Nobody's Girl (17 page)

“You know what? Fuck this.” Farrah threw her fork on the table and stormed out of the restaurant.

“Yeah, go ahead. Run away like you did earlier today. So mature of you to run away from your problems. At least I handle mines!” Mills yelled out for her and the entire restaurant to hear.

 

 

For the second time in one day, Farrah took a cab. She was disappointed that she'd put herself in that predicament. She felt like such an idiot and couldn't wait to get home so she could cry out her emotions. She didn't want to start hysterically crying in the car and have the driver look at her like she was crazy. Every second that passed she felt suffocated. One more minute in that taxi and she was sure to explode. She hated that every time she was around Mills he brought out the absolute worst in her. He was annoying and self-centered as hell. Farrah was over him and his shenanigans.

All she wanted was to be happily married to him. But she'd attempted to make it work and failed. It was sad to face, but Farrah and Mills were done. She'd finally had enough. When they pulled up to her place, Farrah didn't even wait for the driver to tell her how much she had to pay. She took out a hundred-dollar bill, gave it to the man, and hurriedly got out of the cab.

“You forgot your change!” the driver screamed out of the passenger window.

“Keep the change!” Farrah screamed over her shoulder, as she entered her apartment.

“How was the date, girl?” London came out of her room, eating a bowl of ice cream.

“Fuck Mills!” Farrah stomped up the steps. “And fix me a bowl of ice cream! It's about to be a tears and a Ben and Jerry's kinda night!”

–
Sevyn Streeter, “It Won't Stop”

 

Going to the BET Hip Hop Awards in L.A. was a much-needed distraction from the turmoil Farrah had back at home. Working always took her mind off her troubles. It was 4:00 in the afternoon. The red carpet was in full effect. Hip-hop's elite was there. Everybody, including Lil Wayne, Nicki Minaj, Kendrick Lamar, Diddy, were working the carpet.

All of Farrah's clients were styled to perfection. She'd pulled the best of the best for each of them. 2 Chainz finally had a toned-down, fashion-forward ensemble that accentuated his height and physique. Farrah gave Meek Mill and Wale both a hard-edged, sleek and sexy look. The reporters and photographers were all over them, clamoring to get an interview and a picture. Farrah was over-the-moon proud.

She'd done it again. All the hard work she'd put in was a success. All three rap stars wanted to work with her again. As the men went down the press line, Farrah stood over to the side, ready to touch up their looks at a moment's notice. Out of nowhere the crowd of adoring fans in the pit went nuts. Farrah was deafened by ear-splitting screams. Someone huge had arrived.

Farrah wondered if it was Jay-Z. If it was she was sure to faint. He was her favorite rapper but it wasn't Hov. It was none other than the West Coast rapper himself, J.R. Farrah's mouth immediately went dry and her palms began to sweat. A rush of heat washed over her body as she watched him from afar. She'd thought she saw him at his best before, but that night J.R. took simple sexiness to a whole other level.

For the first time he didn't don his usual all–black-and-white attire. This time he opted for a deep purple Salvatore Ferragamo V-neck sweater. The sweater had a black-lined pocket on the top right area of the chest. The sleeves were slightly rolled up and three platinum bracelets hung off of his wrist. The rest of his outfit consisted of a crisp new pair of gray-fitted jeans and white, gray, and black Gucci high tops. A gray-and-white Gucci print scarf wrapped around his neck and Gucci silver-rimmed glasses completed the Godlike look. His nappy box was freshly cut with three parts on the side of his temple.

J.R. looked so good that Farrah wanted to run over and lick his face.
Maybe I should've gone to L.A. to see him,
she thought. That thought quickly went out the window when a hot and sexy woman stepped out of the SUV behind him.
Who the fuck is that?
Farrah wondered, screwing up her face. The chick was fuckin' gorgeous and had a body that killed. Her body reminded Farrah of the famous stripper and Drake's ex-girlfriend, Maliah.

The girl had small breasts, a slim waist, round hips, and a fat ass. The bitch was bad. Farrah instantly felt some type of way. J.R. wasn't her man, but deep down she felt like he was hers. She didn't want to see him with anyone else. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case because there he was, making his way down the carpet with the beautiful woman. As J.R. got closer, Farrah situated herself and made sure she was on point. She wouldn't be caught dead slipping in front of J.R. As Farrah adjusted her top, out of nowhere one of the reporters shouted her name.

“Farrah! How does it feel to be reunited with J.R.?”

Before she could even respond, all the other reporters recognized her and started yelling out questions as well. Farrah was mortified. She was there to work, not be on display. She wanted to run and hide, but she couldn't walk off and leave her clients behind. Farrah did what she thought best and pretended to be deaf. J.R. looked over his shoulder and spotted Farrah off to the side, cringing in embarrassment.

He felt sorry for her. This was all his fault. She hadn't asked to be kissed. If he hadn't ran on impulse and kissed her on stage, none of this would've ever happened. Every bit of him wanted to race over and comfort her, but he couldn't. Acknowledging her on any level would only make it worse for both of them, so he continued down the red carpet and acted as if she didn't exist.

He decided the best thing for him to do was get out of sight before reporters swarmed him and this whole scenario became any bigger than it was.

“J.R! How does it feel to see Farrah Mills again?” One reporter asked.

“Who is this mystery woman with you, J.R.?” another reporter yelled out.

“C'mon,” J.R. said as he hurriedly grabbed his date and walked inside the arena. He was in no mood to answer any questions.

Lizzy was beaming from ear to ear. She was enjoying every minute of the event so far. She couldn't believe she was out with J.R. and in such a public way. Her moment had finally arrived for her to be recognized as J.R.'s woman. She was especially relishing the fact that Farrah had finally seen them together. She had read all about what had happened between her and J.R. in Paris, so she knew exactly who Farrah Mills was. And she also knew if Farrah ever tried to come at her man she'd be ready for it. There was no way she was gonna just sit around and let some bitch walk in on her territory.

 

 

The official after party for the Hip Hop Awards was hosted by the Game at club Dream and was in full swing. The club was filled to capacity. People were shoulder to shoulder and turned up, except for Farrah. All she wanted was to go back to the hotel and go to sleep, but her clients insisted that she come out with them. She couldn't turn them down because it would be bad for business, so she put on her business face and went. Just because she attended the party didn't mean she was enjoyng herself, though.

Farrah couldn't escape the shitty mood she was in. She been alone in L.A. for a few days and loneliness was starting to seep in. She missed her friends and calling Mills wasn't an option since they weren't speaking. Farrah missed having a man by her side. She missed the masculine touch and their hypnotic smell. Being alone was rough. Fuck that, it was unbearable.

It was bad enough she had to sit through the entire award show and watch J.R. laugh and smile in another bitch face. Farrah wished she could crawl under a rock and die. Her life was in shambles and the second J.R. walked into the building with the big booty bandit, Farrah's life got worse. J.R. and his whole crew mobbed Club Dream and instantly created a movie. They all headed up to VIP and ordered bottles of Ace of Spades, Cîroc, and Moët.

Farrah sat at the bar and took another shot of tequila.
This night is a wrap,
she thought. She would not torture herself and add to her misery by staying a second longer. Nope, it was time for her to go. Farrah picked up her clutch purse and walked up to the VIP section to say good-bye to her clients, but when she approached the steps who else but J.R. was standing at the top. She looked up and their eyes locked. As she looked into his eyes something strange took her over. She suddenly became tired of pretending that she didn't want him, that she didn't want to savor the sweet taste of his tongue or hear the tone of his deep, raspy voice in her ear.

Every part of her craved him. She no longer gave a single fuck about how Mills would feel or what the gossip rags would say.
Just make sure whatever you decide, you're happy
, resonated in her mind. That was what J.R. had said to her the last time they spoke and he was absolutely right. It was time for Farrah to live for herself and make herself happy. With all of the confidence and liquid courage running through her body, Farrah ran up the stairs toward J.R., grabbed him by the collar, and planted her lips on his. She didn't care that his date was standing right next to him or that all eyes were on them.

J.R. was hers and everybody would know it. J.R. was completely caught off guard by Farrah's forward behavior, but welcomed her soft lips. As soon as their lips met any awkward feeling was erased. When the two of them came together it was like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

She had no idea that the entire day she had been the only person on his mind. Every time he laughed or looked at Lizzy he secretly envisioned that it was Farrah he was sharing those moments with. He felt bad for dragging Lizzy into this, but Farrah was his baby and he didn't give a damn if anyone had a problem with it. After what seemed like an eternity, Farrah came up for air, took him by the hand and said, “Let's go.” J.R. didn't hesitate to follow.

Lizzy could not beleive Farrah had the nerve to just walk up to J.R. and kiss him like that. She wanted to react, but it was like the shock of it all had her frozen in place. When she finally reacted, it was too late and J.R. was already down the stairs walking hand in hand with Farrah. Never in a million years did she think he would ever dog her out like that. Even though they had never discussed what their status was, what they had between them was special. She felt like the biggest idiot just standing there alone. Her bewilderment quickly turned into anger the more she thought of how J.R. played her like that in front of everybody. But if he wanted to play games like that, she was gonna give him the best game of his life.

 

 

A while later Farrah and J.R. were at his house. Rapid, thunderous rain had begun to pour from the sky. By the time they made it inside they both were drenched. Farrah didn't care. She felt alive. She felt free for the first time in months. She wanted to dance. She wanted to run wild in the streets. If she could she would've stayed outside in the rain and let God's blessing pour down upon her.

But this wasn't a movie: This was real life and her ass wasn't trying to catch a cold. Instead, she stood shivering inside J.R.'s massive living area while he grabbed them both towels and dry clothes. Now that they were alone and her buzz had somewhat subsided, Farrah was a nervous wreck. All of the gumption she'd mustered back at the club had fallen to the wayside.
What you are going to do if he tries to have sex with you?
she wondered.
Are you ready to give him some? If you take it there you can't take it back. You and Mills will be over for good. Okay, bitch stop it. Just go with the flow,
she convinced herself. If Farrah kept on questioning herself she was sure to throw up.

“Here you go,” J.R. tossed her a warm towel.

“Thank you.” Farrah patted her face dry.

“Your place is beautiful,” she said, admiring his view.

Upon entry, Farrah was in awe of J.R's private estate. He had a beachfront home in Laguna Beach, California. The home was surrounded by lush green gardens. It possessed a resort- style pool and spa and had its very own private staircase leading down to a beautiful secluded beach and cove. J.R. had six spacious bedrooms and seven and a half bathrooms. Endless walls of glass, generously scaled rooms, and correlated indoor-outdoor living were highlights of the impeccable hideaway. Additional features of the home included a gourmet chef kitchen, an executive office, a home gym, and elevator.

“Thank you. Here, you can put this on.” J.R. handed her one of his Keith Haring OBEY T-shirts.

“It's raining hard as hell,” he said, taking off his shirt and jeans in one fell swoop.

Farrah was mesmerized. Her mouth was wide open and she couldn't think straight. She thought J.R's chest and abs were on point, but to see the full package in 3-D had her body feeling things it'd never felt before. J.R. had nice, strong legs and the bulge inside his boxer briefs made her want to lie down and allow him to have his way with her.

“Good lord, is that real?” she said underneath her breath, staring at his crotch.

“You just gon' stand there wet?” J.R. asked, noticing the look of lust in her eyes.

“You have no idea how wet I am,” Farrah blurted out unintentionally.

“Oh word? That box hot?” J.R. smirked.

“How rude.” Farrah blushed.

“I'm rude, but you staring at
my
package,” J.R. laughed, still in nothing but his boxer briefs.

“Whateva,” Farrah waved him off.

“You wanna listen to some music?” J.R. walked over to his surround-sound system.

“Yeah, what you got?”

“I'll bump that new Drake.” J.R. turned the CD on.

“Is Drake a rapper or an R and B singer?” Farrah questioned, thoroughly confused.

“Duh, an R and B singer,” J.R. chuckled.

“Look,” Farrah said, covering her eyes. “Can you please put some clothes on? I already know you're built like Zeus and shit. You don't have to put it all up in my face,” Farrah joked.

“I'm sorry my sexiness is bothering you.” J.R. grinned, throwing on a pair of basketball shorts. “You need me to help you outta that dress?” He asked, walking toward her.

“Hell no!” Farrah scooted back away from him. “You ain't coming near me. You ain't slick. You ain't gonna have me on my back calling out your name. Nope.” She shook her head. “Ain't gonna happen Trey Songz,” Farrah said, chuckling at her own joke. “Bathroom please?”

“Down the hall and to your right.” J.R. laughed at her silliness.

“Thank you.” Farrah skipped down the hallway.

After she'd washed her makeup off, washed up, and dressed in his T-shirt, Farrah returned to the living room to find the lights dimmed low, the fireplace lit, two glasses of wine, and J.R. on the floor.

“
Mmmmmm
, more liquor.” She smiled gleefully and ran over to where he was.

“I figured you would like that.” J.R. lay on his back and looked at her.

With no makeup and nothing but his T-shirt on he'd never found Farrah more attractive. Flickers of light from the fireplace danced on her face. Farrah felt at peace and anxious all at the same time. It was taking everything in her not to lean over and devour him.