Snapped (4 page)

After a few moments of light banter, Frankie and his friend drifted away to mix and mingle. Looking at Baron’s long, athletic physique, Dominique decided to correct Toya’s last statement.

“Okay, maybe that one might be worth it,” she said, admiring Baron’s exquisite features.

The ladies laughed, shared a few more drinks, got their dance on, and celebrated Camille’s thirtieth birthday until the party came to an end. By the time the night was over, they had formed a new clique, and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Misa snuggled closer to Cyrus and rested her head on his chest. He had to resist the urge to push her away. They had been seeing each other for less than two months, and already she was smothering him. She called him several times a day, e-mailed him, texted him, and tonight she had shown up at his house unannounced. When he saw she was at the door, his first impulse had been to tell her off and send her away. He didn’t appreciate her popping in on him uninvited. But when he swung the door open, Misa had greeted him looking sexier than ever wearing a red belted trench coat and four-inch stilettos. She wore a pair of designer sunglasses and a bright smile, and she soon revealed that was
all
she was wearing. Misa was naked as a newborn child underneath her coat, and when she untied the knot, Cyrus’s frown had spread into a broad smile. He had ushered her inside and they had a passionate and fiery sex session followed by a shower together.

After that she had offered to cook for him, which he declined. Then she’d told him about a dream she’d had about
the two of them getting married. And now she was all over him, her leg slung across his as her head lay on his chest. He just wanted her to go away.

“So I was thinking,” Misa purred.

“Oh, God,” Cyrus sighed under his breath.

Misa giggled and hit him playfully. “Seriously,” she said. “Maybe we should move in together.”

“What?” Cyrus couldn’t believe his ears. This bitch must be crazy.

“I mean, my place is awfully big for just me and Shane. And rent nowadays is sky-high. We could save money
and
spend more time together.” Misa was sick of living such a boring life in comparison to her sister’s. Misa worked as a receptionist at an insurance company, and it was a very mundane job. She made a decent salary and lived in a nice two-bedroom town house in Staten Island’s Graniteville section. It was a humble home compared to Camille’s, but still an upgrade from how the sisters had grown up.

Cyrus lay there in silence and wondered how best to say what was on his mind.

“What do you think?” Misa pressed him.

“Nah,” he said. “It’s too soon for all that.”

Misa looked at him to see if he was serious. “Too soon for what?” Cyrus was a mailman. He had a sexy physique, a competitive salary, and the aura of a real man. Misa had met him at a lounge on a Friday night and had fallen fast. Since he had all the makings of a good husband, she was wasting no time making sure that he knew how she felt.

Cyrus gently pushed her off him and sat up in bed. “It’s too soon for us to be talking about moving in together. We just met.”

Misa was outraged. “We did not! It’s been months. And
you sure didn’t think it was too soon for you to fuck me. So what are you saying, exactly?”

“Calm down,” Cyrus said. “I’m not trying to play you, sweetheart. I’m just saying that living together . . . it’s too soon for that. We’re both grown. Sex is what grown people do. So don’t make it sound like I took advantage of you or whatever.”

She looked at Cyrus blankly. “Well, I just figured I’d mention it to you,” she said, sounding dejected. “But that’s not what you want, so . . . forget it.” She got up and reached for her trench coat. Cyrus rolled his eyes, feeling like the whole situation had suddenly flipped and now he was the bad guy.

He reached for her. “Don’t be like that, ma. I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

Misa shrugged him off and slipped her feet into her heels. “You didn’t hurt my feelings,” she lied. “It’s all good. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She winked at him on her way out and headed for the door, feeling like a fool once again.

Toya was breathless
. She had never had so many orgasms in one session. She lay there, staring at Alex, the Tupac lookalike with six-pack abs and what Toya liked to refer to as the “V,” where the man’s abs met his private parts in a very well-toned V shape. It was like an arrow pointing to the Promised Land, and Toya loved it! Alex was chocolate brown with thick luscious lips and a dick game like no other.

She watched him roll over and scoop up the blunt he had abandoned close to an hour ago. Toya smiled, loving just to look at him. He was a beautiful man, an electrician who immigrated to America from Jamaica when he was barely eighteen. He’d arrived in this country with twenty dollars
and a prayer and was now a contractor with a house, a car, and money that was legit. Again, a great example of how hard work and determination paid off. Toya liked men who didn’t hide behind excuses.

She had met Alex in Home Depot, and his thick Jamaican accent intoxicated her almost immediately. Toya was sprung from the first night they spent together. The trouble with Alex was that he smoked weed religiously and never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. His entire life consisted of working hard and smoking constantly. To Toya, life was a party. She was always on the go. And Alex was content to sit in his bedroom, in the dark, getting high while watching
Forensic Files
or the History Channel. Toya’s patience was wearing thin with him. But the sex was out of this world.

He puffed away, lying back against the bevy of pillows on her bed. He reached for the remote and flicked the TV on. When he immediately turned to the History Channel, Toya shook her head.

“Uh-uh, son.” She had little energy after the atomic orgasm she’d just had, but she managed to sit up. “I’m not doing this again. It’s Saturday night. It’s only ten forty-eight, and I’m not lying here in the dark all night with you watching this shit. We do this every weekend.” Toya had pulled out all the stops tonight. She had put on sexy see-through lingerie and cooked a Southern feast for Alex. And when he was full and satisfied, she’d given him head that had blown his mind. After a powerful fuckfest and a few moments of basking in the afterglow, the last thing she wanted to do was watch television.

Alex laughed a little, then spoke again in his Jamaican accent. “Why do you always have to go, go, all the time, go?”
He shook his head. “You should be still sometime. Be quiet. Chill.”

“Fuck that.” Toya snatched the remote from him and turned the TV off. “Go chill at your house, then. I’m going out.”

Alex looked at her in silence, trying to figure out if she was serious. He puffed his L once again. “You ain’t going nowhere. Stop fronting.”

She climbed out of her platform bed and handed him his boots. “Call me tomorrow.”

Alex stared at her, then reluctantly took his boots and got dressed. He shook his head as he headed for the door. “You are something else, Toya.”

“Bye!” She locked up after him, then went upstairs and lay across her bed once again. She was still drained after the brief moment of ecstasy that she’d experienced that evening, so her eyes slowly closed. As she drifted off to sleep, she wondered what it would take for her to find the perfect man. It seemed to her that no one could keep up with her. Toya dated several men, though she took none of them seriously. And it was times like these that she was happy to have other men in her arsenal. As she slipped into a nap, she decided that when she woke up she would go out and have some fun. Alex wasn’t about to mess up her entire evening.

Toya woke from her blissful slumber to hear her cell phone ringing. She frowned and reached over to answer it. She could hear raindrops drumming relentlessly on her windowpane.

“Hello?”

“Hello.” The male voice sounded familiar, but in her sleepy haze, Toya didn’t recognize it right away. “How are you, Latoya?”

She froze and felt like she was still asleep and this was a bad dream. There weren’t many people who called Toya by her full first name. And there was only one who said it in a way that made her skin crawl. “Who is this?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“You know who it is.”

She did. She found herself speechless for the first time in years. She could feel her adrenaline rush instantly, and she gripped the phone tighter.

Then he spoke again. “I was thinking about you.” He paused as if he knew that she was not at all happy to hear from him. “I only called because—”

Toya hung up the phone before he could explain himself. Then she turned it off and fought to get her breathing under control. She lay there in shock for several moments before she ran off to the bathroom, fighting back tears.

“Hi, Camille
. It’s Gillian. Can I speak to Frankie?”

Camille looked at the bedside clock and saw that it was 3:14
A.M
. The nerve of this bitch, to be calling at such a late hour to speak to her husband! Gillian was in a relationship of her own. So Camille tried not to believe that anything was going on between her and Frankie. Still, calls like this at all hours of the night were beginning to wear on her patience. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Gillian said, simply.

“It’s late,” Camille reminded her.

“I know. I’m sorry if I woke you.” Gillian offered no explanation for the call, and after several moments of silence, Camille roused her husband and passed him the phone.

“It’s Gillian,” she told him, her voice heavy with aggravation.

Frankie took the phone and sat up in bed. “Hey,” he said. “Nah, it’s all good. She’s not upset.” He pulled the sheet back and swung his feet around to the floor. To Camille’s surprise, he took the phone down the hall and continued his conversation in the privacy of the guest room. She lay there in their king-size mahogany bed, snug in eight-hundred-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets, and wondered why she was so annoyed.

She had a fabulous life with Frankie. They lived in a lavish, custom-built home in Staten Island’s Annadale section. The four-bedroom, five-bathroom house sat on a half acre of land on the edge of Blue Heron Park and boasted such amenities as a twenty-one-foot ceiling, twin waterfalls in the foyer, granite flooring, and hand-etched windows. She drove a Range Rover some days and a SL600 on others. Frankie alternated between an Escalade day to day and a Bentley he brought out only on special occasions. Frankie’s assortment of legitimate businesses served as a front for the extravagant lifestyle they enjoyed. They had worked hard to have the life they lived. Surely, Frankie would never take that for granted. Gillian was innocuous, Camille told herself. Just a woman Frankie did business with. But she
was
an incredibly attractive woman with a body that made every man pant. Truthfully, it made Camille uneasy to think of the two of them spending so much time together. But she trusted her husband, and whenever those thoughts entered her mind, she quickly dismissed them.

“She’s harmless,” Camille reassured herself. She pulled the covers up to her chin, turned over, and tried to fall back asleep. “Harmless.”

“What’s harmless?” Frankie asked, coming back into the bedroom and returning the cordless phone to its cradle.

Camille turned to look at him, embarrassed that she’d been caught talking out loud to herself. She ignored his question and asked, “What did Gillian want?”

Frankie crawled back in bed beside his wife and wrapped his arms around her body, pulling her closer to him. “She’s upset ’cuz she broke up with Safari or whatever his name is.”

Camille looked at him curiously. “Sadiq, Frankie.”

“Yeah, him. They had a fight.”

“And she called
you
?”

Frankie noticed the frown on Camille’s face and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah. It’s no big deal.”

Camille pulled back slightly from her husband’s embrace. “She’s breaking up with her man and that’s no big deal?”

Frankie sighed. “She’s just a little upset about it, and she called me to get some shit off her chest. She caught him cheating again. It ain’t the first time, so she’ll probably take him back just like last time.”

Camille looked at her husband like he was crazy. “It’s still a big deal, Frankie!”

He resisted the urge to get defensive. Lately, he felt that he was defending his friendship with Gillian more than ever before. He was starting to feel like his wife didn’t trust him the way she once had. “I don’t think it is. We’re friends.”

“I know that. But you’re such good friends that she would call you in the middle of the night to tell you that she broke up with her man?” Camille searched Frankie’s eyes for the truth.

He met her gaze and stared into her eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “You know that, so why are you acting surprised all of
a sudden? Gillian is like a sister to me, always has been and always will be.”

Camille looked at Frankie, wondering if he would ever stand for her having a male best friend who called to speak to her at three o’clock in the morning. “I just don’t see why she had to call you of all people at this hour of night to discuss her love life.”

Frankie shrugged his shoulders. “I probably spend more time with her during the week than I do with you, considering all the time we spend getting money. She runs a lot of her father’s shit these days, and you know I do a lot of business with them. When you work with somebody that much, you get to know each other. So we talk about our relationships sometimes, our families. You should ask her how much I talk about you.” He gave her his most sincere expression. “I guess she wanted to talk to somebody who already knew the story so that she wouldn’t have to start at the beginning. I’ve known for a while that they were having problems. So she called me. Like I said, it’s no big deal.”

“Doesn’t she have
girlfriends
she can call at a time like this?”

Frankie looked at Camille and frowned. “Not every woman has a group of nosy chicks she has dinner with every Friday night to talk shit about the men in their lives, like you do,” he teased.