Preseason Love (2 page)

Naturally, I did what any woman in her right mind would do. I wiggled from Ivan's grasp as fast as I could. Ivan's hollow, hazel eyes gazed up at me as I spazzed out, shoveling clothes, heels, makeup, accessories, and everything else strewn about into three huge, red suitcases sprawled out on the bedroom floor of Ivan's swanky bachelor pad.

Looking past the cocoa-brown curls that were continuously falling into my eyes, I spun around in a frenzy only to witness the reality of what was now disbelief on Ivan's face. His expression called out to one-fourth of my heart, begging and pleading with me to stay. But the pain in the other three-fourths said, “Don't walk, girl. Run! Run away from this self-centered, sexy yet sorry excuse of a man.”

As Ivan stood by with glassy, somber eyes watching what must have seemed like a blurry image fumbling about, I got dressed in my flyest flight fashions, complete with four-inch, green, leather, military-inspired booties. Then I hit the front door, but not before giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead and pulling a Chris Brezzy and waving my hand in the air.
Deuces. I'm out,
I thought to myself.

I heard Ivan calling to me through the closed door. “Scottie, wait! Don't leave me like this.”

I picked up my pace, sliding each suitcase down the staircase faster than the one before.

Nikki, who stayed dripped in designer fashions, was parked along the palm tree-lined sidewalk tapping her perfectly manicured nails on her steering wheel. She couldn't wait to hear “the juice,” as we referred to it in The Clique.

I hit the last step on the staircase and she hopped out of the truck with her luxurious twenty-seven-inch Brazilian weave
swaying. A sisterly hug ensued but before we could get what was left of my belongings into her trunk, she turned to grill me. “Spill it! And please don't try to be cute and leave out details, Scottie Malveaux. I want
all
the juice.”

“What juice?” I said, acting like Stacy Dash in
Clueless.

Nikki shot me a glace with her head cocked to the side and her hand on the bedazzled key ring sitting in the ignition. I had better say something quick. “You can already imagine what type of wild, passionate, bon voyage sex we had.”

“Well no shit, Sherlock. I knew that. But what I really wanna know is what his whack ass face looked like right before you bolted out of his front door?”

We laughed hysterically, so much so that I doubled over.

Among our friends, it was no secret what everyone thought. They were certain that I couldn't break away from Ivan's spell, and they were positive that Ivan would pull some sort of trick to get me to stay in Los Angeles. People were probably taking bets that I wouldn't make my flight when they noticed me leaving my farewell party trailing behind Ivan. What they didn't know was that I was tired. Tired of talking, tired of getting let down, tired of playing the fool, and tired of giving my emotions to someone that was not emotionally available to me. I hadn't valued my own happiness in the past few years and it was time for me to get a grip, take back my control, and explore new possibilities.

Los Angeles held so many amazing memories. My girls from college and their infamous annual Halloween party; the nightlife and living it up with celebrities; underage drinking at The Gate, the Garden of Eden, the Goodbar, and countless other Hollywood hot spots; and doing all of that when I should have been studying for my college courses.

I would always have the memories, but other than great friends,
there was nothing keeping me in Los Angeles. I would miss The Clique like crazy, but I was single by the government's standards, had no kids and my job basically sucked. Luckily, the entertainment PR agency I worked for agreed to let me relocate and even paid to have some of my belongings shipped to my new apartment. But the nature of the agency was sneaky and underhanded at best. I only planned to use the transfer as an opportunity to get to New York.

In a whirlwind of last-minute Craigslist sales and friend-of-a-friend deals, I parted with everything that represented the familiarity of a life that I created. I was never really one to fall into the materialistic category, but there was one major possession that I almost shed a tear leaving behind. It was a birthday gift to myself. I was turning twenty-four and fed up with rolling “smash-it or trash-it,” a white Mitsubishi Mirage. It earned the name due to the massive hit-and-run dent left on the rear bumper by an inconsiderate U-Haul driver. My first car and I had history, but I was sick of wishing that I could fade into the darkness of the Hollywood Hills when the valet would bring around my hooptie after the club. It would essentially yell at me by making this awful, loud squealing sound. Even the valet would look embarrassed for me in the midst of the other partygoers' staring and pointing.

So for my birthday I'd decided it was time for an upgrade. I purchased a matte-black Mercedes-Benz CLK with butter leather interior. Clean. You couldn't tell me a thing when I rolled through the streets of Los Angeles. I loved the feeling of knowing that I'd made the decision to purchase that specific car and solely relied on myself to make it happen.

I would miss the days of riding through my Beverly Hills neighborhood with the sunroof open and my tinted windows down,
hair blowing in the wind while people looked at me like they couldn't imagine that I was actually their neighbor. Now that I would be living in a city with more modes of public transportation than days in a week, I had no need for my luxurious birthday ride.

That's how I ended up rolling in the passenger side of Nikki's SUV praying that I wouldn't miss my flight and listening to tales from her encounter the previous night. Her long-time secret crush made an appearance at my going-away party and, per the usual, they were pretending like they were not checking for each other. But to my surprise, her crush decided to step it up.

“Scottie, I was in complete shock. I knew that he had a lil' gangsta in him, but I never woulda thought that he would follow me into the ladies room.” Nikki shifted her eyes to me. “He took control and pinned me up against the stall. Then he looked into my eyes as if to dare me to say stop. His kiss was so intense that I had no choice but to kiss the mothafucka back!”

“Oh whatever! Don't front. You would have kissed him back regardless,” I screeched with excitement.

“True,” Nikki conceded.

“Was it good? Was it everything you fantasized about?”

“Uh, who said that I fantasized about that?”

I had to give her the side eye because I knew and she knew that she had whipped up a fantasy or two at some point.

“Anyway,” Nikki said with a giggle, “good is an understatement. I couldn't have dreamed up a better scenario. The shit only got better!”

“Shut up!”

“The next thing I knew, our hands were touching places on each other that I didn't even know could make me feel that good.” Nikki slapped me a high-five. “You know me, I go commando on
any given Sunday, and not knowing this, he grabbed my dress and hiked it up leaving me totally exposed and secretly loving it! The bathroom was a bit dark, but I was able to see all of our movements in the mirror behind him, which turned me on even more.”

“You little freak nasty!”

“Don't judge.”

“Hush and finish the story,” I demanded.

“Once he lifted my dress, it was a wrap and I did not object.”

My mouth dropped open. “Wait, so you guys got busy in the restroom?”

“If you felt what I felt, you would have done the exact same thing, girl.”

Nikki was right. I loved the idea of undeniable passion, and I was definitely a sucker for a man who knew exactly when and how to take control.

“So now what?” I asked.

“Afterwards, we made a quick exit and went back to my place. We finished what we started five times over!”

“Stop lying!” I said with a laugh.

“Naw, girl. As for what's next, we'll see,” Nikki said, not even holding back her grin. “Only time can tell, but right now I know that he's still laying in my bed and I would be snuggled up with him if I didn't have to chauffeur your ass around.”

“Well damn, I'll miss you too,” I said.

“I'm playing. You know I love you. Now get out and get New York ready for my return!”

Before I knew it, we were pulling up to the airport. I was so caught up in Nikki's story that I didn't realize we were making record time. I wondered if she was using her turbo speed to ensure that I made my flight or to get back to the naked man waiting in her bed.

We smiled at each other. I would miss having scandalous chat sessions with my girl in person. Given her frequent trips to visit her many “Lil' Daddies” in the city, I knew that I would see her soon enough.

I gave my girl a big hug, hopped out of her ride, hastily dragged my bags out of the trunk, in an effort to make a mad dash for the ticket counter. There was just one problem. How the hell was I going to manage with three suitcases that felt like body bags? I had no choice; Nikki kept an eye on my bags while I ventured over to get a tourist luggage cart.

After paying what seemed like my life's savings in luggage overage charges, I was finally on my way to my gate. My big move was really happening and it felt more real than ever. I was nervous, scared, and excited all at the same time, so I did what I always do: dialed up my Jolie.

My Jolie had always been like a best friend and a confidante. Sometimes mother and daughter relationships could be trying, but I couldn't ever recall a time, from youth to young adulthood, where she and I had a conflict or a fight. She was always very straightforward and honest. That transparency nurtured a positive relationship. The day that she found out that she was pregnant with my younger brother, she sat me down on the bottom bunk of my bed—the “My Little Pony” characters staring up at me from my comforter—for a girl's chat.

My mother said, “I want you to know that I'm having a baby, and when the baby comes things are going to seem a bit different at first. But I really want you to understand that I love you, cherish you, and I'll always be
your
mom.”

I didn't quite understand the change she was talking about, but from that moment on, she became
my
Jolie.

My Jolie was hands down one of the coolest mothers a girl
could ever have. She was always understanding and respectful of my decisions, which translated into her being very supportive. When I made the announcement that I was moving to New York, she didn't give me any drama about not wanting me to go. I'm sure that a piece of her was scared as hell for her oldest child and only daughter to pick up and move across the country, especially with all of those potentially crazy people that she watched on
Law and Order: SVU
every week. But she masked her fear so that I could do what my heart desired.

“Hi, my Jolie.” I could sense her smiling as if she had been waiting for this call.

“Baby, don't be nervous.” Her words were comforting. “This is your time for a fresh start. Enjoy the new experiences.”

“You always know what to say.” I smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby.”

I made it to the gate without a moment to spare. The ticket agent clicked the boarding passes under the scanner like rapid fire, and my heart was racing as I continued inching forward in line. I had to tinkle, but I figured it was my nerves. That was pretty standard when my anxiety kicked in. But there was no time for hesitation or bathroom breaks, no time for second thoughts or an emotional breakdown, which was probably best because my track record as a crybaby would almost guarantee a waterworks show.

Instead, I click-clacked down the runway corridor in my heels and dug through my ridiculously big purse to check my phone one last time as I headed toward the airplane. Devin, my girl from college and also a member of The Clique, had texted me, “Hey chick! Can't wait until you touch down! Safe travels.” She was my soon-to-be new roommate and sole friend in New York. I looked at my boarding pass with a sense of disbelief. And I whispered, “I'm finally on my way.”

“Sir, honestly, if you don't stop slamming on the brakes, you're gonna smell a sour stench coming from the back of your cab.”

The cabby responded with a loud silence and a glare in the rearview mirror.

Did this idiot just look at me like I was crazy?
As long as he stopped the madness that he was attempting to pass off as driving, we would be cool. On the positive side, he seemed to be going the right way, according to my MapQuest directions. It didn't appear that he was attempting to go off course and take me to some deserted warehouse to lock me in a dungeon as his sex slave like Liam Neeson's daughter in
Taken
.

I had traveled to New York quite a few times before I decided to make the move, so I wasn't a complete newbie to the city. My first visit was through an internship program and that's when I fell in love. I got a high from the hustle and bustle. I was drawn in by the feelings of excitement and independence that I gleaned from roaming the streets.

My decision to move to New York was solidified a few months back while on a trip visiting the city with Dev. We both wanted a drastic change. She found a job and moved into temporary housing a month before my arrival, so naturally she did all of the research in finding a suitable apartment for us to share. Although
our plan was to live in Manhattan, it was crazy expensive, so she found what she described as the best place she'd seen in her hunt for an apartment…right across the river…in New Jersey.

My Los Angeles apartment was a spacious studio in Beverly Hills that I lucked up on through a friend. I had not lived with a roommate in years. It was going to be interesting to see how things would work since past roommate situations had always ended in drama. My fingers were crossed. Regardless, I was about to embark on the biggest journey of my life, and I was quickly approaching Dev and our new place.