Advertising for Love (5 page)

“Faster,” Aisha whispered, and Greg’s hands made their way down to her hips and held them firmly. With strength and power, he rammed himself into her. Aisha held on tighter as she took in his entire cock, groaning with each of Greg’s thrusts. The intensity and speed increased, rocking the bed back and forth and making the headboard bang noisily against the wall.
 
Orgasm number two caught her by surprise. It started between her legs and then radiated up and down her body. Powerless to stop her convulsions, she could only sigh as the waves of pleasure overtook her. As they began to subside, Greg’s body shook with his own orgasm. He grunted for a few moments, his firm, brown chest only inches from hers. With one hand, she stroked it as he came, until he finally rolled off of her, collapsing onto the bed.

Aisha couldn’t speak. She struggled to catch her breath, and sweat dripped off her body. Every pore tingled. She could hear Greg’s belabored breathing slow down next to her.

“I told you that you had number two in you,” he said with a voice hoarse from exertion.
 

Aisha stared at the ceiling. “I didn’t believe it was possible.”

Greg inhaled deeply and then exhaled, now in control. “What I can’t believe is that a beautiful woman like you sometimes has sex with a man and doesn’t come at all.
 
I hear that all the time. How can you let men be so selfish?”

Aisha shrugged and glanced over at him. “I don’t know. Sometimes you don’t really feel like it. Sometimes you’re in a hurry, and he won’t quit bugging you so you just give him some so he’ll be happy. Sometimes he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, so you just encourage him to finish so you can do something else.”

“Do something else?” Greg raised his eyebrows. “Like what?”

“Like watch TV. Or get something to eat. Or go to sleep.”

Greg laughed heartily. “Really? Watching TV is better than having sex?”

“Sometimes, yes. It depends what’s on.” The echoes of their laughter filled the room before they both fell silent. Aisha took a deep breath, contentment washing over her. She then glanced at the glowing clock on her nightstand. Her five hours were almost over.

“Okay, so there really is no way to tactfully say this, so I’m just going to ask. How much?”

Greg simply looked at her. He said nothing. For a moment, Aisha wondered if she’d offended him in some way. The expression on his face, however, was not one of anger. In fact, he seemed a little nervous.

He finally spoke. “Um, actually.” He paused and looked away. “Um, please don’t think this is a line or anything, but I would really rather have your phone number instead. I’d like to take you out on a date. I mean, like, a real one.” He looked back at her. “I completely understand if you say no. I mean, this is rather unusual. And honestly, I’ve never asked a client for her phone number before. Actually, I could lose my job for doing this.”

Aisha blinked in shock, but the expression on his face was sincere. She thought about what he was proposing. She had to admit to herself that she’d had a great time with him—even beyond the sex. Greg’s charm and intelligence had easily won her over, not to mention his handsome face and chiseled body. But he was an escort. Women paid him to take them out. And to have sex with him.

“I’m sorry.” Greg’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Asking for your number was really inappropriate. I should go.” He began to get out of the bed.

“No, wait.” Aisha touched him on the shoulder. “I’ll give you my number. I would love to see you again.”

Greg’s smile lit up the dim room. “Great.”

They both got dressed and exchanged numbers. Greg promised to call the next day; Aisha found herself hoping he would. As she closed the door behind him, she sighed. “I hope I’m not making a big mistake.”

Chapter Five

Around 11:00 a.m. the next day, as Aisha pored over a report in preparation for Monday’s meeting, her cell phone rang.

“Are you hungry?” The sound of Greg’s voice took her back to the previous night’s activities. Activities she wanted to repeat.

“I could definitely eat. What are you proposing?”

“Only the best fish and grits in Chicago. Can you be ready in half an hour?”

“Absolutely.”

Greg pulled up in front of her building exactly thirty minutes later. The black Audi purred silently as Aisha slid down onto the leather seats.
Nothing is going to fall off this car and go rattling down the highway
.

“Nice car. I didn’t notice it last night.”

“Thank you.” Greg flashed his perfect smile, leaned over and kissed her. “You look beautiful.”

His kiss ignited a spark of desire within her, but she suppressed it and simply said, “Thank you. You’re looking mighty good yourself.” And he was. His jeans fit him perfectly, and his leather jacket and sunglasses were stylish, yet unpretentious. “Where are we going?”

Greg pulled out of the driveway and turned the car west. “Have you ever been to Rita Mae’s Cafe?”

“No. I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Well,”—he glanced over at her—“she serves some of the best down-home cooking in the city.”

“Okay. I’ll be the judge of that. I’ve had some pretty good meals in my life.”

“Ah, but you haven’t had Rita Mae’s. You’ll love it.” As the car cruised through the city, Aisha and Greg laughed and joked about music, movies and politics. The lake fell away behind them, and the tall high rises were replaced by red brick six-flats and quiet bungalows as they drove through the empty Sunday afternoon streets. Aisha was having so much fun she barely noticed when Greg stopped the car.

“Are we here?” The street was lined with abandoned buildings and dilapidated cars.

“We are.” They got out, and in front of them stood a small, storefront restaurant. The name “Rita Mae’s Cafe” was scrawled in black marker on a poster board perched at an angle in the window. Greg opened the door for her and they stepped inside. Almost every table was filled. Laughter and loud, joyous conversations bounced off the walls, and the smell of bacon, biscuits and other deliciousness wafted through the room.

“Hey, sugar.” The woman at the front counter greeted Greg. “I didn’t see you last week. What you been up to?”

“Oh, I had to work, LaDonna. How’ve you been?”

“Good.” She glanced briefly at Aisha. “Morning’s been busy, as usual, but I think your table is available.”

“Great.”

LaDonna weaved her way through the tightly packed tables and led them to a small, rickety metal two-seater by the window. She placed the menus down in front of them. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks,” Greg replied. He took off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. His short sleeve maroon T-shirt showed off his muscular arms and his broad chest. Aisha found herself hungry for more than just food. “Everything is good here, but I highly recommend the fish and grits.”

“That sounds good to me.” Aisha scanned the laminated card. The menu was not extensive, but it did hit on the down-home favorites—biscuits and gravy, pancakes, ham and eggs. Aisha’s mouth watered. “How did you know about this place?”

“I grew up not far from here. We’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

“Ah, so you’re from the West side.”

His eyes twinkled. “I am. Is that a problem?”

“Nope. I have no problem with that.”

“Hey, Greg! Missed you last week.” The waitress, a woman in her fifties, grinned broadly at him.

“Yeah, I had to work. Patrice, this is Aisha. Aisha, Patrice.”

“Nice to meet you, honey.” She winked at her. “It’s nice to finally see Greg in here with someone. He’s too damn good looking to be eating by himself all the time. The usual?”

“Yes, ma’am, and make it two please.” He smiled at Aisha. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”

Patrice scribbled the order down on her pad. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“All right.” Patrice shoved the pad into the front pocket of her apron. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks, Patrice,” Greg said as she walked away. He turned back to Aisha. “So, am I to assume, then, that you’re a South sider?”

“You would be assuming correctly. Is that a problem?”

“No. Just so long as you don’t think that everyone from the West side is a thug and a gangbanger.”

“Ha! No, I don’t think that. The South side definitely represents when it comes to thugs and gangbangers. In fact, I think we were the only ones on my block to actually graduate from high school.”

“I hear that.” Patrice returned with their coffee. Aisha watched the fragrant steam rise from her mug. She took a sip and found it strong and delicious. “You don’t take anything in your coffee?” Greg asked.

“No, I like it black.” Greg raised one eyebrow. Aisha paused, the mug halfway to her lips, and laughed. “Okay, insert really bad sexual joke here.”

Greg chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your face said everything.” Her cell phone buzzed, and she reached into her purse and pulled it out. The email icon was flashing. “Excuse me for one second.”
 

She tapped the screen and a message from Bill popped up. “Do you have any numbers for a fifteen-second spot?” it read. Aisha smiled slightly and typed a quick response. “Yes. I’ll email another rate sheet to you shortly.” She hit send and dropped her phone back into her purse.
 

“Sorry about that. A client.”

“Contacting you on a Sunday?”

“Yes, I’m trying to convince him to add a few TV spots to his ad campaign.” She picked up her mug and took another sip.

“Do you think he will?”

“Yes, I do. I can be rather…persuasive.”

“I see.” His full lips curled upward before taking another sip. “A woman who knows what she wants and goes after it.” He winked. “Very sexy.”

“What can I say?” They locked eyes for a moment. Her phone rang, and she pulled it back out. It was Tanya. Aisha sent the call to voicemail and turned the ringer off. She’d give her the full report later.

“Boyfriend this time?”

She snorted. “No. Actually, it was my friend who hooked me up with your…um…company.”

“Ah. And now she’s calling you for the morning after play-by-play.”

Aisha smirked. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“Well, I hope the report is favorable.”

“It most definitely is.”

“Here you go.” Patrice set down two plates overflowing with fried catfish filets and piping hot grits.

“Wow, this looks great.” Aisha grabbed the butter and put some on her grits. “You may have been right in your assessment of the food in this establishment.”

“Oh, I was right.” Greg sprinkled hot sauce on his fish. “Best kept secret in town. I’m telling you.”

The fish flaked easily under her fork, and when she took a bite, the crispy, spicy flavor surprised her.

“Good?”

“Fantastic. Hey,”—Aisha sipped her coffee before continuing—“I wanted to thank you for saving my ass last night with your whole culinary school thing. I hadn’t come up with any cover story. So thanks.”

“It wasn’t a story.”

Aisha raised her eyebrows. “You really were an investment banker?”

“Yes.”

“And you really went to culinary school?”

“Yes.”

Aisha paused. “Wow.”

“What? Is that so hard to believe?”

“Oh, no.” Aisha leaned forward. “It’s just that—”

“Greg, baby!” The greeting of a tiny woman cut Aisha off. Her white hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun and covered in a hairnet. She extended her thin arms. Greg stood up, leaned down and hugged her gently.

“Hey, Auntie Rita.”

“We missed you last week.” Her watery eyes looked at him affectionately.

“I know. I’ve been hearing it from everyone. I had to work last week.”

Rita patted Greg on the side of his face. “You work too much, baby. You need to take it easy every once in a while.”

Greg grasped Rita’s boney hand and squeezed it between both of his. “I’ve been saying the same thing to you for ages. When are you going to retire?”

Rita took her hand back and smoothed down the front of her apron. “Now you know I can’t retire. I got no one to take over the restaurant. I’ve told you that.”

Greg sighed. “I know. Still, I wish you’d take it easy. Go on a vacation or something.”

Rita laughed sharply and looked at Aisha. “Who’s your friend, baby?”

“This is Aisha. Aisha, this is Rita Mae Parsons. She’s the culinary genius behind that great dish you are eating.”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Parsons. The food is delicious.”

“Oh please, baby, call me Auntie Rita.” She grasped Aisha’s hand and squeezed firmly. “Glad you like the food. Eat up. Enjoy yourself. Nice to meet you.” Auntie Rita smiled at Greg and patted him on the shoulder before heading back through the restaurant.

“Okay, I’m sold.” Aisha continued to devour her breakfast. “This is a great place.”

“Told you.”

They ate in silence for a few moments. Aisha relished the hearty food and the warm, vibrant atmosphere. The walls were cluttered with an eclectic mix of colorful artwork and framed photographs. Some were of people, and others seemed to be pictures of the neighborhood in better times. Tree-lined streets, immaculately kept lawns, white-washed storefronts and smiling people all hung above the heads of chatty diners. Aisha watched as Auntie Rita circulated, greeting patrons, giving hugs and laughing heartily. She sighed.