Chapter 10

At the jangling of a bell, I groaned and squeezed Chanelle’s warm body tighter to me. As her firm tits scraped against my ribs, their hard, rubbery nipples scorched twin tracks across my skin. Between slow, pleasant puffs of air, her soft lips pressed into my neck. When the next brain-rattling ring resounded, I pried my eyes open. It was the phone. After releasing the pillow crushed against me, a ghostly Chanelle faded into the dreamy mists of my hopeful mind.

As I blinked at my round, black-faced clock, the glowing red hands displayed “6:45.” Nobody called us this early, especially on a weekend. With a grunt, I lifted myself from the small creaking bed and thumped to my feet.

Once I’d eased from my room, I glanced at momma’s tattered, once-white bedroom door. A sigh slipped from me. It was shut. So, she’d made it home last night. And since she’d been at a “party,” momma wouldn’t awaken until long after lunch. Even then, she wouldn’t go far, stumbling around with a limp for the rest of the day. After a grunt at its next warbling jangle, I dashed down the hallway to snatch the cold avocado-colored plastic receiver from the kitchen wall.

“Um, hello?” I covered my mouth to muffle a loud yawn.

“Hiram. Thank God.” At the relief in Coach’s voice, I knitted my brows.

“Yeah, Coach.” While prying my eyelids open, I tip-toed across the kitchen’s icy green and yellow-tile to prepare the coffeemaker. Momma would need it. And frankly, after spending most of the night awake, mulling over things—like his wife and Chanelle—so did I. “What’s up?”

“Five hundred.”

“Huh?” While filling the carafe, I ran a hand over my skull and gazed out the front window at our large willow tree’s sweeping branches.

“Today. Um, can you stop by? I’ll pay you five hundred bucks. Please.”

Inside, my brain screamed. Five hundred dollars! Back then, that was a heck of a lot of cash. Oh, and it was over twice what he’d paid me the last time. As my fingers slid along the slick receiver, a thousand questions bubbled. Starting with - why that much? After a gulp, I covered the phone and exhaled. Then again, Coach, as I’d suspected, must’ve blabbed. Which meant Mrs. Jenkins knew I’d been with Chanelle. Although she’d not know we’d done nothing.

My eyebrows tented. Of course, that had to be it. The competition was getting hotter. After swallowing a chuckle, I cleared my throat.

“Uh, sure. I guess.” Even as my pulse raced, I kept my voice calm while setting the carafe on the hotplate. As I flicked it on, I was praying it wouldn’t pop the circuit again. It didn’t. Then another detail struck me. “Except, um, it’s, uh, Saturday, Coach. Don’t you have that annual equipment inventory today? All day?”

There was a protracted silence before he coughed and smacked his lips.

“Look, Hiram. She’s ... My wife’s been clawing at me like a trapped cat, okay.” There was another lengthy gap before he whispered. “Just ... Just, look ... She really, really needs to see you.”

At the clinking of a door lock chain in the breeze, I sighed. Momma’d been drinking again. After lifting the long green cord over an end table, I crossed our living room’s threadbare brown carpet. With a shove, I closed the front door and slid its bolt into place.

“Are you sure, Coach?” I bent to retrieve momma’s heels from the middle of the floor where she’d dumped them.

While only Coach’s heavy breathing came from the receiver, I arranged her shoes with the other pairs along the wall. Another grunt left me as I lifted her glittering gold clutch purse from the carpet. After placing it on a battered wooden end table, next to her house keys—at least she hadn’t lost those again—the aromatic scent of fresh coffee flooded my nose.

“Yes,” was all he said before the phone clicked.

With my head cocked, I stared at the silent receiver before replacing it in its carriage and finding something to eat in the fridge. Just the promise of the wispy coffee vapors wove the synapses in my brain together.

Chanelle versus Cindy, round one. As trite as that sounded, I couldn’t help it. A smile crept on my face as I tossed a thick pat of butter into a heavy black skillet and cracked four eggs. And bonus. Five hundred dollars!

As I ate, staring out at the sweeping willow branches, my chest tightened. Except, Chanelle was so different from Mrs. Jenkins. No sex before marriage. Was I even the marrying type? For her? Although she knew what I’d done in DiGrigio’s, Chanelle had still gone on a date with me. When I’d told her I got paid for that, she hadn’t even flinched. Instead, her only concern was that I’d reject her.

“God, I’d love to see her dance,” I murmured before taking a long sip of hot coffee. As my imagination ran wild, my shorts tightened.

But she danced in Carrollville. In Georgia. Southern Georgia.

“Ain’t no niggahs ‘lowed in heah, boy. We gots white girls.’”

So, nope. Fucking yokels.

With a sigh, I shifted my gaze to the new leather backpack by the front door. Still empty bar a towel and my cleats in a crinkled plastic Piggly-Wiggly bag. Would Chanelle come with me? Leave her family for ... Well, somewhere? Anywhere but the South.

But then, what about Mrs. Jenkins?

“What about her?” I mumbled before shoveling the rest of the eggs into my mouth.

She had Coach. She’d been quite clear that she loved the “old guy.” Despite what she’d said, did she really need me in her life? To her, I was what? A fantasy nigger rapist/lover? Paid by her husband to fuck her. As stunning as Mrs. Jenkins was, there was no shortage of guys to do just that. She’d be fine. I snorted. So would—Denny. They’d both be okay.

With a sigh, I drained the mug before standing to wash the plates and the skillet. The money was good, though. And she was—sexy. Yeah, very sexy. While shifting the shorts to let my rod lengthen, I swallowed. Her glistening green eyes came to me. So shiny.

My heart clenched.

Damn it.

The thing was, as much as I tried to logic my way out of whatever I’d gotten into, I missed Mrs. Jenkins. So, yeah, as much as I wanted to dismiss it, there was something between us more than fantasy roles. Besides, after last night with Chanelle, both the reality and the hot dreams, I needed—my horny white slut.

As I shaved, I realized Coach hadn’t specified a time. Or what to wear. Or anything other than today at his home. So, I could rush over there first thing—that’s what little head, swelling in my trousers, wanted—or I could play it cool and saunter over after lunch. With a chuckle, I washed, combed my hair, and brushed my teeth. The smile was still on my face as I wandered into my bedroom to slip on a torn gray t-shirt and socks.

After entering the living room, I collapsed on the couch and opened my dog-eared copy of Dostoyevsky’s “Crime and Punishment. What would happen to Sonya? I picked up the story just as Rodion had arrived at her place.

I’d taunt Mrs. Jenkins for a while. Great plan, right? Get her really hot and bothered. Except that foolish, half-baked plan had the same damned effect on me. As such, I barely made it an hour before slipping into my jeans and staring at the phone. Should I call to warn her I was coming? After a sigh, I shook my head, took a quick gulp of water from the faucet—we could do that back then before bottled water marketing—and left.

As I drove, time blipped. After halting in their driveway, I gulped with my fingers clenching on the steering wheel. I’d no recollection of the drive at all. One minute, I’d pulled away from my home. The next, the truck was parked before the Jenkins’ house. Weird.

While I scanned the neighborhood, my heart hammered. Since nobody had noticed me, I eased from the cab and hustled to the front door. After a quick check of my reflection in the frosted glass sidelight, I swept a crease from my navy polo shirt and rang the doorbell.

Even as the chimes faded, heels sped click-clacking across the entryway. I’d never felt more overwhelmed than when Mrs. Jenkins flung the door wide. At her red-rimmed green eyes looking up at me from the midst of smeared eye makeup, my heart plunged into the very deepest pit of my stomach.

“Oh, thank God!” Even as a flowing cherry sundress continued moving around her, she pulled me into the house. “I was scared that—”

As her words became a hitching sob, Mrs. Jenkins threw her arms around me to press her soft, shaking body into mine. What an idiotic idea? A fucking competition. How could I? With an exasperated sigh at my own stupidity, I reached back to push the door closed.

“I thought you’d...,” she murmured into my chest. “Oh, Hiram, I assumed you’d forgotten. Denny said you were gonna come, baby.” As she sniffled and ground her cheek against me, her entire frame shuddered with another sob. “Where were you?” As she squeezed me tighter, my heart restarted, and I clasped her to me. After a gulp and another hitching sob, she whispered. “Were you ... Were you with her?”

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