First Semester (15 page)

“Past your
bedtime?
” Stretch asked, nudging Fresh, as the two burst out in laughter.

“Ha, ha, ha!” I said sarcastically. “Laugh now. That was an inside joke. Y'all wouldn't know nothing about that. On some real shit, though, what y'all think I should do?”

Without looking at one another, Fresh and Stretch, sounding like K-Ci and JoJo, sounded off in union.

“Call her!” they said.

After giving it a little thought, catching Kat on the rebound in her moment of vulnerability didn't sound like a bad idea. Besides, I figured, I had some studying to catch up on anyway.

“How much did you say you were letting that blue diamond go for?” I asked Stretch.

“For
that
mission,” he said, “you can
have
one.”

UPPERCLASSMEN DORMS

K
at met me outside of Heritage Hall, the upperclassmen dorm she stayed in. She was wearing a U of A halter top exposing her toned abs, some sweatpants and had her hair pulled back in a ponytail. Still, everything about her was sexy—from her fragrant Victoria's Secret perfume to her Coke-bottle shape. When the elevator stopped on her floor and the door opened, my heart skipped a beat. She could've taken me right then and there. My mandingo was on full throttle. When I stepped out of the elevator, I peered out of the window to my right to get my bearings. We were right down the street from the Shack. I could vaguely see the smoke rising from the chimney at Marshall Hall on the other end of the campus. I surveyed the area, making sure there weren't any R.A.s in the vicinity. Then I remembered I was in an upperclassmen dorm. They didn't have to abide by visitation hours like we did.

“C'mon,” she said, tugging me by my arm. “You can sightsee when we get to my room.”

“That's just what I was thinking,” I mumbled under my breath. I didn't think she heard me, but apparently she did.

“You are such a little freak.”

“Hey, I told you I was a Scorpio.”

“How could I forget?”

Kat stayed in room 312 at the end of the hall. When she opened the door I immediately became envious of how she was living. She had a nice-size living room area with an entertainment system, a TV that couldn't have been any smaller than forty inches, a small kitchen and a refrigerator. The room really wasn't that large and the accommodations weren't five-star, but her place seemed like a luxury suite compared to the shoe box I was living in.

“Damn,” I said, looking around. “This is all you?”

“Nah, I've got three roommates.”

Her living quarters shrank all of a sudden.

“But this is all me,” she said, opening the door to her bedroom. It was about the size of my half of the room in Marshall Hall. But after sitting down on the edge of her bed and looking around the room, I had to admit it was comfy. But more importantly, her room was bombarded by sensual undertones. From the pink and green candles surrounding the pictures on her nightstand to the soothing echo of the water from her plug-in waterfall fixture splashing against the rocks at its base. Not to mention the pink satin pillows at the head of her bed, and her alarm clock radio tuned in to the slow jams station.

“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” she asked.

Where I'm from, that line is a trick question. If it were as cold as the North Pole, I would've told her it was burning up, if it meant clothes coming off.

“Yeah,” I said. “Y'all got the heat blasting in here.”

“Well, I'm going to slip into something a little more comfortable, and we can get started studying.”

“What could be more comfortable than a halter top?” I mumbled to myself after she'd left the room.

The minute she left the room, I got up to take a closer look at the four pictures on her nightstand. The framed five-by-seven photo of her hugged up with Downtown-D at the coronation didn't surprise me. Neither did the picture of her with her parents at her high school graduation. For the record, her mama was fine too. She could've easily passed for an older sister. The third picture was an eight-by-ten of her standing with the other members of the University of Atlanta royal court. She was standing right next to Miss U of A, wearing a pink gown and a white sash that read Miss Junior. On the edge of Kat's desk, next to a basketball trophy, was a picture of her with some of her line sisters in a pink and green frame.

I wasn't trying to be nosy, but she'd left her top drawer open, so I closed it for her, because I felt like that was the right thing to do. But before I closed it I took a peek inside. There had to be at least fifty pairs of sexy underwear in that drawer. No grandma big bloomer panties, either. I'm talking about lace thongs and silk jump-offs—all of the essential get-it-crackin' garments. When I stuck my hand inside the drawer to move aside a pair of panties that were prohibiting me from closing it, my fingers ran across a hard, steel item that couldn't have been lingerie. At first, I thought it might have been something freaky, like a whip or a dildo. After checking behind me to make sure she wasn't coming, I pulled the drawer open a little wider to find out just how freaky Kat was living. What I saw stunned me. Kat was packing not only the entire Victoria's Secret fall line, but a chrome-plated 9mm revolver with an onyx handle. I quickly shut the drawer and jumped back on the bed. With that type of artillery, I certainly wasn't going to be pulling any fast moves on Kat tonight, or any time soon for that matter.

When she returned, she was rocking some sexy U of A shorts that stopped inches from where her thighs began.

“I love what you've done with the place,” I said sarcastically, as if I'd been there before.

At that point, I was desperate to try anything to keep my eyes from focusing directly on her dreamy, exposed legs, which she had obviously just taken the time to lotion up.

“I know my room is small,” she said. “You don't have to rub it in.”

“On some real shit. You got it hooked up in here with the little pink and green theme going.”

“If you think this is something, check this out,” she said, clapping her hands twice. On the second clap, the bright light on the ceiling dimmed and changed color to lime-green.

“Oh, boy!”

“You like that?”

“Fashigity.”

“I thought you would,” she said, sitting down on her bed right next to me. “Hey, I just noticed something.”

“What's that?”

“You kinda look like Larenz Tate,” she said, smiling from ear to ear. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“All the time.”

“Yeah, I bet. You probably get over on all the little freshmen girls with that look, huh?”

“Sophomores, juniors, seniors, recent college graduates…”

“Oh, you got it like that, huh?”

“I don't know. I guess that depends on whether or not you like Larenz Tate?”

“
Like?
Have you seen
Love Jones?
Boy, Larenz Tate is sexy as hell.”

“So I guess that means…”

“That means it's still a little hot in here,” she said, fanning herself. “I could use a drink. How 'bout you?”

“I've already had one or two,” I said. “But what you sippin' on?”

“I would make some pink panties but I don't think we have all of the ingredients. I think there's a bottle of white Zinfandel left in there.”

“Hook it up,” I said.

She came back from the kitchen with two wineglasses and the entire bottle of white Zinfandel. She had trouble opening the bottle with the corkscrew, so I gave her a hand. I stood close behind her, leaning in just enough for her to feel the bulge in my pants graze her apple bottom. I know she felt me. But she wasn't trippin'. An uncomfortable female would have scooted to the side, but she stood firm. I gently placed my left hand on her hip and covered her right hand with mine. I tightened my grip on her hand, twisted the corkscrew and popped the cork. There was something unusually erotic about the sound of the cork popping and the light mist that arose from the bottle.

Somewhere between talking about atoms and neutrons, and downing our first glass of bubbly, Kat and I began to discuss life. She told me about her favorite seafood restaurant in Atlanta and I told her that I preferred chicken and waffles. We talked about our biology professor's African accent and terrible toupee. I told her that I was majoring in business management because I hadn't figured out exactly what career I wanted to pursue. She told me that the only reason she chose criminal justice as her major was because her mom wanted her to be a lawyer. She said that if she had her choice, she would have majored in fashion design and try to land a job as a stylist to the stars, because she loved to shop.

“You seem kind of high-maintenance,” I said.

“Let's see, I get a manicure, pedicure and my hair done once a week. But I don't know if I would call myself high-maintenance. I just like to look nice.”

Two glasses of Zinfandel later, Kat began to open up. I don't know how we got on the subject, but she started telling me about her ideal man. The more she talked, the more it sounded like she was describing Downtown-D.

“I don't usually date guys who don't have a car,” she said.

“So you don't think your future husband could have a bus pass in his wallet right now?”

“I doubt it. That sounds like the kind of guy who asks me to go to the movies, and then asks me to cover him because he
forgot
his wallet. My future husband is probably driving a Benz right now. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I'm superficial. I just know that I'm a good catch. I'm the president of our APA chapter, I have my own car and I have good grades. I just want my man to be equally yoked. I don't think that's too much to ask.”

Half a bottle of Zinfandel later, I became liberal with my questions. “What's up with you and Downtown-D? Is that your guy?”

“He
was
my boyfriend, but he didn't know how to act, so it's over between us. I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved that boy with all of my heart. I guess that's always been my problem. When I fall in love, I fall hard.”

“That's not always a bad thing.”

“When you're blinded by love, it can be. True love can make you naive, to a fault. I would've done anything for Deiondre. But this time, he just pushed me over the edge. A woman can only take so much. You know that saying, ‘You never know what you've got until it's gone'?”

“What about it?”

“Deiondre is about to find out what that really means.”

“So, was he the only guy you were talking to?”

“That all depends on what you mean by talking to. Yes, Deiondre was the only person I was having sex with at the time. But I have male friends.”

“Damn, how many guys have you had sex with?”

She hesitated. “Only four.”

I remembered what this pimp who used to work over by my high school told me about how to figure out how many guys a girl
really
slept with. He said that however many guys a female tells you she's slept with, multiply it by two to get the real number. Considering my past, eight wasn't so bad.

“You always use protection?” I asked.

“I used to until I started dating Deiondre exclusively. He's the only person I've ever had sex with without a condom. But he was my boyfriend, and we were monogamous for three years. I wasn't worried about getting pregnant because I was on birth control the whole time. Lord knows, I've got way too much going for me in my life for me to have a baby now. Come to think of it, even though he was my boyfriend, I shouldn't have even had unprotected sex with him. You've got to be careful who you sleep with down here.”

“Who are you telling? I definitely ain't trying to have no kids no time soon.”

“
Kids?
Shoot, if my parents even
thought
I was having sex with anybody, both of them would be on
America's Most Wanted.
”

“Your parents are on you like that?”

“Are they? My parents are overprotective times a hundred. I couldn't even go on a date until I was a senior in high school.”

“That could be a good thing. If you weren't having sex, at least you didn't have to worry about catching something.”

“
Catching
something? Please. I don't know what I'd do if somebody gave me an STD. I'd probably have to kill 'em.”

“Oh,” I said, rubbing my chin. “So that's what that strap in the drawer is for, huh?”

“How do you know there's a gun in my drawer?”

“I saw it when I was looking at the pictures on your desk.”

“Oh.”

“You got beef like that?”

“My daddy is the captain of the Athens Police Department.”

“So he gave it to you?”

“He taught me how to shoot if I have to,” she said, laughing. “But that gun ain't even mine. Deiondre left that over here last week. He needs to come pick it up before I wind up shooting his ass with it.”

“Speaking of shooting, I see you got a basketball trophy over there. You don't look like the hooper type.”

“I get that a lot.”

“So, what's your favorite position?”

“I played the two, but my favorite position is probably point guard.”

I took another sip of my wine and went for the kill.

“I wasn't talking about basketball,” I said, looking deep into her eyes.

I was attracted to her like a moth to a flame. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, because before I knew it, her lips were touching mine. After one kiss, I was convinced there was passion in her lips. While I was placing my wineglass on her desk, my tongue found its way to hers, engaging in a playful game of Twister. I took the glass from her hand, placed it on the desk next to mine and placed my hand behind her head. I ran my hand through her hair as we continued our lustful lip-lock. Our chemistry was perfect. First, she took control, slowly sucking my tongue with hers and nibbling my bottom lip. Then I took over. I kissed her softly on her neck, tenderly sucking ever so often, catering to her moans. Her familiar fragrance entranced me. She was wearing Pink—the same perfume I'd bought from Victoria's Secret for Keisha last Christmas. The scent alone made me horny. I slid my hands under Kat's shirt and ran my fingers up her spine until they found her bra strap. In one smooth motion, I'd unfastened her bra and pulled her shirt over her head. Just as I slithered my tongue from her neck to her nipple, R. Kelly's classic jam “It Seems Like You're Ready” began playing on the radio. Perfect timing, I thought. Kat was moaning every time my tongue touched her body. She was as wet as Niagara Falls, and my dick was hard enough to cut diamonds. I'd never seen breasts as beautiful as Kat's in my life. They were plump, firm and soft at the same time. They were just the perfect size—not too small and not too big. I'm generally an ass and thigh guy. I figure, once you've seen one pair of tits, you've seen them all. But I'd never seen a girl with invisible nipples like Kat's. She looked like a centerfold. I took my time, and she enjoyed every minute of it. By the end of the song, both of us were completely naked.