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“Oh, cut me a break.” Derrick turned up his beer bottle and took a long, hard swig. “Nobody wants to be dirty old men marrying women half their ages.”
“Don’t forget rich,” Charlie said. “And I don’t see anything wrong with being eighty and married to a twenty-four-year-old.”
“Yeah,” Hylan jumped in again. “Rich makes a difference.”
“Speak for yourself.” Stanley found his voice. “The only reason Amanda Easton went out with me was because I know Derrick. Same goes for Jennifer Givens or Monica Kingsley. The sistahs wouldn’t give me the time of day if it wasn’t for you.”
“Then maybe you should consider going back to your side of the fence. You catch my drift?” Taariq chuckled. “Hanging out with us is never going to make you a brother. You know this, right?”
Stanley scrunched his face as his neck turned beet red. “Yeah, I know that.” He rolled his eyes, but was unable to wipe the hurt completely from his face.
“Sorry, man. I just— I don’t know. All this partying is just getting old,” Derrick said.
“Herman has finally gotten into you, hasn’t he?” Taariq accused.
“That or that one chick you were grinding on at Visions the other night,” Charlie guessed. “She wouldn’t happen to have a sister or a cousin—”
“Hell, I’ll date her momma,” Stanley crackled, joining in on the high-fives. “Leave it up to Derrick to score with the finest woman in the place.”
“Hell, the one I caught should be having my baby,” Charlie chuckled and then tossed back the rest of his beer.
“You know how I do,” Hylan said, pumping his chest.
“I scored two fly honeys who had to be gymnasts,” Taariq boasted. “Their mounts and dismounts were worthy of gold medals.”
Laughter roared and a few of the guys pounded Taariq’s back in congratulations.
Only Stanley, with his tall lanky frame and flaming-red hair went home alone, but his boys were good about not commenting on it.
When the fuss died down, everyone returned their attention to Derrick.
“Seriously,” Charlie asked. “You’re really trying to break ranks with that chick?”
“Nah.” Derrick shook his head. “Denise was beautiful and all,” he admitted. “But we were just dancing. I’m not going to see her again.”
“Then you won’t mind if I try to hit it?” Stanley asked.
The boys tried to muffle their laughter, but failed.
Taariq leaned over and wrapped a muscled arm around Stanley’s thin neck. “C’mon, man. You know better than playing with grown folk’s toys.”
Stanley reddened and laughed good-naturedly.
“Actually,” Derrick said. “Denise is married.”
“Ooh,” his boys winced.
“Tough break,” Hylan said, shaking his head. “Course you know, married chicks are off the hook. They’re less clingy and they’re some other cat’s problem.” He tossed back the rest of his beer and then released a long belch.
As Derrick’s laughter died down, his mind drifted over Herman’s constant lecturing. For years, he had laughed off the barber’s lectures, but now he couldn’t get the old man’s words out of his head.
But monogamy? Heck, did he even have it in him? One woman—for the rest of his life?
“Uh, oh,” Hylan said, snapping his fingers in front of Derrick’s face. “I think we’re losing him.”
The weight of everyone’s gaze landed on Derrick again and he quickly blinked out of his trance. “C’mon, guys. Haven’t you, at least, thought about it?”
“Sounds like we need to do an intervention,” Taariq said somberly. His eyes still trained on Derrick. “He’s forgotten the BBD golden rule.”
Stanley nodded. “Yeah. Never trust a big butt and a smile.”
“Cut it out.” Derrick plunged his hands into the bowl of potato chips and took another swig of beer. “You can’t go the rest of your lives living and partying like drunken college students. It’s time to grow up, settle down—even have a few kids or something.”
“This is more serious than I thought,” Charlie said.
His three buddies sat back and glanced at each other.
“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” Hylan quipped. “It’s not broke, is it?”
Derrick hedged, wondering how to tell his boys the truth. Men didn’t talk about feelings. Well, they could express anguish or joy about their favorite sports team. Anger was celebrated especially if it was attached to plans of vengeance, but tedious soliloquies about longing, loneliness or emptiness was a definite no-no.
“Derrick?” Stanley elbowed him.
“Nah.” Derrick shook his head and flashed everyone a quick plastic smile. “No. It’s not broken.”
* * *
After a week in Atlanta, Isabella regretted agreeing to let Waqueisha give her a complete makeover—especially now that every bone and muscle in her body ached in revolt.
“Very good,” the striptease instructor praised from the front of the classroom. “You all are doing much better today.”
Better must’ve meant they hadn’t had to call the paramedics, Isabella thought. Of course, if she had to put in another full hour of bending, twisting and sliding down a slippery pole it might be her turn for an emergency room trip.
Cookie, the instructor who looked more comfortable on a stripper pole than walking, glided up beside Isabella and helped her arch her back and extend her leg higher. “That’s it. Just like this.”
Nothing about the supposed erotic pose made Isabella feel the slightest bit sexier and neither did the other class participants, judging by their pained expressions.
“C’mon, ladies. Work with what your momma gave ya.”
Isabella groaned and shot a look over at Waqueisha, the teacher’s pet. “Are you sure all of this is really necessary?”
Waqueisha sprang high onto the pole, flipped upside down and flashed a bright smile. “Oh, yes. When you come back from your honeymoon, you’ll want to name your first kid after me.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Isabella mumbled under her breath.
Somehow, probably through the grace of God, she managed to make it through the rest of the class and collapse into a heap on the floor.
Waqueisha laughed and pulled on Isabella’s arms for her to get up.
“I can’t move. Just leave me here to die.”
“Hey. You’re the one that wanted to do this, remember? We can quit at any time.”
Remembering her humiliation at her own engagement party, quitting wasn’t an option. Whether or not she did go through with this wedding, she vowed to become the kind of woman who knew how to keep her man happy in the bedroom. She wanted to be more than a political trophy.
Isabella released one last groan and then climbed back up onto her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and draped a towel around her sweaty neck.
“That’s m’girl,” Waqueisha praised. “Let’s get you over to Monique’s, so we can pick you out some wonderful lingerie pieces. Nothing says sex kitten like silk and lace.”
Isabella perked. Finally, something fun. After waving goodbyes to their exhausted group, Isabella allowed Waqueisha to pull her out of the workout room and across the gym.
Derrick, drenched in sweat while running five miles on the treadmill, caught a glimpse of a familiar face and temporarily slowed his pace. In a flash, he lost his balance, hit the console and then fell backward on the spinning belt.
Taariq and Charlie, who were running on opposite sides of him, shut off their machines and quickly came to his rescue.
“Dayum, man. Are you all right?” Taariq asked.
Derrick hardly heard them as he peeked around their legs in the direction he had last seen Isabella and then jumped to his feet when he didn’t see her.
On seeing that he was fine, Charlie laughed. “D, I’ve never seen anyone bust their butt like that.”
Their comments drifted in one ear and out the other as Derrick sprinted off to make sure what he’d seen wasn’t a mirage.
Taariq and Charlie looked at each other and then chimed together, “Must be a woman.”
Derrick weaved through treadmills, step machines and one corner of the free weights section in chase after what logic told him was impossible. He made it to the railing that lined the second story gym and peered down to the first floor.
Nothing.
“I must be going crazy,” he chuckled. Turning away, he saw Isabella, rounding a corner on the lower floor. “It can’t be.” Derrick raced down the stairs.
“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a few gym members shouted in his wake.
“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder, but refused to slow down. Derrick caught a glimpse of an outfit: short shorts, halter top...and high heels?
“Hey, wait!” he shouted, but the woman rounded another corner.
Derrick picked up the pace until he was at a full run and then raced through the first door he came upon. Before his brain registered his mistake, sonic waves of hysterical screaming pierced his eardrum.
Shutting his eyes, he performed a 180 and raced back out of the women’s locker room, apologizing the whole way. Once he was safely back out into the hallway and before a long wall of windows, he saw his mysterious woman from Washington, or her look-alike, climb into a SUV. Before he could reach the door, the vehicle peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared into traffic.
Chapter 9
Isabella’s makeover went from bad to worse.
Lingerie shopping turned out to be one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. But after hours with Waqueisha and the best-looking drag queen she’d ever seen, Monique, Isabella’s B cups were pushed up to C and her flat behind had been upgraded to bootylicious.
“What happens when I have to get naked?” she innocently asked. “Don’t you think this is false advertising?”
Monique rolled her eyes and cradled her hips. “Honey, after you do your little striptease number, your man is only going to be interested in getting to one thing.”
“Amen to that,” Waqueisha co-signed and gave the boutique owner a high five.
Isabella couldn’t stop glancing at her image and feeling like a fraud.
Handing over her credit card, Isabella charged a ridiculous amount of money for very little material. Next stop was Prestigious Hair Salon.
“I don’t know,” Isabella said after hearing what the stylist, Aubrey, had planned for her long locks.
Aubrey cradled Isabella’s shoulders and leaned close so their gaze would meet in the mirror in front of them. “Sweetheart, trust me. You’ll be looking fierce when I get through with you.”
Isabella looked over at Waqueisha, who was talking and texting half of Georgia in preparation for the Kidd Rhymes CD release party that night. “I don’t know,” Isabella hedged.
“Hold on just a minute,” Waqueisha told her caller and then lowered the phone to speak with Isabella. “Izzy, trust my girl Aubrey. She’s the best.”
That was not the support Isabella was looking for.
“What do you say, girlfriend?” Aubrey asked.
“Okay,” Isabella said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”
An hour later, Isabella was in tears.
“It’s orange!”
“Now calm down,” Aubrey said, trying to shush her and calm her growing hysterics.
“I can’t calm down,” Isabella screeched. She jumped out of the stylist’s chair to edge closer to the vanity mirror. Maybe it was just the lighting.
No. Her hair was orange.
Isabella pivoted toward Waqueisha who stood frozen with her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. “I can’t go anywhere with my hair looking like this!”
“Uhm. Er.” Waqueisha blinked. “It’s actually...kind of...cute.” She glanced at Aubrey. “Sort of a golden auburn.”
“What?” Isabella swiveled back to the mirror, but through her tears her hair looked like a pumpkin.
“Honey, don’t panic.” Aubrey jumped into action and led her back to the chair. “If you don’t like it, we can tone the color down a little.”
“A little?” Why had she trusted this stranger with her hair? She would have been better off if the woman had shaved her bald. She couldn’t stop the tears even if she tried. Once they started, it looked like there was no end in sight.
“Trust me. I’ll take care of it,” Aubrey promised, glancing over at Waqueisha.
Waqueisha, however, stood staring at Isabella’s orange hair with bulged eyes and a slack jaw. What could she say?
An hour later, Aubrey had not fulfilled her promise. And when she at last consulted the product she was using she discovered the hair color was permanent and not temporary as she had originally thought.
“Oh, Isabella. I’m so sorry,” Aubrey apologized profusely.
“Sorry isn’t going to fix my hair,” Isabella sobbed.
“We can always buy you a wig,” Waqueisha suggested.
“Or I can give you a nice little cut and you can rock a slanted bob,” Aubrey tossed in.
Was she serious? After screwing up her hair color, did this woman really think Isabella was going to trust her with a pair of scissors?
“No, thank you. I think you’ve done enough.” Isabella snatched the cape from around her neck.
But Waqueisha placed a restraining hand against Isabella’s shoulder. “We have to do something with it.”
“I am. I’m going to find a pharmacy and buy some black hair color and change my hair back.”
“You can’t do that,” Aubrey and Waqueisha exclaimed.
Isabella blinked at the force of their protest. “Why not?”
“Because your hair will fall out,” Waqueisha advised gently and then pried the cape out of Isabella’s tight fingers. “You know the color is not that bad.”
If she was lying, Isabella couldn’t detect it.
Waqueisha finished snapping the plastic cape around Isabella’s neck and then took her hand into hers. “It’s just a radical difference because we’ve never seen you with much color. But trust me. After a nice cut and a visit to the M.A.C. counter, you’re going to look like a new woman.”
“I already look like a new woman: Rainbow Brite’s black sister.”
Aubrey laughed but quickly clammed up after twin smothering glares from the sorority sisters.
Waqueisha gave Isabella’s hand an affirming squeeze. “Trust me.”
Isabella reluctantly settled back in the stylist’s chair and tried to prepare for the worst, if there was such a thing.
Chapter 10
“I’m not going,” Isabella declared after staring at the stranger in the mirror for the past hour. She had signed up for a makeover—not to look as though she’d enlisted in the federal witness protection program where she could only be identified by fingerprints.
“Of course you’re going,” Keri said, sliding a gold hoop earring through her ear. “You look fabulous.”
Waqueisha bobbed her head in agreement as she slipped into a red backless number and then jumped into a pair high-heel pumps.
Instead of Waqueisha’s place, they had all agreed to dress at the downtown Ritz Carlton because it was closer to The Zone—where the CD release party was being held.
“You didn’t do all this hard work for nothing. Just think of tonight as a practice run for when you return to D.C.”
“I show up like this and I’ll probably be disowned and Randall may not give his ring back.”
“Sounds like a win-win situation,” Keri said and glanced at her watch.
Isabella didn’t miss the “amen” looks that passed between her sorors. In truth, since she had removed her ring, it felt as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She would enjoy her small time of freedom—at least try to anyway. She rubbed the bare space on her ring finger again, dreading when she’d have to put the pretty shackle back on. And she would have to put it back on. Her father would see to it.
“We better get a move on, girls. We’re running late.”
Isabella twisted and turned in a white Chanel number better suited for the red carpet. Her bright hair color did look better with the slanted bob and her new makeup transformed her from ordinary to...different—at best. She took another long look at herself in the mirror. “I’m not going,” she announced. “I can’t.”
“C’mon, Izzy.” Keri wrapped an arm around her shoulders and gave them a hearty squeeze. “You’re going to have a good time.”
“Trust me,” Keri insisted with another hearty squeeze. “Would I steer you wrong?”
* * *
Derrick and his boys entered through the doors of The Zone ready to play. One look around at the exotic décor let everyone know that no expense was spared. But what drew every man’s eye were the scantily clad women in pearl thongs and breast pasties.
Stanley sighed and looked like he was ready to start drooling. “Did we just die and go to heaven?”
The boys laughed.
“Stan, my man,” Hylan said, wrapping his arm around Stanley’s pencil thin neck. “If you can’t score tonight, you won’t have to ever worry about when to retire your playa’s card. We’ll take it from you.”
During a rumble of laughing agreement, Stanley turned ten shades of red.
“Thanks, guys. No pressure.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.” Taariq pounded Stanley’s back and then gave him an encouraging shove.
“Drinks?” a feminine voice floated from behind them.
Derrick turned toward a smiling ebony beauty wearing the themed pearl thongs and pasties. After nodding his appreciation of her feminine curves, Derrick placed his drink order.
“Looks like someone’s not so sick of the game anymore,” Charlie chuckled before placing his own order.
Derrick didn’t bother to defend himself. Just because he was getting tired of the playa’s life didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate a fine woman when he saw one.
Minutes later, the guys separated and melted into the crowd. A few times, Derrick made it onto the dance floor with barely-twenty-one Kidd Rhymes groupies dropping it like it’s hot. Though he was having a good time and enjoyed the couple of drinks that had already hit his bloodstream, Derrick longed for something more.
* * *
Isabella felt like a fish out of water the moment she entered The Zone. Seeing so many hip and beautiful people milling about pushed all of her insecurity buttons. Who was she kidding? She could never blend in with this crowd. She was a straight-laced tax attorney and daughter to one of the most powerful men in Washington.
She didn’t belong here.
“Relax,” Keri shouted over the ridiculously loud music. “You look like you’re ready to turn tail and run.”
That was exactly what she wanted to do.
“Yeah, loosen up,” Sylvia shouted above the music.
Waqueisha tapped her on her left shoulder and also yelled, “I gotta go play hostess. Have a good time.”
Before Isabella could say abracadabra, Waqueisha disappeared into the crowd.
“Drinks?” a honeyed baritone questioned.
Isabella turned and her mouth dropped open at the sight of the waiter’s mountain-size and chocolate-covered muscles. She might have licked her lips at his cut abs and his itsy-bitsy loincloth, but she wasn’t sure.
“Sure,” Keri responded first. “I’ll have you in a tall glass.”
“Make that two,” Isabella co-signed and then blushed at hearing the words come out of her mouth.
Keri and Rayne laughed at her boldness.
“Look out, Atlanta,” Keri boasted. “Izzy is letting her hair down tonight.”
The waiter winked at Isabella and she nearly died in embarrassment.
“Make it two grape martinis and walk away slowly so we can drool.”
“You got it,” the waiter said with a wink and then did exactly what Keri bided.
“I can’t believe I said that.” Isabella covered a hand over her face.
“I’m proud of you,” Keri said, bumping her hips against Isabella’s. “There just might be hope for you yet.”
Encouraged, Isabella brightened and tried to relax.
That was also when she saw him.
There, bumping and grinding against a Ciara look-alike, was the incredibly handsome Derrick Knight. Isabella blinked once, twice and then finally a third time before she believed her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
Keri followed her stare.
“C’mon. Let’s dance,” Keri whispered in her ear, giggling before she grabbed hold of Isabella’s wrist and dragged her toward the dance floor.
“No. Wait,” Isabella protested.
Keri marched on, giving no sign that she heard or felt Isabella trying to dig in her heels.
Keri ignored the fact Derrick was in the middle of getting his groove on and tapped him on the shoulder.
Isabella’s breath hitched when he cast a glance over his shoulder and froze.
“Hey, Good-looking,” Keri shouted, beaming her pearly whites. “Care to join us?”
Isabella noticed the woman he’d been dancing with spear Keri with a contemptuous glare, but another man quickly stepped in and she resumed dancing as if nothing happened.
Keri started dancing too, but Isabella couldn’t get her brain to issue orders for her hips and feet to start moving.
Derrick smiled, undoubtedly reveling in Isabella’s discomfort. “I’d love to join you.” He took the middle spot between her and Keri and started swaying his hips.
Isabella tried not to stare, but watching him move accelerated her body’s temperature and dried her palate. She desperately needed a drink.
“What’s the matter?” Derrick chuckled. “You don’t know how to dance?”
From behind him, Keri was bugging her eyes and rolling her hands trying to get Isabella to join in on the fun.
“It’s easy,” he said, settling his large hands on her hips. “Just follow my rhythm.”
She tried. Honest to goodness, she did, but the feel of his hands on her body caused a near sensory overload.
Derrick moved closer. “Like this.” He moved her hips from side to side.
Isabella followed his lead and after a few beats, he drew their bodies even closer, until the tips of her breasts brushed against his hard chest. She drew in a small gasp and lifted her gaze to his intense stare. After that, the rest of the world melted away.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” he murmured. “I thought I would never see you again.”
Neither did she, but she didn’t tell him that—mainly because she seemed to have forgotten how to talk.
He continued on as if he hadn’t noticed she’d been struck dumb. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that you didn’t like me. But just in case I did say something foolish to offend you, I hope you’d now accept my apologies.” His gaze again slid over her body. “Forgive me, but was your hair orange the last time we met?”
Gasping yet again, Isabella stopped dancing and lifted a hand to her short bob.
“It’s—” Derrick struggled for the right word. “Different.”
Isabella whirled around on her heel with intentions to march away, but Derrick’s hands returned to her waist and he spun her around so in the end, she’d made a complete circle.
“Oh, no you don’t.” He chuckled. “You’re not running away from me this time. At least not until we’re finished dancing.”
At long last, she managed to unglue her tongue. “Dance with—” She glanced about; but was surprised, though she shouldn’t have been, to see Keri had disappeared.
“C’mon now. I can’t be that repulsive,” Derrick said, following her gaze. “Before meeting you, I found that most women liked my company.”
“Then I’ll leave you to your fan club,” Isabella replied bitterly and then made another attempt to strand him on the dance floor.
“My, my, my. That’s quite a temper you have there.”
“What? I do not!” she snapped and then during his resulting laughter realized that her tone contradicted her words. “Oh, whatever.” She made a third attempt to escape, but his firm hold was having none of that.
“Let go,” she growled and despite the loud music she knew that he had heard her.
Derrick ignored the order. “If I let go, you’ll run away.”
“That is the idea,” she said sweetly.
“And the reason I’m not letting you go.” He shared a magnanimous smile. “Looks like we have a stalemate.”
Isabella couldn’t remember ever being so angry. Who did this idiot think he was?
“So why did you change your hair?” Derrick asked, ignoring her narrowed gaze and darkening face. “I liked it long...and black.”