CHAPTER 2
Alexis
The valet attendant at T.I.’s Scales 925 opened the door to the white convertible Lexus my fiancé, James Wilcox, gifted me. I stepped out modeling my five-inch red Louboutin pumps, a diamond anklet, and a silky salmon-colored dress that barely covered my bootylicious buns. The newest Michael Kors purse dangled on my forearm.
My engagement ring was where it belonged. At home. In the black box it came in. Inside my drawer. All the way to the back. For what it was worth, James could have it back and ship it to his side piece in LA. The ice my ex-girlfriend, Chanel, gave me was in my purse. Missing her, I dug into my bag, put her ring on the thin twenty-four-inch chain, then wore it around my neck. Legally I could say I do to either of them.
I wasn’t here to meet James or Chanel. I needed to talk heart-to-heart with my brother.
I took my ticket, told the tall, handsome, blond-haired guy, “Thanks,” and then strutted up the sidewalk and into the front entrance.
The scene was popping off, as usual.
A lot happened to me twelve weeks ago that I couldn’t shake. My life was one big lie. Hell, I was so good at deceiving people I didn’t know what to believe myself, especially when it came to love. Being in college was the main thing that kept me from going insane. Dreading that summer break was here. Non-fam who rubbed me wrong could get their ass kicked. Wish I’d never begged my mother to help me find my father. Biggest mistake of my life.
Taking one class would’ve kept me partially occupied. Too late to enroll. Shouldn’t blame my fiancé, my ex-girlfriend, my mother, or my brother for my dilemma.
I stood in dining area number one; fluffed my dress. I stared at the round, pale man cracking chicken bones with his teeth. He gazed at the flat screen television in front of him. I looked around for my brother; he wasn’t in this section.
The choices I’d made three months ago had gotten me in this horrible situation. I shook my hands as though they were dripping wet recalling the way I’d leaned on my brother’s stovetop, let him penetrate me from behind until he came inside of me. That hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at the time, when I had no idea my father was his father, too. Around that incident on a different day, one Saturday morning I’d pulled down his pants in my mom’s kitchen, then sucked him off in sixty seconds. Brother or not, he was undeniably hot.
Gliding up the staircase to the second floor, I strolled to the end of this dining room. He wasn’t in here. I could’ve texted. Would rather wait. Didn’t want a disappointing, can’t make it response or a request for a rain check. I’d gotten enough rejection from James lately.
I asked my brother to meet me here. Desperately, I needed someone to talk with. Someone who was just like me and wouldn’t judge me. That eliminated my sisters Devereaux, Sandara, especially Mercedes. Confiding in my mom wasn’t happening since her man was my newly discovered biological brother. Shit was complicated. It was best for me not to speak to my mom yet.
Skimming the crowded room buzzing with chatter, I didn’t see him anywhere, but as usual, lots of eyes were on me. I went to the rooftop. A few people were doing hookah. Inhaling the fresh air, I gazed out over midtown, then rode the elevator back to the first floor. This place, famous for its shrimp and grits, stayed open until three in the morning. Checking my cell, I saw it was 1:01 a.m. People were drinking, laughing, talking over one another.
One man held up an empty glass, then shouted to the mixologist, “Hey, buddy, put a round on my tab for me and my new friends here!”
I sighed, rolled my eyes at him. Why was he so damn loud and happy? I hated jolly attention whores.
En route to the restroom, a guy seated at the bar grabbed my hand. “Hey, baby. Let me buy you whatever you want.”
From the shoes on his feet, to his jacked-up fingernails, to the gray hairs sprouting out of his wide nostrils, he couldn’t afford me. If he’d looked at my face instead of gawking at my ass, he would’ve seen I was already annoyed. I snatched my arm away, stared down at him. “Bitch, don’t you ever touch me again in your life.” Scales was too upscale not to have a dress code.
He leaned back. “Bitch?” His brows grew closer together.
I didn’t give a fuck what he thought; he’d heard me correctly. He should drop the defense. He wasn’t offended when he violated me. I hated the disrespectful shit men did. He didn’t know me. That fool also didn’t know I had my fully loaded forty in my purse, but if he touched me again, everybody up in here would find out. Some other woman might find his offering (probably a cocktail not a house) flattering. Not Alexis Crystal.
I had a fifty-thousand-dollar car outside. Registered in my name and paid for by James. The balance on my college tuition was zero thanks to James. Rent. Paid in full every month by my gurl or my guy. Now that Chanel was my ex-gurl, I’d have to be nicer to James, but I wasn’t putting his ring back on ’til he ditched his side. Normally, this time of the morning I’d be at Pin Ups waiting for Chanel to finish stripping; then I’d empty her money bag into my oversized purse. Depending on how my conversation with Spencer went when he arrived, I might drop by the club on my way home.
Maybe I could convince my sister Devereaux to cast me in Sophisticated Side Chicks ATL. Outside of having a super-sexy hourglass frame with a big butt and huge tits, I didn’t know what Devereaux saw in gold-digging Goldie Jackson. Lucky bitch came up on gay ass Buster. She thought that shit was a secret. My hair stylist, Marcus Darlin, knew all of his clients’ business. Acting had to be Goldie’s passion the way she kept her husband’s beard manicured. Her personal life seemed dazzled with materials, but that bitch was boring. Maybe I’d befriend her. Set her ass up. Take her spot. Devereaux knew I should’ve been Ebony Waterhouse, but she didn’t want to hire family.
A couple got up from a table behind me. Maybe that jerk who’d touched my hand had done me the favor of my not having made it to the restroom. I sat on the stool facing the exit, leaned back against the chair, crossed my legs, swung my foot back and forth waiting for Spencer to arrive.
Say what? Straightening my spine, this could be my lucky day. Phoenix and Goldie entered arm in arm, side by side. I captured a few photos with my cell, then watched them. No doubt. They appeared booed up. I couldn’t believe I had pictures of Mercedes’s husband, Benjamin, cheating and now Phoenix. I could be that bitch to expose these trifling pretenders.
Stirring up shit in both of my sisters’ households was not my intent. Okay, yes it was. My life was screwed. Theirs were too. They just didn’t know it. I texted a pic of Phoenix to Mercedes knowing she’d show it to Devereaux. To level the situation, I sent Devereaux a picture that I’d taken of Benjamin out on a date at Houston’s restaurant months ago. I might snag my role sooner than I’d expected.
My brother was a twenty-seven-year-old in heat born February 17. I was a year younger than he, July 28, Leo. My vagina was always turnt up. Being with child made me hornier. I could tell the moment I saw Spencer working behind the bar at the Cheesecake Factory on Lenox Road pouring my mother a birthday drink that he had a big dick that I wanted to ride. I didn’t care that it was my mother’s fiftieth, or that Spencer was interested in her. He was hot for me. I’d admit, I didn’t care about a lot of people or things. I was out to get mine all the time.
Didn’t believe my mom would go all the way with a man almost half her age when she’d let a sixty-year-old married man move in with her. Guess she caught a break when Fortune suffered a heart attack and died the day after she stepped over the hill. His death was worth celebrating. No one missed his broke ass. Trifling men like dude at the bar should never get laid, but there were always females like my sister Sandara who’d lay with the lames, have their babies, then bitch about what the daddies didn’t do for their kids.
Whatever.
At least I can no longer say I didn’t know my father. Now that I knew the truth, I didn’t give a fuck about his old deadbeat decrepit ass. His tired one foot in the grave, high blood pressure, bent over behind with gout in both feet was calling every day begging to see me. My father was a stranger to me. Having met him hadn’t changed that situation.
I smiled. A half smile as my brother entered the bar. Noticed Phoenix and Goldie were seated at a booth up front. Spencer was six feet two. Had them light brown bedroom eyes and full lips. Slim, sexy, 180 with that creamy milk chocolate complexion. I liked his hair trimmed low; preferred those shoulder-length locks he’d recently cut off, though. Told me the energy in his dreads wasn’t the same after knowing he’d sexed his sister.
Female heads turned toward him. If they knew he had those indentions in his lower abs that curved toward his inner thighs, a big dick that hooked to his left . . . Alexis, that’s your blood!
I could’ve waved at Spencer, but decided to check my face in my compact mirror while letting the ladies enjoy his view.
I didn’t believe in regrets, but that was one good dick I sure ’nuff should’ve passed on.