Page 43 of The One He Desires

He’s right, but I take a minute or so to share the information with as much detail as I can without providing any actual names.

“Which perspective are you looking for? There are several ways this conversation can go.”

“The one that will allow me to stay free. I’m a lover before everything else.”

Before Martin can respond, my phone rings, and I pick it up to see Journee’s name on the screen. A cheesy smile slides into place, and my heart leaps as I lift my index finger to Martin. Then I accept the call. “Hey, baby.”

“S-S-Sincere.” The cries in Journee’s attempt at saying my name instantly erase my happiness as my eyes pinch together.

“What’s wrong, Journee?”

“S-so-some—h-h-he threw a br-brick through my window.” By the time she’s done talking, her cries increase, and so does my blood pressure.

“I’m on my way.”

Based on the context of Journee’s information, I know she’s at her boutique, because there are no windows accessible from the front of her apartment. I pocket my phone and quickly shut down my computer because I already know I’m not coming back today. When that’s done, I grab my keys and stand on my feet.

“What do you need, bro?” Martin’s polished and professional demeaner have been replaced with the calculated vernacular of a man who knows how to get down with the best of them.

“Have one of your people meet me at the address I’m about to text you. I don’t want to call my cousin, so make sure it’s someone outside of his circle.”

“Say less.”

I’m on the move as I retrieve my phone and send the boutique details in mid-stride. It takes me less than five minutes to let Cynthia know my plans and then hit the stairwell. I don’t have time to wait for the elevator. The sadness and anxiousness in Journee’s voice play on repeat and quicken my steps. I have a feeling I’ll have to set my standards and objections aside to make it clear that messing with Journee is messing with me.

Now I have tried to remember my license, my hard work, my law degree, and everything else to keep myself from jumping off the deep end. But some mothafuckas don’t know how to take the grace given to them. It took me no time to reach Cocoa Luxe, and fire ran through me as I pulled up to see several police cars. It took three hours for the officers to leave the scene, wait for someone to come replace the window, and calm Journee down. With every drop of water that hit my shirt from Journee’s tears, murderous thoughts ran rampant in my mind.

Oddly, Journee and I had plans to stay at her apartment tonight. But that’s not happening. I stayed at the boutique with Journee until she got everything squared away after closing early. As if I wasn’t already aggravated, Journee let me know that this would be the second early closure in less than a month. According to her, she’s never done so and is worried about what it’ll do for her business. Journee was wound up so tight that her shoulders were up as high as her neck. She also has yet to stop crying, and that boils my blood more than anything else.

I remember Pops used to tell my sisters and me, when we were growing up and doing things we shouldn’t do, that we were cruising for a bruising. This is how I feel after Journee told me Brian was with the guy who threw the brick through her window. He taunted her afterward, like the lame that he is, and my patience has worn out. After following Journee to pick up Sweet Face, going to her apartment for more of their clothes, and then back to my house, I had to pretend like I was as cool as a cucumber. I could have won an Oscar for how well I put on that I was good when all the while, I wasn’t. Then I sat through dinner with my girls and waited for Journee to bathe and put Sweet Face to bed before I fucked Journee into a sleep coma.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Cooper’s question forces me out of my head as I turn to look toward him. I didn’t know who to expect when I asked Martin for some backup. But imagine my surprise when Cooper pulled up right after I got Journee in the car at the boutique. Cooper Daniels and I went to high school together, but he dropped out at the end of ninth grade, unlike me.

“Ready is an understatement. Are you sure he’s going to be here?”

We’re at Club Sunkist, which isn’t a club at all. It’s a hole-in-the-wall bar where Cooper’s connections told us Brian and his friends hang out at. Thankfully, the bar is dark, and we’re in the back, where most people aren’t paying attention, as everyone else is toward the front, at the bar, or on a preschool-reading-size dance floor.

“Did the blameless allow the peach to return to office despite his dementia?”

A thunderous burst of laughter escapes my mouth as I nod in agreement. The analogy is wild, but it definitely provides the answer I need. I pick up the tumbler of dark liquor and take another healthy drink. The burn is no longer an issue, as Cooper and I have been here for over thirty minutes, and this isn’t my first drink. The great thing about not growing up in the suburbs is that I know how to fit in.

The all-black attire, black hat, and black boots I’m wearing make me look like this isn’t my first rodeo. I look like one of the block huggers and nothing like the attorney responsible for keeping the innocent out of jail.

“We got action.” Cooper’s words cause me to look toward the front as Brian and four other men enter the front entrance.

Before I stand, a woman with wide hips, a glower to rival any man, and the sweetest personality I’ve known sashays toward the table where we sit.

“Now remember, whatever you break, I’m billing your cute ass double.”

I laugh as I make direct eye contact with her. “For the chance to teach a class on ethics, I’ll pay you triple, Ms. Waller.”

She smiles, gives me a high five, and walks off without another word. Another surprise about this place is that it’s owned by the mother of one of my former clients. Jocelyn Waller feels like she’s indebted to me for taking on her son’s case pro bono. It’s a sentiment I don’t agree with, which is why I told her to charge me for whatever I tear up while I’m here.

“Let’s go handle this light work. I got your back, so don’t worry about the niggas with the alpha bitch,” Cooper tells me as we stand.

When “Hail Mary” plays around the room, I feel like Creed when he was about to take on Ricky Conlan. I bob my head to the beat as my adrenaline increases with every step. I move my head from side to side, and the pops I hear cause a sinister smile to form. An image of Journee’s tear-filled and bloodshot red eyes surfaces just as Cooper and I reach the bar where Brian sits.