Between the Sheets (9781476775807) (30 page)

I eye them as they strut off—the two finest women up in this muhfucka, then make my way through the crowd.

Lydia smiles when she sees me approaching. “Oh, there he is.” She sassily struts over, titties bouncing freely, with her arms outstretched.

“What's good, beautiful?” I lean forward and wrap my arms around her, enveloping her into a friendly embrace, lifting her up off the floor and kissing her on the cheek.

She giggles. “Mar
Sell
, you're so lucky I'm already taken.”

It's a loaded statement. But I know she's referring to record labels.

“You aiight?”

She flashes me her pearly whites. “I'm great. Thanks.”

I don't acknowledge J-Smooth. I front like I don't see the muhfucka standing here.

“Oh, aiight. I wanted to congratulate you on another number one single, baby. You're doing your thing.”

She smiles. Thanks me. Then nervously shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

J-Smooth clears his throat. “What, you drop me from your label, and now wanna act like you don't know me.”

“Oh, damn. J-Smooth? Damn, man. I didn't even know that was you.” I laugh. “You standing there looking all incogneegro ‘n' whatnot. What's good with you?” I lean in, offering a fist to him. One of his cronies in his lil' entourage takes a step forward.

I narrow my eyes. “Yo, there a problem?”

He throws a hand up to stop his lapdog from advancing.

Muhfucka, I wish the fuck you would.

“Nah, we good,” J-Smooth says.

“Oh, aiight. Just checkin'.”

He reaches out and gives me dap. But for some reason the shit feels fake. But I'm cool with it. The muhfucka's pretty much on the verge of becoming a has-been, anyway, now that he's lost all of his endorsements and no one else in the industry is checking for him.

If he wants to be heard, or seen, he'll have to put out an independent project, or keep leeching off the spotlight of chicks like Lydia, too fucked up to peep he's only using them.

Lydia steps closer to J-Smooth. “Mar
Sell
, I hope to see you opening night at my concert at the Garden.”

I glance over at J-Smooth on the sly.
What the fuck?
I notice a tight lump over his left eye. And it looks like there's a bruise under his eye. But I can't be for certain.

Muhfucka was probably somewhere running his mouth.

“Damn, bruh, whose fist you run into?”

He scowls, touching the frame of his shades. “Oh, nah, nah; just some bullshit-ass squabble. Nothing major.”

But then something
major
saunters in, causing murmurs through the crowd and everyone to turn their heads, including Lydia and J-Smooth. It's Laila Reynolds—sexy as shit in a shimmering bronze mini and knee-high gladiator-style heels—on the arm of my boy Carlos in a tux, with his long, wavy hair slicked back. Both looking like they've been airbrushed to perfection.

Photographers swarm them, blinding them with flashing bulbs.

I shake my head, grinning.
This muhfucka here.

“Pussy-ass niggah,” one of J-Smooth's cronies, Leon, mumbles under his breath. Cat is about six one, two-thirty, eyeballing Carlos, like he's ready to get it in.

I can almost see the hairs on the back of Lydia's neck raise as she eyes Laila with what looks to be envy. As talented as they both are, she seems threatened by Laila's success. And J-Smooth seems fidgety all of a sudden, stretching and rolling his neck.

I open my mouth to call cat out for that slick shit just as Marika sidles up beside me. “You ready.”

I kiss Marika on the cheek; quickly letting dude's comment slide, then introduce her to Lydia. “Lydia, this is my wife, Marika. Marika, Lydia Miles.”

Lydia smiles. “Nice meeting you.”

“Oh, the pleasures all mine,” Marika says warmly. “I love your last album. I think I kept it in rotation for almost a month straight. Isn't that right, sweetheart?”

I nod absently, eyeing J-Smooth as he shoots glances over at Leon, who smirks.

“There's this bullshit-ass rumor going around that you're on the DL.”

I cut my eye back over at J-Smooth. I think to pull this muhfucka to the side to see if he's been coming outta his face sideways about me, but then decide the shit's not relevant. I'm good with who and what I am.

“Well, we better get going,” Lydia says briskly. “The show is about to start. It was great seeing you, Mar
Sell
.”

“Yeah, you too, beautiful.” I lean in and give her a kiss on the cheek. “Again, congrats on all of your success.”

She smiles, waves goodbye to Marika, as J-Smooth quickly grabs her hand and whisks her toward the auditorium.

My forehead creases as they walk off.

“Wow, that felt awkward,” Marika says, arching a brow. “What was that all about?”

“C'mon, let's go to our seats,” I say, taking her hand in mine. “It doesn't even matter.”

She squeezes my hand as we stroll down the red-carpeted aisle. I lean in her ear and tell her how beautiful she looks, and how much I love her.

She smiles, then whispers out the corner of her mouth. “I can't wait to fuck you.”

I groan low, letting my hand slide over her ass as we take our seats in the front row. I get settled in my seat, draping an arm along the back of Marika's chair. When I glance over my shoulder, I catch J-Smooth seated in the third row over in the next section, staring at me behind his shades. He gives me a head nod.

Carlos' voice replays in my head.
“I had to check this muhfucka for coming out of pocket. The muhfucka was talking real slick…”

“Niggah mad 'cause his shit got dropped…”

Marika

“Girrrrrl, so how was it?”

I dab the corners of my mouth with my linen napkin. “How was what?”

Jasmine scoffs. “Monaco, girl?” We're in Midtown finishing up an early dinner at Megu, a Japanese restuarant in the city. Unfortunately, I enjoy coming here more so for the décor and ambiance than its menu. The overly priced food is okay. But since Jasmine enjoys chic, trendy restaurants, here we sit.

Jasmine called me earlier stating she'd be in the city and wanted to meet for early drinks and a bite to eat. Besides, we haven't talked in a few weeks so catching up in person instead of over the phone is always nice.

I run a hand through my hair, swiping curls from my face. “We've been back over a week, and I'm already ready to go back. It was fabulous.”

“I'm so jealous.”

I wave her on. “Girl, please. You and…” My voice trails off. I squint. Take in the beautiful woman who has walked into the restaurant wearing a pair of skin-tight jeans and an off-the-shoulder blouse. I blink. “Oh, for the love of God!” I hiss looking over at the table she's being seated at in disbelief. I blink again as she has the goddamn audacity to sit directly facing in my direction. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?” Jasmine asks, glancing over her shoulder in the direction of my glare.

I shake my head. “Girl, nothing. Anyway…like I was saying, if you really wanted to go out to Monte Carlo, with all of Steve's connections, he would have made it happen. And you know Mar
Sell
could have gotten you seats.”

I take a deep breath. Will my eyes on Jasmine, instead of across the room, where I can feel this bitch's eyes on me.

Why the hell is this bitch here…? She has to be stalking me.

“I'm ready to get out of here.”

Jasmine gives me a confused look. “Why? Wait. You know her or something?”

Yeah. Real well. Marcel and I fucked her.
“Not really.”

Jasmine tilts her head. “Well, whoever she is. She must have really gotten under your skin. You should see your face.”

I glance up at one of the giant lamp pillars, willing myself in my seat. But when the bitch winks and gives me a four-finger wave, smirking, I snatch my napkin from off my lap, tossing it up on the table, and quickly standing up. “I'll be right back,” I say to Jasmine.

She eyes me as I stalk my way over to her table. “Hello, Marika,” she says, smiling. “Surprise seeing you here. You look wonderful.”

I cut through the niceties, getting right to the point. “What are you doing here? Following me?”

She laughs. “Oh, don't flatter yourself.” She glances around the restaurant, lowering her voice. “Yes, you were definitely good in bed. Not as good as my
papi
, though. But you're definitely in my top five Clit Lickers category. And you know how to work a strap-on like no other.”

I cringe.

“Still, last
I
checked, this was a public place, so why would
I
be following
you
?”

She tilts her head.

I place a hand up on my hip. “Well, that's what I'd like to know.”

“If I were going to
stalk
anyone, sweetie. I'd be stalking that fine-ass husband of yours. After all, he's the one with the
real
dick. And big at that.”

“You have some serious issues, hon.”

She glares at me. “I'm not your
hon
. So do us both a favor and run along or
you'll
be the one with the issues.”

I shoot her an incredulous look, trying to keep my tone even. “And what exactly is
that
supposed to mean?”

She flashes a smug smile, then tosses me a dismissive wave. “Look. I'm here to have a delicious meal and enjoy the ambiance. We're not friends, remember? Nor will we ever be. You made that perfectly clear. So go back over to your table. Leave me to my own dining experience. And stop letting your imagination get the best of you.”

I stare at her, hard. Then arch a brow. “Good day. Enjoy your meal.”

“You do the same,” she says acidly. Then she says, as I'm turning on my heel to walk away, “Tell my
papi
I said I miss him. Me and
mi coño
.”

The bitch starts laughing and it takes everything in me not to snatch her glass of water from off the table and toss it in her face. She smirks. “Relax,
mami
. I'm only teasing. He'll be
all
mine in time.”

My face flushes with anger. “In your fucking dreams,” I hiss.

“And, oh, what sweet dreams they are.”

My nostrils flare, indignation flashing in my glare. I walk off, annoyed; yet relieved she hadn't raised her voice at any point.

“What was that all about?” Jasmine asks, eyeing me the minute I return to our table. “Who is that?”

I huff, taking my seat and signaling for the waiter to bring the check. I clench my teeth. “Some psychopath
bitch
.”

She blinks. Shakes her head. “Wait a minute. Name-calling. Dropping the
B
-bomb at another woman. Oh, it must be serious. What's the deal?”

I pull out my compact. “I don't really want to talk about it.” I glide a fresh coat of lipstick over my lips, then snap my compact shut, tossing it back in my purse.

The bitch is eyeing me.

I glower over in her direction. Then roll my eyes.

“Where the fuck is our check,” I mutter.

“Ooh, now the
f
-bomb. Oh, she's really bad news, then. Do I need to take off my jewels and tie my hair up in a knot?” She starts sliding off her diamonds, slipping them into her purse.

I can't help but laugh. “Girl, no. She's annoyingly harmless.”

Jasmine glances back at her. “Well, who is she?”

I sigh. Then hold a finger up at her. “Not a word. But I think she's stalking me.”

“What? Why?” I pull out my wallet. Jasmine stops me. “Oh, no. My treat. Now tell me who this heifer in back of me is before I go over there and introduce her to a hometown ass whooping.”

“No, that won't be necessary.” I lean in and whisper, “She wants Mar
Sell.
”

“
Whaat?
Get out of here. And how do you know this?”

“Oh, she told me. The bitch was bold enough to call me at my office and ask me for permission to fuck him.”

I decide not to mention about our romp in the sheets with her.

“Ohmygod, that scandalous skank!” Jasmine exclaimed. “And you didn't drag her by the front of her hairline? Oh, hell no.”

“Shh!” I sweep my eyes around the restaurant to make sure no one has overheard Jasmine's outburst. “I don't need you broadcasting it to the world.”

“Girl, please. I wish a bitch would. These hoes today are downright treacherous.”

I shake my head. “Tell me about it. The bitch needs to go find her own man.”

“Well,” Jasmine says, reaching for the leather check binder when it's brought to our table, “at least there's a bright side to all this.”

I cock my head. Arch a brow. “Oh really? And what's that?”

“At least she asked if she could
fuck
him, instead of going behind your back.”

I buck my eyes. “Are you kidding me? Where they teaching that at?”

She shrugs. “Hey, I'm saying. You know how these trifling hoes are. They'll smile in your face while trying to screw your man. At least, she wanted permission.” She pauses, glancing at the bill, then sliding her Black Card in the sleeve, closing it.

“Well, trust me. She didn't get it. And…” I stop talking when the waiter returns to take the check. “I'm not about to hand over my man to
her
or any other woman.”

She wants to know what makes me think she's following me. I tell her about her showing up in Atlantic City at the conference.

“And now she's here.”

Jasmine reaches over and grabs my hand. “It could be another coincidence.”