“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Stevie started, yet her voice got lost in the noise.
I watched a grimace overpower Shiloh’s mug as he stepped next to his better half. “Aye yo! I need everybody quiet. My wife is speaking!”
The bass in his voice sparked a peaceful calmness to sweep the room and urged Stevie to kiss his cheek.
“Thank you, baby.” She grinned then faced her audience. “I won’t keep you guys long. I just want to go over how we’re going to handle the toy drive. I have confirmed that the event will takeplace at the Silk Hills Country Club, and I’m asking everyone to wear an ugly Christmas sweater.”
“Oh, fuck no,” I mumbled under my breath.
“Since we’re partnering up with the Silk Hills basketball team, we’ll be providing Christmas gifts for nearly two-hundred kids instead of our usual hundred. When I pitched the partnership, I also mentioned that each member of the club will donate money to a chosen family, so the team is giving season tickets to whoever writes the biggest check.”
A few hoots and howls interrupted her speech. The club had been working with local women’s shelters for years, and every quarter, we did something special for the residence. Though I wasn’t a big fan of Christmas, I enjoyed giving back to the community.
“Gentlemen!” Stevie exclaimed. “Please keep things cordial. Last year, y’all treated the giveaway like a competition. I still can’t believe a fight almost broke out.”
Shiloh’s gold grin beamed from across the room. “And I’ll do it again. These niggas better put their money up if they want to win those tickets.”
Side conversations sprouted around the room after Shiloh started talking shit. Just about every member of S.O.E could easily purchase the prize that was up for grabs, but being known as the nigga with the heaviest pockets was the real victory.
The meeting went on for another thirty minutes then folks started to disperse. Some members went to the main floor for a drink while others slipped out the back exit with their family. I planned to sip on something before I hit the road, yet my party planner caught my eye.
Essen leaned against a wall in the corner with her legs crossed at the ankles. A tailored blazer that stopped in the center of her thighs framed her bowed hips, and the white-collar shirt and black tie completed her look. Her hair was pulled up in anest of curls that gave her pretty, round face room to breathe. Oblivious to my eyes on her, she didn’t pay me any attention as she wandered over to an empty seat. Attached to whatever was on her screen, I was able to creep up and snatched her phone from her grasp.
“Hey!” she yelled, snatching it back. “Don’t come over here messing with me.”
“Who are you talking to that got your nose deep in that phone?”
She batted her lashes. “My business. Something you don’t need to worry about. Your focus needs to be on the competition. You heard Stevie. May the best man win,” Essen declared, raising a glass of something white.
“Ugh. Is that eggnog? That shit is nasty.”
“Hush your mouth. It’s a tradition to have a little eggnog and something brown in the winter months.”
“That’s silly. Just like the concept of giving someone else a gift on Jesus’s birthday.” I shook my head. “I still don’t understand why I have to do that.”
“I don’t understand why not. Youdoeverything else without too much explanation,” she teased. “What happened? You didn’t get the little, red truck you asked for one Christmas?”
Her sarcasm washed the grin off my face. “Yeah. Something like that.”
I could tell my honesty knocked her off her square when she broke eye contact and sipped from her straw.
“Come with me to the bar.” Essen’s voice returned. “This nog needs more cognac.”
I grinned while taking her hand and guiding her from her chair.
“Just say that shit is nasty, Essen.”
She snickered. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.”
When we stepped onto the main floor, I saw the club was starting to fill up, and the DJ was in position. Our clubhouse wasn’t open to the public, but for a fee we welcomed people to chill for the night when we wanted to.
At my side, Essen rose to her tippy toes to flag down the bartender. Every time she moved, her honeyed scent massaged my nostrils.
“Damn. You smell good,” I muttered.
Her head hit a swivel as she shimmied her shoulders. “That’s good to know. I thought someone else would be complimenting me on it.” She rolled her eyes. “I appreciate it, though, Loso.”
The way Essen forced out a heavy exhale, I started to ask her about the problem. Then again, I knew when a woman was hung up on a nigga. I didn’t want to hear her talk about someone that probably didn’t deserve to smell her ass let alone make her worry. She spun around and relaxed against the bar, and her growing frown caused me to face the crowd.
