A Taste of Honey Page 7

  “It’s so…”

  “Tell me,” I moaned.

  “It feels so…good…I’m…”

  That was all I heard before I felt a powerful thrust from him that felt like he was trying to knock me through the mattress down to the floor below us. With it I felt like my heart exploded and was emptying through my womanhood. I screamed out as I lost control. I had never felt anything like this. My eyes closed tight and it felt as though my body was a river flowing toward the edge of a waterfall.

  All the sensations that I had ever imagined I’d feel when this moment happened were pulsating and erupting from my center. “Ahhhhhh, ooohhhhh,” was all I could get out, followed by a grunt and a spasm as my body shook and trembled through its first orgasm.

  I hadn’t realized that Khalil had stopped moving and was now on top of me lying still in his own pleasure-induced fog. The room was quiet as my breathing slowly returned to normal. I looked over at the clock and couldn’t believe it. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d climbed on top of him.

  We woke an hour and a half later when his phone rang. I was on my side and he leaned over the bed away from me. I could hear her voice coming through the line.

  “Yeah, baby. I’m fine. My flight got in around three or four.” (He was explaining why he didn’t call.) “I’m just trying to catch up on some rest. Can I call you when I get up?”

  I sat there listening, eyes halfway open. Lying in her spot, I was sure, listening to him lie. “What time will you be in on Friday? Okay, good. I’ll call you when I get up.”

  I don’t know why but I felt a tingle in my heart when I heard him mumble, “…Love you…too.”

  The rage returned and when he hung the phone up it was time for me to go. I’d have him take me to a hotel until I could figure out what was going on with Priest. I decided that I wouldn’t give him my number when he asked, though I’d have his.

  “You awake?” he asked.

  “Kind of,” I responded. Then I asked, “Could you get me something to drink and a facecloth?”

  “Sure.” He got up naked and went to the hall closet and brought back a thick washcloth. “What would you like to drink?” he asked as I walked past him into the bathroom.

  “Surprise me, but give me some ice with it and if you have anything to snack on…that’d be great.”

  He marched off down to the kitchen. I sprinted to his cell. Flipped it open and looked at his call log. There she was, Rorrie 202-555-4851. I burned it into my memory in case I’d need it later to wreak havoc. Then I dialed my number long enough to make my phone ring and hung up. Then back to his call log to delete the call.

  When he walked back into the room I was walking out of the bathroom like I’d been in there the entire time.

  “Khalil, I need to go.”

  “I thought we were going to talk and now I think we really need to.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. You have your life and I have mine. It was great meeting you and maybe our paths will cross again.”

  He was silent. Then I gathered my clothes and dressed. I watched as his eyes betrayed him again. He wanted me, yet he didn’t want to make a move. I had him drop me off at the Grand Hyatt and just like I’d expected when we pulled up he asked me, “Honey, can I get your number? Just to check on you?”

  As badly as I wanted to say yes, I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card and extended it to me. I ignored him and said, “Thanks for everything…” I paused and continued, “Oh I almost forgot. I’m sorry for slapping you like that.” Then I added with a smile, “But aren’t you glad I did?”

  The look on his face told me what I already knew. The pleasure had been all his. I felt his eyes again as I walked toward the entrance. Five days at best and he’d be climbing the walls trying to find me. By then I’d hopefully have this situation with Priest all straightened out and be able to concentrate on Khalil and Rorrie.

  I reached a bellhop as soon as I made it into the lobby. “Excuse me, young man.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to turn around but is there a black truck still sitting in front of the hotel with a man sitting in it?”

  He looked over my shoulder. “Yes ma’am. Except the man is getting out of the truck.”

  “Thank you.” I headed for the check-in as I corrected myself.

  I’d give him two days.

  10

  KHALIL

  I followed my therapist down the hallway toward her office. Due to her aversion to formality, from the first visit she’d insisted that I call her by her first name, Cameron. She led me in as always and I took a seat. She sat across from me, looking distinguished, yet carefully plain, dressed in a navy pin-striped blazer, white shirt, and matching skirt. Still she was attractive even while trying to take attention away from her looks. Her shoulder-length locks were dyed at the tips, framing her strong-featured face. Looking away from her eyes I scanned down and found myself next trying to avoid staring at her ample bustline. The blazers she wore to tone down her cleavage, and the glasses, were supposed to make her seem more like a doctor. I figured that she wanted to look the part and eliminate anything that might be disruptive to the doctor-patient relationship.

  She needed to embrace that she was not only a licensed therapist. She was very good at what she did. The fact that she knew what she was doing made a nonissue of the fact that she came off as both sexy and confident.

  At Cameron’s hands I’d been able to shed a lot of the hatred and anger that dwelled within me. For as long as I could remember I blamed every bad thing that happened to me on two women: my mother and Frannie. After I was abandoned by both, there hadn’t been anyone around for me to project that on. With Cameron’s help, I’d been able to see that all the time I thought that I was dogging women out, hating them, I actually had been hating myself. Afraid to love, because I never felt worthy of receiving it. According to her, I had given myself the right to believe this because I had faced the terrible fortune of never feeling valued by anyone.

  I also came to get help because I had recurring nightmares of being molested. I’d wake up panting for air many nights, thinking that I was being raped all over again. I wouldn’t see myself as a little boy in those dreams though, which was weird. I was a grown man, yet I was still defenseless.

  I’d been in therapy for two years off and on after the relationship with Kristen, a girl I’d dated just before I met Rorrie, came to an end. In a terrible incident, I’d punched the girl in the face. She didn’t understand why in the middle of the night when she reached out to hold me, my reaction had been to throw a hard right jab that broke her nose.

  I tried to explain and believed that she understood when I said she’d startled me. I was shocked when two days later I found out that her friends had convinced her to press charges against me. We parted ways and to avoid having any criminal record I was ordered to counseling. Shortly after, I found Cameron and the whole thing proved to be a blessing.

  I’d never been able to make any real progress until I met her.

  “So how are you, Khalil?” Cameron asked. She had a way of making me feel as though I was in grade school even though she insisted I call her Cameron and she wasn’t even ten years older than me.

  “I’m fine, I guess.” Cameron never asked what was troubling me. She’d wait for me to get comfortable with her. I don’t know if it was the fact that I’d come to value the opportunity to talk with her or having another human being that I could spill my heart to. Being in her presence usually prompted me to open up, immediately. I fidgeted in my chair a little and then spit it out. “Cameron, I cheated on my fiancée.”

  She didn’t respond. Instead she simply looked at me with inquisitive eyes, her hands flat on the desk. The office was dead silent except for the air blowing through the vent. I waited to make sure that she was blinking.

  “I met her on a flight back from Miami. There w
as something about her the moment I saw her. I’m not sure why though, because I see beautiful women all the time. I had just spent a weekend in South Beach and the thought of cheating hadn’t entered my mind so it was more than the fact that she was beautiful and sexy.”

  I paused and she offered an “Okay.” I could have predicted what she asked next before the words came out of her mouth. “So how do you feel about it?”

  “I’m not sure how I feel about it.” Before I thought about what type of insight I could offer about my feelings, Honey’s face popped into my head. Then I was surprised that instead of her chocolate skin, hazel eyes, her perfect grapefruit-size breasts, I thought of her voice and the things we talked about on the plane. I remembered that in the midst of whatever she was going through, she’d been able to make me laugh. She was witty and smart. But then just as quickly my mind drove me into the depths of what I viewed as my own depravity as I reminisced on how good it felt to be inside of her. There was no denying that she was incredible in bed.

  “Well tell me what you believe you might be feeling about it? The first thing that pops into your mind,” she said, now sitting back.

  “I can’t stop thinking about her. I feel bad because in spite of the guilt, I want to see her again. And it’s more than sex. I feel like even though I don’t know her, I want to. I almost need to. As if we have some type of weird spiritual connection.”

  “Have you been speaking with her?”

  This is what was driving me crazy. It had been two weeks since I’d dropped her off at the hotel and I’d been by the hotel every day since then spending an hour or two parked out front hoping to see her coming or going. I didn’t share this with Cameron. I knew it was crazy. “No, I don’t have a number for her.”

  “If you did would you call?”

  I nodded yes. “I know where she lives and I stopped by there to leave a note, but I could tell that she hadn’t been past her house.”

  “How?”

  “Fliers and junk mail jammed in the door. She hasn’t been there.”

  “Did you leave your number or a note to let her know?”

  “No.”

  “So what do you want to do in regards to your relationship?”

  I sounded defensive when I said, “I do love Rorrie. I know I do, but I’m having a hard time concentrating on what we have. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just a thing I’m going through.”

  “A thing? Be more specific if you could.”

  “I mean…maybe it was just me getting caught up in the excitement of someone or something new. I’m sure it’ll pass, especially since I can’t contact her anyway.”

  “Well you can. You said you know where she lives, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So do you think you’ll go back there again looking for her since you have no other way of contacting her?”

  I wanted to tell Cameron that the day I’d dropped her at the hotel I’d sat in the truck for a moment before going into the lobby after Honey. I wound up practically begging her to give me her number. She’d told me basically that she thought I was confused and that by the time I had it all figured out everything would fall into place. At that moment it seemed that I didn’t have a chance with her and even if I did, I didn’t even know what I wanted a chance to do anyway.

  I answered her question: “I don’t think so.” I paused and thought about how I was feeling. “I want to be able to let it go. I just don’t know how. I don’t want to hurt Rorrie, but I don’t know if I can trust myself not to.”

  “Well there’s nothing wrong with being confused. It shows that you’re attempting to process some very conflicting emotions.” She had a pencil in her fingers that she twirled a bit back and forth. “Let me ask you this, Khalil. What do you think will happen if you can’t get over this? If you can’t stop thinking about this woman or what you did with her. Will you proceed into a future with Rorrie?”

  I shrugged my shoulders and bathed in the shame that her question brought me. We continued to talk about my dreams and my anger for the next forty minutes. I left my session feeling extremely heavy. Rorrie was due in this evening and I knew I’d be taking my bags of guilt to the airport with me when I picked her up.

  My cell rang at a quarter past six. “What time you picking me up?”

  It was my buddy David. He was getting married in the morning. Along with the other groomsmen, I was taking him out for his last night on the town as a single man. “Around nine thirty. I’m on the way to the airport to pick Rorrie up.”

  “Don’t be late,” he barked. We’d had the rehearsal dinner the night before, which worked well with all that I had to do.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, partna. Hopefully this is the last time you do this.” I laughed, referring to the fact that he was on his third crack at marriage and he was only twenty-nine.

  “That’s real funny, man. Just make sure your comedic ass brings plenty of ones, because I’m leaving my wallet at home.”

  I laughed, because I knew he was dead-serious.

  I arrived at Reagan National Airport and pulled around as I searched for American Airlines. As I crept up toward the walkway just outside of the baggage claim I saw her. She was dressed in a pair of scrubs as she wheeled her one suitcase to the curb. I quickly stopped and climbed out to lift her bag, as she looked exhausted. She smiled and we embraced. For the first time I felt no electricity, only awkwardness.

  “Hey you,” she said. We climbed in the truck and the first thing she did was turn down my stereo. I turned it back up from the steering wheel. I loved that feature. Nas’s Street’s Disciple CD was pumping through the speakers. “Baby, could you please?” she asked in a tone laced with irritation.

  “Headache?” I asked.

  “Just don’t feel like the noise. I’ve had a hell of a week.”

  I looked over at her as I turned the music down and a bout of fear swept through my body. She was staring straight ahead and didn’t notice my careful gaze. I took in her profile, her hair and the trademark ponytail, the mole on her cheek, her bright white teeth, finally even her well-developed bustline. Just that quickly I’d judged her like a prize poodle in a canine competition and come up with a chilling verdict. For the first time I didn’t see the beauty that had always hypnotized me.

  The sight of her didn’t move me at all; neither did her voice or her presence. My heart started to pound as I began to dread the thought of how I’d spend the next forty-eight hours sharing space with her while trying to come up with words to keep her from realizing that we had a problem.

  A serious problem, because I needed to feel something for her as I always had, but I didn’t. I glanced at her once again to confirm that there was nothing left about her that would bring me to my knees.

  The condition of my heart had been just as it was since the day I’d left the lobby of that hotel, begging for a chance to get to know her. Even looking my fiancée dead in the face, I could see only one woman and it wasn’t Rorrie.

  11

  HONEY

  Miles Amory arrived on the East Coast early in the morning via his G4. Loaded with cash, he was a classy gentleman who didn’t mind parting ways with large sums of money when it meant having a good time. I looked forward to spending the evening with him. He reminded me of a younger Harry Belafonte in poise and physical appearance. Miles had a high-octane lifestyle and already he’d concluded a ten A.M. meeting in New York and an early dinner at the Borgata in Atlantic City, where he usually spent the next hour or two gambling a couple hundred thousand dollars at the blackjack tables.

  He’d wind up at his home on R Street in Georgetown, a nine-thousand-square-foot mansion that he slept in probably thirty nights a year. At fifty-two he was extremely well-kept. He was the only African-American on his entire street and I suspected one of the very few who lived in the heart of Georgetown. One look at how he lived and it was plain to see that he was important to a lot of people all over the world. He bragged about having five thousand employ
ees and making money in five time zones. But to me, he was nothing more than a stream of revenue.

  I’d met him at a fund-raiser that George Bush held for his reelection campaign a couple of years back at the Ritz-Carlton. Galas like those always brought out the deep pockets and were can’t-miss events for those such as myself who were about the business of forming mutually beneficial friendships. Give me a shipping magnate, a technology CEO, or an oil baron over Allen Iverson and T.I. any day.

  I pitied the groupies who didn’t know where the money was. They studied ballplayers. I studied the person who signed their checks. I looked at the one exception that I’d made in dating an athlete, Priest, as a huge mistake. After all of the drama that I’d gotten caught up in, I was pissed at myself for ever breaking my own rules. Never again.

  When Cheron knocked on the door of the hotel room I greeted her with a huge hug. “Hey, girl.”

  “Heeeyyyyyy,” she screamed back. “Damn, you looking really hot, Hailey, and those shoes are banging.” I grimaced when she called me by my government name and then she caught my glare and corrected herself. “My bad, I mean Honey.”

  Surprisingly, Cheron and I had become the best of friends over the years. There was no way anyone could have guessed that she wouldn’t try to kill me on sight after Manny was killed over me, let alone that we could become more than fierce enemies. Life is unpredictable at best and when Manny had been killed, I’d realized that Cheron’s ticket out of jail had disappeared with his last breath. For reasons I couldn’t understand at that time I lost sleep thinking about her in a jail cell. A few days later I looked her up and when I found out where her mother lived, I went to visit her. She cried when I told her that I wanted to give her the money that she needed for a lawyer. It wiped out the stash of money that I’d collected from both Tank and Manny, but it kept her from doing any time.