ARMAND
Now…
“Here, drink some more,” Ella said, handing me the bottle of water I’d been sipping on.
“Okay…sir,” I replied, my voice trembling. I was coming down from the scene, and I was exhausted, wrung out like a motherfucker. “Thank you.”
“You know how I am about water. You sweat so much; I don’t want you to get dehydrated.”
“Not just for the water, for…for everything, sir.”
She smiled. “When you feel stronger, we can take a bath. Just relax.”
“My father died,” I blurted as she moved to leave the bed where I was cocooned in a soft blanket.
She moved closer to me. “What?”
“My father died. Last week…” I went on to explain the whole claiming his body debacle.
“And you said no?”
“I said hell no…and fuck her and fuck him, and I meant it. He was nothing to me just like I was nothing to him. It’s just…”
“The audacity of his family to ask that of you? The nerve of them to think you’d do that for a complete stranger? I get it. Family can be worse than an enemy. You did what was right for you and I don’t see a damn thing wrong with it.”
I fixed my eyes on her for more than a minute before reaching for her and pulling her close. “I love you, sir. Thank you.”
“You are so welcome, baby. You are so welcome. Always welcome.”
I woke up the next morning to find breakfast on the bedside table next to me and notifications making my phone buzz almost constantly. I headed to the bathroom to take a piss, returning to sit on the side of the bed. After I’d shoved a whole strip of bacon in my mouth, I checked my phone. Grandmother Joy had been talking to the blogs, letting them know how her rich, NBA-playing grandson was refusing to bury his father. Maybe she didn’t follow my career or the shit I did on and off the court that had folks deeming me troubled and violent and unpredictable, but if she thought she could shame me into doing something, she was deadass wrong. I was the poster child for not giving a fuck and everyone knew it. I didn’t have a reputation that could be tarnished. I’d wrecked it myself a long time ago.
ELLA
“You sure about this, sir?” he asked, his round, hazel eyes full of concern. “I’m good with whatever. I just don’t want you to be harassed any more than you already are. Them ‘On One for life’ fools are nuts. I fight every day not to start hunting those muhfuckas down and fucking them up!”
“Okay, first of all, you can’t fuck that many people up. Second, yes…I’m sure. You’re mine. I’m tired of no one knowing it,” I said.
He stared at the picture I was about to post for the Glam On It partnership. In it, I appeared to be gazing into a mirror, applying eyeshadow. Armand was sitting next to me kissing my cheek. We wore matching white, resort-style robes, my hair was in curlers, and Armand was…Armand-chest exposed, stubble on his face, his growing locks tied in a ponytail. For a photo taken in my house with a ring light and digital camera, it looked pretty damn good.
When Armand’s eyes left the photo and found my face, there was so much emotion in them. Armand was profoundly complex, while at the same time, being surprisingly uncomplicated. The pain he carried was layered, but the cure was simple—love. With every act of love I offered him, I could see his trauma being dismantled. The same applied for me. His love, acceptance, and respect for me were the polar opposites of what Jackson had offered. I loved Armand so much for that, enough to deal with the hate, the anger, and the resistance, even if it came from my family.
“Ella, pick up the phone! I don’t know if that picture is fake or not, but it better be!” That was a direct quote from a voicemail left by my father.
“Ella, is that Armand in that picture you posted? What he doing with you?” That message was from Uncle Leland.
“El! Why y’all gotta look so sexy! Both of you! Damn!” I had to laugh at that message from Carlos.
“Ella, please call me back. I’m your mother, and whatever you think of me, I love you. Darling, please call mummy back.” That was…well, you know.
“Hey, sweetie. You two look great together. I love it!” That was the beautiful Kim McClain.
“Hey, Ella. Please call your dad back. He’s about to stroke out thinking that picture is real.” Jo lowered her voice and added, “Very smart marketing, though. That photo is all over social media.”
And on and on it went. My family was blowing my phone up and I wasn’t answering, not yet, and not just because I was lying in bed with my body against Armand’s, my face buried in his hard chest.
“I wanna call you Boogie,” I said into said chest, kissing it.
“Shiiiid, you could call me ‘that nigga’ and I’d grin every time you said it, sir. You own me, remember?” he rumbled.
I smiled. “My family is losing their shit over that picture. They’re tryna figure out if it’s real.”
“Yeah, my mom said Leland’s been tryna get my number from her. She won’t give it to him.”
“Your mom is cool, always has been.”
“Yeah, she is.”
I kissed my way up from his chest to his neck to his chin, finally reaching my destination, his delicious lips. “You really never take this chain off,” I observed, dipping down to kiss his neck again.
“And I never will.”
ARMAND
“Where’d you say you were going?” I asked into the phone.
“Nowhere, really. Just driving around scouting possible locations for a photo shoot. Remember, I told you Glam On It wants to shoot content of us for their website since our pic went viral. They’re willing to come here,” Ella explained.
“Yeah, but can’t they do that? I don’t like you being out by yourself. I know you don’t want to deal with a bodyguard, but them On One fans are stupid and they’re everywhere.”
“I’m not wearing makeup, I’m dressed like a stud, and I have on shades. No one will recognize me.”
I smiled as I shook my head. “Be careful.”
“I know you’re at the Cyclones complex, so I’ma let the omitted sirs slide. Love you. Talk to you later.”
“Love you, too.”
“Was that my niece?”
Leland McClain scared the shit out of me, almost made me jump off that weight bench. I was trying to get a workout in since I’d been slacking, all wrapped up in my sir.
“Ain’t you got a whole gym at your house? What you doing here?” I countered.
Standing over me, he asked, “What you doing taking pictures with my niece?”
I stood, although my stepfather still towered over my six feet and four inches. “What you doing having babies with my mama?”
“She’s my wife! You saying you’re married to Ella?” Dude sounded like he was about to steal on me.
“What I’m saying is I’m grown, Ella is grown, and me taking a picture or anything else with her is our business, not yours.”
“Motherfucker!”
He grabbed me by the collar of my t-shirt, and I raised both my hands. “McClain, man…you don’t want this. You bigger but I’m crazier. On the real, I’m fucking insane.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! The fuck is going on?! McClain, how you gonna ask the whole team to be cool with dude and you doing this?” Polo Logan said. Ole boy came out of nowhere, but if anyone could pull McClain off me, it was Logan’s huge ass.
He did, snatching McClain backward and telling me, “Get out of here, man. The team don’t need this shit,” while McClain tried to get out of his grip.
I nodded and left. Oddly enough, I really didn’t want to fight McClain. I would and I could, but I honestly didn’t want to.