“I know you heard me. Your ass better be talking about waxing your lip or chin.”
A giggle falls from my mouth before I can fully process the statement, because why on earth would I need to have my lip or chin waxed at twenty-nine?
“You clearly missed the landing strip on my pearl when we had sex. Hm. I guess I need to show you again so you can understand why my wax appointments are a must.”
“Skip your little shindig, and we can make something shake. Better yet, skip the appointment altogether. A little hair ain’t never been a problem for a nigga like me. I’ve been told that I’m a master at trimming hedges.”
A moan and shiver simultaneously make my willingness to give in easy and difficult, because I know Mom would kill me if I miss the fundraiser. A chime in my ear makes me pull my phone away to see the appointment reminder.
“How about I come to you as soon as I’m done? Where will you be?”
“Say less. I’ll be at the clubhouse. Send me a picture to hold me over.” Righteous doesn’t wait for my reply when he disconnects the call without another word.
A sneaky grin forms as my fingers glide over the keyboard before I hit send on the message I drafted.
Me:
Top or bottom lips? I don’t want to send the wrong visual.
Righteous:
Surprise me. Anything you send will have my dick hard and impatiently waiting.
Me:
Say less.
I giggle again after I send the message using the two-word response Righteous said to me moments ago. Being with Righteous invigorates me and gives me the motivation I need to grab my purse and keys and leave my apartment. Thanks to Righteous, I have an extra pep in my steps that carries me from my floor to the parking garage. The amount of hours it takes for me to prep, get dolled up in another flowing gown, and then be out the door again to meet Mom’s arrival time demands should be a case study. But I do it in a practiced manner just so I don’t have to hear Mom’s mouth again.
With a false exterior of exuberance, I hand my keys to the valet and walk inside the hotel where tonight’s festivities are about to take place. The hotel is older and one that Mom has used for another one of her events. According to her, the eclectic décor speaks to old bones with a great foundation that should be shown off. The light music that flows around the room isn’t as bad as the classical music Mom generally has the hired band play, so I’m happy about that. A graceful smile slides into place when I reach the ballroom.
The gold elements seem to subtly cascade through the room in a warm glow. The chandelier’s shimmering lights create an ambience that doesn’t feel overdone. There is a makeshift dance floor where the wood shines like a new penny. Then there arestrategically placed tables that form a U shape around the room. The room bustles with activity as waitstaff move around with trays of what I’m sure is champagne. A genuine smile slides into place at the sight of Dad, and I head toward him.
“Good evening, kind sir,” I tease when I reach Dad as he takes a flute from one of the passing waiters.
“Hello, baby girl. I’m glad that you made it on time. Your mother has spent ten minutes bending my ear about you, giving her reasons to color her hair before her usual time.” Dad smiles before he takes a sip from his glass.
“I’m sure she was. But here I am, and on time just as she requested.” I do a twirl that causes a low chuckle from Dad.
“That’s my girl. Listen, I’m planning to have a headache later. It’ll be our excuse to get out of here, because I have a game to watch. I’m also sure you would rather be anywhere else.”
Mhm. Under my man in the throes of bliss that this little soiree can’t possibly provide.
“You have no idea. I’ll take my cue from you. In the meantime, let me go find your wife so she can rope me into another meaningless matchmaking attempt.” With the wave of my fingers, I leave Dad as my eyes roam the room in search of Mom.
I give a fake finger wave to several of the hopefuls that Mom has sent my way during a few of these shindigs. My eyes land on Mom, who seems engaged in a serious conversation by her uptight posture and animated movements. There are three men and two women around her who seem to be hanging on to her every word. Curiosity increases my steps as I move swiftly toward the group. But my steps dang near falter when I hear the words Mom speaks.
“Yes. My team and I are working on the initiative to clean up these streets. I’m sick and tired of those gangs causing strifearound my city. I don’t care if I have to exercise all of my power; I’m going to rid the city of every last one of them,” Mom rants.
My blood and steps freeze as I fight not to openly react to what I’m overhearing. Mom’s desire to set her sights on motorcycle groups directly affects me, given my new relationship with Righteous. The hairs on my arms rise, and my stomach clenches at the thought of what this initiative will mean for Baxtown Iron.
“Let me know how I can be of assistance, Madam Mayor. It’s been a long time coming, and I’m here for it. Those gang members are unnecessary menaces that our fine city doesn’t need,” one of the men cosigns, and my eyes land on him to see the cheesy smirk he wears.
“I certainly will. The RICO case I’m building on those clubs might need a little more spice to them.” Mom chuckles.
“Oh, you’re serious about this then, huh?” one of the women asks.
“Yes, ma’am. I have it on good authority that my efforts have to be professional and personal.” Something in Mom’s last word causes a shiver of panic to slide down my back.
