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The Rebirth of Slick; part 6
* * *
The Renaissance Man
“Mr. McCartney.” Alexander glanced up from his computer screen at the sound of his secretary’s voice on his phone. He leaned forward a little, reaching over his ebony desk to press the intercom button on the phone.
“Yes?”
“There’s a…Miss Caldwell here to see you,” the secretary announced, a hint of dislike in her tone. Alexander smiled a little at the thought of Mackenzie Caldwell.
“Send her in, please,” he told her, leaning back in his seat again. A few moments passed before the door opened and she entered, her body a glorious sight in a long fitted multicolored tank top under a black blazer, dark skinny jeans and orange sky high stiletto pumps. She looked as if she were on the runway; her waist length hair fanned out behind her as she walked in, removing her black square framed shades from her face and hook in them onto her black bag. “Miss Caldwell, what a pleasure to see you again,” he said in greeting, standing from his desk to shake her hand. He was taken aback by the fact that, in her heels – they had to be about five inches – she was only an inch shorter than him. Damn…
“Pleasure to see you as well, Mr. McCartney,” she replied in a professional tone, allowing her slender hand to be enveloped by his.
“Is this a good visit or a bad one?” Alexander inquired as he resumed his seat. Mackenzie laughed a little, lowering herself into one of the two armchairs facing his desk.
“It’s a good one,” she assured him, crossing her long legs. “I’ve decided to go with your firm to do my house.”
“That’s great news,” Alexander stated with a nod. He made a mental note to celebrate with his boys later; this was one of the biggest clients his firm had ever gotten.
“Right…” Mackenzie said, nodding in agreement. “Those designs were amazing.”
“Thank you. Which design did you want to go with?” A smile pulled at the corners of Mackenzie’s full mouth; Alexander noticed she wore little to no makeup and still looked flawless.
“All three.” His eyebrows rose in surprise.
“All three?” Mackenzie nodded.
“I saw something I liked in each one of them and I want to bring them together.” Alexander ran a hand over his hair, exhaling in a rush. He’d had many clients since he’d been in business, and many of them had wanted very different things, but they’d all decided on one design to work with; he’d never had a client who wanted every design he’d offered up.
“Okay…” She pulled out what he recognized as the notepad from the day before and flipped a couple of pages before placing it on the desk and sliding it towards him.
“I wrote down what I wanted from what I saw,” she told him, her eyes on the notepad. “I’ll have to see those models again to completely tell you what all I want.”
“I can do that.” Alexander stood from his desk and walked across the office to a door in the midst of his built in bookcases. He entered and returned shortly with two of the three models in his capable hands, setting them down on the desk before retrieving the third. He watched as her face lit up, her gray eyes roaming over the miniature houses before her. Her face broke out into a beautiful smile, dimples forming in her cheeks.
“I can definitely work with this,” she said, nodding.
“Alright, good.” He paused near the armchairs, looking down at the models. “Do you mind if I sit on this side of the desk, to see what you see?” Mackenzie shook her head, gesturing to the seat next to her.
“It’s your office.” Alexander chuckled.
“Alright…” He took a seat next to her as she retrieved her notepad from the desk and a pen from her purse. “Let’s get started then.”
They quickly submerged themselves in the work at hand, voicing out thoughts, ideas and suggestions as Alexander showed her the ins and outs of each house again and Mackenzie wrote down what she wanted. The conversation remained strictly professional, but there was a tension – a heat – between them that caught Alexander’s attention ever so often. It took effort to keep his focus on business; he found himself watching her profile as she wrote her notes down, his eyes lingering on the slender grace of her neck, envisioning how it’d feel to kiss her there, to twist his fingers up in her hair and find her spot, to hear her moan in response.
“Mr. McCartney.” They both looked up as the voice of his secretary cut through their zone. Their eyes met briefly before Alexander stood and walked around the desk to his phone, pressing the intercom button.
“Yeah.”
“You’re 4:30 appointment is here.” Alexander had completely forgotten about the new client he was supposed to meet with. He looked back at Mackenzie, who began to pack up her things; two hours had gone by like two minutes. Alexander sighed.
“Alright, just a moment.” He released the intercom button and turned to Mackenzie as she stood from her seat.
“I got a lot of notes,” Mackenzie informed him, moving her hair behind her shoulder with a quick toss of her head. “But I’ll need another meeting with you to put it all into one house.”
“Alright,” Alexander said with a nod. “Well let’s head to the secretary and see what I have open.” He put up the models before they exited the office and approached the secretary’s desk; Mariah, Alexander’s secretary, glanced up at the elegant pair, masking the dislike on her face a little too late. “Mariah, can you schedule another appointment for myself and Miss Caldwell, please?” he inquired, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pants. Mariah did a brief look over the large calendar set into her desk, briefly reading the many notes, dates and times written into the boxes.
“You’re booked for the next three weeks, Mr. McCartney,” she informed him, her expression almost smug.
“Hm…” Alexander turned his attention to Mackenzie, whose disapproval was apparent on her exquisite face. “I’m trying to get this house done – I can’t wait three weeks.”
“We could continue over dinner,” Alexander offered, ignoring the expression on Mariah’s face. Mackenzie smirked, shaking her head.
“I don’t work over dinner,” she informed him, her business voice still very much intact. She gave a sigh, tapping one nail against her bottom lip. “I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere…How unfortunate…” Alexander smirked a little, an expression she didn’t catch.
“Mariah, schedule Miss Caldwell in for Friday at 12:30, please.” Mackenzie raised an eyebrow just as the frown on Mariah’s face deepened.
“But…you’re never in the office on Fridays,” she reminded him.
“And I won’t be. Schedule Miss Caldwell in for 12:30 on Friday at Calypso.” He looked back at Mackenzie, noting the frown developing on her face. “There’s nothing wrong with a working lunch,” he told her; she gave him a brief onceover, smirking as well. Mariah reluctantly did as she was asked, writing the message carelessly in the empty box.
“Friday at 12:30, Miss Caldwell,” he said, holding his hand out to her.
“I’ll be there,” Mackenzie responded, shaking his hand. “Just remember that this is in fact a business lunch, not casual.” Alexander chuckled.
“Of course.”
“I’ll see you then.” With that she turned and headed for the exit, never once turning to see his eyes following her intently. He laughed a little, shaking his head as he thought back on their brief encounters. As he gestured for his next client to enter his office, he wondered just how far his professionalism would be tested with Mackenzie Caldwell.
#slick#black excellence#black tumblr#tromance#black love#fiction#creative writing#stories#writer#author#read#write#las vegas
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The Rebirth of Slick; part 5
* * *
The Heartbreaker
Mackenzie was accustomed to turning heads.
It was what she was paid to do; her ability to turn heads was what paid her bills every month. Not an hour of the day went by where she didn’t receive a double take or a lingering gaze of either desire or envy, or both.
As she pulled up to the valet at the Venetian hotel, in her white Jaguar, the response was no different than usual.
She stepped out of the car gracefully, dressed in an aqua blue GUESS by Marciano Grecian one shoulder top, black peg trouser pants and white Bordello stiletto pumps, dazzling the valet with a smile as she handed him her keys. She ran a hand over her hair, pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, as she entered the hotel, headed for one of its conference rooms.
She was pleased to find that everyone who was supposed to be at the meeting was in attendance; she fought to keep the amusement off of her face as she watched the men in the room struggle to keep their expressions professional. She smiled at the general population of the room, her eyes sweeping over their faces. Her gaze lingered on a pair of emerald green eyes in the group, perpetually calm under low lids. He sat near the wall furthest from the entrance, leaning back a little in his chair, one elbow resting on one of the arms. One of his colleagues leaned over and said something to him; he nodded a little and responded – though she couldn’t hear his voice or what he was saying, Mackenzie could hear the rumbling bass in his voice.
“Good morning, everyone,” she said in the professional voice she’d perfected for business endeavors and the people she encountered who expected her to be a dunce; Mackenzie Caldwell was one of few who handled every aspect of her career. They all greeted her at generally the same time; all eyes were on her as she took a seat at the head of the conference table, pulling a slim notepad and pen out of her gold oversized Michael Kors clutch. “I hope everyone made it here okay.” There was another chorus of responses. “Alright, good. Let’s get to work, shall we?”
Mackenzie grew increasingly discouraged as she watched one presentation after another. None of the houses was what she was looking for; one was too feminine, one was too antique, one was too modern – by the time McCartney Architecture’s turn came around her head was beginning to hurt and she was mentally recalling more architecture firms in her mind.
He stood from his seat and her attention was captured by his towering frame. He was dressed in all black – a button down, pants and shoes, no tie – and she could see the muscle outlines underneath his clothes. There was a silent collective swoon from females in the room as he approached the front of the room with his two colleagues, many looks were exchanged.
He introduced himself as Alexander McCartney before introducing his colleges; employees, rather. Mackenzie had to remind herself more than once that she was there on business as he talked – his voice was a phenomenon within itself – but once he began his presentation Mackenzie was completely captivated.
He’d brought three separate designs, each ranging in their levels of modernity and possessing just the right balance of feminine and masculine features. Mackenzie found herself zoning out at times, imagining how she could incorporate something from each design into her dream house; her mind was made up before the presentation was finished.
“I would like to thank you for your time and effort,” Mackenzie began, putting her pad and pen back in her clutch. “Each presentation was great and you’re all extremely talented. I will make my decision and let you know tomorrow.” She stood from her seat, her gaze sweeping over the room once more. His gaze was on her as she reached him; she wasn’t sure, but the look in his amazing green eyes seemed to tell her he’d be seeing her very soon.
#slick#black excellence#black tumblr#romance#black love#fiction#creative writing#stories#writer#author#read#write#las vegas
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Essential; part 5
* * *
Duke knew it was going to rain from the moment he stepped out of his office building; the air was warmer than usual and there had been a collection of dark clouds closing in on the city all day. Thunder rolled as he got in his car, heading for La Locanda; he’d finished up work early and had managed to get out of the office at seven, several hours earlier than usual.
He parked in front of the restaurant and made his way inside, umbrella in hand; he felt a few light raindrops land on his shoulder of his Kenneth Cole button down as he entered the building. The restaurant was lively; several patrons occupied the tables, the loud murmuring of their collective voices and the clinking of silverware against china competed with Italian ambience music playing from the speakers.
He let the hostess seat him and allowed himself to get comfortable, looking up in time to see Gabriella making her way over, a smile on her face.
“Look who’s early,” she said by way of a greeting. Duke chuckled.
“I got lucky tonight,” he told her. “Are you closing?”
“Not today,” Gabriella told him, her smile bright. “I came in at 10:30, so I get off in about twenty minutes.”
“I bet you’re happy.” She opened her mouth to respond, and a loud clap of thunder stopped her. They turned towards the storefront windows; torrential rain began falling at an angle outside, hitting the windows with loud taps. Duke turned to look at Gabriella; she watched the rain anxiously, biting her lip. “I could give you a ride,” Duke offered. “Take you to pick up who you need to pick up.”
“No, no, that’s okay,” Gabriella assured him with a smile. “You’re about to eat; I’ll be fine.” Duke watched her intently; this was the type of rain that fell for days. “Let me go put your order in; the usual, right?”
“Yeah.” She turned and left and Duke watched her, shaking his head. By 7:30 his food was just coming out, and the rain had gotten worse; Duke watched as Gabriella made her way to the door, pulling on a thin hooded jacket. She paused, looking out at the rain. “Rielle.” She looked over at him; he handed her his umbrella, the one he always kept in his car for days like these. “Take it.” After a moment she smiled gratefully and walked over, taking the umbrella from him; her tip was tucked into the Velcro band that kept the umbrella closed, she soon realized. She thanked him and headed out the door; Duke watched her open the umbrella and hurry down the street, her head ducked down. When she disappeared from sight he returned to his meal; he could deal with a few seconds in the rain.
#essential#black excellence#black tumblr#black love#romance#fiction#creative wrting#stories#read#author#writer#write#miami
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Essential; part 4
* * *
In Miami Beach, where the Lincoln Road Mall crossed over Pennsylvania Avenue, a restaurant had taken the city by storm. It had been made from several purchased commercial spaces that had been gutted out and renovated over time. The entrance to the restaurant was extended into a long walkway, with black hardwood floors, a mahogany paneled wall to the left and a wall-like structure with a myriad of cut outs to hint at the entering guests that walked past on the right; in the center of the walkway, like a guide to the restaurant, were small lights embedded into the wood – the entire walkway was bathed in a warm sensual orange light. Near the very mouth was a cluster of tables sections off in its own area, with warm it candles, red cushioned chairs and booths and a shimmering, gold flecked wall that reflected different colored lights in the distance.
Continuing on into the restaurant was a bar along the right wall, its granite countertops lit with candles and the overall area of the bar lit with recessed lights in the ceiling. Bottles of Diva, Russo-Baltique, Beauté du Siècle, Krug, Louis XIII Black Pearl and various other bottles of the finest, most expensive brands of liquor in the world were set in crystal cases and lined the bar’s wall on asymmetrical black wood shelves; computerized screens filled some of the shelf spaces and played ambiance images of pulsating satin and flowing silk.
The main interior of the restaurant was a great expanse of tables, adorned with exotic orange runners and flameless lights. Spotlights overhead assisted the giant cylindrical paper lanterns illuminating the dining room; giant, gauzy bronze drapes hung from the ceiling, fluttering lightly. On either side of the dining area were black couches that played the role of booth seats, set in front of glass tables; the right wall was made of glass, giving patrons a fascinating view as world renowned chefs and pâtissiers created their meals for the evening, carried out to them by servers dressed in crisp black pants and a button downs.
Continuing outside was the al fresco dining tables, lit by warm spotlights on the ground and fire pits lining the Tuscan red painted walls, as well as the flameless candles from inside; overlooking the al fresco tables was the VIP dining area, on a second level of the building reserved only for the special patrons. On one entire side was a glass wall, and the interior was made up of exposed brick walls, dark hardwood floors and smaller, intimate tables covered in black cloths. There was a private bar lit by recessed lighting and a lounge area, for the crème de la crème to mix and mingle.
This was Nile, Pharaoh Nayir’s masterpiece.
On Friday night Nile was packed, even more so than usual during the week. Celebrities, politicians and entrepreneurs filled the restaurant, along with several other well-to-do patrons; they ate, drank and laughed, in between sending compliments to the chefs and demanding to meet the genius behind such an awe inspiring establishment, who they heard was working as host for the evening.
Pharaoh was indeed making his rounds that evening, dressed to the nines in a custom tailored Polo Ralph Lauren suit – a black button down, charcoal gray suit vest and pants – and a black and red paisley tie. He was the captor of every woman’s eye and he used it to his advantage, ensuring that his guests were having a sublime dining experience. He stopped at tables, sent out and brought out plates, and even fixed drinks at the bar; he made sure that he kept a working hand in his business, insisted of sitting on his ass and letting others do his job.
He was making his way inside from the outdoor tables when he spotted Sabine, one of his waitresses, headed for the kitchen; she and a few others were serving a big party, a company event, it seemed, set up at a long connection of tables at the center of the dining area.
“Hey, Mr. Nayir,” she greeted him warmly on her way.
“Hey, Sabine. How’s that group doing?”
“Pretty good; they’re finishing up with their meals now.”
“Excellent. Tell Derek to send out some phyllo nests and napoleons to there, about ten each, alright?”
“Sure thing.” She continued on her way to the kitchen and he made his way over to the bar; he had the bartenders prepare a bucket of ice and two bottles of Möet and Chandon Nectar Imperial Rosé and took it with them, making his way back into the dining room.
The tables were occupied by a majority of women, and a couple of men, all dressed to the nines for the evening. Pharaoh made his way over to the table, mingling and greeting the patrons as he set the bucket of champagne on a rolling tray that a server brought to them, along with several champagne flutes. As he poured glasses of champagne he inquired about their dining experience, taking mental notes whenever necessary – there was always room for improvement.
He was only halfway around the table when servers began bringing out the quickly and immaculately prepared desserts: phyllo nests with apples and honey, and orange-pomegranate napoleons, two of the restaurant’s seasonal treats. As the guests took their pick he continued with the champagne, slowing as he reached the head of the table.
She was seated there like a queen, her shapely figure dressed in a strapless Tuscan red dress that gathered in the front in a draped fashion; her magnificent legs seemed to go on for miles under the table, ending in studded, designer black, red and gold heels. Her skin was the smoothest cocoa brown he had ever seen, and her warm chocolate brown eyes were fringed in dark, dramatic eyelashes; her ebony hair was a luxury, parted down the middle and framing her exquisite face in deep coifs. Pharaoh licked his lips discreetly, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Are you the lady of the hour?” he inquired, taking a flute from the tray and tilting it as he poured the champagne. She looked up at him, and he could feel her eyes taking in his features.
“Actually, no,” she answered, her smile sultry. He handed her the flute and looked around at the table.
“So what’s the occasion?”
“It’s the second anniversary of my company being launched.”
“Your company?”
“Lavish Affairs.”
“You’re an event coordinator?”
“At your service.” Their eyes met and the temperature skyrocketed so high it was as if the room had caught fire. Pharaoh took a moment to remind himself that he was at work before returning his attention to her. “Who may I ask is treating us so hospitably tonight?”
“Pharaoh Nayir.” He took her hand and kissed it softly; her skin was like silk against his lips. Her eyebrows rose.
“Pharaoh, hm?”
“At your service.��� She bit her lip lightly. “And who, may I ask, am I serving?”
“Reese Kennedy.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Kennedy.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Before he could ask a server took the champagne tray, carting it off to the kitchen.
“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Kennedy; dessert is on me.”
“Thank you, Mr. Nayir.” They shared one last look before he continued making his rounds. Reese Kennedy had left her image in his brain and he had his sights set – he would definitely be seeing her again.
#essential#black excellence#black tumblr#black love#romance#fiction#creative writing#stories#read#author#writer#write#miami
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The Rebirth of Slick; Part 4
* * *
Calypso was the finest restaurant to ever step foot in Las Vegas. Appealing to a broad spectrum of diners with its seemingly endless expanse of cuisines, Calypso was the place where only the top celebrities, business heads and socialites dined, whether it was at the original in Las Vegas or the ones in Rio de Janeiro, Paris, Berlin, Milan and New York. Not a month went by where the exclusive chain of restaurants wasn’t featured or mentioned in some sort of magazine or on a television show; customers hungry for the menu and the glamorous life longed for the restaurant and what it had to offer while women across the world drooled over the owner, Jacob Marcus Devereaux. The restaurant was one of the epitomes of the high life, but at seven in the morning that was not its purpose; at seven in the morning it was simply a meeting place for Jacob and his best friends to figure out precisely how he would get revenge on a certain Nathaniel Hawkins.
Jacob, now dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, was pacing the front sitting area of his restaurant when the front door opened and 28-year-old Alexander McCartney entered.
Alexander McCartney was a big man, with a big name and a big presence. He was 6’5” of muscle coated in smooth dark brown skin; his jet black hair was cut into a fade with waves that could make one seasick and emerald green eyes were set behind low eyelids. He was an architect and a construction man at his core, but it was impossible to call him just those things; he owned McCartney Architecture, one of the most sought after architecture firms in the United States. He wasn’t a man of many emotions or flashiness; he preferred to let his work speak for itself, not to mention the black Rolls Royce Phantom he drove.
To ward off the cool desert air he was dressed in jeans, a white Henley and Timberland boots; there was no excess jewelry, save a Rolex watch on his left wrist. Jacob could see the irritation on Alexander’s otherwise calm and collected face as he drew nearer, but he was entirely too angry to really pay any attention.
“This shit better be good,” Alexander declared by way of a greeting as he took a seat on the couch in the sitting area. “I could be asleep right now.”
“So could I,” Jacob shot back, still pacing. “But shit just don’t work out that way, do it?”
“Look, nigga. Just because your restaurant don’t open ‘til one don’t mean we all got it like that,” Alexander stated, his deep, rumbling baritone tinged with irritation. “I got a meeting at ten in the morning, Jake – that’s two hours and 45 minutes from now. I get the feelin’ this shit is gonna take a lot longer than the window I’ve got.”
“I thought we was boys, Lex.”
“Bein’ boys don’t pay bills, nigga.” The door opened again and in walked 26-year-old Nicholas McIntyre; everything from his outfit – a black long sleeved shirt under a black hoodie, jeans and black Vans – to his slow walk said laidback. He stood at 6’4”, with skin a shade or so lighter than Jacob’s, black hair cut into a fade and black bedroom eyes, hidden partially by low lids. With his demeanor one wouldn’t necessarily expect him to be the owner of a club, but then again The Cool, one of the most talked about clubs on the Strip, wasn’t just any club, either. Nicholas preferred to call it a lounge – it sounded more easygoing. He pushed the hood of his jacket off of his head, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans.
“What’s up, Lex,” he greeted him before turning to Jacob. “What I gotta talk you out of now?”
“You ain’t talkin’ me out of shit,” Jacob spat as he walked past him.
“What’s goin’ on, Lex?” Nicholas inquired, leaning against the hostess’s booth.
“I’ll find out when you do, Nick,” Alexander replied, leaning back in his seat. “I just know it better happen soon or I’m takin’ my ass back home.”
“Jake-”
“I’ll tell you when AJ gets here,” Jacob said shortly, balling his hands into fists repeatedly.
“Considerin’ how mad he is, I’m guessin’ we about to whoop somebody’s ass,” Alexander said with a yawn, blinking slowly.
“So early in the morning, Jake?” Nicholas inquired. “You usually don’t try shit like this ‘til…around eleven.”
“Funny.” The door opened a fourth time and in walked 27-year-old Adam James Lancaster, of the blueblood Lancaster clan in Manhattan and owner of Lancaster International, a chain of high end hotels that stretched across half of the world, adding new money to his old. Whether with his family, being the black sheep and the only one not to find a career in the medical, legal or political fields, or with his friends, being the only Caucasian, AJ always stood out in crowds. He was the epitome of pureblooded perfection, standing at 6’2” with lightly tanned skin, black hair cut into a Caesar and striking sapphire blue eyes. One could tell he was well built even under his specially tailored suits; he and Jacob shared similar physiques. He was the only one of his friends who was never not dressed for business; he was, at that very moment, dressed in a white button down, black slacks and black leather dress shoes. He wore a long open black coat over his clothing; it blew behind him a little as he entered the building.
“The jet’s ready,” he informed them by way of a greeting before resuming his phone call, walking back towards the door.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Jacob said with a sly grin, rubbing his hands together.
“That man don’t ever stop workin’,” Alexander declared with a shake of his head; Nicholas smirked. AJ ended his call after a moment and returned to them, putting the phone in his pocket.
“So what’re we doin’, gents?” he inquired, standing near Nicholas.
“Yeah, gent,” Alexander chimed in, raising an eyebrow at Jacob.
“We about to go fuck that nigga Nathaniel up,” Jacob replied, ignoring Alexander.
“Who?” Alexander asked, frowning.
“Phoenix’s nigga,” Nicholas answered easily.
“Ah, Phoenix…” AJ said, nodding.
“Why is it that every time we get together like this it’s somethin’ to do with Phoenix?” Alexander demanded. “She got a hit list or somethin’?”
“The hit list makes itself,” Nicholas stated.
“What did…what’s his name? Nathaniel. What did he do?” AJ inquired, leaning against the wall near the hostess’s booth.
“He cheated on her with some hoe down in LA.”
“What?” Alexander demanded.
“I knew that nigga wasn’t shit,” Nicholas declared, shaking his head.
“So, LAX?” AJ guessed, pulling his phone back out to text the information to his pilot.
“He so damn gung-ho…” Alexander muttered.
“Does Phoenix know you’re doin’ this?” Nicholas inquired, his eyes on Jacob.
“Nah, she don’t know.”
“What did she do about this?” Alexander asked.
“She ain’t did shit.”
“Phoenix didn’t do nothin’ to that nigga?” Jacob shook his head, a look of slight disbelief on his face.
“Nah; surprised me, too.”
“Then why are you doin’ somethin’?” Nicholas inquired. Jacob stared at him incredulously.
“You really think I’mma let that nigga get away with this without havin’ his ass handed to him?” he demanded.
“He’s got a point,” Alexander stated with a shrug.
“Yeah but this isn’t your fight,” AJ pointed out.
“If she didn’t do nothin’ then you don’t need to be doin’ nothin’,” Nicholas added. “Wait to see what she do, or at least see what she wants you to do.” Jacob glared at him for along moment; the action didn’t faze Nicholas – he was always the one to be the voice of reason when it came to Jacob, and therefore always received looks similar to this. Jacob cussed under his breath and continued pacing; the men knew he was taking their words into consideration. “It’s for the best, Jake,” Nicholas added for good measure.
“Shut the fuck up, nigga,” was Jacob’s curt response; Nicholas smirked.
“So, what are we doin’?” AJ asked, looking around at them. “What’s the verdict?”
“…Call it off,” Jacob said reluctantly, sighing. “I’ll wait on it.” AJ nodded, dialing a number on his phone.
“I’ll see you later on then, gentlemen,” he said as he headed for the door, his phone back at his ear.
“Alright cool,” Alexander said, standing up with a clap of his big hands. “I’m goin’ back to my house to see if I can’t salvage an hour or two of sleep. It’s been real, fellas.” He turned for the door as well, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Oh, and the next time y’all decide you want to include me in this shit this early in the morning, don’t.” Jacob rolled his eyes, watching as the two men exited the parking lot.
“When are y’all just gonna hook up?” Nicholas inquired, watching as Jacob turned off the lights in the dining area.
“Shut up, nigga.”
“I’m serious, Jake. Every time I look up, you gettin’ heated about somethin’ that’s happened with Phoenix.”
“She’s my-”
“I understand she’s you’re best friend, but that don’t mean the chemistry ain’t there. I know you feel somethin’ for her.” Jacob stared at him for a long moment. It was true – he had immense feelings for Phoenix – but she was his best friend. She’d been there with him through everything; grade school, college and the decision to go to culinary school. She’d been there when he’d found out about his girlfriend’s pregnancy fresh out of college, was there for the birth – against the will of Keneshia, Grace’s mother – and had helped him take care of Grace when it was his time to have her. She was even there to help Jacob pick up the pieces after Keneshia had decided motherhood wasn’t her calling when Grace was three. Jacob had been in love with Phoenix since they were freshmen in high school, and his feelings had only gotten stronger over the years. He knew his ways, however; he was somewhat of a serial dater, and had never really entertained the thought of a serious, monogamous relationship – Keneshia had been his most serious relationship, and they’d only dated six months before Grace was conceived. He didn’t want Phoenix to become one of his exes; this was the reason why she was strictly off limits to him outside of a few of his thoughts.
“She’s like my sister, man,” he said by way of an excuse, heading for the door.
“Then some incest needs to take place, ‘cause you’re meant for each other.”
“Cut the friendly shit, nigga,” Jacob retorted, making Nicholas laugh.
“I’m just sayin’; take it into consideration.” Jacob began to do just that as he locked up the restaurant and they returned to their vehicles. It might’ve been time for Jacob to take a shot with Phoenix; he had some serious thinking to do first.
#slick#black excellence#black tumblr#romance#black love#fiction#creative writing#stories#writer#author#read#write#las vegas
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Renegade; part 4
* * *
Three years later
The ringing of Nevada’s cell phone lured her attention away from her closet; she looked over at it, buzzing and trilling on her nightstand on the other side of the room. Nevada set down her task for the time being and hurried over, reading the name Nick on the screen as she picked it up and answered it.
“Hello?”
“I’m almost there,” came Nicholas’s laidback baritone on the other end. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m just putting on my shoes.”
“Alright.” Nevada hung up, returning to her closet. She ultimately decided on a pair of jeweled flip flops to go with the denim shorts and black tank top she was wearing. She gathered her abundance of natural black curls in a high ponytail and adorned herself with a pair of chandelier earrings and a few bracelets, taking the spare time to look over herself in her full length mirror. In the past three years her body had become that of a young woman’s, equipped with full breasts, hips, thighs and backside. The minor looks she had been receiving from men had become full blown stares of lust and awe. She had power in her walk and her smile, power that she had recognized, but had yet to use; there was really no point. She heard Nicholas’s horn outside and she grabbed her bag and phone and hurried out of her room, saying goodbye to her parents as she headed out of the door.
“I swear to God, you get more grown every time I see you,” Nicholas declared as she got in the passenger’s seat; Nevada rolled her eyes, closing the door behind her before buckling her seatbelt.
“You just saw me last week, Nick.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is is that you’re over exaggerating!”
“Yeah, whatever; where are your clothes?”
“I’m wearing them!” Nicholas scoffed. “Look, in case you forgot, we live in South Florida.”
“Yeah, okay.” Nicholas moved the Pontiac out of park and Nevada sat back with a smirk, letting her brother’s complaints roll off of her as he backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. They made the almost half hour trip that had become second nature to them over the course of five years; the same smile crossed Nevada’s features as the pulled up to the familiar loft building on Meridian Avenue. She beat Nicholas out of the car and then stopped herself, waiting to walk with Nicholas to the door; no matter how old she got, she still felt like the same eleven year old girl.
They reached the door and Nicholas took it upon himself to knock, rattling the door in its frame; in a matter of seconds the door flew open, and Nevada’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of Demetri on the other side of it, dressed in a black wife beater and sweatpants, his hair damp and pushed out of his green eyes.
“You want to die, don’t you?” he said evenly. “How many times have I told you not to come to my door like that?”
“I can’t help myself, man.”
“Sure you can’t,” Demetri deadpanned. “I’m trying to tell you; I’m not liable for my actions if I kill you on my doorstep one day.” His eyes went past Nicholas to Nevada, whose heart skipped another beat at the smile that crossed his handsome features; it was a special smile, that she had only seen him give her in the years that had passed. “Hey, Nevada.” Nevada smiled brightly at him in return.
“Hey.”
“Are you gonna let us in, or what?” Nicholas griped.
“I’ll let Nevada in,” Demetri responded, reaching past Nicholas to take Nevada’s hand in his; Nevada’s skin flushed as he pulled her to him and into the apartment. “You, I’m still on the fence about.”
“Yeah whatever, man; get out of the way.” Demetri laughed as Nicholas made his way past them and into the apartment, heading over to the kitchen area. “Where’s the pizza at?”
“It’s coming; sit down somewhere.” Demetri turned to look at Nevada as he closed and locked the front door. “You want something to drink, Nev? I’ve got cherry Coke for you.”
“You do?” Demetri nodded, heading into the kitchen area.
“Go ahead and have a seat; I’ll bring you one.” Nevada obliged, taking a seat at one end of the couch as usual; Nicholas took the other end, and Demetri sat between them.
After years of being the tag along and the third wheel, Nevada had finally been adopted into some of Demetri and Nicholas’s events. Instead of begging Nicholas to come along that day she had been invited and, of course, she hadn’t hesitated to say yes. They were all in for a movie night, to peruse through Demetri’s impressive DVD collection; for hours they feasted on pizza and sodas, watching movie after movie until the early hours of the morning.
The credits were rolling on the last movie they watched and Nicholas was fast asleep, knocked out on his end of the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table.
“I guess I’d better get this cleaned up,” Demetri stated, rising from the couch and proceeding to pick up the plates they had used.
“I’ll help you.”
“You don’t have to, Nev.” Nevada ignored him, picking up their empty soda cans and pizza boxes; Demetri chuckled and shook his head, leading her over to the kitchen. There was quiet between them as they went about cleaning up; Nevada cleaned his place better than she did her own room – she couldn’t help herself. “Alright, I think we’re good,” Demetri declared, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Thanks, Nev.”
“Don’t mention it.” Nevada took a look around her, at his apartment. “There’s something I’ve been curious about…”
“Yeah?” Nevada nodded. “And what’s that?”
“You’ve always lived in this apartment alone, even before you graduated, or met Nick,” Nevada began.
“Uh huh…”
“Why is that?” After a moment Demetri chuckled, running his fingers through his hair.
“Because…I’ve always been alone.” Nevada frowned.
“What do you mean?” Demetri exhaled slowly, folding his arms across his chest.
“I don’t have any parents, or any family,” he told her. “My parents are long dead and gone; I’ve never really known my father’s side of the family, and my mother’s side is all still in Japan, so I don’t know them, either. My parents eloped, I guess you could say.”
“That’s terrible, about your parents,” Nevada said softly. “I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Demetri told her with a shake of his head. “You and Nick are a part of the closest thing I have to family, so I think I’m doing alright.” Nevada smiled softly, nodding.
“Okay.” It felt good, hearing this from Demetri. She had never even guessed that he was truly alone in this loft for all of those years, and she could imagine the hardships that he had gone through because of it. If Demetri considered herself and Nicholas to be family, then she wanted him to continue doing so; whatever it took for him to feel more wanted, she was more than happy to do.
#renegade#natural hair#interracial#ambw#ambw relationships#ambw couple#romance#fiction#creative writing#stories#writer#author#read#write#miami
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Chimera; part 4
* * *
It was an ideal day to go shopping.
It was Saturday, and one of the few off days Alyxandra had. She had set aside money for weeks since she’d started working, keeping a mental note of the things she wanted to get to decorate her loft. The emptiness was starting to bother her; she needed some decoration in her house, and fast. When the weekend of opportunity came Alyxandra spent Friday night looking up places to visit, centering her search around SOMA. On Saturday morning she had her list and bus pass in hand, and she set out for the bus stop, beginning her quest into the district.
SOMA was filled to the brim with shops and restaurants, and bustling with people; Alyxandra was sure that she would find everything she needed that day. She started on 9th Street, where three of the stores on her list were located. Pier 1 Imports and Bed, Bath & Beyond were in the same plaza, on the same block; she had a ball in each, splurging on everything from plates and cutlery, shower curtains, blinds, rugs and vases, to wind chimes, cushions and plants. Half of her budget had been blown between these two, but she’d gotten the majority of what she wanted; the other half would be split between the other little shops she’d discovered online. She had entirely too many bags to continue on; she caught a taxi home to drop off her purchases and then returned to SOMA. She needed artwork, and throw blankets; these were the key things her mind was focused on as she made her way down the street, taking in her surroundings.
She’d had the taxi let her off at Market Street and 7th Avenue and she continued north on foot; she had plans to stop in and check out the stores in the Westfield Shopping Centre, and then would continue on towards the Yerba Buena shopping center on 3rd Street, her last two stops before she called it a day and went home to decorate. She was just coming up to the corner of 5th and Market when she collided heavily with someone solid, strong enough to send her stumbling backwards several steps, her shoulder throbbing.
“Ouch,” she mumbled, then looked upward, her mouth ready to apologize to whomever she’d hit; a pair of the most hostile, slanted dark eyes she’d ever seen were glaring back down at her. They were set into what was an otherwise handsome face; angular, with high cheekbones and a stubborn chin. His face was framed by tousled ebony hair that ventured just to his collarbone, curling ever so slightly at the ends. His lips were a little thin and sculpted, pulled into a line of a frown. He was at least a foot taller than her, with a lean, muscular build, dressed in a long sleeved black V-neck T-shirt, jeans and boots; a black motorcycle helmet rested under his left arm.
“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going?” he spat at her, his voice a harsh, unforgiving baritone. With a frown Alyxandra gave him a onceover.
“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going?” she shot back at him, incensed. It looked as if he wanted to rip her throat out with his teeth but she stood her ground, jutting her chin out defiantly. After a moment he gave her a onceover of his own, setting and resetting his jaw as he shook his head. He turned from her then, breezing past her and continuing down the street without so much as an “excuse me”. Alyxandra glared after him, her eyes burning a hole into his broad back until she couldn’t see him anymore. When he was gone she kissed her teeth and turned, continuing on towards her destination. She couldn’t help but think of Gavin; he and the stranger were complete opposites, like night and day, and she was glad that there were men capable of being courteous and kind, that not all men didn’t know how to simply interact with people, a woman in particular, when they bumped into one on the street.
#chimera#interracial#wmbw#wmbw love#wmbw couple#wmbw relationships#ambw#ambw love#ambw relationships#ambw couple#romance#creative writing#natural hair#fiction#stories#writer#read#write#author#san francisco#love
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C R U S H; Chapter 2, "You Don't Know My Name II", Part 2
* * *
Though Saturday was filled with leisure, Sunday was a day promised to other people, in particular the Coffee Bar. Skye was a café server, a barista, and often days she found herself with a shift to work. Being a barista was surprisingly strenuous work, but Skye didn’t mind. The pay was good, the tips were good, and after four years of working there, management pretty much left her alone, an ideal situation. That Sunday she had a ten o’clock shift; she awoke at 8:30, taking her time to shower and enjoy a breakfast of cereal and fruit. She was finished feeding herself a little after nine, and went about getting dressed, in black skinny jeans and an old Naruto T-shirt, throwing on a thin, long black cardigan for the trip there and slipping her feet into a pair of her most comfortable shoes, a pair of worn in black moccasins – there was no uniform at her job. She pulled her hair back into a low ponytail and prepared her bag for the day, putting in her wallet, keys and, of course, her Sayuri sketchbook; there was rarely a day that she ever left it behind.
It was 9:40 when she finally left her apartment, and the Coffee Bar was a ten minute walk away, down 17th Street; she usually walked to work and back. She locked up her apartment and made her way downstairs and out of the building, turning and heading down her street to 17th Street and venturing right. It was a peaceful trip down 17th Street, as it always was; Skye paused at Folsom Street and waited for the light to change before continuing forward, passing the computer services company with the lime green trim and another café on either opposite corner as she went. There was a bike shop on the other side of the street from her, Charlie’s Place; upon seeing her, the mechanics whistled and waved as always – Skye shook her head, smirking as she gave a little wave in return. As she crossed over Treat Avenue and Harrison Street she passed lofts and apartment buildings; they were all buildings that she had aspired to live in before but the price was too steep for her income. She’d had to settle, but the quaint little building she’d found fit her to a T.
She soldiered her way up two uphill blocks before she reached Bryant Street, listening to the sounds of children playing at Franklin Square Park across the street as she ventured right. The gray loft style building that housed her workplace came into view as she walked further down Bryant Street, toward Mariposa Street; it was an art building that held many art studios and galleries under its single roof, as well as her coffee shop. She reached Mariposa Street and made another right, heading down to the corner of the building where the coffee shop was located. She entered the fenced in patio area and then the building; it was packed, patrons gathering in a small crowd near the pickup counter as Vince, the manager, struggled to handle both cashier and bar alone. He looked up from the caffina, his eyes a vibrant blue in the sunlight coming in from the windows as they landed on Skye, and he heaved a sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank God,” he called out. Skye laughed.
“Where is Liz?” she inquired as she headed toward the back room to put up her things; Liz was one of the baristas, who Skye and Vince were supposed to be working with that day.
“She’s on break,” Vince called back over the deafening sound of steaming milk. “And she’s got T-minus six minutes left to get back here.”
“Aw, Vince.”
“Get your manga loving butt over here and work your cash magic.”
“Roger that.” She quickly put up her bag and cardigan and returned to the café area, heading over to the cash register. With her at the register the line went by twice as quickly as it had before, and when Liz returned to relieve Vince of the bar station, there was practically no line. For an hour it was a flurry of steaming milk, espresso beans, pound cake and croissants, oatmeal and bagels as they handled the last of the morning rush. When the last customer was taken care of they all heaved dramatic sighs before going about restocking, preparing themselves for the lunch rush that was sure to start in promptly an hour, at noon.
“So, Miss Mangaka,” Liz called out as she restocked her espresso beans. “When do I get to read another volume of Sayuri?” Liz was an anime head, but she had an appreciation for the printed form. She was one of the only people Skye had ever let catch a glimpse of Sayuri, besides Zoie, because she knew it would be better received by her; still, she’d only read the first volume of the series.
“You’ll read it when it gets published.”
“Aw, come on, Skye!” Liz exclaimed. “I’ll still buy it when it gets published, I promise!”
“Nope!”
“Still being stingy with the reads?” Vince inquired as he emerged from the back room.
“Of course,” Liz responded.
“We’re going to end up reading it one day,” Vince told Skye, who rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, when I’m ready for you to read it.”
“Stingy!”
“Oh, whatever.” The front door opened, capturing Skye’s attention, and she turned her eyes toward it; she froze, her whole body heating up. It was him, it was him. He was dressed like night and day in comparison to his workout clothes, in a white T-shirt under a thin black open sweater, the sleeves pushed up to the elbows, jeans and simple white Converse. His hair fell into his eyes, this time framed by black square framed glasses. He paused at the front door, his eyes taking in the café’s interior; there was a black laptop bag hanging across his chest. Skye could only stand and watch as he turned his eyes to the menu overhead, making his way slowly over to the counter; he looked down at the bake case, reading over the selections written on the glass above the pastries. He was everywhere, absolutely everywhere; she’d been working at this café for years – how was he just now showing up, when she started thinking of him? This was the closest she had seen him so far; she could see the set of his jaw, and the leather cord necklace around his neck, as well as the leather bracelet on his slim wrist, even more clearly. From the proximity she could see the glint of silver earrings in his ears, three small silver rings in his left ear, and four in the other.
She stood there, frozen, as he made his way absently over to the cash register, his eyes lingering on the bake case as he moved. She had to remind herself that, while she had seen him, he’d never seen her, and wouldn’t recognize her on sight. Besides, what was she so antsy for? It was just a guy, a stranger.
“Welcome to the Coffee Bar,” she greeted him as he drew nearer. “What can I get you?”
“Can I get…” His voice was a smooth, fluid tenor, that matched his visual image perfectly. He paused as he looked up at the menu. “Can I get a medium iced coffee and…one of those ham and cheese croissants?” His eyes landed on her for the first time since he walked up, and to her surprise he did a double take, his eyebrows rising.
“Okay.” Skye called out his order before entering his item choices. “Will that be all for you?”
“Uh, yeah,” he answered with a nod, his voice sounding a little more far away. “Yeah, that’s all.”
“Okay, your total is $8.43.” He pulled out a black leather wallet from his pocket and retrieved a ten dollar bill, handing it to her; Skye gave his change to him and he continued down to the pickup counter, his eyes lingering on her as he went. Skye stood still, completely unnerved. Why the double take? Maybe he thought of her as a stalker, the way she feared he would; she couldn’t help it if he popped up everywhere. She watched as he talked casually with Liz while she made his drink, holding his croissant in one hand; he smiled at something she said, revealing two rows of perfect teeth and, to Skye’s surprise, a single shallow dimple in his cheek. The women in the café watched him intently, as if he was indeed a model; it wasn’t very often that someone that strikingly handsome came around, race aside. He retrieved his coffee and looked back over at her; Skye jumped, startled, and looked away, scolding herself – she wasn’t making this stalker image go away any easier. He thanked Liz before turning away, going off in search of a place to sit; Skye tore her eyes away from him, looking down at the cash register.
“Oh, my God, was he gorgeous or what?” Liz seemed to materialize out of nowhere at Skye’s side, her station abandoned for the time being “I mean, I don’t normally go for Asian guys, but wow.” Skye looked over at Liz, taking in her visage. Liz was beautiful in a flower child kind of way, with smooth, lightly tanned skin and big, expressive hazel eyes. Her hair was waist length and chestnut brown with subtle red and orange streaks; she wore it in a low ponytail and it swished around her as she moved. She had a slender frame, kept up by many hours of long boarding, which she usually dressed for work in jeans, a simple V-neck shirt and Toms. She spoke in a voice so peaceful and carefree that she could bring a smile to anyone’s face.
“Maybe you should try and talk to him,” Skye stated. “I’m sure he wouldn’t turn you down; he’d be an idiot if he did.”
“Nah,” Liz said with a shake of her head. “I’m already dating Dave, and I’m a one-guy-girl, you know?”
“He would go for you though, I’m sure.” Often times guys did. Skye couldn’t keep count of how many phone numbers Liz had gotten from customers; they saw her over the caffina and fell head over heels instantly.
“What about you?” Liz countered.
“What about me?”
“I saw how he looked at you, girly.” Skye made a face, shaking her head.
“He’s probably seen me somewhere before,” she told her. “That’s all.”
“Yeah, yeah, if you say so.” Skye dared to look up at him again; his eyes met hers briefly before returning to his computer screen, and Skye felt her face heat up again. Nah, he just thinks I’m a stalker.
He stayed for a couple hours, his eyes intent on his Macbook, working on whatever it was that he was doing. Skye was just returning from her break when he began to pack up his things, throwing away his trash before heading toward the exit. His eyes sought out Skye’s briefly and he paused, taking out his wallet again as he walked back over to the counter. He placed two dollars into the tip jar; Skye looked down at the jar, then back up at him.
“Hey, thanks man,” Liz called out; he glanced over at her and smiled.
“Thanks,” Skye said finally. He nodded, his eyes returning to her.
“Have a good day.”
“You, too.” He turned and left, pausing to hold the door open for a woman walking in before venturing back out onto the street; Skye watched until he was no longer visible, then forced herself to focus on the new customer.
Her shift was over at four, an hour before the dinner rush was due to begin. She retrieved her things from the back and said goodbye to Allegra and Sam, the baristas that had taken Liz and Vince’s places, and greeted Michaela, who was coming in to take her place at cashier. The temperature had dropped a little from that morning, and would only continue to do so as the evening progressed; she pulled on her cardigan and set back out onto the street, heading back the way she’d come. Her mind went back to him, and she thought of the images that had collected in her head as she walked. He looked different with his glasses on, more reserved, yet and still handsome all the while. She wondered if he wore contacts, or if he’d just chosen to wear them that day. This wasn’t good; he was encompassing her mind, and she didn’t want him to. She thought of him and Liz together; they would’ve made a cute couple – two beautiful people always made a naturally beautiful couple.
Charlie’s Place was still open, and the mechanics were still there; they whistled and waved again as she ventured down the street and she paid them no serious attention as she slowed to a stop at the corner, waiting for the light to change on Folsom Street.
“Hey!” Skye paused, frowning, at the sound of the outburst. She turned to look back across the street, at Charlie’s Place; one of the mechanics was making his way over, jogging across the street. He was young, probably the youngest of all of them that she’d seen, with olive toned skin, dark hair cut into a Caesar, and dark eyes. He stood at about 5’11”, still a generous nine inches taller than her, and bore a lean, muscular physique, clad in a white wife beater, a gray jumpsuit he wore halfway around his waist, and black boots; his body was smudged here and there with grime from a hard day’s work. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell at you like that, but I had to get your attention,” he told her, his words casually accented.
“Okay…”
“I’m Fernando.” He wiped off his hand thoroughly before holding it out to her; Skye took it slowly.
“Skye.”
“That’s a pretty name,” he told her, a smile playing at his lips.
“Thank you.”
“I came over here because…I see you walk by here almost every day, and I think you’re beautiful, and I had to say something.” Skye’s spirit fell as she listened to his words; she’d have much rather wished that he was trying to tell her that she dropped something – anything but that.
“Oh, well thank you…”
“I was wondering if I could get your number, if that’s possible,” he went on. “We could talk sometime…maybe I could take you out to eat…” Skye smiled apologetically. Why couldn’t I have dropped something?
“That’s really sweet of you, Fernando…” she began. “But I don’t want to lead you on. I’m not looking for a relationship, and I’m not about to start any time soon.”
“Oh…” Fernando’s face fell slightly.
“I’m really sorry…”
“No, no, it’s cool,” he assured her. “I gotta appreciate you being honest. Forget I said anything.” With a smile and a wave he returned to the shop; Skye smiled back weakly before turning back around, heaving a sigh. She didn’t want to come off as a bitch, or anything similar, but it was the truth; she didn’t even want to interact with guys in that manner. He’d gotten the idea better than Lucas had; she’d told him the exact same thing, and Lucas still asked her out to that day – she didn’t have it in her to be mean about it. The light changed and she continued across the street, folding her arms across her chest as a breeze picked up. She turned onto Shotwell Street and finished the rest of her journey, walking down a few doors to her own. She settled in for the evening, changing out of her work clothes and into lounge pants and a T-shirt, before devoting her attention to Sayuri. She wanted to get her mind off of him, from the BART, and the park, and now her job, and guys in general, but there was something about him that inspired her to create, like no one ever had before.
#crush#ambw#ambw love#ambw relationships#ambw couple#interracial#creative writing#fiction#stories#author#read#writer#write#san francisco#love
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Tsubaki; Chapter 2, "Thinking", Part 2
* * *
On Saturdays, Indigo usually devoted her morning and afternoon hours to work. It wasn’t exactly like she had anything else better to do with her time, and she could always use the money.
The first Saturday after the semester began was no different. Indigo woke up early and embarked on the trip into the financial district for her eight o’clock shift; she wouldn’t be clocking back out until four that afternoon. The first four hours of her shift went by seamlessly; there was a small rush within the first hour and then the volume remained at a maintainable level. Indigo was on cash register as always; she kept a notepad beside her to keep herself occupied, when she wasn’t looking out of the window, watching the cars and people going by on the street.
It was 2:30, and she was back from her last break of the day, counting down the hour and a half she had left before she could go home. Her feet were killing her, and she was ready to sit down; she hated working long shifts, but it always paid off.
She was in the middle of drawing a wooded path on her notepad when a gust of cold air drifted into the building from the front door, catching her attention; Indigo looked up, her eyebrows rising in mild surprise at the sight of the new visitor.
Kō Tachibana was walking into the building, dressed for the cold day in a long sleeved black crew neck T-shirt under an open navy, gray and white plaid button up shirt, distressed jeans and black boots, a laptop bag strapped across his chest; his sleeves were pushed up carelessly and he wore a leather bracelet on his wrist, along with his usual necklace. He moved his dark hair out of his eyes with a small toss of his head as he took in his surroundings, his dark gaze traveling over the establishment slowly. Indigo was surprised to find that his immense appeal didn’t stop with just the female students of Bayview; women all over the café watched him in awe, their undivided attention intent on him as he walked further into the establishment. He made his way up to the counter, his eyes taking in the food in the display case as he approached the register.
“What can I get you?” Indigo inquired; she was supposed to offer him something to eat first, but upselling wasn’t her thing. His eyes went to her and he did a glance of a double take, raising an eyebrow in recognition; Indigo kept a straight face, not wanting him to think that she knew him. Finally, his eyes returned to the menu.
“Can I get the club sandwich?” he inquired of her. Indigo entered the item into the cash register.
“Sure. Anything to drink?”
“Ah…” After a moment he reached down and grabbed a pomegranate Izze, setting it on the counter.
“Okay, anything else?” Kō looked at her for a moment before glancing back at the display case.
“A couple of macarons, I guess.”
“Which ones?” Kō paused.
“Pick your favorite three.”
“Alright.” Indigo finished his transaction and passed on his order before getting the macarons, in vanilla bean, passion fruit and pistachio. He thanked her as she handed them to him, taking the Izze with him over to a table nearby. Indigo watched as he set up his laptop, a Macbook of course, wondering what he was working on. He had slept through every Calculus class that week, and Indigo wouldn’t have been surprised if he had slept through his others – he couldn’t possibly be studying. His order was called and he retrieved it, sitting back down and eating as he worked. In between taking care of customers Indigo couldn’t help but watch him, wondering when he would leave; he sat comfortably in his seat, ignoring the stares of the women around him as he took slow sips of the Izze. He tried the macarons and gave a discreet nod of approval; Indigo couldn’t help but smirk to herself. Every once in a while he would check his phone, an HTC One, and respond to a message; Indigo wondered if they were from one of his friends, or from one of the many girls from school; she could imagine the hundreds of contacts he had in his phone, in comparison to the three she had in hers (her mother’s, the number to La Boulange, and now Orchid’s; her Facebook friends were mostly from the games she played).
He was still there at four o’clock, but just barely; he was putting his bag onto his shoulder as she came back from clocking out, throwing his trash away as he went. Indigo kept distance between them as they walked out of the door; he strolled over to a sleek, gunmetal gray Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, putting his bag in the passenger seat before walking around to get in on the driver’s side. His eyes went to her briefly as he got in; Indigo watched as he pulled away from the curb smoothly, gliding down the street. She returned her attention to her walk back to the BART station, focused on getting home; Kō Tachibana was attractive, definitely, but she wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. He had everything anyone could ask for in the world – he didn’t need an invisible girl’s attention on top of that.
#tsubaki#ambw#ambw love#ambw couple#ambw relationships#interracial#natural hair#creative writing#fiction#stories#author#writer#read#san francisco#love
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Thank you guys so much for the follows
I'll be updating sometime this evening :)
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Tsubaki; chapter 2, "Thinking", part 1
After school, Indigo changed into the shirt and pants required of her work uniform in one of the bathrooms before setting out across the campus; the grounds were fairly empty, with the exception of a few AA students heading for the school parking lot to retrieve their cars. She emerged from the school and continued her walk down Ocean Avenue, towards the freeway. The BART station wasn’t far; she used her monthly pass to get in and caught the train heading into the city. It was only a fifteen minute, six stop trip; Indigo got off at the Montgomery station and emerged on Market Street, continuing her commute on foot. Indigo loved being in the midst of the city; here there were a lot of different faces and different styles, so her face and style didn’t stick out much – she could go about her business without worrying about someone rating her outfit, or making the fun of the way her curly hair stood out on end. She navigated the streets of the financial district like she had done so many times before, cutting through the Crocker Galleria to get to Sutter Street to shorten her trip. Before long she could see the orange awnings of La Boulange coming up, the café-slash-bakery that she worked in. She arrived at a few minutes past two, with plenty of time to start her 2:30 shift.
At eight she was clocking back out, saying goodbye to her coworkers as she left to head home. She made the trip back to the BART station and took the train back to Mission, getting off at 24th Street and walking fourteen blocks down to her street, San Bruno Avenue. The paint on her building was yellower than it actually was under the streetlights; the windows in the top right corner of the building were dark, but Indigo wasn’t surprised – her mother had left for her night shift early that afternoon. She went upstairs to their silent apartment and put her things away in her room, heading back into the kitchen to make dinner. They had tilapia fillets in the freezer; Indigo broiled four Parmesan tilapia fillets for herself and Yvonne, along with rice, corn and broccoli. She prepared Yvonne’s plate and set it aside before sitting down to eat herself; she was starving, having not eaten since eleven that morning.
While she ate she thought of Bayview and her peers. She was tired of the school, and its superficial students; she was tired of being ridiculed whenever she got noticed, and ignored the rest of the time. The only reason she had decided to go to Bayview was because of Yvonne; she had wanted her to go to the prestigious school, to not have her intelligence go to waste. Indigo would much rather have gone to another school, a public school that was closer, like Mission or O’Connell High School; she was bored to tears in regular classes, but at least she would be in a diverse environment, and wouldn’t be the only brown face in sight for hours on end. She could fade to the background like she wanted, and graduate in peace – she would just have to apply for scholarships for college.
When she finished eating she cleaned up the kitchen and went to take a shower, changing into pajamas and twisting her hair up before settling into her room to do her homework. She only had Calculus homework so far; she finished in a matter of thirty minutes, flying through the problems. She was just closing her book when she heard the front door open, causing her to frown.
“Mom?”
“Hey.” Indigo rose from her bed and ventured out into the hallway, following her mother’s noises into her bedroom. Her mother was standing at the side of her bed (also pushed against the wall for space), setting her things down and untying her shoes. Yvonne Carmichael was a strong woman with a sturdy figure, toffee brown skin a couple shades darker than Indigo’s, dark, uniquely almond shaped brown eyes that Indigo had inherited from her directly and dark brown hair she wore in thin Sisterlocks to her shoulder blades, dyed a reddish brown at the ends. She was dressed in dark brown scrubs with simple white sneakers, which she kicked off as she sat down on her bed.
“What are you doing back so early?” Indigo inquired.
“It was a slow day, so they didn’t need me,” Yvonne explained, then laughed. “They didn’t have to tell me twice.”
“Oh…Well, I made you a plate, um…fish, rice, corn and broccoli.”
“Okay, thank you.” Indigo headed back into her room and pulled out her sketchbook to do some drawing. She was halfway through a memory sketch of Grant Avenue when a knock on her open door sounded, catching her attention; Yvonne stood in the doorway, dressed for bed in a pair of white and blue striped pants and a long sleeved white shirt, her glasses on her face.
“Hey, Mom,” Indigo greeted her. “What’s up?”
“Just checking in,” Yvonne responded. “How’s school?”
“It’s good,” Indigo said with a shrug. Yvonne narrowed her eyes a little.
“You’re not having problems over there, are you?”
“No, no,” Indigo lied, shaking her head. “Everything’s fine.”
“Good,” Yvonne said with a smile. “You know, I want you to know how proud I am of you, and how much I appreciate what you do around here.”
“Don’t mention it, Mom.”
“I Just want to make sure you now that. You’re amazing.” Indigo smiled softly.
“Thanks, Mom.” Yvonne bid her good night and left, closing her door behind her. With a sigh Indigo looked down at her sketchbook. As much as she wanted to, she knew she couldn’t leave Bayview. She had enrolled for her mother, and she would graduate from there as well, to keep a smile of pride on Yvonne’s face; it was the least she could do to lessen her burden.
#tsubaki#ambw#ambw love#ambw couple#ambw relationships#interracial#natural hair#creative writing#fiction#stories#author#writer#read#san francisco#love
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C R U S H; chapter 2, "you don't know my name II", part 1
There’s something special ‘bout you
I must really like you
‘Cause not a lot of guys are worth my time
Ooh baby, baby, baby
It’s gettin' kind of crazy
‘Cause you are taking over my mind
“You Don’t Know My Name” – Alicia Keys
There were some days when Skye’s apartment felt crowded and cramped; not the ideal place for her creative juices to flow. It was a Saturday, and she was free from both school and work, with nothing to do; both Zoie and Naiara were stuck at work for the day, leaving Skye with nothing to do, nowhere to go, and no one to see.
She had to get out of her apartment; she was going stir crazy. The park was starting to sound good to her; she would go out, bring her sketchbook and a little picnic lunch, and work on Sayuri in the cool Bay Area breeze. With her plan in mind she took her time showering, dressing comfortably in a pair of loose jeans and a long sleeved shirt. She pulled her hair up into a bun and slipped her feet into a pair of flat black boots, placing her sketchbook, pens and a thin blanket in her messenger bag before venturing into her kitchen to prepare her lunch. She fixed a sandwich and bagged some grapes and sliced apples and peaches, placing them in her back along with an icy bottle of water. She set out a little past noon, feeling the breeze against her skin as she ventured down Shotwell Street to 16th Street and made a left, heading down to the bus stop on the corner of 16th and Folsom Street. She caught the 33 bus and sat back for the half hour ride, from Mission into the Haight. The bus let her off a half a block down from the Golden Gate Park and she walked the rest of the way, entering from the part of the park that intersected with Haight Street, off Stanyan Street; the lush greenery and the glimmering, swaying trees seemed to welcome her with open arms and she smiled as she ventured into the park, admiring the cool, peaceful trails as she sought out a good, sunny place to set up camp.
She found an ideal spot in the large patch of grass around a jogging trail and began to unpack, laying out her blanket and sitting down on it before pulling out her things and setting them before her. She ate her sandwich first, looking around at the park as she chewed leisurely. She wasn’t the only one taking advantage of the day; there were many people at the park, some jogging or biking on the trail, some doing yoga on mats and quite a few who had simply come to relax, with books and snacks in tow. It was a laidback day, and the feeling of happy calm crossed over the rolling green like a crisp breeze.
When Skye finished her sandwich she set the trash aside, picking up her Sayuri sketchbook and pens and opening to the latest page before opening her fruit bags, setting them and her bottle of water closer to her for convenience. She ate a few grapes and took a moment to get reacquainted with the work she’d done so far before continuing forward. The park proved to be a great idea; the peace seemed to kick Skye’s creativity and productivity into overdrive, and within thirty minutes she had done five pages. She paused for a moment, letting her eyes, hand and mind take a break. She looked up from her sketchbook and out at the park again; there were a couple new joggers making their way down the trail, and she let them capture her attention for a while. One passed, a guy in a full jogging suit, and the other came up behind him at his own pace. The nearer he got, the clearer his features became; the angular, handsome face, the strong jaw, the slanted eyes – Skye’s eyebrows shot up as she realized who it was.
First the BART, and now here? Skye mused as she watched him. She hadn’t thought that he had been on her mind, but she knew that people tended to show up when they were thought of. The look on his face was calm and focused; his damp, dark hair fell into his eyes with each stride. He was dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and basketball shorts, simple black running shoes on his feet; Skye could see the lines of toned, lean muscle on his arms and his legs, and felt impressed. She knew that he was toned from just seeing him, but she never would have guessed that he was that in shape. Judging from the dampness of his shirt and hair despite the constant cool breeze, she could tell that he had been running for quite some time; she thought of her brief, yet exhausting run to the BART that week, and made a note to start exercising more, though she wasn’t so sure of how well that would work out.
He got closer and Skye averted her gaze just slightly, so as to not look like a stalker if he looked her way. He continued on around the trail and Skye surprised herself as she turned to watch him, seeing the way his shirt clung to his back as his figure receded. He disappeared in a cluster of trees and Skye simply sat there, staring at the place he’d once been. This was a strange, strange feeling, of watching someone so intently, and it didn’t sit well with her; she wished she could go back to the time when not a single male could capture her attention, when everyone was just a passing face in the crowd.
#crush#ambw#ambw love#ambw relationships#ambw couple#interracial#creative writing#fiction#stories#author#read#writer#san francisco#love
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Chimera; part 3
* * *
September
The end of August marked the beginning of the fall semester at the University of San Francisco and almost immediately she was submerged in her classes, working on art projects and studying for her other core classes as well. Taking Painting II and Installation Art and Graffiti required a lot of supplies; almost every week Alyxandra found herself taking the 22 (with her freshly purchased bus pass) to the Arch Drafting Supply store ten minutes away from her for paints, brushes, canvases and whatever other little things she needed. Alyxandra loved San Francisco so far; it was very peaceful and relaxed, a very laidback vibe in comparison to Houston. Her days consisted of school in the day and work at night during the week, homework and work on the weekends, and relaxing at home whenever she got the chance. She had acquaintances at school and at work, but no true friends; it was fine with her – she wasn’t much of a social, outgoing person, anyway.
September brought with it more beautiful seventy degree weather; Alyxandra took advantage of it when she went to school, dressed in a long, tan oversized short sleeved tunic top over a white wife beater, black skinny jeans and a pair of flat black ankle boots. She held onto her art supply kit in one hand, her canvas backpack slung over the other shoulder; her hair was piled on her head in a bun and her aviator shades were over her eyes. She felt a cool breeze brushing past her as she made her way across the USF campus and embraced it paired with the gentle sunshine, making her way toward Kalmanovitz Hall. Behind her glasses her eyes scanned the campus grounds out of habit; she spotted a man heading into Malloy Hall, the next building over, his tall frame dressed in a sage green sweater and tan pants, a brown leather backpack slung on one broad shoulder. With a skip of her heartbeat Alyxandra realized that it was Gavin; she found it hard to believe that he attended her school, of all the colleges in the Bay Area. A part of her wanted to go over and talk to him to see if he remembered her, but he was in the building already, and it wasn’t guaranteed that he would even remember her name; she would look like a lunatic if she ran into that building after him. With a sigh Alyxandra shook her head and continued on, toward her class. Maybe it just wasn’t in the cards.
* * *
When Alyxandra was done with her classes for the day she ventured back across campus, towards the bookstore in the University Center; she had a test next week in her Environmental Science class and she needed a couple Scantrons – she might as well get them while she was on campus, and get it out of the way.
The bookstore was quiet as Alyxandra walked in, with the exception of a couple cashiers talking to one another from their stations. Alyxandra greeted them politely as she set her things down at the front before heading towards the aisles, removing her glasses from her face as her eyes scanned the shelves. She picked up a couple of the B form Scantrons and continued onward, walking down the aisle leisurely. She paused at the snack section, pondering over whether she should get something to eat for her hour long commute home; her eyes went from the Nerds Rope to the Oreos, and back again.
“Alyx?” Alyxandra paused at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. She turned to find none other than Gavin Rose standing before her, one hand holding his backpack strap and the other resting in his pocket. Alyxandra felt a broad smile spreading across her face as she looked up at him; this man was incredibly gorgeous.
“Gavin, hi,” she greeted him in return.
“Hey…Wow, imagine seeing you here. It’s a small world.”
“Yeah, definitely.” Thankfully.
“So what are you getting here?” Gavin inquired; his eyes lowered to the Scantrons in her hand. “Got a test coming up?”
“Yeah,” Alyxandra said with a shrug. “I just needed to get this…and to stuff my face, apparently.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Gavin said with a laugh. “I actually just came in here for a big bag of chips and a Sobe before I head to my next class.” Alyxandra nodded.
“Sounds nice.” She wished that she could say something more fluid, but talking and charisma weren’t really her areas of expertise. She hoped that she wasn’t making a fool of herself; from the smile on Gavin’s handsome face she could conclude that she was still doing okay.
“So what’s your major?” Gavin inquired of her.
“Fine Arts,” Alyxandra answered. “I’m a painter.” Gavin’s eyebrows rose.
“Yeah?” Alyxandra nodded. “That’s really cool; you seem like an artist.”
“I do?”
“Definitely; very interesting, different, captivating…” Alyxandra looked downward, her face heating up. “Plus it looked like the paint splatters on your jeans were real, not manufactured.”
“When did you have time to inspect my jeans?” Alyxandra questioned, amused.
“I took in everything about you.” The warmth returned; Alyxandra smirked, averting her gaze again.
“Enough about me,” she stated. “What’s your major?”
“International business,” Gavin answered easily. Alyxandra’s eyebrows rose this time.
“Wow, sounds…important.” Gavin laughed.
“Well, I guess you could say that.” He checked the time on his leather bound watch and cussed under his breath. “Damn, I gotta get out of here…”
“Oh, okay…” Alyxandra stepped aside, giving him access to the snack shelves. “Sorry for holding you up.”
“Nah, you’re fine.” He reached over and grabbed a bag of Lays, then paused. “Hey, Alyx…”
“Hm?”
“Is it alright if we exchange numbers?” Alyxandra’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not really cool with leaving our conversations up to chance.”
“O-Okay…” Alyxandra stammered; with a bright, breathtaking smile he pulled out his phone and she followed suit – they entered one another’s phone number before handing the phones back. “I…I hope you use that,” Alyxandra told him before she could talk herself out of it. A low smile spread across Gavin’s face.
“I definitely will,” he assured her. “I’ll talk to you later, Alyx.”
“Okay.” She watched as he went and paid for his items before leaving, disappearing into the sunlight outside. Alyxandra exhaled in a rush, holding her hand over her heart; she hadn’t realized that she’d been shaking until that moment. She looked down at his name in her phone and smiled, wondering if Fate could really work that fast.
#chimera#interracial#wmbw#wmbw love#wmbw relationships#ambw#ambw love#ambw relationships#wmbw couple#ambw couple#romance#creative writing#natural hair#fiction#stories#writer#read#author
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Renegade; part 3
* * *
All of the girls in Nevada’s grade seemed to be getting boyfriends. If they weren’t already dating someone, they were going on group outings to the movies, or the beach, or the skating rink, in the hopes that they would leave with a special someone by the end of the evening. It was like a sudden epidemic, and the point of the no return; it was the only thing on everyone’s minds, once they finally started talking about it. Nevada had gotten several requests to go on a date or to become someone’s girlfriend, from seventh and eighth graders alike, but each and every time she said no. She wasn’t interested in having a boyfriend, or even more than that, she wasn’t interested in any of the guys in her age group; her heart belonged to one person only.
It was a Friday, and Nevada had turned down an offer to go with one of her male classmates to get something to eat after school; she would have rather gone home for the night, and go to the beach with her friends the next day as planned. Nicholas’s car was in the driveway when she walked up to her home; with a smile she made her way inside, preparing to greet him.
“Does Demetri even go to school?” Sandra could be heard asking, stopping Nevada in her tracks; Nevada remained quiet, frowning as she listened.
“No, he doesn’t, Mama,” came Nicholas’s weary reply. “I’ve told you this already.”
“Why am I not surprised? Is he doing anything with his life, besides getting you in trouble?”
“He works.”
“Works where?”
“I don’t know, he does somethin’ with computers,” Nicholas said after a pause. “What does it matter? It doesn’t affect me.”
“It affects you when you start missing classes that your father and I paid for,” Sandra retorted. “That boy ain’t no good, and he never was; ever since you first brought him home I knew he wasn’t no good.”
“That’s not true!” Nevada exclaimed suddenly, hurrying into the living room; both Sandra and Nicholas turned to look at her, surprised. “Demetri isn’t bad! He’s really nice and he’s smart, and he’s Nick’s best friend – you can’t say that about him!”
“Nev, it’s okay,” Nicholas assured her, walking over to her. Tears streamed down Nevada’s face, and she was shaking. Sandra was wrong; Demetri was an amazing person, and he didn’t deserve to be judged so viciously.
“He’s even got my daughter won over,” Sandra said, throwing her hands up in an exasperated manner. Nicholas turned back to her.
“I’m not gonna miss anymore classes, Mama, alright?”
“Yeah, you’d better not, or I’m gonna make your ass pay that money back.”
“I understand.” Nicholas placed an arm around Nevada’s shoulders, steering her to her room. “Nev, you alright?” Nevada nodded, sniffling a little. She wasn’t the type to talk back to her parents whatsoever. She had jumped into the conversation without thinking; when it came to Demetri, all of her sense seemed to disappear.
Nevada stayed in her room for the rest of the evening, too unnerved to go and face Sandra after her outburst. Nathan, her father, had resorted to coming to her room to assure her that everything was fine but still Nevada stayed away, deciding that it was best for her to remain out of sight for the time being. She played around on her computer and watched television until late in the evening, long after Nicholas had gone home, and her parents had gone to sleep.
She was watching Nick at Nite aimlessly when a knock sounded at her window, startling her. Nevada muted her television and turned towards her window, staring at it with wide eyes. A knock sounded again and Nevada considered going to tell her father but decided against it, hesitantly getting up from her spot on the floor and going over to the window. She took a deep breath and pulled back the curtain a little, peeking outside; her eyes widened at the sight of Demetri standing outside, dressed in a long sleeved black shirt and jeans.
“Demetri…?” Quickly Nevada threw back the curtains and opened her window, looking up at him. Demetri grinned.
“Hey, cutie.”
“Demetri, what are you doing here?”
“I’m paying you a visit.” Nevada stepped back as Demetri swiftly climbed through her window.
“My mom and dad…”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be here long.” Demetri perched himself on the windowsill, his eyes intent on her. “I heard about what happened today.” Nevada’s eyebrows rose and she looked downward, her face flushed. “You defended me.”
“Y-Yeah…”
“That was pretty awesome of you,” Demetri declared. Nevada shuffled her feet a little, playing with her fingers.
“Well…you’re a good person, I know you are,” she said quietly. “It’s not fair for them to judge you like that.” She froze as Demetri stood and kissed her softly on the cheek, taking her hand in his.
“Thanks, Nevada,” he told her lowly, letting her hand slip from his grasp. “I really appreciate it.”
“D-Don’t mention it.” She looked up to find him smiling down at her as he retreated to the window.
“Don’t defend me too much though, alright?” he told her. “There’s not much worth defending.”
“What…?” He headed back through the window, smiling at her before closing the window and disappearing from sight. Nevada stared at him for a long moment, confused. There’s not much worth defending… She couldn’t understand that, the concept of him being without value; from where she stood, he was worth much more than any fortune.
#renegade#natural hair#interracial#ambw#ambw relationships#ambw couple#romance#fiction#creative writing#stories#writer#author#read
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The Rebirth of Slick; part 3
* * *
“That punk ass nigga!” Phoenix could only stand aside and watch as 26-year-old Mackenzie Caldwell stormed through her front door, her mane of waist length jet black hair billowing behind her. She entered the foyer and turned to face Phoenix, her hands resting on her hips as her glossy waves settled around her chocolate toned face; her stormy gray eyes narrowed as she stared at Phoenix. Phoenix shook her head.
“Is there ever a time of day where you don’t look like a supermodel?” she inquired. Mackenzie smirked, rolling her eyes.
“Doubt it,” she replied as Phoenix closed the front door. “It’s my job, boo.” When Mackenzie wasn’t comforting her best friends in their times of need she was Mackenzie Caldwell, Forbes list maker and highest paid supermodel the world had ever come across. It was uncommon for a woman with curves to find success in the world of supermodels but Mackenzie, being the determined and forward woman that she was, made a way for herself and blew all others out of the water.
“I know that but damn – it’s seven in the morning!” Phoenix exclaimed. “You’re supposed to look at a least a little rough at seven in the morning.” Mackenzie glanced down at herself, dressed in a long white wife beater under an oversized black open cardigan, dark Seven skinny jeans and aqua gemstone encrusted Dolce & Gabbana ballet flats.
“Says the woman with her hair all coiffed and shit,” she said with a wave of her slender hand, heading straight for the kitchen.
“This is from last night, smart ass,” Phoenix shot back, following behind her. “The hell is your excuse?”
“Just fabulous, I guess,” Mackenzie said with a shrug, opening the sub zero refrigerator door and scanning over the contents.
“Don’t eat anything yet,” Phoenix called out, leaning against the gray green granite surface of the island.
“Why the hell not?”
“I’m gonna make breakfast when everybody gets here.” Mackenzie let the door close on its own as she eyed Phoenix, her hands returning to her hips.
“Grace must be here,” she concluded. “You don’t just ‘make breakfast’.” Phoenix rolled her eyes.
“She’s in the back,” she answered. “She should be waking up soon.”
“So, I’m guessin’ Jake knows.”
“That’s the only reason she’s here so early.”
“Why did you tell him?” Phoenix sighed.
“He picked me up from the airport and I had to tell him.”
“Of all the people you could’ve called to pick you up from the airport, you call him? You could’ve called me!”
“He was the first person I thought of, damn!”
“The first person you thought of would be a crazy muh’fucker named Jacob Devereaux.” Mackenzie shook her head, hopping up onto the counter beside the refrigerator.
“Look I’m sorry, alright? The next time a boyfriend cheats on me I’ll be sure to call you to pick me up from the airport.” Mackenzie opened her mouth to reply but stopped as they both heard the sound of the front door opening.
“Jacqueline has arrived!” A woman’s voice announced, echoing throughout the condo. Phoenix and Mackenzie exchanged looks as the sound of heels clicking against the floor grew nearer. It wasn’t long before Jacqueline Morrison appeared in the kitchen, dressed in a black short sleeved Diane von Furstenberg Della top, light skinny jeans and mint green and white Miu Miu polka dot satin twill heels; a white faux leather frame zip bag hung from her arm. Her golden brown skin was flawless and glowing as usual and her striking amethyst eyes, fringed with naturally long black eyelashes, sparkled as if there were lights shining behind them. Her black hair, cut short in the back with side swept bangs in the front, looked freshly done and fell in her eyes perfectly; she only wore a little eyeliner and nude lip gloss and no jewelry. “Hey, dolls,” she greeted them warmly, setting her bag down on the kitchen island.
“What is up with you people?” Phoenix demanded, staring at Jacqueline incredulously. Jacqueline frowned.
“What?”
“Look at you! It’s seven in the morning!” Jacqueline rolled her eyes, taking a seat on one of the purple upholstered stools under the island.
“I’m too bad of a bitch to not look good at all times,” she declared, examining her French manicured nails.
“I know that’s right,” Mackenzie cosigned, laughing. Phoenix shook her head.
“I’m the only normal one in this group,” she declared.
“You can’t expect Jack to be normal,” Mackenzie said. “Nothing about Jack is normal.”
“Girl, whatever! You make me sound like some kind of freak.” Mackenzie smirked, one eyebrow raised.
“You are a freak, baby.” Jacqueline rolled her eyes again, smirking as well. Jacqueline owned a successful nationwide chain of exotic boutiques by the name of Noelle’s Vanity; her life was basically a freak show, a whirlwind of leather and lace, whips and dildos.
“Whatever, nigga.”
“And you’re probably right about you being the normal one,” Mackenzie said, turning back to Phoenix. “‘Cause the only one left is-”
“Hello?” the fourth and final member of the quartet called out. Mackenzie smiled.
“Speak of the devil.”
“In the kitchen, Jai!” Phoenix called out. There were dull footsteps and soon Jaime Bartlett appeared in the kitchen.
She was the youngest of the group at 21 and the most innocent and free spirited; the body of a seductress with an almost hippie-like demeanor. She was dressed in an oversized belly shirt with a pineapple graphic printed on the front over a white baby tee, black leggings and gray knee high Converse sneakers. Her black, purple streaked tresses were stuffed into a white hobo knit cap; she wore no makeup and no jewelry except the three piercings in each of her ears and the black barbell in the right corner of her bottom lip. She was so fresh faced that people thought it was “cute” when she told them she was an artist; she left out the fact that she was a painting prodigy – she owned a gallery and sold her art for hundreds of thousands and even millions of dollars, painting for celebrities and royalty around the world. She smiled at them, her wide, warm chocolate brown eyes popping against her cream colored skin.
“Good morning, you guys,” she greeted them, walking around and giving everyone a kiss on the cheek.
“Okay, she ain’t dressed up…” Phoenix observed, narrowing her eyes. “But why are you so damn happy?”
“She’s never not happy,” Mackenzie answered as Jaime shrugged, sitting next to her on the counter.
“Still can’t see how you’re sisters,” Phoenix declared. “Mac can’t ever just be happy.”
“Fuck you.”
“See what I mean?”
“Well we’re half sisters – maybe that helps,” Jaime offered. Mackenzie and Jaime were born to the same mother, but had different fathers. Mackenzie’s father died in a car accident when she was five and her mother got remarried to Jaime’s father. Jaime’s father treated Mackenzie like his own, thus creating a very serene and loving household for the two to grow up in.
“Nah, that don’t explain it enough,” Phoenix said, making Mackenzie laugh. “You two aren’t anything alike.”
“Oh just get used to it, hoe,” Mackenzie shot at her, making her laugh. “You love me anyway.”
“Moving on,” Phoenix said loudly, walking over to the refrigerator. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“You’re makin’ breakfast?” Jacqueline inquired, one eyebrow raised. “Did he cheat on you or give you some?”
“Haha, bitch,” Phoenix said over Mackenzie and Jaime’s laughter. “You can fix your own damn breakfast if you gon’ be like that.”
“Oh no, I am not about to pass up an opportunity like this,” Jacqueline declared. “You go ahead and fix that breakfast, Miss Phoe.” Phoenix had begun to make breakfast and the women had gotten comfortable when they heard Phoenix’s name called in a child’s voice.
“There’s my girl,” Phoenix said with a smile. “I’m in here, Gracie!” It wasn’t long before Grace entered the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. “Good morning, baby girl.”
“Good morning,” Grace responded, her voice still soft with sleep. She greeted the rest of the group and they responded warmly, smiling down at the little girl.
“Where’s Daddy, Phoenix?” Grace inquired as Mackenzie lifted her up into her lap.
“He had to do something real quick, so you and I are gonna spend the day together.” Grace’s face lit up.
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. What do you want for breakfast?” Phoenix fixed Grace her plate and fixed everyone else’s while the child ate; by the time everyone had a plate Grace had finished eating and was watching cartoons in the living room – the group moved into the dining room.
“Okay everybody, I have an announcement to make,” Mackenzie said after swallowing a bite of her omelet.
“Oh hell…” Phoenix muttered, smirking.
“Oh, shut up.”
“What is it, Mac?” Jacqueline asked, laughing.
“Okay, you know I’m always moving around for work…”
“Hell yeah,” Phoenix declared. “London this week.”
“Milan the next,” Jacqueline added.
“Hamburg after that,” Jaime chimed in.
“New York.”
“Miami.”
“Paris.”
“Alright, alright!” Mackenzie said loudly, rolling her eyes as they all laughed. “Anyway, I’ve been staying in a hotel room so far, and I’ve decided I don’t want to do that anymore – I want a place of my own here in Vegas.”
“So…?” Phoenix prodded, leaning forward.
“So…I’m getting a house built here.”
“Oh yay!” Phoenix cheered.
“She would get a house built,” Jacqueline criticized jokingly. “She can’t just buy one.”
“Of course the hell I can’t!” Mackenzie exclaimed, waving her fork. “I’m Mac Caldwell – I get the house of my dreams!”
“Mess…” Jaime said, shaking her head.
“I’ve got a meeting with a couple of firms later on today,” Mackenzie continued. “Around ten.”
“I can’t wait to see it, chick,” Phoenix stated.
“Girl me, too – it’s gonna be the fuckin’ bomb.”
“Speaking of Jake,” Jacqueline said randomly, making Phoenix roll her eyes. “Do you have bail money set up?”
“Oh God, don’t even remind me about him,” Phoenix groaned, holding her head in her hands. “I’m hoping by some miracle he doesn’t do anything or can’t do anything.”
“That nigga’s crazy,” Jacqueline declared.
“He gets so worked up when it comes to you,” Mackenzie stated. “I swear that nigga is in love.”
“Don’t start that, Mac,” Phoenix warned.
“I mean it! And you’re in love with his crazy ass, too.”
“Mackenzie!”
“What?”
“Ooh, defensive,” Jaime teased, smirking.
“I swear y’all get on my damn nerves.”
“Just admit that y’all are in love and we’ll leave it alone,” Mackenzie offered.
“For the umpteenth damn time, we are just friends,” Phoenix said firmly. “It’s been that way for twenty years, and it’s gonna continue that way.” The group relented for the moment, and Phoenix gave a mental sigh of relief.
No one knew how she felt about Jacob, how intensely she loved him – not even Mackenzie – and she planned on keeping it that way.
Their friendship was way more important that anything that could possibly jeopardize it.
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Essential; part 3
* * *
One thing King hated about being an entrepreneur was the constant necessity of him looking out for the future of his brand. He’d learned early on that any chance encounter could end with a multimillion dollar business deal, and that even if you didn’t know a person, or like them, if you heard opportunity knocking it was best to answer it, business cards in hand.
This mantra was what had him stuck at Malina Coleridge-of-the-CR-Railroad-Coleridges’s 25 million dollar penthouse condo that night. The heiress-turned-entrepreneurial gold mine was having a “soiree” and all of her friends – aka the most successful young people the country had to offer – had been invited, King included. King had only spoken to Malina a handful of times; other than that he barely knew her, and yet he continued to be invited to her events. He knew it was because of Empyrean: when he turned 21, Khan, well aware of his son’s business savvy and ambition, had bought him a rather radical gift – Angel Island, one of the many manmade islands that had been popping up along the eastern coast of Florida. Khan had given him the seeds and the soil; it was King’s time to bring it to life. And so he did; almost nine years later Angel Island had been adorned with a hotel resort, condominiums, several lounges and restaurants and, newest of all, outlet shops that housed Fendi, Bvlgari, Yves Saint Laurent, Michael Kors and several others, and still had room to spare. Empyrean had made King a millionaire in his own right, even without his inheritance, and had put him in Forbes and on any other business magazine’s front cover.
His mantra rang true; the party had opened doors for him to fill up vacant spots in the outlets, as well as some office spaces near the condos, so he couldn’t necessarily complain – Malina Coleridge had a great hand in paying his bills. However, he’d done all the networking he could do, and was bored. He ventured through the condo, avoiding conversations with people, until he came across the glass doors leading out to the rooftop terrace. He made his way outside; between the silence and the breeze coming off of the Atlantic he felt relaxed – he would spend a short while here before heading out.
The beach was dark, with the exception of a few tiny fires that surfers had lit here and there; King watched the small lights, his mind drifting away from business finally.
“It’s nice out here, isn’t it?” King turned around, back towards the condo. She was radiant, with skin like smooth caramel and sultry brown eyes, her dark brown hair braided on the sides and pinned up into something like a ponytail, falling down to her shoulders in curls. Her body was an arrangement of curves, dressed in a simple sleeveless white top, a deep green, flowing high-low skirt that praised the thickness of her thighs and the length of her legs and strappy gold heels. Despite himself King let his eyes roam over her slowly, entranced. It was all there in the way she walked; she was a work of art, and she knew it.
“Yeah, definitely.” She moved to stand next to him; the breeze blew her scent – honey and vanilla – towards him and he licked his lips.
“It’s probably the best thing about Malina’s parties,” she continued. “I always sneak out here when I come.” He could just make out the subtle glimmer of gold eye shadow on her already golden lids; there was a thin line of green liner under her lower lids, just enough to hint at a free, beautiful spirit – this woman was something else. “How do you know Malina?” she inquired.
“Through Forbes.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “You?”
“I’ve designed a few red carpet dresses for her.” King nodded. “I’m surprised we haven’t met before.”
“I never stay long.”
“That may be the reason.” She glanced over at him, her bedroom eyes taking in his frame. “You should try staying longer.”
“Chey.” They both turned to see a woman beckoning to her. “There are some people dying to meet you.”
“Alright.” She turned from the terrace and began to head inside, her body seeming to dance sensuously. “See you around,” she called over her shoulder before reentering the condo. A slow smile spread across King’s face. She was something else, entirely.
#essential#black excellence#black tumblr#romance#fiction#creative writing#stories#read#author#writer
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