Heels of Love (G Street Chronicles Presents From Love to Loathe Series) (15 page)

“Yes, Cricket.”

“Mr. Samson is probably going to show up asking for me or asking to come up.”

“But Cricket,” he rushed.

“LISTEN TO ME,” I yelled. “He is not allowed to call me or to come up here. Is that understood?” I hissed. I stood there buck naked glaring at the box.

“But, Ms. Cricket…”

“RANDY, DID I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?” I yelled in to the box.

“Yes, crystal clear. Ms. Hooper, do I need to call the police?”

“No. No, I just don’t want to see him right now, that’s all,” I explained.

“Ms. Hooper, he’s already in your apartment,” Randy said. I looked up at the kitchen, and there was food on the table. I turned, and there stood Jyme, seeing me in nothing but my birthday suit.

Chapter 7

Ducati

“M
s. Hooper?” Randy called. I stood there looking at Jyme looking at me looking at him.

“Cricket?” Randy called.

“Randy, everything’s okay. Thank you.” I pressed the speaker box, and then I cringed inward. He didn’t even have the audacity to turn away from me. I just slid down to the floor, pulled my knees up to my chest, and wrapped my arms around my legs hiding my face.

I heard his footsteps leave the room and then come right back. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me up from the floor. I wrapped my arms around his neck and squeezed tight. Jyme carried me through the condo and stood me upright in front of the bathtub. He was just as naked as I was. He pushed the shower curtain around to the other side of the French tub. Jyme tested the water with his hands and then pulled the band out of his hair and twisted it into mine. He held his hand out for support, and I stepped into the tub. The water was a little too hot, but that was just fine for me. He kneeled down to the floor and rested his knees on a fluffy towel. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs. He dunked my luffa and squeezed the hot water on my back. He repeated this over a dozen times. I leaned back in the tub intertwining our fingers. He pulled one leg up at a time scrubbing them all the way down and repeated the action on my feet, arms, shoulders, back stomach, butt and even Ms. Juicy.

Jyme scrubbed every inch of my body. He pulled my bathrobe off the back of the door and held it out for me. I sat down on the bed, and he lathered me down with my Aveeno. He pulled his boxers back on, and we went to the kitchen.

At the table, he held my chair, and I sat down. He pulled two plates out from the warmer. He had reordered the same exact meals we had for lunch. I didn’t even really get to taste mine earlier. Jyme got in the shower after our delicious meal. We still hadn’t said a word to each other. I slid on a nightgown and then crawled into bed. I was almost asleep when Jyme slid in behind me; he pulled me up against him. He kissed my neck, and then I drifted off.

Sometime later, I woke and looked at the clock; I had another hour to sleep. I turned and slid on top of Jyme, waking him with neck and face kisses. He held both of his hands on my shoulders, paralyzing me for a moment.

“You hurt me bad last night,” he stated.

“I know,” I whispered.

“Don’t do it again; I won’t stay next time.”

“I know,” I breathed. He released my shoulders and I slid off him.

“Come back.” He reached for me.

“No,” I whispered. I slid down to the foot of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m making it up to you,” I whispered. Then, I licked the tip of his anaconda and took as much as I could into my mouth.

“Cricket,” he called through his moans and stretches. “Cricket,” he called again.

“What, Babe?” I answered through sucks.

“Never mind.”

“Never what Babe?”

Then, I stopped, and it hit me. “You’ve never been sucked off before?” I asked.

He shook his head from side to side, and I knew I had to put on a performance of a lifetime. I sucked him so hard that I could taste the blood from my wounded mouth. Jyme writhed and writhed and writhed some more. He yelled my name over a dozen times and beat the hell out of my mattress. He finally climaxed, and I couldn’t swallow all of it. Jyme’s climatic seizures looked violent.

Afterwards, I lay beside him, tracing his stomach ripples softly. He grabbed my hand and kissed my fingers. “I love you,” he jerked.

I lay there. This was that moment that would make or break him. “I love you, too,” I said.

* * * * *

I arrived at my first assignment with a good fifteen minutes to spare. I called the office, and O answered. I asked her for the name of the best florist in town. She swore by Toppers European Floral. I ordered an arrangement called the Modina with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Brut for Randy at the front desk. I also got the door attendant three months of free dance lessons for two at the Century Ballroom Dine and Dance. On Randy’s card, it read, “I’m sorry for everything,” and inside the door attendant’s free passes, I wrote, “Until we dance again.” O handled everything for me, and she sent a messenger to deliver the passes. I called Toppers European Floral again and ordered the most peculiar arrangement they could think of and had it delivered to O.

Beyoncé sang out to me, and I answered.

“I miss you,” he said.

“I miss you too,” I grinned.

“Lunch?”

“I can’t, I have to meet with my boss today,” I explained.

“The drunk?”

“I’m not sure he’s a drunk. I think he just had way too much to drink that night.”

“Where is he taking you?”

“Hold on just a sec. He sent me an email. Some restaurant called Slicks,” I explained.

“Babe, that place is inside a mall.”

“It is?”

“What does he think? You’re some slut from the streets or something?” he accused.

“JYME?” I snapped.

“You deserve WAY better than that shit.”

“Well, he picked the place; he must like it.”

“Don’t eat shit there; we’ll go to a quick good lunch after that.”

“Jyme.”

“Cricket, I’m serious,” he said sternly.

“Alright.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you too.”

I walked into the shop and ordered a latte and a breakfast sandwich. The shop was busy, and no one greeted me when I walked in. The floors needed a good mopping, and the condiments needed refilling. The counters and a few of the tables were dirty.

I sat down in one of the accent chairs. I opened my laptop and noticed several of the customers had wandering eyes. I didn’t want anyone to see the company’s logo pop up on my screen. I decided to do some catching up on my personal life. I pulled up my personal Yahoo page to check some emails. I hadn’t checked my Facebook or personal emails in almost three weeks, and I had three hundred new emails in my inbox. I spammed all the junk mail and then filtered the rest.

“Excuse Me,” a voice said. I looked up and saw a very attractive African American man.

“Yes?”

“Is this your paper?”

I looked down and saw a newspaper on the floor.

“No.” I picked the paper up and handed it to him.

“You don’t want to read it?”

“No, it’s all yours,” I answered, looking back at my screen.

“Do you come here often?” he asked.

“Oh my God, that’s your line?” I laughed.

“It needs work, doesn’t it?” he chuckled.

“Um. Yeah.” I laughed.

“Okay, how about this one? Hi. My name is Garrett.”

“Hi Garrett. I’m Cricket,”

“I just opened an all organic restaurant,” he beamed.

“Well, congratulations.”

“See? I’m in the paper,” There was a picture of Garrett standing in front of a waterfront restaurant. “Maybe you and some of girlfriends can come in sometime; beautiful women would bring more people in.”

“Garrett, that was ten times worse than the first one.”

“I’m sorry. I’m no good at this.”

“I would actually have to bring my boyfriend,” I explained.

“Damn, I knew you were too good to be true.”

A motorcycle crew pulled into the parking lot, at least eight of them. Their bikes were loud, and they were showing off. Everyone in the shop looked towards the window trying to detect the source of the loud noise.

I looked at the clock and realized I was running about fifteen minutes behind. I closed my laptop and collected my things.

“Hey, they’re all Ducati’s,” a man in line said to his friend.

“It’s probably a gang,” another man in line said.

“A gang of Ducatis? You’re an idiot,” another man said.

“Wait, don’t go,” Garrett said.

“I’m sorry. I’m running late. Have a good day.” I walked past the bikes and headed for the rental. I placed my laptop bag on the hood of the car so I could fetch for my keys in my purse.

“Cricket?”

I turned around, and Garrett was jogging towards me. “I forgot to tell you the name of my restaurant,” he shouted over the bikes.

“Oh,” I shouted back. I pulled the keys out of my purse.

The bikes were loud now; they were seriously trying to get some attention. Garrett looked over at the bike crew and threw his hand up to his ears. Two of the guys on the bikes gave him the finger, and then they really started revving their bikes up.
This may be some sort of gang like the man said.

“Here’s one of my restaurants cards,” Garrett shouted.

“Alright,” I shouted back.

“Bring that card in, and your first meal is on the house.”

“Thanks.”

Garrett said something, but I couldn’t hear him because of the bikes.

“What?” I shouted.

Garrett moved in closer and leaned into me. “I said, don’t lose the card or the number,” he shouted in my ear.

I laughed and nodded okay at him. When I looked up three of the bike guys were standing right in front of us. One of them stood closer to Garrett and I, and the other two flanked his sides. One of them was holding a chain. I screamed and threw my purse on the ground towards them. I backed up away from Garrett and the bike gang. The shop manager came out, and so did a few of the patrons. What the hell did this gang want? It was broad daylight for Christ’s sake. The chainless man on the leaders’ right tugged at his arm and the other bikers left fast. The man with the chain jogged back over to his bike and jumped on it. He revved and revved again. The leader bent over and picked up my purse off the ground. He held it out to me, but I cringed away. Garrett reached for the bag, and the leader of the bike gang swung back as if he was going to hit Garrett. Garrett screamed and drew back.

I moved to the back of the rental then. The leader shrugged my purse at me again. I walked over towards him and took it. I heard the police sirens, and all of the bikers jumped on their bikes and flew out of the parking lot. The police took statements from Garrett.

“Ma’am, how many bikers would you say were here?” Officer Carter asked.

“I think it was like eight or nine.”

“Ma’am, what race were the bikers?” she asked.

“I couldn’t tell. They were covered from head to toe in those race car jump suits.

“What about their hands?”

“They all had on gloves. None of their skin was exposed.”

“Ma’am, about how tall would you say the man that gave you your purse back was?”

“Umm, six two; six three.”

“Well, you’re one of the lucky ones. Thank you for your cooperation. If you think of anything else, here’s my card, and please don’t hesitate to call.”

I turned from the
almost
crime scene and got into my rental. I now had thirty minutes to meet up with D’Artagnan. I punched in the location, and my GPS came to life. My phone beeped and chirped, but I didn’t have time to check it. Beyoncé sung to me and I pushed the radio screen to answer the Bluetooth.

“Babe, can I call you back? I’m running super late.”

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes, I just had a hell of a morning.”

“Tell me what happened.” Jyme made me go all the way back to when I got to the shop. He asked who I talked to and what we said. He mentioned I may have been a target of some sort, and then he demanded to know everything about Garrett. I told him everything I knew, and he repeated everything back to me. I told him everything the police said, and then I pulled up at the mall.

I disconnected with Jyme and rushed in. D’Artagnan was sitting at a table already; I sat down and had to explain the whole entire situation again. D’Artagnan required that I contact him or O after every assignment from now on. He rubbed my shaky hands with his with genuine concern.

We compared notes, and he gave me all of the shop managers’ excuses. I ordered a salad and picked at it. Jyme was not joking; this place was disgusting. D’Artagnan walked me out to my car, and I saw three motorcycles sitting in some spaces in the mall parking lot.