months. Way before I got pregnant.” She turned her attention to Emory. “I’m sorry, Darlin’. He was before you. I’m not pregnant by him.” “Oh, so she has you thinking it’s your baby too, man? Did she tell your wife like she told mine?” Emory ran his hands over his head, then down his face. He opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind. Christa watched him. He couldn’t keep still. She’d never seen him so disoriented. Why couldn’t Grant just go away? “Why don’t you just leave me alone? Are you trying to ruin my life because I left you—forever ago?” She decided to throw the last words in for emphasis to prove to Emory she hadn’t been with Grant in a long time and there was no possible way that she was carrying his child. “You ruined my marriage,” was all he said before he walked away. Christa exhaled, glad to see the back of him moving away from her. Turning to further explain to Emory, she found herself alone. It was just her and the baby she was carrying. In the distance, she saw him jogging down the street, hailing a cab.

“Sorry, Momma,” Christa whispered, feeling her heart start to break again. She couldn’t handle it twice in life, and she’d be damned if her child grew up without the father. “I have to get my man.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight Kennedy

Kennedy sat on a box of books, digging through another. She’d been packing and unpacking for days, trying to settle into one of Michael’s places that he’d offered to her. Initially, after their breakup years ago, he’d given her the deed, but she’d returned it when she’d decided to be with Jared indefinitely. That’s when she’d believed in happily ever after and until death do us part. She’d learned since then. There were no fairy tale endings and all relationships were work. It was just how much you were willing to slave to make one successful, that and the matters of the heart, the point of real love. Wiping sweat from her brow, she looked at all her and Niles’s things in cardboard, and couldn’t believe she was starting over again. She was grown. Much too old to be behind the word go. Much too responsible to make her child get used to another place and another life. Her phone rang and she knew it was him; She just didn’t know which him it was. Jared had been pestering her to see Niles; he believed she was keeping him away, but

she wasn’t. She was just giving Niles a chance to breathe without all the smog that adults’ fighting caused. Tariq had been borderline stalking her because he wanted his wife back, a wife who was never his. But Tariq had a right to call. Today was day three and the DNA results were supposed to be in. Her phone rang again. This time she picked it up, and saw Tariq in the caller ID. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I know the results are—” “Can you come outside please?” he asked. Kennedy wrinkled her brows. “How do you know where I am?” He laughed a little. “I don’t. I was asking if you’d come out somewhere— anywhere so we can talk.” “And go get the results. You do know you can do that yourself. You were tested. I just participated to make it easi—” Her other line rang, cutting her off. It was Jared. “Hold on,” she said, deciding to get both of them out of the way. “Yes, Jared.” “Listen, about Niles—” Kennedy took a vase out of the box in front of her, and began to strip off the bubble wrap that protected it. “I already told you he’s with Michael. Call Michael and arrange to pick up Niles. I can’t do it today.” Jared cleared his throat. “I know. I was only going to tell you I know you’re not keeping him away from me. But never mind that. What time do we meet to find out about Kharri?” “We?” “Yes, damnit. We. Don’t you think I’m entitled to know for certain if she was my daughter or not?” This was getting ridiculous. But he was right. “Hold on.” She switched lines. “Tariq?” “Yeah? I’m here.” “What time do you want to meet to find out about Kharri? Jared wants to come.” Tariq laughed so loud and hard that Kennedy had to pull the phone away from her ear. “This is crazy. Is this how you all do things around here? The wannabe husband meets up with the husband to find out who fathered a child? Rhetorical. Tell him an hour. I’ll see y’all there. And Love?” “Yeah?” Kennedy asked. “I love you, and I know you still love me too despite you getting up in

the middle of the night and sneaking out of the hotel three days ago and dodging me. Remember it was always about more than sex between us. I’ll see you in an hour.” Somehow she’d made it to the clinic early. Looking at her watch, she saw she had fifteen minutes before she had to step inside and face reality. Kennedy stepped back into the shade and watched the cars passing by. For a minute she wished she was inside of one of those vehicles going anywhere else besides where she stood. Life seemed so much easier for strangers; it always looked good from the outside because you couldn’t judge what was inside. Taking a deep breath, she decided to go in. It was no use in prolonging the inevitable. The paternity of her daughter would be revealed today whether she wanted to face it or not. “I can handle this,” she told herself, pulling the heavy door open and walking inside. To her surprise Jared and Tariq sat side-by-side as if they were old friends. Well, they do have something in common. They both knew how her body felt, and it disgusted her. If they were teenagers she’d have been afraid that they’d discussed her, but she knew better. The two of them, sitting together with no animosity between them, spoke volumes about the real men they were. All her men were grown. Michael included. She may’ve been a bad girlfriend but she had good taste. “Hey,” she greeted both of them as she approached. Jared scooted over, offering her a seat between them. It was almost too much to take because it was telling and suggestive. She was here to see who’d fathered her daughter, and she sat between them like she’d had them at the same time. Reluctantly. She had no words or expression. She couldn’t even look at them. Jared’s heart was broken because of her, and she’d never forged a relationship—not a real one, with Tariq because he hadn’t been good enough. That’s what her actions told him, yet he sat here waiting for his wife who would have never married him because he wasn’t a doctor or lawyer. She shook her head. She was pitiful. “Ms. Jacobs?” the receptionist called. “They’re ready for you.” All three of them stood. “Okay,” Kennedy said, finding her voice. Turning to Jared, she grabbed his hand. “No matter what happens in here, she was our daughter. Okay?” Tears welled in her eyes. She wasn’t crying because she was guilty or scared. The waterworks began because it was true. Kharri had been their daughter. They’d both been in the room when she was

born. They’d raised her together. Then they’d buried her. Together. “I know,” Jared replied with a forced smile on his face. Kennedy could tell he was holding back his tears, and if the result showed Tariq was Kharri’s father, she knew Jared would cry like a baby later when no one was around. Reaching out with her other hand, she grabbed Tariq’s. “I’m not really certain if it matters to you or not if you were her father, or if you came back to claim what you believe is rightfully yours—me. But if you did come back because you truly have to know, I admire you and respect you for it. A lot of men don’t care about the ones they have living, and for you to have to know about one who’s not amongst…” she began but couldn’t finish. Saying aloud that Kharri was dead had always been hard. Together all three of them walked through the door to the back of the clinic and filed into the office in which they were told to wait. No words were exchanged. No glances were shared. Just the sound of random breath being exhaled. “Okay.” A man entered carrying a file. Kennedy looked up into the face of an elderly gentleman. He was distinguished and had a kind look about him. He also seemed immune as he sat at the desk and opened the file. “Ready?” he asked. They all nodded. “Well, according to the test which was performed twice and is legal in the State of New York as well as, I believe, all other states, Mr. Williams is excluded from being the biological father of Kharri Reid.” “Ha!” rolled out of Kennedys mouth. Jared stood tall and proud. A tear escaped his eye, and he quickly wiped it away. “I knew she was mine.” “Would you like another test performed perhaps?” the gentleman asked. Jared shook his head. “No. She was my baby. I know that. One hundred percent.” Tariq stood, offered his hand to Jared. “Congratulations man,” he said with all of his heart behind the words. He turned to Kennedy. “Now what do we do, Love? Kharri belonged to Jared. Niles to Michael. And you belong to me. Where are we going to live and how are we going to explain to Niles that he now has three daddies?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine Miranda

Miranda was a bundle of nerves. Anxious, she’d found a reason to go to the bathroom three times in thirty minutes because she needed to walk. Pacing the floor would’ve made her feel better but she couldn’t. Rich sat there next to her watching her intently. Her stomach turned, and she looked at the clock. Time was moving at its own pace, and had no sympathy for her. “Why are you acting so nervous?” he asked. He reached over and covered her entwined fingers with his large hand, preventing her from twiddling. “I’m the one who’s here to see my PO. You act like you’ve been locked up and now have to give a dirty drop…I mean have your piss tested for drugs—a test you wouldn’t pass,” he explained, still believing she was green to the streets. She only cut her eyes his way. Facing him had been hard for her the last week because she didn’t want him to catch on to what she’d been up to, and

she feared she’d spit on him for being the walking demon that he was. She gulped hard, and swallowed her vomit before it could rise. She despised him, but she wouldn’t let it show. Hiding it had been hard, especially when he’d began kissing her between her thighs last night, and she had to give in and sleep with the Lucifer who’d still shared her home just so he wouldn’t burn her soul forever. The only thing that had gotten her through the ordeal was the poetic justice that would come from it. She’d charged it to the game. He’d played his, now she was playing hers. Besides, she thought, he wouldn’t be haunting her life or anyone else’s for a long, long time. “I just get so nervous, Daddy. I always think they’re gonna keep you. I can’t bear that again,” she cooed, stroking his ego. He put his arm around her neck, pulled her ever so gently to his shoulder. “Just rest your head, Baby. It’s going to be alright. The only reason we had to come early is because my PO wants me to do a drop and I have to fill out some paperwork to transfer my address to your—our house. It’s cool.” Miranda rested on his shoulder and smiled. Out of his sight she began to feel confident again. Whole. Almost free. He wasn’t there to transfer his address, not unless he’d planned on transferring to the penitentiary. That’s where he’d be going soon, Miranda hoped. He’d screwed her in the behind with no lubrication, or so he’d thought, but she wouldn’t be the only one whose rectum was sore. She’d gone through the rest of Larenz’s paperwork, found some papers that implicated Rich, and had contacted Rich’s parole officer. She’d put the documents in the mail along with bank receipts and the address to the house in Queens he’d gone to when he’d been freed. She shook her head gently. What she’d done was against street code, a major violation that would make her a snitch. But she didn’t care. She wasn’t a street girl, she was now someone’s mother, and she did what she knew to be best. Plus, getting revenge made her feel better. When his name was called, Rich stood, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be out in a hot second, Baby. I’ll be okay.” He winked at her and smiled. Miranda winked back, then threw a smile to his awaiting parole officer who’d winked at her too, and gave her a thumbs up when Rich wasn’t looking. The officer mouthed: “Got ‘im.” She stood, put her purse on her shoulder and began to walk out. “Ay! Where you going, Baby?” Rich asked from behind. Miranda turned, saw his parole officer reach for his arm and two police

officers walk their way. “You should be worried about where you’re getting ready to go back to. Hope you like three hots and a cot. Toodles,” she said, giving her back to him and waving her hand in the air while she exited. She made haste to her next destination. Before she could sit down, the cold air froze her nostrils. It was too cold in the hospital for the weather, but she didn’t care. The morgue would’ve been colder if Rich had caught on to her or if Larenz had had his way. She stopped herself from complaining, because today was a good day. It was the final chapter in the dramatic tale that had become her life. She was more than halfway there, she reminded herself, and she was ready to get it all out of the way, she just wasn’t happy with part two. There was no way she would be. Miranda pulled out her cell and dialed Jared, letting him know that she’d arrived, then sat in the hospital waiting room eyeing the other visitors. Every other person she saw reminded her of someone she’d seen with Rich. She didn’t know why she was still nervous. Larenz had been arrested while still in the ambulance, thanks to Kennedy’s call to 911. She’d said he’d attacked them and they’d defended themselves. It didn’t hurt that he’d had a warrant for jumping parole and had been involved in many investigations of credit card fraud. “Hey, Miranda! Come on back,” Jared said, poking his head out of an Employees Only door. “Hey back!” she greeted, not liking the worn look on his face. Her best friend had hurt him very badly, and Miranda hated that it had to be so. He was a good guy, and Kennedy, despite her sexual prowess, was a good woman. But she’d never get in the middle. Walking in tune with him, she followed. She was filled with a mixture of happiness and dread; she was killing two jailbirds in one day. That’s how she liked to think of it instead of two birds in one bush. “Have a seat,” Jared said, taking a seat behind his desk. Miranda released her weight in the blue hospital chair, and looked at him. She didn’t know what to say. Jared held up his hand. “Miranda, it’s okay. We’ve all been here before.” He forced a laugh. “But seriously, it’s fine. I’m here to help you, not judge you.” Before Miranda knew it, she was out of her seat, around his desk, and he was wrapped in her arms. She squeezed tight. “Thank you so much, Jared.

Thank you for everything. You’ve saved me so much future discomfort and possibly any anger from my child.” She let him go, and walked back to her seat a bit embarrassed. She’d never hugged him like that before, had never been so honest. Sitting down, she looked at him and smiled. Jared waved her away. “It was my pleasure. You’ve always been like a little sister, and you’ve never interfered in my and Kennedy’s business. Not that I know of,” he teased. He sat forward and propped his arms on his desk. “But let me ask you a question.” “Sure.” “How did you collect that man’s blood? It was a clean collection, very easy to test for DNA.” Miranda nodded. She didn’t want to say aloud that Kennedy had done it because she didn’t want to remind him of what he’d just survived. “You know.” He nodded. “I got you.” Picking up an envelope, he held it out and handed it to Miranda. “It took a couple of days, but there’s your answer.” Miranda took the envelope. She stared at it, then up at Jared. Again, he waved his hand. “I didn’t look at it. It came sealed and I left it sealed. And I don’t want anyone pestering me about it. Some things are just too personal.” Miranda clutched the envelope in a sweaty hand and stood. “Thank you, Jared. Thank you so much. I owe you one. If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” She began to walk out of the office. “Pray.” Miranda turned at the door. She saw he was being genuine. “I’m sorry?” “Pray for me, Miranda. Pray that this hatred leaves me.” He sat down before she could answer and hung his head. Miranda quietly exited his office and then the hospital. The answer to who fathered the baby she carried was right in her hand, yet she couldn’t stand to look at it. There were only two possible answers, Rich or Larenz, and Larenz’s DNA had been tested. If it’s not him, then it’s Rich. She shrugged. It was over. It was all over. Her phone rang. Kennedy’s name appeared. “Yes, Kennedy. I have my results,” she informed as she walked down the gum-speckled sidewalk. “Who’s the father?” Kennedy’s question blared through the Miranda’s Bluetooth.

Miranda stopped in the middle of pedestrian traffic and held the envelope up to the sunlight. At this point, it didn’t matter. Not to her. She would have to be her child’s everything. And she would be. “I am.”

Chapter Thirty Christa

It was a wrap. Everything was off and there was no turning back. Christa sat in one of the offices adjacent to the University of Pennsylvania Hospital waiting for Dr. Epps to arrive. She’d called earlier in the week and made an appointment to see her. She smiled, disbelieving the luck she’d had. With little research, she’d discovered Dr. Epps was an obstetrician and gynecologist, exactly what she needed. The nurse appeared at the door with a chart and a smile, calling her name. Christa stood, and stiffly walked through the door, mentally practicing her lie. She’d met Emory’s wife in New York, but now she was in Philly. She followed a nurse to a room and disrobed. She’d come up with a transfer assignment, thinking it wouldn’t make a difference to Dr. Epps. A patient was a patient was a patient. On the table, her heels in the terry-cloth covered stirrups, her knees gapped apart and her private’s were exposed. The paper sheet covered the lower part of her body, but it didn’t matter. Emory’s wife was seconds away

from seeing what her husband had enjoyed so much that he’d spilled his seed inside her and had given her a baby. A soft knock on the door announced Dr. Epps. “Hello, may I come in,” she asked. “I’m ready,” Christa answered. Dr. Epps walked inside with a nurse behind her. Proffering her hand, she paused. “Don’t I know you?” Christa nodded, thinking that if she didn’t remember her, she’d be certain to never forget her. Her husband was Christa’s man and the father of her child, and she’d come to share the news. “Yes, you do. I worked with your husband, but I just moved here.” Dr. Epps smiled. “That’s right. I’m sorry. I see so many women. Forgive me. I had a long night with my little girl. It’s so nice to see you. Pregnant, hunh?” Excitement animated her voice. Christa almost hated to ruin this woman’s life because she was so nice. But competition was competition, and both teams couldn’t win. “I am,” she sang. “A couple of months, I think.” Dr. Epps had an excellent bedside manner, talking Christa through the process. First there was going to be a vaginal exam, then an ultrasound. Christa braced herself. She hated anyone sticking steel in her puss unless it was a man—namely, Dr. Epps’s husband laying pipe there. “Mm.” Christa moaned through the slight pressure, and almost laughed when Dr. Epps said everything looked good. It took every ounce of strength Christa had to restrain herself from telling the good doctor that it was good. Damned good according to her husband. Pulling out the speculum, Dr. Epps snapped off her gloves. “This is going to be a little cool, Christa. The warmer doesn’t seem to working at full capacity. I apologize. It’s also going to be a little wet,” she continued. She squirted the gel over Christa’s abdomen. Punching something onto the keyboard, she turned a monitor toward Christa, then moved the wand that resembled a condom covered vibrator over her stomach. “Good. Good. And there your baby is…there’s the heartbeat. Such a strong one!” she exclaimed. Christa looked at the screen and almost cried. That was her baby on the mini-television. Her baby, fully alive with a heartbeat. Not an it, a baby. She pointed to the screen and laughed. “That’s my baby, Dr. Epps.” “It sure is,” she said, removing the wand from her stomach and wiping the gel off. “Go ahead and get dressed, Christa. Then meet me in my office.

It’s the one at the very end of the hall. You can’t miss it. I like to talk to all of my patients. We’re family here.” Christa swung her legs over the side of the examination table. We sure are, Darlin’. We sure are. “Okay. I’ll be there in a second.” She exhaled when Dr. Epps left the room. This wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought. Purposely, she’d driven to Philadelphia to get her man. She was going to face Dr. Epps, confess everything, and walk away the winner. And she still would, she told herself, as her adrenaline raced. Hopping off the table, she raced to get dressed. Her panties were on backward, her bra half fastened, and she hadn’t buckled both her ankle straps before she headed out to face her opponent. A fake knock and a smile is how Christa made her appearance. Dr. Epps held one finger in the air, mouthed “one second” to Christa. Christa watched her intently. She was kind of pretty and she could see how Emory could be with someone like her in the past, but now he’d moved up to bigger and better. “Sorry about that. My daughter is out front. She wasn’t feeling well today, and my sister couldn’t keep her. Long story.” She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “You’ll have your chance to find out how these things go soon. Are you ready?” “Of course,” Christa said. “You know I don’t mind if you want to bring your daughter back. In fact, I’d love to see her. Mr. Epps always talked about her. Family around here, remember?” She waited on the edge of her seat for an answer. “Christa, you’re so sweet.” She picked up the phone on her desk and pressed a button. Christa waited patiently to see the little girl Emory doted on so much. She didn’t know why but she had to lay eyes on her. “So you only have one child?” She was being dirty and she knew it. A faint knock on the door made Dr. Epps pause. As she got up from her seat to open the door, she turned to Christa. “Yes. That’s all I can have because of circumstances. I carry a trait of…you’ll see.” Did she say she carried the trait? Dr. Epps held open the door and in walked a very small two-year-old girl. She had bright eyes and thick hair, and was the prettiest shade of Hershey’s chocolate Christa had ever seen. She looked like a baby doll. Christa melted, warmly at first, then guiltily as her stare traveled south. In

between buttons that resembled yellow and pink daisies, a tube snaked out and disappeared somewhere behind the little girl’s back. Christa felt herself swell with heartfelt emotion. “This is my daughter. My baby.” Dr. Epps was proud. “She’s so beautiful,” Christa complimented. Dr. Epps nodded toward the tube. “This is why I only have one. I carry a trait of something we call HI. It’s a blood sugar disorder in children, and I have a fifty percent chance of passing it down with every pregnancy. After the tube, she’ll have to have three to four injections a day. I just can’t bear to hurt another child.” Christa stood, then knelt beside Emory’s daughter. Tracing her finger on her soft face, she smiled at her. Christa understood what Dr. Epps was talking about. She’d felt the connection, because as she looked at the little baby-doll-looking girl with the tube in her stomach, she knew she couldn’t bear to hurt her. She needed her daddy more than Christa did. Christa stood, extended her hand to Dr. Epps, and made an excuse for running out so soon. It was going to almost kill her to leave Emory, but at least she could find comfort in knowing that her baby wouldn’t inherit the HI gene. “Tell Mr. Epps it was wonderful working with him.”

Epilogue Father’s Day

Kennedy’s behind almost touched the ground in the beach chair. Digging her feet in the Jamaican sand, she lifted them and pointed her toes to the sky. She could see that the sand had ruined her French pedicure. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled, then sipped her drink. Messing up polish was the last thing on her mind. Today was Father’s Day, the day she and her sister and sista-friends got together and celebrated the real joys of single motherhood. Kennedy and Simone had sent Niles and Simone’s daughter with Michael for the holiday, at his insistence. He and the kids had gone sailing on the other side of the island. “You gonna swallow that one, too?” Simone sat across from her, kicking up sand her way. “That’s your third one.” Kennedy sat up, kicked sand back. “And? I can’t have a few drinks? It’s Father’s Day. My day.” Simone laughed. “Mine too. But Niles has a father, or two, or three,” she joked, making fun of what Tariq had said to Kennedy. “Hell, you got one for college, another for grad school, and another for med school.”

Miranda walked up, gripped the back of Kennedy’s chair. “Simone’s right.” Kennedy turned her head. “What’s wrong with that? The more the merrier!” “Girl, I’m talking about that drinking. It’s unfair.” She rubbed her stomach. It had swollen to the size of an overgrown cantaloupe. “You should’ve gotten knocked up a long time ago like me and Simone. Right Simone?” “That’s right. Don’t worry though, until you have that baby, Kennedy’s got you covered.” Miranda walked over to an empty chair and positioned herself in front of it. Kennedy and Simone watched as she held her hip with one hand and steady her arching back as she unfolded herself into it. They laughed at her. “Food’s coming!” Christa announced, walking up. Her stomach was bigger than Miranda’s, and so was her body. She’d puffed up like a jellyfish, and her nose had already begun to swell. Kennedy was glad that she’d come, and didn’t judge her for what she and her brother went through. It would also give them a time to bond. Yes, she’d been with Jared forever, but had never really forged a true relationship with Christa. “Girl, sit your behind down. You’re swollen in your colon,” Miranda joked. “At least my neck ain’t dirty-black. Look like you haven’t bathed in years.” “This is good,” Kennedy whispered loudly, sitting up and clinking glasses with Simone. “Guess I got the floor again,” she said, struggling to get up out of the low chair. She dug her feet in the sand and held up her glass. “This is to us! The single mothers who are also fathers, and happy about it. From Simone, who’s raising my beautiful niece alone by choice, to Christa, who’s gonna raise her baby alone by choice, and to Miranda who will do a wonderful job at doing the same. And of course, to myself, who has already raised two children. Not alone but, still, by choice. We are all strong, independent, and responsible now. Okay, Simone, you’ve always been responsible, but you know what I mean. Salute!” Kennedy raised her glass a little higher, then threw back the rest of her drink, gulping it down. “Such a production!” Miranda stood, bowing toward Kennedy. “But you’re right, and thank you. And to kill everyone’s curiosity about who fathered my baby, my answer is this: It doesn’t matter. Neither Rich nor

Larenz is worthy of being a daddy—or a father to my child. Yes, I did have Larenz’s DNA run, but,” she shrugged “despite what you all think, I never opened the results. I put them in a safe deposit box. And when I give birth, I’ll file an order for Rich, have his DNA tested, and do the same with that result. When my child wants to know—if my child ever wants to know, he or she can open the envelopes him or herself. I just had to have the test run because a mother should always be able to tell a child who was halfresponsible for their life.” Miranda nodded, and sat. The other women clapped. It was Christa’s turn now. She raised her bottle of water and announced she’d be speaking from her seat. Her feet were swollen and she didn’t feel like standing. “Well, as you know this is Emory’s baby. He also knows, though he’s never said it. He does, however, send gifts in the mail. But I decided not to tell his wife, not to push the issue.” She paused, pursing her lips. The squinting of her eyes suggested that this was still a touchy subject for her. “I’m raising this baby by myself for many reasons. One, it’s mine. Two, it’s no accident. Three, I didn’t want to break up that man’s family and take him from his daughter. But most important, and I don’t know if this is last, but it’s definitely not least, I realized he didn’t want our baby. Yes, he wanted one—but not just any baby, he wanted another baby with his wife. Of course, I’ll never tell my child that, not until they’re grown.” She shrugged. “Who knows, maybe I’ll never say anything.” Kennedy was proud of Christa, the woman she’d come to know as a friend who was supposed to become her sister-in-law, but that was never to happen. Jared was done, and so was she. She’d been so caught up in titles and money and men that her real view had been distracted. All along it was about her making herself happy, because no one else could. No one else was responsible for anyone’s happiness but themselves. And that’s what she’d told Tariq when she took him to the airport. They had a past, such a sweet memory, but that was it. They couldn’t resurrect what had never really lived. Their desired reality had never been more than a dream. “I got a man, ladies,” Kennedy announced, smiling at everyone’s faces. Mouths dropped, eyebrows crinkled, and breaths were held. “Yes. I have the one. The only man I’ll ever need, at least for some years. He’s about this tall,” she held her hand up a few feet from the ground. “He has gray eyes just like mine, and he loves me endlessly. I love him the same.” “He’s how tall?” Miranda quizzed.

“And you met him when?” Christa inquired. Simone threw a coaster at Miranda. “You two are slow. Pregnant and slow. Too many hormones have clouded your good sense. She’s talking about Niles!” Simone turned her head and pointed. “Here comes the food and that fine ass waiter.” Kennedy nodded. Yes, she was talking about her son. He was her focus now. Only him and her and their life together. She could and would live without a man, and stop leaving her scent on hotel beds.

Also by Jamise L. Dames Bedroom Chronicles Pushing up Daisies Momma’s Baby, Daddy’s Maybe and her 2011 forthcoming title, The Honey Drippers

You may visit her on her website www.jamiseldames.com

Bedroom Chronicles, featuring Jamise L. Dames 2010

Be sure to check out Jamise L. Dames’ forthcoming novel The Honey Drippers. Bookstores everywhere, 2011.