Almost Doesn't Count (5 page)

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Authors: Angela Winters

BOOK: Almost Doesn't Count
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“I can't, sweetie.” He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm before letting it go. “I have a nine
A.M.
tee time at the club. I told you I was playing golf with some clients.”
She nodded. “I'm sorry. I forgot.”
Not a word was spoken as she went to the bathroom and changed into her nightgown. She didn't wash her face, but splashed it with water and put her hair in a ponytail. She still wanted to look nice. She wanted to make love to her husband tonight.
When she slid into the bed, Justin's attention was on his computer. He was reading an article on the financial industry, his specialty, as Sherise slid up to him and began rubbing his arm.
He looked at her and laughed. “You're drunk.”
“I'm not.” She smiled. “Okay, maybe a little, but you should be happy. You get to take advantage of a drunken woman. When was the last time you did that?”
“When was the last time you were drunk?” He let her kiss him before returning to his article. “I need to finish reading this, baby. This is what everyone is gonna be talking about at tomorrow's golf game.”
She reached over and placed her hand on top of the laptop and slowly pushed it closed. “They can all talk about this article while you talk about how you fucked your gorgeous wife.”
He seemed annoyed, but let her push the laptop off his lap and onto the bed. It was comforting to Sherise to see that he didn't resist her. In the past, Justin could never resist her. No matter how awful she'd been or how preoccupied he was, he was always willing and eager to make love to her. That hadn't been the case so much recently. Their inability to conceive was affecting him just like it was her. She was going to change that tonight.
Her lips teased at his as she reached down and grabbed the bottom of his T-shirt. He lifted his arms as she pulled the shirt up and off him. He met her with a more passionate, deeper kiss as his hand went to her shoulders.
Their tongues began to explore each other's mouth as she felt his fingers gently lift the straps of her nightgown and slide them down her shoulders. He let out a soft groan as his mouth traveled down her neck to the soft flesh of her chest.
Sherise let him guide her back to where she was lying on the bed and he was moving on top of her. His mouth was kissing the space between her breasts as his hands began to caress her hips. Her hands went to his head as she ran her fingers over his hair.
Sherise was waiting for the passion to come, but it hadn't arrived yet. She felt a little spark, a little pull in her center, but she wasn't set on fire. She closed her eyes and spread her legs as Justin positioned himself in between them.
When his tongue traced her nipple, it felt warm to Sherise, but when she felt his teeth teasingly bite at her, she flinched. She usually liked a little biting, but this didn't feel good. It made it only glaringly obvious to her that none of this felt good. Or maybe it just didn't feel right.
“Justin. Justin,” she repeated. “Please.”
She pushed against the bed, lifting herself up.
Caught up in the foreplay, Justin looked up, expecting to continue.
“Wait,” Sherise said as she pushed away.
Justin looked at her confused. “What? What did I . . . Did I hurt you?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head. What was happening to her? “I just . . . I . . . I'm sorry, Justin.”
“What?”
“I . . .” She shrugged as he realized from her expression that she was telling him she didn't want to go any further.
“What is wrong with you, Sherise?” he asked angrily as he sat up.
“I don't know,” she said. “I think it's the alcohol.”
“Alcohol makes you not want to have sex?” Justin reached for his T-shirt and began putting it back on. “You expect me to believe you're the only person on the planet that happens to? This isn't the first time you've done this.”
“I'm sorry.” She sighed, reaching out to him. He leaned away. She felt awful. She regretted pushing away. She should have just gone through with it even if it wasn't what she really wanted. “I just feel sluggish. I can make it up to you in the morning.”
Justin didn't respond as he got out of bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “I know you're mad, Justin, but shit, I'm sorry. Maybe in the morning, we can . . .”
“Don't do me any favors,” Justin said as he snatched his laptop. Without looking at her, he turned and left the room. “I'm gonna be downstairs. Don't wait up for me.”
“Come on,” she called after him. “It's not that serious.”
“You started it, Sherise!” He slammed the bedroom door behind him.
Now she really regretted not following through. What was wrong with her? She had resolved to make love to Justin before leaving Cady's room just moments earlier. She wanted him, but it just fizzled. She wasn't feeling it from herself. Or was she not feeling it from him? It couldn't be him. He was upset that they weren't making love.
“What is wrong with you, girl?” she asked herself as she reached over to Justin's side and turned off the lamp. She was in need of some serious groove therapy.
3
B
illie wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but she hadn't been expecting what she got. As she entered one of the smaller conference rooms in her law firm offices where her new pro bono client was waiting for her, she stopped at the door. Standing at the other end of the room, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the room overlooking Farragut Square, was Ricky Williams.
He turned to her and started walking toward her. He was a very good-looking, milk chocolate–colored man with a clean-cut, clean-shaven look. He had piercing black eyes, a strong nose, and rigid jaw. His short dark hair was cut close to his head and he looked a few inches over six feet. He was sharply dressed in casual khakis and a blue and white striped button-down neatly tucked inside.
“You must be Billie Carter,” he said in a deep voice.
Billie quickly pulled herself together and met him halfway. She shook his hand as firmly as she could. He had a strong grip. “Yes, I am. And you must be Ricky Williams.”
“Well,” he said. “You're . . . I saw your picture on the law firm Web site and, well, it doesn't do you justice. You're very pretty.”
“That's nice,” she said, feeling a little uncomfortable. No, a lot uncomfortable all of the sudden. “It's very nice to meet you.”
“I don't know if you're going to feel that way for long,” he joked.
She gestured for him to sit down at the conference table behind him. “Are you telling me that you're a nightmare client?”
“I'm probably nothing like some of the people you've defended.”
She joined him, sitting at the corner of the table, placing her file folders down. She studied him for a second. No, he wasn't at all what she'd expected. “So you've been researching me?”
“I know you used to be a public defender,” he said.
“Well, this isn't a criminal case,” she said, “so that—”
“Not yet,” he interrupted.
Billie paused, intrigued. “You planning on breaking the law?”
“I feel like it's already been broken,” he said. “Not by me, but by the government. Just don't get your hopes up. I'm not.”
“I always get my hopes up,” Billie said. “It's a personality flaw. I believe in my client. I fight for my client. And I get my hopes up for my client.”
Ricky didn't seem to share her enthusiasm. “I don't know, Ms. Carter. I think . . .”
“Billie,” she corrected him. “I doubt our ages are that far apart, so no need for formalities. I can call you Ricky?”
“You can call me anything you want,” he said, suddenly flashing a flirtatious smile. “But there is some seriously shady business going on with my case. You can't fight the man.”
Suddenly Billie heard music and the muffled sounds of singing.
So you got to try a little tenderness . . . a little tenderness . . . a little tenderness . . .
“Sorry,” Ricky said as he reached in his back pocket and pressed a button. “That was my phone.”
“Is that Otis I hear?”
“The one and only,” he said, smiling. “You like Otis Redding?”
“I don't associate with anyone who doesn't.”
“He was the man.” He looked impressed. “I'm surprised a young woman like you even knows who he is.”
“My daddy was his biggest fan,” she said. “He used to play his music all the time. I don't care who you are, when you hear that man sing, you have to fall in love with his voice.”
“That,” he said, pointing into the air. “That is the God's truth. That man just had soul seeping from every pore. R&B these days . . . these boys just don't know.”
Billie laughed, nodding in agreement. He looked at her and their eyes met for a moment that made things suddenly awkward. She should be happy that they were getting along since this wasn't always the case with a client. But something told her this was probably not a good idea and she better get back to business.
Billie looked down at the file folder on the table, flipping it open as she cleared her throat.
“I can tell you that you are wrong on one account,” she said.
“Not about Otis,” he answered back.
She looked back up at him, her head held high. “No, but when you said you can't fight the man. You can fight him. It's what I do. It's what I love to do and I've gotten pretty good at it.”
His eyes softened as a satisfied expression came over his face. “Well, you have spirit, and I could tell from the second I read up on you that you have the brains. Not too bad to look at, either.”
“Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “First, I want to let you know that I appreciate you coming to our offices on a Saturday. I'm sure you're busy.”
“I'm busy?” He laughed, looking around. “I walked up in here expecting half the lights to be off and see nothing but a janitor. I must have passed at least twenty people on my way to this room. This is how you guys roll here?”
“Gotta make those hours,” Billie said. “This place is pretty much poppin' on Saturday and Sunday.”
“That's wrong,” he said. “I mean don't get me wrong. I'm glad you're here to help me, but a beautiful sister like you should be out running the streets with her man or her girls on a nice summer Saturday.”
Billie agreed, but she had given up a lot of her personal life when she started working at the firm, but there was no point in going into that now.
“Let's get down to business,” she said. “I'm gonna tell you what I know of your case and you fill in any blanks.”
“Shoot,” he said, leaning back in his chair.
“You started working at the shelter, Saturn House, ten years ago.” She was looking directly at her notes. “You house immigrants who have acquired asylum from prosecution in their countries in transition. They stay with you an average of two months before moving on their own or to relatives in other parts of the DC area or the country.”
“We take entire families,” he said, proudly. “We can house up to thirty people at a time.”
She admired the pride he took in what he was doing.
“I've looked into your past, Ricky.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”
“I'm not judging you,” Billie said. “You got into some trouble as a kid. You were also caught in possession of marijuana when you were twenty-three?”
“Who hasn't carried some weed on them every now and then?”
“I haven't,” she answered. “But it looks like you've been on the straight and narrow . . . mostly. What led you to Saturn House?”
“Not easy for a black man with a record to get a job in this world,” he started. “I was walking by Saturn House ten years ago and saw they needed a handyman. The woman that owned it, Della, was the only person in DC willing to give me a chance. At least it seemed like it.”
“How did you go from being the handyman to owner in ten years?”
Ricky smiled as if he was in wonder at that reality himself. “Went from handyman to cook, then helped Della manage some of her papers, started making friendships with the local donors, etc. Della came to trust me and the transition made sense.”
“Good for you,” Billie said.
She was proud to see a brother who wanted to do something good for the community. She'd seen too many Porters, men who had the brains and potential to do great things in the community, become dazed by money and power and decide to do good things only for themselves.
Billie tried to focus on the work at hand. “About a year and a half ago, Sanders Realty approached you with an offer to buy your property.”
“They approached Della at the time,” he answered. “She was dead set against selling for obvious reasons. This place means everything to her. It means everything to a lot of people. She made me promise not to sell to them.”
“So you claim that”—she checked her notes—“Alex Mattas from Sanders became very aggressive with you as you refused his repeated offers.”
Ricky nodded. “Meanwhile, he's . . . Sanders Realty is buying up everything around me. He kept telling me that no one wanted a . . . he called it a halfway house . . . in an up-and-coming neighborhood.”
Billie shook her head. “You claim that he is behind the people who call the police suggesting that they have witnessed criminal activity around the building?”
He nodded. “I know he's behind it.”
“But you have no proof it's him. None of those calls could be traced back to him in any way.” Billie would have to see how much more information she could get about that. “When did the notices from the DC Housing Authority start coming?”
“The first one was eight months ago.” He pointed to the notice as Billie pulled her copy from her stack of papers. “That's the first one. They start telling me that they have reason to believe that my living conditions don't meet code and they have started an investigation.”
“And you say no one has actually visited Saturn House?”
“Someone came for the first time last month. That was after the third notice that included a threat to contact the Feds and demand they cut the funding for the house and our tax-free status.”
“But your house is in good condition.” She wrote a note to have pictures taken of every inch of the home, inside and out.
“My house is immaculate,” Ricky said proudly. “Honestly, Della was OCD, if you ask me. She always demanded the house be spotless. I've kept it that way. Everything is up to code.”
“But you have a notice you received two weeks ago that references several code violations.” Billie looked at Ricky, seeing that he was getting angry just thinking about it. She didn't blame him.
She studied the code violation notice and it looked completely legit, but she would have to investigate more. “Your argument is that this violation is based on lies.”
“It's all lies, Billie. I'm telling you. I followed that guy around every inch of my house and he barely looked at anything. He kept saying everything was fine, fine, fine, and left in a real hurry. Next thing I know, I get this notice. They're trying to shut me down, the government.”
“I won't let them,” Billie said. “I know a guy at the firm who is an expert on federal housing law that governs DC. We're going to get behind this and find out what's going on.”
“The government is all a bunch of corrupt bastards, Billie. I'm looking at you and seeing that you're smart, but are you tough enough?”
“Don't let my size fool you,” she said. “I know how to fight in a courtroom. I've fought more powerful enemies than the DC Housing Authority.”
He slowly smiled and leaned back in his chair. He gave Billie a look that made her feel a little uncomfortable again. He had seductive eyes, and as his anger over discussing the problem subsided, his smoother, more charming side resurfaced.
“You know,” he said, “I'll bet you have taken down some big boys. I like your style, Billie. I think you and I are gonna get along real well.”
Billie hoped for the same. This case wasn't going to be easy, but she had a feeling it was going to be fun. “Let's get to work.”
 
“Damn, you look good,” was the first thing Terrell said as soon as he opened the front door to his apartment and saw Erica.
She did look good. Erica spent a lot of time and effort to look good tonight. Her hair was up in a banana clip, with curly tendrils falling across her face and down her neck in a wistful, sexy manner. As usual, she wore hardly any makeup, just some gloss to add shine to her full, sexy lips and mascara to accent her long, dark eyelashes.
She was wearing a blue, red, and silver paisley-border print dress with soft ruffles down the front, stopping just a couple of inches above her knees, defining her generous curves.
“You looking pretty good yourself, boy.”
He had forgone his usual sport jersey and jean shorts and was wearing a pair of nice jeans and a hunter green polo shirt. He had to wear a suit every day when he drove his car, so he was always reluctant to dress nice on his free time. She knew this was dressy for him and she appreciated it.
Just as she stepped inside, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. He looked into her eyes before kissing her tenderly. She felt a little tug in her belly, but tried to ignore it. When his lips came down on hers again, she responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. She kissed him back for a few seconds, feeling the heat before realizing where she was.
She pushed away, looking around the small two-bedroom apartment in the Adams Morgan neighborhood. “Where is Slade?”

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