His tailored black Armani suit hugged his body.
Clinging to each of his muscles.
His eyes pierced me from across the room.
Calling my name, “Chase, Chase, Chase.”
Omar had done well.
Very well.
I knew Eric was the one for me.
I could tell.
It’s like you know what you know that you know.
And, I knowed.
Eric made his way over and introduced himself.
“Hello. Eric Sanderfield. Nice to meet you.” His thick burly hands gripped mine.
“Chase Kennedy,” I replied. “It’s nice to meet you as well.” My insides flipped outside.
Oozing with lust.
I smiled cordially. Trying to conceal my sexual thoughts.
Eric smiled with his eyes.
I noticed the glint as he winked.
The entire night we talked.
In his car.
On the way to his penthouse apartment.
In his living room.
In his bed.
In my ear.
His hard rough voice reverberated inside me just as I pumped inside him.
Slowly.
Tenderly.
Easily.
I took my time.
“I just want you to stay in me,” Eric whispered.
And I wanted to.
I was caught up in Eric. So fucking caught up I am now crawling on top of a pile of football cleats and running shoes.
Hiding in a closet hoping this ordeal will be over soon.
I can’t believe this shit! What the fuck am I doing? This has nothing to do with me. He fucked up. She is mad at him, not me.
I then quickly assess the situation over my loud, rapidly beating heart.
Okay, so maybe I’d rather be in the closet than going toe-to-toe with an angry, neglected, dejected and hostile black woman.
With my back against the wall I pull out my Apple iPhone.
Palms sweaty.
Fingers shaking.
I push the speed dial button of the only person I can call in a crisis like this.
My best friend, Ashley Colby.
“Come on, Ashley, pick up, pick up.”
“Hey boy,” Ashley sings in the phone.
“Ashley, you’re not going to believe this. I’m trapped in the closet,” I whisper.
“What!?! What’s going on?”
“I’m at Eric’s and his wife is trying to break down the door to get in.”
“Oh no, Chase. You are R. Kelly right now!” she laughs.
“Ha, ha, very funny. What should I do?”
“Boy, get out of there.”
“I can’t. She is screaming at the top of her lungs and won’t leave. She thinks he’s in here with another woman. I doubt very seriously things are going to go well if she sees me.”
“Wait a minute. Did you say his wife? I thought he was divorced.”
“I know. That’s what he told me.”
“Hold up. Let me turn off The View. This is much better than the drama between these bitches.”
“Shit. I need to come up with something quick.”
“Well, I suggest you get out of the closet, introduce yourself, and tell her the beef she has is not with you, but with him. And then you get the hell out of there.”
“I don’t think she is the reasoning type.”
“Where’s Eric?” Ashley asks.
“I don’t know,” I say and peek my head out of the door. “I can’t see him. I am so sick of this shit.”
“You need to pull yourself together.”
“Why do I keep getting the fucked-up types? Just when I think everything is going well it all goes downhill. What did I do to piss off God?”
“Well, right now is not the time to…”
“Shhh,” I cut Ashley off. “I hear someone coming into the room.” I inch further into the closet.
Cleats in my ass.
Pants and shirts blocking my view.
The door flings open. I scream and drop my phone.
“Chase! Chase! What’s going on?” I hear Ashley yelling.
A black shiny shoe steps inside.
I notice a navy blue pant leg.
I hear some voices coming from a walkie.
I sigh as the policeman reaches out his hand and pulls me to my feet.
I reach down and pick up my Apple iPhone. “Ashley, I’ll call you back. The police are here.”
Chapter Two
I spend a grueling hour in Eric’s apartment with the police. They want us to recount the story of what happened. I know this is it. We are about to be exposed.
Revealed.
Our secret splashed across the newspapers.
Newsday.
The Daily News.
The New York Times.
News broadcasts will feature us on the five o’clock news.
I will be the joke of every comedian’s late-night rant.
Conan O’Brien.
Jimmy Fallon.
Jay Leno.
David Letterman.
I keep wringing my hands. Wiping them on my jeans.
I nervously bite my bottom lip.
I am not going down for him, I say to myself.
I glance over at Eric. He is calm.
Cool.
Collected.
“We had a late night with some girls,” Eric tells the police officer. “I am in the middle of a divorce. Me and my boy just wanted to party and have some fun. You know what I mean?” he joked and smiled at the officer.
The tall dark policeman grinned. “Where are the girls?” He asks, staring at me. I look over at Eric. My heart is attempting to leap out of my chest. I can feel the perspiration dripping from under my arm.
“The girls…” I say. I start biting my bottom lip again.
“They left early this morning,” Eric jumps in, stammering. “I put them in a cab for the airport because they had to get back to Atlanta.”
“Yeah, Atlanta,” I mumble. Damn, he is good, I think. The policeman grins at me and winks.
My head drops. I won’t allow myself to look in his eyes. I know he knows the truth.
It’s obvious.
There are no signs