Page 14 of Keeping Busy
She’d selected a white dress. It was clingy, and lacy, and sheer, and form fitting, and it made two very distinct thoughts pop into my head. The first was that I wanted to touch it, and the second was that I wanted to touch it while taking it off of her.
“She did raise me better than that, but Miss Vera never saw you looking like this, Pudding.” I called after her.
I heard her chuckle from wherever she was in the condo.
“So, what’s this benefit?” Mecca asked as I opened the door of the truck for her and helped her out of the backseat.
“CTE. It's for a foundation that was created by Jennifer Zuriela. Her husband, Jack, was the quarterback for the Pythons for almost ten years. When he left the league, things got...crazy for him.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard about the consequences of CTE; mood swings, aggression, depression.” Shaking her head, she pulled in air through her teeth. “Scary.”
It was my turn to nod. “Yeah, he committed suicide, left his money for research on the condition and Jennifer started the foundation.”
“Are there gonna be a lot of NFL people in here?”
“Yeah. That’s why Sydnie really wanted me to come. Get my face out there, in front of the people who matter, in a positive way.”
“You know I’ve been going to these kinds of events with my parents since I was little. Just in case you’re worried about me, don’t be.”
I looked down at her like she was crazy. “Trust me, I’m not. Ain’t nobody in here gonna be paying attention to your behavior, they’re gonna be too busy looking at your body in this dress that I’m pissed off you tricked me into buying.”
“I didn’t trick you.” She objected, her pretty brown eyes big with dismay. “I texted you a picture of it from the boutique.”
“I saw it on the hanger, Mecca. It looked like a bed sheet or some curtains or something. I didn’t see it on your body. If I’d seen it on your body, I would’ve said ‘hell nah, pick something else’.”
“You don’t want me to look good?”
“Not this good.” I shook my head. “Not in front of this crowd.”
She giggled, and it was a tinkly sound in the warm night air. “For fifteen years, you ignore me. Now, you wanna be on some protective big brother stuff.”
“Ain’t nobody trying to be your big brother in that dress, Ma.” I said honestly.
“Well, if those are the vibes this dress is giving off, then I say it was money well spent.” She looped her arm through mine.
“The vibes that dress is giving off are giving me a hard dick.” I muttered to myself.
Mecca and I walked into the ballroom with her holding onto my arm. The place was done up to impress the moneyed crowd that Jennifer invited. There was a lot of silvery, shiny, and sparkly shit everywhere you looked. I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings, though. I couldn’t stop glancing down at her cleavage. Mecca’s body in that dress was perfection.
While I was busy looking down at her cleavage, somebody said her name.
“Mecca B. Goode, check you out - pimping the hell outta that dress.”
I snatched my eyes away from Mecca’s breasts and looked into the face of Curtis Starrveld. Curtis was a defensive back for the Falcons. I couldn’t say that I disliked him, he was justthatdude. The dude that was always a little too loud, always too over the top, always needed to draw attention to himself.
Mecca gave him a smile that seemed genuine. “Hey Curtis.”
He grabbed her free arm, pulling her body to his. Her arm slipped out from mine, leaving the obvious absence of the warmth of her body.
I tried not to let myself get tight when his hands drifted down and didn’t stop until they were right above the line of scrimmage. That was when I noticed that the damn dress was backless.
Yo, I fucking hated this dress!
After the hug went on longer than I was comfortable with, which honestly, would’ve been two seconds, I spoke. “Yo Starrveld, I’mma need you to stop being so damn handsy with my girl.” His back was to me, and Mecca’s face was somewhere by his chest so neither of them saw how my face involuntarily frowned up at me calling her my girl. I didn’t know where the terminology “my girl” had come from, but I could admit that seeing him all over her made me feel possessive.
“Sorry, my dude. Me and Mecca go way back.” He said as a way to explain his blatant violation.
And before I even thought to edit myself, I responded, “I don’t give a damn if y’all go back to the fucking womb, don’t be holding her like that.” I put my arm around her waist and pulled her to me, my face still arranged into a mean frown.
