Determining Possession (Connecticut Kings Book 3) Page 6

  On the other end of the line, he sighed. “Okay, Ms. Motivational. I hear you, I do. But… you know I know your reasons for pushing this are selfish, right?”

  I grinned. “Maybe you could look at it like that. Or you could see it as me being fine either way, so there’s no reason for my prospects to factor into your decision. This needs to be about you. Just you.”

  I glanced up in response to Naima knocking on the door, and she mouthed that we had to go, so the realtor could lock up.

  “Hey,” I told him. “I have to go. What are you eating tonight?”

  “Whatever you’re treating me to.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Okay. I’ll call you back later to make plans.”

  “Bet.”

  After we hung up, I joined Naima, and we followed the realtor back down to the lobby, where we parted ways.

  “You know that lady wanted to stab you, right?” Naima murmured to me as we headed for the front doors.

  I snickered. “You know the feeling was mutual, right?”

  We were still giggling as I put my hands out in front of me to push open the door. My skin had just connected with the cool metal when I heard my name, and looked up to see a familiar face standing just on the other side of the entryway.

  Jessica Leigh.

  My tongue felt like lead, feet cemented to the floor as she approached me with way less caution than a smarter woman would have. Her sun-streaked hair was in a disheveled topknot, red eyes only slightly obscured behind chunky eyeglasses. My eyes narrowed at her pink and gray Lululemon yoga outfit and pristine floral sneakers.

  Perfectly put-together, but just the right amount of distraught for a woman who’d broken up an engagement in the most publicly possible manner.

  “Wil,” she said again, when she was right in front of me. She reached for my hands, and I had just enough presence of mind to draw back. “Wil, please.”

  “You really should just keep it moving, okay?” Naima told her, stepping between us. “She doesn’t have anything to say to you.”

  Not true. I had plenty – plenty to say. I just valued my reputation too much to do it.

  “Wil, I’m sorry,” Jessica insisted, following behind as Naima steered me back toward the door. “I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You’ve never been anything but sweet to me, and I promise, I never meant for this to hurt—”

  “You lying bitch!” I snapped, reeling back to face her, sidestepping Naima. My raised voice would surely attract unwanted attention, but in that moment, I didn’t care. “How dare you look me in my face and tell that lie, huh?”

  “Wil, we need to go,” Naima demanded, stepping in front of me, but I shook my head.

  “No, do you hear this shit?!” I asked, honestly baffled. “This trash, who smiled in my face and then fucked my man says she wasn’t trying to hurt me. Let me tell you something, Jessica,” I spat out her name like it was dirt on my tongue, because it basically was. “A woman who isn’t trying to hurt another one doesn’t knowingly fuck her man, how about that? Let’s say maybe she didn’t care at first, but now she wants to change her ways – you have my phone number, bitch. You didn’t have to put the shit on TV, did you? So miss me with the “I wasn’t trying to hurt you”, because that’s exactly what you were doing.”

  Jessica crossed her arms, clearly miffed that I wasn’t buying her remorseful act. “Darius is the one you should be mad at. He’s the one who made the commitment, not me.”

  “But we’re not talking about him right now, are we? We’re talking about you, and nothing you can say now makes you any less awful.”

  She dropped her arms to prop her hands on her hips. “Darius didn’t think I was awful. I know you saw the videos.”

  I advanced on her so quickly that Naima grabbed my arm. Standing right in Jessica’s face, I grinned. “See? There it is. Not sorry. You really thought you were doing something I bet, getting a black man to betray his black woman to fuck you. You really think you gained something, think you beat me, don’t you? But guess what? If his standards have dropped so low that a used up trash bag like you was where he chose to stray… I don’t even want him. Have fun with your “prize”, since you’re so proud of yourself.”

  Jessica was still sputtering, presumably trying to figure out a response when I really did let Naima drag me out of there, and force me into the car that she’d called before we left the apartment upstairs, and had probably been waiting several minutes for us to come out.

  “What the hell, Wil?” Naima snapped, once she’d given the driver directions and we pulled off. “Why would you even give her the satisfaction?! You know that’s probably spreading all over the internet as we speak, and you know what it’s going to get painted to look like!”

  I sucked my teeth. “I don’t care what it looks like, I care what it was. She stepped out of place, and I put her ass right back in it. Never meant to hurt me my ass,” I muttered, crossing my arms as I turned away from her to scowl out the window instead.

  “No, it’s going to look like an angry black woman cursing out a fragile white woman, and you know it. This is the way it goes – the way it always goes.”

  I snapped my head back. “Nevermind that she was screwing my fiancé, never mind that she approached me, she gets to be the victim because I yelled at her?”

  “And called her names. You were mean. And you know they’re going to say you’re racist.”

  “Mean?! Racist?! Are you serious?!”

  “As a heart attack, Wil,” Naima said, leaning toward me. “Look – you’re better than me, cause if that were reversed, I would’ve put Becky’s head through that front door, and you’d be figuring out my bail situation right now. But I’m not you. You’re goddamn… Wil Cunningham. Sweet as pie, always gracious, even-keeled. Cutting a bitch isn’t your thing!”

  “Well maybe it is now!” I countered. “Maybe it should be. Maybe I wouldn’t be in this situation now if I wasn’t so fucking gracious! I don’t want to be amiable and polite, and tactful. I want to drag that bitch by her hair, and I want to nail his dick to a table, and I want to get on snapchat and tell the world I had to teach him how to wipe his ass back in college because I was tired of washing skid marked drawers! I don’t want to be nice, not right now!”

  The end of my rant was punctuated by my phone ringing again. The first thing I saw, before I even looked at who was calling, was the steadily climbing number of social media notifications I had – even more than usual.

  Shit.

  Naima was right.

  That lobby had been far from crowded, but it was silly to think that no one would whip out a camera and start recording in the age of smartphones. I should have learned that lesson from the video of me going in on Darius that night.

  The phone stopped ringing and started again, and this time I actually looked at the name on the phone. I groaned when Sarita’s name flashed across my screen. I’d gotten a phone call after the Darius thing too. A surprisingly sympathetic reprimand, but a reprimand nonetheless.

  I had a feeling this time wouldn’t be so kind.

  Instead of answering, I silenced it, tossing it onto the seat beside me and closing my eyes as I pressed my head back into the headrest.

  “Wil…,” Naima said gently, grabbing my hand. That was all it took for tears to well behind my clenched eyelids, as a wave of hurt broke through my anger. When I didn’t say anything, she squeezed. “Hey,” she insisted, and I opened my eyes.

  “Yeah?” I used my free hand to brush away the stray tear that broke free when I opened my eyes, rotating my head to face her.

  There was glint of mischief in her eyes as she propped a knee up on the seat, turning to me and leaning in. “So… bitch, did you really have to tell him about not washing his ass properly though?”

  She was barely containing a laugh as she asked, and that little bit of humor was so infectious that I couldn’t help smiling too as I nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “If that’s what they mean when they s
ay “loving a man’s dirty draws”… girl, good luck.”

  I busted out laughing at that, covering my face with my hands as a few more tears slipped free. After several moments had passed, and we finally stopped laughing, I shook my head.

  “I have to text the realtor,” I said, and Naima’s head tipped to the side.

  “Why?”

  I raised my hands in a “duh” gesture. “If she lives in Chelsea, guess where I won’t be living?”

  “Will you stop laughing and open the damn door?”

  I propped my hands on my hips as the door swung open and Ramsey entered my sight, laughing his ass off. “What the hell are you doing girl?”

  “Being inconspicuous,” I told him, stepping past him into his condo, which I absolutely adored. Brushed oak floors, tons of windows, incredible view of Central Park during the day, and the lit skyline at night.

  And space. Glorious, glorious space.

  I wasn’t even trying to think about how much it had to cost.

  I pulled the baseball cap off my head, and the oversized sunglasses from my face before I unzipped the floral bomber jacket I was wearing.

  “You realize you still look like you, even with all that shit on, right?” Ramsey asked, passing me to get to his kitchen.

  I sighed. “Perils of being a “public figure” I guess.” My empty stomach growled I followed him to the counter in the open kitchen, peeking around him to see what he was doing. “Did you cook?” I asked, getting my hand swatted away as I reached for the top to one of the dishes. “Is that why it smells so good in here?”

  “I guess I had to, since somebody can’t show her face in public tonight,” he teased, turning to face me.

  I crossed my arms. “Really bruh? That’s how you’re going to do me?”

  “That’s how I’m going to do you.”

  “I could have picked up a pizza. As a matter of fact, that’s what I was expecting when you offered for us to have dinner here instead of going out.”

  “You know damn well you didn’t want to eat pizza.”

  “Oh, but I do. A whole pizza, to myself. And a cake.”

  “A whole cake?”

  I nodded. “I’m in emotional hell right now, so… yeah.”

  He blew out a sigh as he crossed his arms, mirroring my stance. “Damn. Well… my bad. I don’t have any pizza, but we can order one. I guess these baked wings, broccoli and rice casserole, nice little green salad… I can put all of that away. Save it for another day.”

  “Oh my God, don’t play with me,” I said, bouncing toward him and trying again to peek into the dishes. “Where is my plate?”

  “I thought you wanted pizza though?” he laughed, easily holding me off. “I’ve got some menus around here, I got you.”

  “Stop plaaayyinng,” I whined, only making him laugh harder as he finally stepped aside, reaching into the cabinet to hand me a plate. He stood there teasing me as I loaded the plate with delicious smelling food from those dishes.

  “Damn, Champ. You’re seriously about to eat all of that?” He was over my shoulder, peeking down at the pile of chicken wings I’d accumulated. “I don’t want to hear your mouth the next time we work out.”

  I laughed. “No, asshole. I’m not about to eat all of this, but I know you will. You’re welcome,” I told him, as I handed him the plate I’d fixed, then reached into the cabinet for one for myself.

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  I shrugged. “You did the cooking. What do you have to drink?”

  “Water. Beer. More water.”

  “Wow, a whole two different types of water?”

  He frowned. “What? Only the best for my guests. Your choice of filtered – or filtered with ice.”

  “Oooh, such a hard choice,” I giggled. “I think I’ll take the filtered with ice.”

  “Good selection. That’s the house special tonight.”

  We took our plates, drinking glasses, and a carafe of ice water to the table. The next hour was spent filling my belly and belly laughing, two things I hadn’t gotten nearly enough of in the last few weeks. Naima and my mother had both been on me about not taking care of myself, but honestly, just getting out of bed some mornings felt like work. Once I was alone with my thoughts, no matter how determined I was to not be destroyed by a breakup… it was hard.

  “Hey, do you remember that show we started watching, months ago?”

  Our plates were empty, and the sun was down. It was probably time for me to go, but even the thought of that was a reminder of my displaced situation. Home wasn’t home anymore, my mother’s house wasn’t my own, and I knew I could stay with Naima for a night, but she and Ashley tended to get… loud. The idea of going to a hotel just felt pathetic, but I knew I had to make a choice, at some point. I just didn’t want to make it now.

  “The one with the woman with those titties, and the fro, trying to find the serial killer?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Those titties?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. They deserve specificity. Those weren’t just any titties.”

  “I really can’t stand you,” I laughed, following his lead as he stood to carry dishes back to the kitchen. “Those titties aside, did you ever watch anymore?”

  “Nah.” He shook his head. “You know my TV stays on the sports networks or news. I don’t really watch other stuff unless somebody is here for me to bug about it. Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just thought about it… you want to watch a few?”

  “Fine with me,” he said, taking the plate from my hands. “But you really mean to tell me Mrs. Carla isn’t expecting you home before curfew?” I gave him a warning raise of my eyebrow, and he laughed. “I’ll handle this, you go set it up for us.”

  I tried not to let my shoulders sink too deeply with relief, but I wondered if he knew the favor he was doing me by making it okay for me to stay. Even if it was just another hour or two.

  Only because I knew it was fine with him, I curled up on one side of the couch with my feet under me and grabbed the remote to pull up the show.

  There she was, Lynn Ryan, in all her afrocentric, boobalicious glory. She was an awful person, but a great character, the kind Black women on TV didn’t often get to be. She drank too much, cursed a lot, slept with men she probably shouldn’t. But she was a great… detective, or private investigator, or whatever the hell she was, and she was brown-skinned and kinky-haired and sexy as hell doing it.

  “Here.”

  I looked up to see Ramsey standing over me, with a glass of wine in his hand. Once I took it, he plopped down a few feet away from me on the couch, then raised a beer bottle to his lips.

  “What is this for?” I asked, lifting the glass of wine to my nose and inhaling. “And where the hell did you find a bottle of wine?”

  “That has been in my fridge since the last time my cousins were up here. Never got opened. And you kind of seem like you need it.”

  I put the glass to my lips and tipped it back, moaning my approval when the sweet, peachy notes hit my tongue. “You, my friend, are correct.”

  “Thought so. I saw the video.”

  I drained half the glass before I shifted my gaze to his. “It looks that bad, huh?”

  “To someone who wants it to look bad… yeah, probably so. The rest of us are amazed it didn’t end with you popping ol’ girl in the mouth.”

  “God knows I wanted to. Hell, maybe I should have, since I ended up getting reprimanded by the network anyway. My second “official” strike, with the first being the video of my interaction with Darius. Holding what should have been private conversations against me. You know they’re talking about “we can’t have you making racially charged statements”?! Like, what the fuck was “racially charged” about what I said to her?”

  Ramsey cringed. “I mean… you kinda implied that a white woman only wanted your black man to feel like she had one-up on you, a black woman.”

  “But was I lying on her though?!” I asked, then pour
ed the rest of my glass down my throat. “I mean, I could see if I said that was the case for every white woman who dates a black man, but I didn’t. It’s not even what I believe! Be with whoever the hell you want to be with. But for her? Oh yeah. That shit is definitely true.”

  In place of a response, Ramsey stood, walking to the kitchen to grab the rest of the bottle of wine from the counter. Wordlessly, he filled my glass, then put the bottle down in front of the couch. When he was seated again, he looked at me and said one word – relax.

  So… I did.

  So I tried.

  I stretched out with my glass of wine as the show started up, trying to get comfortable while I ignored my body’s urge to stretch out. When I finished my second glass of wine, I put the glass down beside the bottle, then attempted to pay attention to the TV. Inevitably though, I found myself watching Ramsey’s face for a reaction as I inched my feet closer and close to where he was.

  “Wil, I hope you don’t think you’re slick. I see you easing those cold ass feet over here.” He said, not even looking away from the TV.

  I scowled. “Joke’s on you, my feet aren’t even cold!”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in clear skepticism. “Then why are you trying to sneak them over here?”

  “No reason I guess,” I said, sliding them back. “I can keep my feet to myself.”

  “No reason? Seriously?” He pulled his eyes from the TV to look at me. “You gonna absorb my life energy through your feet or something?”

  “What?! No!”

  “Then what the hell kinda reason for putting your feet on me can you not just say out loud?”

  I sighed, leaning back into the pillow I’d propped on the arm of the couch to stare at the ceiling – and being careful to keep my feet on my side of the couch. “It’s weird.”

  “Okay, so I’ll consider myself warned. What’s up?”

  I swallowed hard. “I just… sometimes, to get comfortable, I just… I need…”

  “Spit it out, Champ.”

  “I need a physical connection,” I blurted out, under pressure. “Not that I need you to do anything but sit there. I just wanted to put my feet against you, but it’s okay, I promise.”