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“Are you offering?”
She looked down, and he knew her answer. It didn’t bother him that she wasn’t ready for more. There was time.
&nbs
p; “How did you know my name?” she asked.
“You got a text.”
He pulled out his phone and showed the message that had come in just before Jake had grabbed her by the ear. The message read:
Kimani, this is Sam. Are you doing okay?
“Is Sam your boyfriend?” he asked.
“No, he’s my—” She stopped herself before she revealed who Sam was. “I mean, she. Sam is short for Samantha. She knows I did the Scarlet Auction and is just checking in. Do you mind if I call her back?”
She was lying. Or at least not being completely truthful. Maybe Sam wasn’t just a boyfriend. Maybe Sam was a husband. Or if Sam was a “she,” the woman had to be more than just a friend checking in.
“Go ahead.”
She got up. “I’ll just—I have to go to the bathroom.”
Shortly after she left, Jake walked over.
“So, what’s black putang like?” he asked.
“Pussy is pussy,” Ben replied. “It’s always sweet.”
“I don’t know about that. Some are downright nasty and stink like shit. But virgin pussy is always fresh. All that blood makes things nice and slick, too.”
“You do your part right, you shouldn’t need blood for lubrication.”
“Yeah, but it’s so erotic to see them coated in blood and shit.”
Ben didn’t bother asking what the “and shit” entailed. Instead, he asked, “So what happens after you pop their cherry? They won’t necessarily bleed again for you, unless it’s that time of month.”
“Which is totally gross and not the same. Another reason the Scarlet Auction is so awesome. You don’t have to worry about getting a menstruating girl. That shit’s disgusting.”
The conversation had reached the end of Ben’s patience, but he had to ask one last question. “How’s Claire doing?”
“You mean Slut #1. She’s doing great. She had two dinners, you know what I mean?”
Ben turned, ready to head inside.
“How’s yours?” Jake asked. “She good at sucking dick? I bet black women are good at it. They got those naturally big lips.”
Ben’s right hand curled into a fist. “You set up that meeting with Tyrell yet?”
“Yeah, he’s around next week if you’re able to fly down to LA. What day is good for you?”
He remembered Kimani had his phone, so he couldn’t check his calendar. “I’ll get back to you.”
He found the bathroom and was about to knock on the door when he heard Kimani. She was still on the phone.
“No, don’t call or text me,” she was saying, “not on this phone. It’s not mine... It belongs to a guy named Ben. I don’t know his full name, but I know he’s involved with Chinese basketball, and he graduated from Howard University and the Stanford business school. There can’t be that many Asians who went to Howard, then Stanford. Well, he’s only part Asian—I’m guessing Chinese. He looks a little mixed, like Eurasian. He’s working on some deal with this guy named Jake. I’m pretty sure that’s his real name, or at least a nickname. He’s some kind of sports agent. They talked about a basketball player named Tyrell Jenkins... Okay, you can let me know what you find when I call tomorrow.”
Seconds later the bathroom door opened.
