“I am.” Tee-Tee pulled himself together.
“Now on to me, bitches. I think I’m in love,” Dylan shrilled.
“With who? Cruz?” Billie asked, surprised.
“Yes! I mean, like I’ve never felt this way before about any other guy except your brother, of course. But this shit right here, y’all, is deep. It’s like keep-the-baby-type love deep.”
“Oh, shit, you serious,” Tee-Tee perked up.
“I told you.”
“What’s so special about him?” Billie wanted to know.
“He’s so arrogant but in a good way. And I think I’m a little bit smarter than he is. You guys have no idea how good that makes me feel,” Dylan gushed.
“I can only imagine,” Billie said sarcastically. “Seriously, don’t you think you might be jumpin’ the gun here? Y’all only known each other five minutes. I personally feel like it’s not so much love that you’re feelin’ but the good dick that’s got you infatuated.”
“You may be right. All I know is I’m happy, and I haven’t felt this good in a looooong time,” Dylan stressed.
“I say go for it,” Tee-Tee encouraged her. “You only live once.”
“Thanks, luv.”
“Let me ask you this,” Billie said skeptically. “Can you honestly say that things between you and my brother are over for good?”
Dylan paused. She knew that she’d be hit with that question sooner or later but still wasn’t quite prepared to answer it.
“Yeah . . . I’ve finally come to the conclusion that what we had wasn’t meant to be,” she tried to convince herself.
“We’ll see,” Billie replied doubtfully.
After much debate, Dylan decided to give her first television interview since the whole sex-tape debacle. The backstage area of
The Wendy Williams Show
was filled with pandemonium. Stagehands and producers were feverishly running around everywhere. Dylan sat anxiously clutching her hands together tightly in the green room. For years, she’d dreamt of this moment. She was finally going to come face-to-face with one of her biggest idols, Mrs. Wendy Williams herself.
Dylan had even worn one of her best outfits in hopes that she’d be the first celebrity guest to receive a diva fan given out by the talk-show host, Wendy Williams. Homegirl was laid-back but cute in a blue jean buttonup with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt was tucked inside a black, sequined pencil skirt. And since Wendy was a shoenista like herself, she rocked one of the hottest pair of Louboutins she had. They were the simple yet classic nude platform pumps. They accentuated her bronze-colored legs perfectly.
“Miss Monroe,” the stage director poked her head inside, “it’s time.”
“Okay.” Dylan got up apprehensively. “Wish me luck,” she said to Cruz who accompanied her on the trip for moral support.
“You’re gonna do fine.” He kissed her tenderly on the lips.
Dylan savored his taste.
“Thanks, babe.” She stepped back and looked into the mirror, hoping her nude-colored lipstick hadn’t smeared.
“You straight,” he assured her.
Dylan just stared at him and smiled from ear to ear.
“I love you,” he admitted, feeling like it was the right time.
Dylan stopped dead in her tracks. Her mouth wanted to say, “I love you” back, but Billie’s words haunted her brain. Were they moving too fast? Were her feelings really love, or the newness of being in an uncomplicated relationship? Most important, could Dylan utter those three words without feeling like the other half of her that belonged to Angel wasn’t dying? Hoping that she’d be certain about her feelings soon, she told him that she loved him too and left the room. Cruz stared closely at the monitor and watched as Wendy announced Dylan to the audience. Right as her interview began, his cell phone rang. It was Ted, his agent.
“What’s up, Ted? You got good news for me?” Cruz answered energetically.
What he’d failed to tell Dylan was after his poor performance at the World Cup, Spain had opted not to renew his contract. For the last couple of months, Cruz and his agent had been doing their best to get him on another team, preferably the LA Galaxy. That way, he would be closer to Dylan.
“Sorry, man. All the teams that we discussed have passed.” Ted said regrettably.
“Fuck!” Cruz barked, pacing the room.
“I’m sorry, man. I tried,” Ted said sincerely.
“I know, so what now?” Cruz stood in one place.
“I suggest we hold off for a second and restrategize.”
“I agree,” Cruz sighed. “Look, I’m at a taping right now with my girl, so I’ll just give you a call later.”
“All right, I’ll call you back if anything changes.”
“A’ight.” Cruz hung up.
“That was sooooo freakin’ awesome!” Dylan shrilled with delight, rushing back into the room. “How’d I do?”
“Damn,” Cruz wiped his hand over his face, “I didn’t even get a chance to watch.”
“Why not?” Her smile faded.
“My agent just called.”
“And said what?” she quizzed.
“It’s nothin’. Look, you ready to go?” he asked with an attitude.
“Yeah,” Dylan said, caught off guard. “Let me just tell everyone thank you and I’ll be down.”
“A’ight, I’ll be in the car.” He walked past her abruptly.
Dylan grabbed her purse dumbfounded.
Did that really just happen?
she thought. Despite Cruz’s unexplainable change in demeanor, Dylan was determined not to let him or anyone else ruin her day. She’d gone through too much and come too far to let the devil win, so she held her head up high and left with a gigantic smile on her face.
“Baby girl got all the right weaponry.”
Mos Def, “Ms. Fat Booty”
20
Dylan was back on top. Her appearance on
The Wendy Show
had received rave reviews and was its highestrated episode in its history. Dylan’s honesty about her past and how she’d changed her life resonated with fans worldwide. With the general public back on her side, the network decided to put her show back in production, and it became the number-one show in its time slot. Baby Mason was crawling and eating baby food. Dylan couldn’t have been happier.
Things between Dylan and Cruz, however, had been less than perfect after their trip to New York. When they talked on the phone, their conversations seemed forced. Cruz acted like he didn’t even want to talk to her half the time. They barely spent any time together and when she did get to see him, they either sat in silence or had mind-numbing sex. Although the sex was amazing, the whole situation was getting tiresome quickly. She cared for him and wanted to see things work, but the secret he was carrying around was tearing them apart. Wanting to see his face, she picked up the phone and called him.
“Hello?” Cruz answered after a couple of rings.
“Hey,” she said softly, “you busy?”
“Nah, just lying down watching television,” he said lazily. “Why? What’s up?”
“I just wanted to see if you wanted to come over.”
“I’ma fall back tonight and stay in the crib,” Cruz replied with no kind of hesitance.
“Okay. I’ll just talk to you later then,” Dylan said hurt.
“A’ight. I’ll call you.” Cruz hung up feeling a ton of guilt.
He wanted to spend time with her ’cause he loved her, but the shit with his career was fucking him up. Soccer was his life, and without it, he didn’t know what his place in the world would be. In dire need of fresh air, Cruz threw on his coat and drove to Club Amnesia to meet up with his pot’nahs.
In front of the club he valeted his car. The chicks in line couldn’t take their eyes off him as he headed toward the door. He was thuggishly handsome in a black Chicago Bulls cap, all-black wafer shades, unbuttoned stone-washed denim shirt with a black T-shirt on underneath, black-fitted jeans, and Deion Sanders sneakers. Not one to don a lot of jewelry, Cruz wore a simple diamond necklace and a diamond pinky ring.
Receiving special treatment because of his star status, he entered the club without paying or showing an ID. As Cruz walked inside, the dark atmosphere hit him instantly. The only source of light came from the neon lights on the ceiling which were concealed by sheer fabric. Amnesia was off the chain that night. Women of all different sizes, shapes, and persuasions were in the house.
Ready to let off some steam, Cruz posted up in the VIP section with his boys and a slew of scantily clad women dressed in spandex and faux leather. Bottles of Nuvo, Grey Goose, and Patrón had already been ordered. Cruz leaned back on the couch with his legs cocked open and took one of the bottles of Goose to the head. Then out of nowhere, he locked eyes with a thick redbone.
She was built like a stallion. Dressed in a silver metal, backless halter top and black cotton booty shorts that kissed her hips and blessed her ass cheeks, she stepped onto the mini stage located in the center of the VIP section. Never breaking eye contact with him, she wrapped her fingers around the pole and started to do a sexy dance where she rolled her hips in a suggestive, circular motion.
Hypnotized by her thighs, Cruz took another swig from the bottle. Then the girl began to bounce her ass like she was in a Luke video. From where he was sitting, Cruz could see the crease of her butt cheeks. Her ass reminded him of Kim Kardashian. Suddenly, within a blink of the eye, the chick had leaped onto the pole. Next, she slowly slid down it with her legs spread wide open.
The sight of her fat pussy print had his dick on hard. His homeboys immediately pulled out a stack of dough. Dollar bills poured over her body like rain. But money wasn’t on the girl’s mind. She wanted Cruz in the worst way. Stepping down off the stage, she glided her way in between his legs.
Cruz took off his shades and glared into her eyes. This girl was risky business. She was the type of broad that, if given the opportunity, would suck the skin off your dick. The bad boy in him wanted to indulge in the nasty fantasies that played out in his head, but flashes of Dylan’s face entered his mind. He couldn’t play her out like that, especially after just professing his love to her.
Cruz watched closely as the redbone turned around so her ass could face him. After that, she sat down on his lap, her plump ass grinded hard against his stiff dick. Mesmerized by her moves, he thought about pulling a Lil Wayne and being single for the night. Dylan never had to know. He could take the chick into the bathroom and get one off, then cancel her ass like Nino.
But is busting a nut really enough to jeopardize my relationship with Dylan?
he thought. While Cruz contemplated right and wrong, he had no idea that photographers had been taking his picture the entire time. Missing his baby, he tapped the girl on the thigh and signaled for her to get up. Disappointed, she watched as he told his boys he was about to shake.
Drunk, Cruz stumbled out of the club and to his car. Before he knew it, he was in front of Dylan’s crib. After what seemed like a five-minute walk, he made it to her door and rang the doorbell. Knocked out, Dylan jumped out of her sleep when she heard the sound of someone ringing her doorbell repeatedly.
“What the fuck?” she said, getting out of bed.
Dressed in only a T-shirt and panties, she headed to the door with a wooden bat in her hand.
“Who is it?” she asked, standing in a batting stance.
“It’s me, baby, open the door,” Cruz’s voice slurred.
“What are you doing here?” She put down the bat. “I thought you were staying home.” She unlocked the door.
“I wanted to see you.” He hugged her, engulfing her sweet scent.
“Are you drunk?”
“Shhhhhh.” He placed his index finger up to her mouth, silencing her. “Don’t tell nobody,” he grinned.
“Ugh, you smell like peanuts and gasoline.” She tuned up her face, fanning her nose with her hand.
“Just come lie down with me, baby.” He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs.
In her room, Cruz plopped down on the bed fully dressed. Dylan didn’t even get a chance to pull the covers back on his side of the bed. Rolling her eyes, she sat down on the edge of the bed and took off his coat and shoes.
“That’s why I love you,” he confessed. “You make sure I’m straight. Come here.” He pulled Dylan on top of him. “You gon’ give me some?” he asked, rubbing her ass.
“Yeah, nasty.” She straddled him, then kissed and licked his neck.
Cruz ran his hand up her back, pulling her shirt off along the way. Dylan’s full breasts dangled in front of his face. He wanted to place them in his mouth, but the alcohol had taken full control and before either of them knew it, he’d fallen asleep.
“Ain’t this about a bitch. Cruz!” She shook him. “Wake up!” She shook him again but still got no response. “I don’t believe this shit.”
Dylan got off of him and put her shirt back on. Since she wasn’t about to get any, she slid underneath the covers and drifted off to sleep as well.
Dylan got up the next morning around ten and checked her e-mails and favorite blog sites. This was a part of her daily routine. To her surprise, the cover story on Mediatakeout in bright bold red letters read: “Javier Cruz Caught In The Club Creepin’.” Dylan instantly clicked on the headline. The next page revealed several photos of Cruz in the club with slutty women surrounding him. One picture in particular that really caught her attention was of a curvaceous woman who looked like she could be found in a Gucci Mane video, giving him a lap dance.
WWED! What would Elin do?
Dylan pondered. Livid, she headed over to the bed and shook Cruz so hard that he jumped out of his deep slumber.
“What you doing?” he questioned, pissed.
“So while I was at home last night missing you, thinking you were at home, you up in the club chillin’ wit’ a bunch of raggedy bitches?”
“What are you talkin’ about?” He sat up, placing his feet on the floor.
“Don’t play stupid! The shit is all over the Internet! Got me over here lookin’ like a Got-damn dummy!”
“It ain’t even like that. I just got a lot on my mind,” he said, still visibly sleepy and drunk.
“Shit, I can’t tell.” Dylan folded her arms.
“Dylan, I do. I got a lot going on right now.” Cruz’s head was spinning.
“You got so much going that you gotta have bitches dancing on you?” Dylan yelled, outraged.
“I got drunk,” he yawned. “We was just partying and shit got out of hand.”
“Whateva.” She flicked her wrist.
“Look, come here.” He grabbed her hand and made her sit down on the bed.
“I didn’t know how to tell you this ’cause I was embarrassed, but Spain didn’t renew my contract and nobody else wanna pick me up. The shit been fuckin’ wit’ my head, and I ain’t wanna come across as a fuckin’ bum to you.”
Dylan shook her head and inhaled deeply, unmoved.
“You know what? This is the same ole shit all over again. I understand how you feel. For a minute there, I thought my career was over, but I never took that out on you or treated you different. I’ve been with somebody who constantly pushed me away and only dealt with me when they felt like it, and I’m not doing that again for you or nobody else. And besides that, you suppose to be my man, but you all in the club with another female on yo’ lap. What kind of shit is that?” Dylan stared at him feeling as if she’d been backslapped.
Cruz sat silently knowing that nothing he said would make things better.
“So,” Dylan inhaled deeply, “I think for a little while we need to take a break.”
“You for real?” he said astonished.
“Yes, before you can be the man I need you to be, you have to be happy with yourself.” Dylan hated to be blunt, but it was time out for playin’ games.
“If that’s what you want. You’re right. I fucked up.”
Cruz put on his shoes and coat. Standing before her, he gazed deeply into her eyes and said, “You know I love you, right?”
“I guess.”
“I’ma call you later.” He kissed her sweetly on the forehead.
“Mmm-hmm,” Dylan rolled her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for the phone call.
The 1980s pop sensation Vanity 6 hit “Nasty Girl” thumped through the speakers inside of Tee-Tee and Bernard’s bedroom. Their room was like a playland full of fantasy and debauchery. On the wall behind their bed was a colossal-size mural of a woman with wild hair. The comforter on their bed was a full-body-sized portrait of the same woman. In front of their bed was a black-and-white checkerboard-designed fireplace with pink logs that glowed in the dark. They even had a life-size horse, mannequin, and DJ booth in their room.
Tee-Tee sat at his hot-pink vanity table putting on his face. There was an important staff meeting at work that day that he had to look his absolute best for. Putting a splash of pink blush on his cheek, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Bernard came out of the master bath dressed in nothing but a towel. Since their tiff at Nordstrom’s, Tee-Tee had been giving him the silent treatment.
“You look cute.” Bernard went in for a kiss, but Tee-Tee turned his face.
“You sure you don’t want me to put the chain on the door, Mr. Clark, or better yet, draw up the blinds?” Tee-Tee sneered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that yo’ ass is afraid to kiss me in public ’cause you’re ashamed of who you are. And before you say a damn thang . . . yes, I went there.” Tee-Tee rolled his eyes.
“You take it there all the time. That ain’t nothin’ new, and FYI,
I’m
the one who chin checks niggas on the regular when they look at us crazy or when my mama refers to you as ‘my friend.’”
“That’s different. I can’t fight yo’ mama. I mean, I could, and Lord knows sometimes I want to—”
“You can stop now,” Bernard warned.
“Whateva. Sometimes you wanna fight her too.” Tee-Tee couldn’t help but laugh.
“This shit is stupid. Buying some ridiculous, overpriced shoes ain’t a defining moment in our life that needs to be sealed wit’ a kiss. To me, that’s a bunch of extra shit.” Bernard dried off.
“If you think this is about some shoes, then you must be dumber than you look. This is about you being too afraid to acknowledge me in public as your wife! There is always gonna be people out there that judge or call us names, but you know what, Bernard? We can’t stop living because they’re ignorant. All we can do is live each day to the fullest and cherish every moment that we have together. What I tell you when we got married? It’s us against the world, baby. But I can’t live for both of us.” Tee-Tee got up and left Bernard there to ponder his words.
“I got another man but he ain’t like you.”