Page 2

CHAPTER 2

GIRLS NIGHT OUT

Nadira

A drilling sensation pierces through my brain, awakening me in agony. I clutch my head, curl into a ball, and try to breathe through the pain with gritted teeth. No matter how many years have passed, I’ll never get used to the crushing agony that visits me at random.

Nor do I understand the dreams preceding the intense suffering. The faces remain a blur and none of the visions are from my memories. Although I wouldn’t know if they were.

After my childhood accident, my memory was foggy for a couple years. Through rigorous training at the orphanage that took me in, I improved my recall. If I hadn’t shown progress, they would have stopped training me. Thankfully, my long-term memory wasn’t affected, but I had to live without remembering the first ten years of my life.

With tears trailing from my tightly closed lids, I count to ten, then thirty, then fifty. When I get to one hundred, the pain becomes a dulling throb, one I can manage. I sit up and reach for the glass of water and pain pills I keep beside the bed.

Leaper, my chestnut Sokoke cat, jumps onto the bed, rubs her head against my arm, and meows her concern. I hate that my headaches upset her this way. Besides her vocal distress, she drools when she’s anxious. I pick her up to cuddle until she begins to purr and her slobbering ceases.

The clock at my bedside reads seven, which means my alarm has yet to go off. I cancel it and get out of bed to ready myself for my monthly night out with the ladies. By the time we meet up, the pain will have disappeared or be manageable enough.

I stroll naked into my walk-in closet to select my outfit. A knitted cowl-neck cream dress, and a pair of suede, over-the-knee slouch boots fit my mood and the cool weather. To match my outfit, I select a wig with a side braid that falls below my hips. For jewelry, I go for the understated drop-thread dangling earrings. Once I put everything together and do my makeup, I stand in front of the full-length mirror to see the full effect.

Satisfied with the way the cream highlights the deep dark brown of my skin, I focus on the scar that starts under my wig and ends mid-cheek. My makeup does a good job of blending the scar tissue, but I’ll never be able to hide it. As glaring as it is, I’m grateful for it. I’m a tall, fat, Black woman with a facial deformity, so no one sees me. It’s a trait I’ve used to master my profession; the one people don’t know about.

I head out to the Say Yes lounge where my friends, Chelsea, Tamara, Moni, and Danae will meet me. For a Wednesday, the place is popping. Men and women fill the dance floor while dancing to popular R I made sure to stay in touch.

“Danae and Moni arrived early and found the private booth you reserved.” She nudges me in the side. “And they’ve already started on the signature cocktails made by our dedicated bartender. Girl, you always do the most for us. Got us here thinking if only you had a dick, we’d be begging you for that ring every time we see you. Except Tamara, but that’s because she knows she isn’t your type.”

“And Tamara needs variety,” I respond.

Unlike Chelsea, I met Moni, Danae, and Tamara at a small Black-woman-owned business conference. There we shared the stresses and rewards of being professional Black women who own our companies. Moni owns a medical practice, Tamara runs a law firm, and Danae owns a group of accounting firms across the region. As many times as I’ve asked myself why I instantly connected to these women, I’ve never found a good answer and stopped asking. They’re my ride or dies, and with my skills, we’ll always be the last ones standing.

“There’s that. Tonight might be different, though. That last girl had Tamara making plans,” she whispers the last.

Chelsea and I arrive at a curtained doorway. Currently, the closed drapes cut off the antics in the room from the rest of the lounge. I draw back the hanging to see Tamara twerking for the bartender and the rest of the ladies throwing dollars at her.

Tamara must be in her feelings even more than Chelsea hinted. She usually presents as a high femme, wearing soft colors and materials, but tonight, she’s gone for a harsher shade of pink. The color is electric and compliments her brown skin tone, but the garment serves as a silent warning; our girl is not fucking around tonight. Or, more accurately, she intends to fuck and do a lot of it. God help whoever catches her interest.

“Now, y’all know this is a classy joint. Why’re you acting the fools in front of this innocent man?” As I walk inside, Chelsea’s snicker follows me.

“Look, it’s Mother Ter-please-a. Come and get your ass in here before we tell you ‘bout yourself.” Moni drags me toward her side of the booth.

“Nah, she deserves the full read. Acting like she gives a fuck how we act when she the one handing out admission tickets.” Tamara stops twerking to flank my other side.

I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. My friends are my everything. Indulging my circle feeds a part of my soul, and I make sure my soul is as well-fed as the rest of me.

My fierce devotion results from the missing part of my past. I have no memory of any childhood friendships, however, my gut says I did and I valued the people I grew up with dearly. Not having a sense of who left the indelible marks on my spirit has caused me to be fiercely protective of my current friends. I don’t want the emptiness inside me to grow because I didn’t do enough to protect my most important relationships.

Chelsea drops a club soda in front of me, my drink of choice when hanging with my ladies. I rarely drink alcohol. When I do, it’s for work functions where not drinking would cause comments and unnecessary attention.

Tamara leans in and whispers, “Seriously, thanks for tonight. I need to be surrounded by women who aren’t going to fuck me over.”

“Chile, please.” Moni rolls her light hazel eyes while eyeing Tamara’s dress. “We know we got you on loan for two hours, max. You ‘bout to go out them curtains and find your comfort kitty for the night.”

Tamara glares across from me to Moni.

“Who you glaring at? You know Moni’s right.” Danae sips her cocktail. “You’ll get all the platonic love you need from us, then go searching for some pussy.”

“Not this time. I’m all pussied out.” Tamara peeks at the bartender.

“Now you better stop. That man don’t need to be caught up in whatever identity crisis you’re in because you got a bruised heart. Stay loving on the girlies and you’ll eventually find the right one.” Chelsea raises her drink to emphasize her point.

When the ladies move on to a different topic, I lean and whisper to Tamara, “Let’s do retail therapy. Wherever you want.”

“This weekend?”

I review my schedule in my head. I fly out tomorrow and the job is an easy in and out. “I should be back in town in time for Saturday. I’ll call if I need to reschedule my flight.”

“Thanks.” She squeezes my arm.

Although the lounge doubles as a club, they serve food fit for a gourmand. Soon after my arrival, the staff opens the curtains and serves the dishes Chelsea ordered before I arrived. We get to eat, watch the crowd, and cut up at the same time. This is why I love hanging with my girls.

I try a little of everything but leave room for what I’m looking forward to most, knowing I’ll be back on my regular diet and exercise regimen tomorrow. My size comes from my build and my body’s natural weight distribution, but I can outrun, out-pull-up, out-cross-fit most people. My stamina is another surprising fact for people in my second profession.

“Okay, before we do the regular and try to get Nadira to cut up out there,” Danae points toward the dance floor, “Y’all know our hostess needs that sugar first.”

As if they heard Danae, the waitstaff enters with dessert, and Tamara intercedes. With a glare directed at Chelsea, she takes control of the cart.

“Why must we do this every time? I’m not here for the dancing. I chose the lounge because that’s what I wanted to do while listening to the music,” I protest, but know they will wear me down as I eye the two slices of chocolate cake heading my way.

“But you will get your ass on that floor if you want a piece of this. Otherwise, Chelsea will be on cloud nine with two slices.”

I glare at Tamara for pitting me and Chelsea against each other. Our weakness for chocolate is not to be messed with. “Fine, one dance.” I reach for the dessert.

Moni pins my hands to the table. “You know that’s not how this works. Say it and do the thing.”

“Why did I ever become friends with you?”

“Excuse us, but your memory of events needs refreshing. You forced us to be friends with you. Picked us up like strays at the shelter.” Danae says and every one of them nods in agreement with synchronized mmhmms. “Now, do as Moni said so we can shake our asses while our asses are hot.”

I sigh before forming my fingers in the shape of a heart and placing my hands over my chest. “I promise that I’ll at least dance with one guy?—”

“Hot guy,” Moni specifies.

“Dance with one hot guy and m?—”

“—whose sexiness is independently assessed by one of the crew. Please read that oath back for me.” As the lawyer in the group, Tamara is worse than Moni with promises.

I glare at the women, but say, “I, Nadira Zane, promise I’ll dance with at least one hot guy whose sexiness has undergone an independent assessment from my crew. And if he asks for a second dance, I’m obligated to accept until he bares a red flag or my crew permits me to exit the dance floor. There, I said it. Now, give me my goddamn cake.” I snatch the dessert off the tray and take the bite I’ve been waiting for all night.

“Mmm.” My eyes close as the decadent richness of the dessert melts on my tongue.

Chelsea, who also has her cake makes noises lewder than mine. I’m not a third of the way through and she’s licking the tines of her fork to get every chocolatey morsel off the damn thing while eyeing what’s left of mine.

“Keep eyeing Nadira’s cake and you’re going to lose an eye. You know she’s worse than you with sharing.” Moni’s warning is not new.

“That’s not true. I share my friends.” I wink while slowly pushing another bite into my mouth.

The gesture is only half teasing because I savor my cake whenever I cheat on my diet, and I always cheat when I’m with my girls. There’s something about the decadent, velvety texture of chocolate icing, the lightness of chocolate mousse, and the dense richness of the cake that puts everything in my world to rights. It’s a feeling I’ve had since waking from my car accident twenty-five years ago, and it hasn’t left me in the intervening years.

“Can you be any slower?” The complaints start with Danae, then everyone echoes her.

I’m seventy percent finished but the ladies are done and their glasses are empty. I roll my eyes at their impatience. “Y’all know I only allow myself this treat when I’m with y’all. Settle yourselves and don’t ruin it for me.”

“The only reason you loving on that cake so much is because you need dick in your life,” Tamara says.

“Ignore her,” I mouth to the bartender whose ears perk up. To Tamara, I say, “What do you know about needing dick? You’ve been on Team P since puberty.”

“Ain’t that right? Remember that story about her almost seducing her high school teacher? That woman nearly caught a case because of Tamara’s horny ass.” Chelsea slams the table in her amusement as she bowls over with laughter.

“Yeah, then she stay trying to put people away, acting like she wasn’t jailbait. Now that she’s got her own firm, she keeping ho’s out of jail.” Moni bumps shoulders with Chelsea.

“You not right, hating on my natural game like this. If I was a straight-chaser, all of you would have found your baby gay membership cards years ago.” She shrugs with a suggestive smile. “I’m just saying.”

“I bet. That teacher sure found hers. She left her husband and hasn’t ridden a dick since you introduced her to the power of puss.” Chelsea pounds on the table while laughter shakes her body.

“Alright ladies. Ms. Nadira has finished her cake. It’s time to go dick recruiting on the dance floor.” Danae pulls me from the table.

“I’m not a fan of this plan. I already promised I’d dance with one guy. Why are you making it sound like you’re going to have an entire line of men sent my way?”

“I’m not saying we not but I’m also not saying we aren’t,” Moni says, already swiveling her head to survey who’s in the club.

To defend myself, I curve my arms around Chelsea and Danea’s elbows. “I need at least five songs to loosen up before you sacrifice me to the dick altar.”

“That’s not what you need to loosen up.” Danae pulls me to the center of the floor.

One song transitions to Daft Punk’s Get Lucky . The irony makes me smile and wag my finger at my friends. Except for the occasional tingle of awareness, I lose myself to the music. I can’t pinpoint the source from the crowded dance floor. When the third song plays, Chelsea leaves to get a drink, leaving me with Moni and Danae. Tamara is off to the side with a woman who looks like her ex. I’ll ask her about the woman when we go shopping together.

The sensation along my nape intensifies. As I do a twirl, an arm wraps around my waist and pulls me into a hard chest. Danae and Moni stop mid-step, their eyes bulging and mouths hanging open. Then Moni forms the shape of a D with her fingers and places it over her heart before letting her hands travel below her waist. Then she winks. Danae is more discreet but no less obvious with two thumbs up, giving me her approval.

They don’t know about the heat flooding my veins or my body’s signals going haywire. I calm my instinct to toss him over my shoulder and slam him to the ground. Instead, I home in on what’s putting my senses on high alert. I don’t detect any malice from him. His hold is firm but I can easily break it. The problem, if there is one, is the compulsion to get closer, to rub my ass against his dick until he gets hard.

Get a hold of yourself Nadira!

The man behind me doesn’t tower over me, which would be hard to do as I’m 5’9”, but he’s tall enough that he needs to bend to whisper in my ear. “I’ve been waiting for you all night.” His voice comes out deep, like velvet chains that are deceptively soft but will not break under any pressure. It sparks images of a large man wrapped around me.

Then his words sink in. Is he the person I felt watching me earlier? Or is he someone who shouldn’t know about me at all? I keep my body loose, not betraying the instant I become alert to everything around me. His scent, pine and citrus, invade my senses, but I hold the distraction at bay. We dance until the song ends.

He pulls me closer. “Can I take you somewhere to talk?”

I nod as I inventory the weapons I’m wearing. There are the knives hidden in my heels, the gun strapped to my thigh, and the wire hidden in my earrings. If he tries anything, I’ve come prepared.

He takes my hand and leads me to a less crowded area in the club. I survey my surroundings. If a fight breaks out between us, I can slip out from view in the hallway beside us. My dress may be a problem if things get messy. I should have worn black.

While I think of all the ways I can disable or end him, he swings us around until my back is to the wall and he blocks my view of the club. I’m right about him not towering over me. He’s probably three inches taller than me, but I’m momentarily stunned by how wide his shoulders are. And his arms… He isn’t flexing, but his biceps strain against the fitted material of his shirt.

As I trail my eyes up, I try not to shiver as he rubs his fingers in soft circles above my hips. When I get to his face, my brain blinks out before rebooting to come online again. How on earth did I grab his attention? Handsome men only approach me when I try to stand out, which I typically avoid doing. He surpasses handsome with his wavy brown hair, golden-brown eyes, and smile that’ll con a nun out of her panties.

Mesmerized, I watch as his full lips form words over bright white teeth that contrast with a tan that speaks to either him loving tanning salons or living a life full of travel to warm climes. When he stops moving his mouth, I raise my eyes to his waiting gaze.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask, realizing that my knack for observing everything has disappeared under this instant attraction.

He’s put me in a vulnerable position and I have yet to react. Without explanation, I swing us so his back is to the wall. The man doesn’t seem to mind.

He grins at me. “Something in the air told me I’d meet my destiny tonight. I was thirty percent convinced the first time I glimpsed you and the quiet confidence you wear.”

“And now?” I can’t believe the breathy question comes from me. Or the way my heart rate doubles the longer his stare sears through me.

“Hmm.” He runs a finger down my scar.

The slight caress should bother me. It does bother me, but not in the way it should. I suppress a shiver instead of the need to pull away and hide my face.

“When I saw your eyes, I was seventy-five percent certain, but now I’m one hundred percent sure.”

“Considering we haven’t exchanged that many words, what sold it for you?”

He leans forward until his breath kisses my ear. “Your breath smells like my favorite dessert, and I’m fighting the battle of a lifetime by not kissing you and tasting how perfectly you complement the chocolate you ate.” He pulls back after his admission, his thumb still circling the spot above my hip as if he needs the reminder that I’m in his arms.

I swallow… Nope; I gulp at his admission as my eyes stray to his mouth again. Sinner’s lips. Where are my defenses? Why do I find it hard to analyze his words and mine everything he does for red flags?

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe. You don’t even know my name.” I take a deep breath, inadvertently inhaling his piney scent and almost closing my eyes as it draws me in.

He shrugs. “That will come. What matters more to me is putting a face to the woman I belong to, and making sure she knows it, too.”