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“Thanks again,” I said more softly this time. I really had appreciated his help. He’d kept me laughing the entire way to the suite.
I stepped into the doorway and he started backing away in front of Krista, who was behind him staring at me all bug eyed and suggestive. I broke her nosy stare by looking away and frowning.
“Focus,” I said before turning into the suite. “Focus.”
The only thing missing from the bridal suite was a kegger and go-go dancers. I’d seen wedding parties cut the fool before, but those were usually the groomsmen. Krista wasn’t lying. These ladies were having a good old time. When I walked in, one of the bouquets was in the air. The matron of honor was dancing on top of a chair and another bottle of wine was being uncorked. Then I remembered whose company I was in—married, engaged, and spoken-for women. Really, they weren’t too different from groomsmen. Weddings were more of a social event for them. An opportunity to cut loose and take shots, all in the name of love.
“I’ll take that,” I said, snatching the wine bottle and taking a few sips before heading over to the sink to empty it out. The wedding was starting in an hour.
“Awww! Don’t be a hater,” Jennifer shouted so loudly I was sure the hotel staff would be coming to the suite any minute.
“Oh, I hate to be a party pooper, but it’s almost showtime, ladies,” I said after a collective groan.
“Was that Xavier outside?” the married triplet asked with her head half in and out of the suite door.
“Let me look,” the engaged triplet said, running up behind her sister. “I know that sweet ass anywhere.” She was too late. “Damn, he’s gone,” she added.
“That man is a fucking orgy in a body, bitch,” Jennifer said, sounding more like a street walker than a med-school grad. “He can get it anyway . . . and anyday.”
Engaged triplet came over and gave Jennifer a fist pump.
“What? Aren’t you about to get married?” I asked, feeling like I was back at FAMU in the dorm with some girls swooning over Xavier.
“ ‘About to’ is the key, Rachel—as in, I’m not married right now.” She gave her married sister a high-five and they giggled like hyenas.
“Well, I’m definitely not married,” the triplet whose boyfriend was the DJ said. “And I went and knocked on Xavier’s door last night . . . no dice.”
“Really?” Jennifer asked.
The women huddled around for the 411.
“I told him that I was too drunk to go to my room—that my boyfriend would be mad that I was so jacked up. I needed to get myself together.”
“What did he do?” Jennifer pushed.
“Girl, he gave me a cup of water and some Excedrin,” she said.
“I opened my legs wide enough so he could see my neon thong.
That fool put a towel over my legs and walked out. Said he was going for his morning jog. It was dark as fuck outside.”
The room erupted in mocking laughter.
“I don’t get it,” she went on. “I didn’t think he’d turn me down.”
I was on her side. I couldn’t believe it. She was trim, tall, light skinned, had big breasts. His type. I was wondering if she was really talking about Xavier.
“I heard he was a big player in college,” someone said.
“I know. I was counting on that when I went to his room.” She turned to me. “Was he? Is it true what they say? That he gave half the women at FAMU their first orgasm?”
“Well . . . kinda,” I said. “I’m not sure that’s something to be proud—”
“Oh God! I love him,” she said. “He’s the one! The total package: fine, filthy rich, and a good fuck! What more could a girl want? I’m about to break up with Austin and marry him!”
We laughed at her revelation. She was clearly joking in the way brothers do when they say they’ll marry a stripper. The sincerity in her voice was priceless. Still, I was more shocked that Xavier had turned her down.
“You’ll have to get him to look at your neon thong first,” Jennifer said.
