Who's That Lady? (4 page)

They spent a few minutes talking about some upcoming activities at the college before the other man left them alone. Then Key focused his full attention on Crystal. She’d always loved Key’s luminous black eyes. Under the well-defined sweep of his brows, it was like looking into a mysterious well.

“What are you doing this weekend, Taylor?”

“I don’t know. Shonté is supposed to have rehearsal—”

“You, Taylor. What are you doing for yourself?”

“I didn’t have any plans. But Emerson, we have to find out where she is and what’s going on.”

“She’s fine, Shortcake. She called me.”

Crystal gasped. “When?”

“A little while ago. She didn’t want you to worry.”

“But why didn’t she call me? Where is she? What the hell—?” Indignation made her voice rise.

“Taylor, Taylor, she’s fine but she didn’t want to talk. I think you have to respect that. Now I’m going to make sure you don’t sit around worrying your brains out and preparing a lecture for Shonté when she gets home.”

She subsided, gazing at him miserably. How could she explain to Key what she felt? She had always kept her girlfriend’s secrets and she was always the one Shonté turned to. But now Shonté didn’t want Crystal as part of her life. Crystal was becoming the outsider, just as she had been for so many years. Her anger towards Trevor Devlin swelled.

Key seemed to sense her misery. “Shortcake, don’t worry. She’s going through some changes. Let’s forget her for at least the weekend, okay?”

“Okay,” she said meekly.

“She’s not the only one going through some changes. I could use a little company myself.”

“What’s wrong, Key?” she asked, instantly concerned. She had thought he seemed a little edgy the last few weeks and had meant to talk to him but had been distracted by Shonté, she realized with a trace of guilt.

Key watched her. “As a matter of fact, I’m getting a little tired of the whole singles scene.”

“Are you serious about somebody?” she asked, pausing to stare at him.

“No.” He shook his head emphatically.

She eyed his powerful, long body as he propped one foot on the bleacher step. “So you’re looking?”

“Not really. You think I have to be cruising all the time, Shortcake? Can’t I just take a break?”

She paused. “You’re turning gay?”

“No!”

“Abstinence?” Her voice trembled with disbelief.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” he demanded.

“You, Emerson?” She figured he was teasing her. Key always had a woman. Always.

“Yes, me. I’m going to devote myself to my work. And….”

“And?”

“You know. Work and….” He was clearly seeking something to fill the blank. “And my family. And friends,” he added, gesturing to her. “And helping kids get into college.”

“Okay. If that’s what you want.” Crystal eyed his averted profile. She couldn’t read anything in his controlled demeanor. “Any particular reason for this little hiatus?”

Key’s forehead creased. “You know how it is. Just thinking about what my life is all about. I like my job, I have a good future, security. Everything should be cool, but something’s missing.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged and gave her a half-embarrassed look. “I don’t know. Nothing probably. Just feeling like I could use a friend. So why don’t you and I just hang this weekend?”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, glad to be needed, even if she understood he was doing this for her as much as for himself. “What do you want to do?”

“I was going to a club downtown tonight for a show. Wanna go with me?”

“Who is it?”

“A local rap artist. We can go and get our boogie on.”

Crystal hunched her shoulders with displeasure. “I don’t know, Emerson. Hanging out with a bunch of rowdy teenagers? Why don’t we go to a movie or something?”

“Stop making yourself out to be so old. It’ll be good for you to let your hair down for a change. This guy is great. I’ll take you to dinner and a movie and we’ll do the concert afterwards.”

Again she was driven to protest. “Afterwards? What time are we talking about, Emerson?”

He laughed. “Come on, Grandma. We’re going to get down all night long. You can show Miss Shonté she’s not the only one who can get wild. We’ll make her worry about you for a change!”

“She knows me better than that. My life is just not that exciting.”

Key eyed her while one corner of his mouth lifted in a rueful grin. “I don’t know about that, Shortcake. Tonight you’re going to be my hot momma.”

The easy compliment made her squirm with a warm glow of pride that was unsettling. “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, ducking her chin down into her chest as she sat hunched on the bleachers.

“Come on, I’ll race you up and down the bleachers. Loser buys drinks tonight.”

She forgot her discomfort in a squealing spurt to beat Key to the top and back down. He let her win, of course. They always ended up doing something physical when they were together. She theorized it was because he was generally athletic, by nature and profession. She didn’t mind. In fact, she figured it helped keep her size sixteen figure from ballooning out of control. She’d never be a hottie like Shonté, but with Key around she was never going to be out of shape either.

He was right about going out, too. As the day passed with no sign of Shonté, Crystal found the anticipation distracted her from too much worrying. Key had a point. She did need to do something reckless now and then. This date had her blood pumping and her mind active.

Not that it was a real date. Still, she spent an inordinate amount of time going through her closet, trying on and discarding clothes. Why was everything she owned so seriously stodgy? Maybe it was time she loosened up. She fussed with her hair, washing and blow-drying it. It was a simple bob-length cut, easy to keep up. But so boring.

CHAPTER 4

When the doorbell rang, Crystal backed out of the closet clutching a pair of leather loafers. Flinging them down, she shoved her feet into the shoes. She took a last hasty glance in her dresser mirror as she passed it, tweaking her hair, smoothing her sweater over her hips. Were these jeans too tight?

When she opened the door, Key’s appearance made her even more self-conscious. Key’s custom-made burnt orange shirt and trousers fit his toned physique with an easy grace that was certain to turn women’s heads. A wool sweater vest added an easy panache, along with the white athletic shoes trimmed with orange around the shoestring eyelets.

Key’s glance skimmed over her, not registering anything in particular. “Hey. You ready?” he asked.

“Yeah.” She spun to grab her jacket and purse from a chair near the door. Her total wardrobe consisted of jeans, sweats or one of her conservative work outfits. She would have to make do with what she had on.

“Umm. You smell good,” Key commented.

She had borrowed some of Shonté’s perfume. She melted at the appreciative smile on his face. “Yeah? Thanks.” Her knees felt a little wobbly. Maybe she was unusually susceptible to men after her long dry spell. Key was her friend, she reminded herself, and this was only a friendly outing. She adjusted the shoulder strap of her purse.

“Well, let’s go,” she said.

A mellow ambiance accented the dinner at an Italian restaurant. Then the movie was biting and funny, making her feel like an intellectual insider.

Key’s enthusiasm bubbled for the new rap artist they were going to see. The club was small, smoky, with vibrant beams of light stabbing the darkness. Inside the packed club, they were among the oldest people in the audience.

She had a jab of apprehension, thinking about the gangster reputations of some rap artists and their fans. The news was full of shootings in and out of clubs like this one. Was that why the name of this one seemed familiar to her?

But one look at Key’s broad shoulders, plus the feel of her hand in his, soothed her nerves. She knew he had zero tolerance for lyrics that objectified women or glorified violence. If he liked this young artist, he must have something of substance to him. Besides, no thug with any sense would go up against a man with Key’s powerful physique. Crystal held onto to Key’s hand a little tighter as he plowed through the crowd, searching for a place to sit.

They ended up jammed around a small table with a group of three young men and two women, all of them dressed in the latest street styles. Crystal tried not to stare, but one of the girls appeared to be dressed from neck to toe in fishnet, except for a few strategically placed strips of electric pink satin. In her loose sweater and comfortable denim, Crystal felt like somebody’s grandmother.

In a few minutes, Key managed to charm everyone at the table and they were all sharing some bottles of Hennessey and spritzer. She gulped down her drink.

Crystal barely heard the preliminary acts—a comic and a local radio DJ—over the crowd noise. But after her second drink, she started to find her tablemates fascinating. After her third drink, she started giggling riotously at some earnest story one of the young men was yelling into her ear, even though she didn’t understand a word he said. On the other hand, the humor might have come from the fact that he looked like Clay Aiken with short blonde hair but sounded like Snoop Dogg. When the bottle passed around again, Key gave her a warning nudge, but she defiantly pushed her glass up for a refill anyway. Snatching the glass, she rolled her eyes at him. Wasn’t he the one who had told her to get wild? Liquid from her glass splashed on the table, causing Key to jerk out of the way. Shaking his head, Key gave a little shrug and laughed.

When he asked her to dance she agreed with enthusiasm. He led her out to the raised, gleaming black dance floor in the middle of the room. At the end of that song they headed back to the table, but before she could sit down, the young white guy asked her to dance. After that she barely left the dance floor. When she wasn’t on it, she stood in one of the aisles between tables, rocking to the beat like a lot of other people.

Finally the rap artist was introduced. He and some backup dancers bounded onto the small stage and the audience went wild, surging to their feet with a roar of approval.

While music pounded a compelling undercurrent, the young man’s rough voice growled, demanded, confronted and worked the crowd. She was soon responding as raucously as anyone else. Everything seemed a little surreal. She had no idea why, but she got in a yelling match with a young girl over some man while a small crowd egged them both on.

Key dragged her out of the crowd before things got physical. “Let it go, Shortcake,” he said in a soothing voice.

She tried to pull her wrist free of his grasp. “But she called me a fat ‘ho’!” she complained. “Greased up ghetto girl can’t even speak Ebonics,” she added.

“Just let it go.” He kept pulling her.

Crystal relented but yelled a parting shot. “If you spent as much time in school as you did in the beauty shop, maybe you could talk English. At least you wouldn’t’ve wasted so much money!”

The girl came at her screaming and clawing, shiny ponytail swinging. Crystal would have stood her ground, but Key picked her up by the waist and swung her around him. “Let it go, I said!” He pushed her toward another part of the club.

“But she took my partner. I wan’ dance.”

“Who were you dancing with?”

Crystal put her hands on both sides of her head to steady the room and peered at the men nearby. “Don’ know,” she admitted after a short pause.

Key broke up laughing. “Okay, it’s time to go. Definitely.”

“But I wan’ dance,” she wailed. She threw her arms around his neck and wiggled her hips against him. “Ooh. Like that.” She grinned at him.

Key eased back a few steps. “We’ll dance at home.”

A blast of cold air outside made her gasp and choke. She registered that Key was annoyed with her for some reason; then he was pushing her into the back of a vehicle. When it moved they both began to sing, “Get on boarrrrd little children/Get on boarrrrrd little children/Get on boarrrrd little children/There’s room for many mooorrrre” at the top of their lungs until someone told them to shut up or get out. She must have dozed off for a short while after that because the next thing she knew, Key was dragging her from the car while trying not to stumble himself.

She stood upright and looked around.

“Hey. Thish not yo’ car.”

“It’s a cab,” he explained, pronouncing each word with care. “I’m in no condition to drive.”

Swaying, Crystal peered up into his face. “You drunk, Key Emerson?” she demanded suspiciously.

That cracked him up for some reason. They were both laughing helplessly when they stumbled up the stairs and into Key’s apartment.

“Hey.” Crystal looked around the room, which was decorated in black and cream. An oversized entertainment center housing an enormous television screen dominated the room.

“Thish—” She paused and made a conscious effort to speak clearly. “
This
is not my house.”

That had them collapsing on the soft cushions of the couch, cackling hilariously and holding onto each other.

They leaned back against the cushions, eyes closed, in a long, companionable silence.

Rational thought began to meander back into her brain. “Shonté sh’ be home by now,” she commented with a sigh.

“Nope, none of that. You’re completely off duty tonight,” he said.

She let the thought drift away. It was kind of nice to let go. She usually did the “mothering.” It was so good to be with Key. Of course she was half drunk. She smothered a weak giggle. She had laughed so much tonight that her stomach hurt.

She might have dozed off again, but was awakened when Key struggled to his feet.

“Ow, ow, ow,” he muttered, limping across the room.

“Wha-wha’s wrong?” she asked mildly alarmed.

“Little boy’s room.”

He vanished down the hallway and she sank back into a half stupor. But when he returned, still limping slightly, she was instantly solicitous.

“Your bur-shitis—” she hiccupped. “
Bur-si-tis
botherin’ you? Lem’ see.”

“I took some meds. Should kick in soon. And it’s tendonitis,” he corrected as he sat back down beside her.

“Tha’s what I said,” she muttered, confused.

“You said bursitis. Bursitis is for old folks.”

“And?”

He laughed. She wasn’t sure what it was about but relaxed back into easy silence. He extended his leg, propping his foot on the coffee table, and she began to massage the affected knee. He sank into the couch in contentment, closing his eyes in sleepy enjoyment.

Since Key’s injury, she had grown skillful at home treatment on the infrequent occasions when his knee bothered him. Ice packs and rest did the trick most of the time, along with some gentle massage.

“You are so good at this. I should marry you, Shortcake,” Key murmured.

She tilted her head to one side, trying to bring his face into focus. Things were still a little fuzzy. “Love you, too, baby,” she purred.

He grinned. “You don’t mean it. But it still feels damn good. I haven’t had a good rubdown in a long time.”

“
‘Course
I love you. You’re m’ bes’ friend.”

She continued to rub his knee and thigh muscles. Feeling sleepy, she laid her head onto his chest, hearing the slow hum of his breathing, feeling his arm draped over her shoulder.

“Hey, Key?”

“Yeah?”

“You really doing that abstinence thing?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just wondered.”

She stroked his leg more slowly, her eyes closed. Poor Key. No woman to touch him. No one to feel his strong hands on her body, the way he was rubbing her arm.

She caressed his thigh, snuggling against him to a more comfortable position. Her head was on his stomach now. He sighed and the rhythm of his hand on her arm changed. His thumb brushed the side of her breast in a way that awakened a response below the buzz of alcohol high. Key—her rock, her delight. She purred and arched her body to increase the pressure of his hand against her breast.

Just above her head, she heard a quick inhalation of breath.

“Ah, Shortcake baby, what you doing to me?” he asked with a shaky laugh.

And through the hazy fog in her brain, she became aware of the thickness between his legs so close to her cheek. Without opening her eyes, she smiled and deliberately rubbed her cheek against the bulge. With a gentle moan, Key spread his legs.

She was swept with a desire to sink deeper into his warmth, experience more of the sensuality. She absorbed the uneven rhythm of his breathing, the solid warmth of his thigh under her hand. Her blood surged and ebbed with the rhythm of his heartbeat, the scent of his clothes and of him.

His stomach next to her ear rumbled as he cleared his throat.

“Taylor, I think you’d better quit now.” His voice came out hesitant and husky.

Crystal was puzzled for a moment; then her breath caught with understanding. She lifted her head to stare at him. His expression was longing, regretful. And she knew she didn’t want to stop this—this thing that was building. Her and Key. Alone. Together.

“But,” her voice came out a whisper, “I like it.” She reached her hand tentatively toward his groin and the hidden power there that called to her with spellbinding appeal.

Key cleared his throat again, a harsh bark, and snatched his hand back from her arm. “Me, too. A little too much.” He spoke through clenched jaws.

She moved her hand again on his jean-clad thigh, up tantalizingly close to his manhood, spreading her fingers with slow enjoyment.

“Then why should we stop?” she spoke boldly. Her head was buzzing, whether from alcohol or excitement she didn’t know, didn’t care. It had been so long since she’d been with a man and this felt so good. This was Key, and he was all hers at the moment.

“I know there’s a damn good reason why we shouldn’t,” he whispered.

“Name one.”

He half groaned and half laughed, dropping his head back onto the couch cushion, thrusting his pelvis against her hand. “Baby, right now I can’t think of my own damn name.”

Some dark, deep, un-drunk part of Crystal’s mind shouted a warning that she’d regret this, that it was crazy. But she didn’t want to listen to that part. She burned for Key at the moment. She wanted to belong to him totally, to give in to every urge she’d ever repressed. This one night she was going to let go.

Crystal swung herself upright and straddled his lap. Key relaxed back, his eyes half-shut, grinning at her like some eager puppy. She began to unbutton his shirt. It was extremely soft. But not as soft as the dark skin beneath. The expanse of velvety skin captivated her avid gaze. She let her hands slide over his bulging shoulder muscles, traced a pulsing vein’s path from his neck down over his well-defined pecs into where it vanished in a mat of chest hair. She marveled that his anatomy could be so like hers and yet so unlike. Where she was soft and brown, he was hard and chocolatey. Where she was rounded, he was sculpted. Where she was smooth, he was feathered with whorls of hair. The exquisite miracle of his body almost brought tears to her eyes. Tenderly stroking him, Crystal felt as if she’d stepped into another world in which every nerve in her body pulsated with desire. She wanted to devour every ounce of him.

His chest heaved in great, irregular tremors. She drew the shirt open further to reveal the ripples of flesh banding his taut stomach. She dragged her hands downward, then spread her fingers to play with the ridges marking his ribs. Smooth skin, feverish to her touch. She closed her eyes to allow her other senses to savor the sensations while she stroked him up and down, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his body. She absorbed the heat building between her splayed legs, relished the sweet, hot breath against her face as he skimmed kisses across her cheek and throat.

Rough fuzz tantalized her palms as she swept her hands over his chest. Her fingers discovered the pebbly nubs of his nipples and she opened her eyes again to scrutinize with longing greed the nearly black aureoles surrounding each straining peak.
Hot sweet coffee.
The image drew her to taste it. In dreamlike slowness, she lowered her head, feeling her breath spread hot on his breast, opening her mouth wide to take in as much of his flesh as she could savor while the bud prodded her tongue like a sweet hard candy.