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She raises her brow. “Oh, so the both of you are gonna be off tricking, I see.”
I laugh. “It’s Morehouse’s homecoming. You know he goes every year.”
“Yeah, but your hot-ass isn’t sneaking off to some romantic island every year for some salacious rendezvous, either.”
I throw my head back, and laugh. “Girl, you’re crazy. There’s no rendezvous. And there’s nothing salacious about wanting to travel to an island, alone.”
She rolls her ey
es. “Whatever. Smells like trouble to me.”
I smile coyly. “I’m not looking for trouble.”
She twists her lips. “Mm-hmm. Trouble might be looking for you.”
I grin, wiggling my eyebrows. “Which is exactly why I didn’t want you to go. What you don’t know, or see, can’t implicate you.”
She grabs her napkin from off her lap and tosses it at me. “Bitch, don’t.”
I laugh. “Mecca, girl, you know I’m only teasing. I love Roosevelt,” I say honestly. “I’d never do anything purposefully to hurt him, or us.” Well, not if I can get away with it, anyway. What he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. “Besides, I know how much you adore him. Even if trouble did find me there, your ass would probably tell on me.”
She flicks a dismissive wave at me. “Girl, not on your life. Yes, I do adore Roosevelt. But you’re my sister. I’d curse you the hell out for being a trifling-ass ho, before I’d ever snitch on you, boo. That’s what sisters do.”
I smile. “Awww, I love you, too.”
“True.” She reaches over and grabs my hand. “I know you do. But, seriously, Lita,” she says, calling me by my nickname as she lifts her glass to her lips. “I think you snatched up one of the good ones, girl.”
“I know I did,” I say thoughtfully, raising my glass as well. “He’s my everything.”
Our glasses clink.
“Then whatever you do,” Mecca says, eyeing me. “Don’t fuck him over.”
THREE
“So, you got everything, baby?” Roosevelt says, grabbing my suitcase and carry-on as I step out of our bathroom; wearing a short denim skirt and a white off-the-shoulder blouse that crisscrosses in the front with a pair of orange pumps.
“Yes,” I say, standing in front of the full-length mirror, then screwing on the backs to my diamond studs.
I can feel Roosevelt’s eyes on me as I fasten my earrings in.
I pretend not to see him as he stands there, watching, as I reach for my orange lipstick, then glide a coat over my lips, followed by a coat of lip gloss to make ’em pop, and look real juicy.
Smiling, I watch Roosevelt, eyeing me. His gaze slides up my toned calves, up the back of my smooth, shiny thighs, then lock on my ass. I stare back at him in the mirror as he takes in the way my skirt hugs my hips.
I slowly turn to face him. Hand on hip, head tilted, grinning. “You see something you like?”
He licks his lips.
“Aww, fuck that.” He drops my bags. “You looking too fucking sexy, with ya fine-ass, baby. I need to get in that pussy one more time before we leave.”
He stalks over toward me; his dick already stretching down his left thigh.
“Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head, laughter in my throat. “You’re not about to have me smearing my lipstick, or missing my flight.”
Lies, bitch, lies! You know damn well giving him some pussy, won’t take long. I glance at the time. I have three hours before departure. You can give him another taste, and still have more than enough time to check-in, go through security, and grab a double chocolate Frappuccino from Starbucks.
He reaches for me, and I quickly sidestep, smiling. “Nope. No pussy. Now go take my bags downstairs.”
