Last Call (26 page)

M
ariah

I
am very worried when I walk down to the hotel lobby with Jason standing beside me. My mother, of course, is thrilled to see him again. However, my father is an entirely different story, as I knew he would be. He simply stands there, menacingly glaring at Jason, making me worried he will send Jason packing the moment he opens his mouth. Granted, that would be embarrassing, but Jason is my way home, and that is not the way I want to end our unconventional relationship.

Royce stands between Jason and I with both our hands inside of his. I look down at Jason and Royce’s held hands, transported back to the time I saw Jason carrying my son’s sleeping body. It makes me ache knowing my son deserves to have a father in his life, and I ache even more at the thought that the man he wants will be out of our lives by the time the weekend is over.

“Papa! Look, this is Jason,” Royce shouts as he pulls us closer to my parents.

My mother, sensing my uneasiness, steps up to us first and moves to Jason, wrapping her arms around his tall, built frame. She hugs his body tightly and says, “Jason, it’s so good to see you again. How was your trip?”

Jason smiles politely at her and replies, “It was well. Thanks, ma’am.”

I roll my eyes, knowing I have to address the big, grumpy, elephant in the room—the elephant in the shape of my old man.

“Dad, this is my friend Jason Cain. Jason, this is my dad, Dave Huxley.”

My dad eyeballs him up and down then makes this little sucking sound between his teeth. He grabs a hold of Jason’s hand and I can tell he’s squeezing a little more firmly than what is necessary. Seriously, what is the point in this? You don’t need to break his fucking hand when you first meet him.

My dad sucks ass sometimes, which is why he’s never met any of my boyfriends. Come to think of it, he’s never had to meet any of my boyfriends because I’m a loser and have never had one.

I am mortified, but Jason doesn’t miss a beat. The look he gives my father makes me wonder if this is how he looks when he’s making a business deal. Jason’s eyes are intense, his smile fierce, but he doesn’t back down.

“Mr. Huxley, nice to meet you.”

“You can call him Dave. It’s fine,” I say, knowing how weird it is to hear him call Dad, Mr. Huxley.

“No, Mr. Huxley will be just fine, Mariah.” My dad’s voice is gravelly and full of arrogance.

“You can punch him, Papa,” Royce interrupts and nods his head in all seriousness.

What the hell is he talking about? I snap my glare to my son who then looks back to his grandfather for an explanation.

“Jason said if he hurt Mama, I could punch him. So you can punch him, too.”

“Good to know,” my dad says with a look of pride on his face toward my son.

Changing back to his death glare, my dad resumes his interrogation. “So, my wife says you’re a business owner. Tell me about that.” While he lets go of Jason’s hand, keeping his intense glare on him, I want a huge hole in the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“That’s correct. I own several nightclubs throughout the United States,” Jason replies, calm and cool. This must be how he acts when he’s building his empire. People like my dad don’t frighten him. He’s used to their intimidating looks.

“You rich, then?” Dad asks.

“Dave!” my mother shouts while I can feel my face heat up with horror. Did my dad really just stoop to a seven-year-olds level? I mean it’s excusable when the inappropriate statement comes from a kid, but definitely not from a grown man. Fuck, this sucks. Now I know why I’ve avoided the boyfriend thing. I don’t ever recall him being so blunt with my other sisters when they brought someone home to meet the family.

Jason just laughs and blows off the awkwardness. “I do well for myself, sir, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Good lord Dave. Come on, let’s get you out of here before you say something else mortifying.” My mother drags my dad by the arm, pulling him out the backdoor to the terrace where the ceremony will take place.

“See, Mom, I’m not the only one who wanted to know if Jason was loaded.” Royce pipes up.

Jason laughs as he ushers us through the door and out to the patio for the rehearsal. This weekend couldn’t get over soon enough.

J
ason

Royce and I are getting ready in the living room while waiting for Mariah, who is putting on her bridesmaid’s dress. I help Royce get dressed, tying the knot in his tie and making sure all the pieces to his suite are in place. He looks very stunning for a kid, wearing a black suit and dark purple tie.

While we are getting dressed, Royce and I have a discussion about the proper way to walk down the aisle. In the rehearsal, he was so sure that things wouldn’t be completely boring if he ran down the aisle, in turn making the ceremony shorter and more interesting. I love how his seven-year-old mind works. The kid is pretty cool, if you ask me.

“You can’t run down the aisle because they won’t be able to take your picture,” I say, trying to convince Royce he needs to walk at a normal rate of speed instead of superhero pace.

“I hate my picture getting taken. I think it would be better if I ran super fast, then no one will see me until I get to the front. Then it will be over with that much quicker,” Royce is saying very matter-of-factly. I can’t help laughing at his logic. He’s a pretty funny kid at times. “And this thing”—Royce starts tugging at the knot tied around his neck—“is bullshit.”

I look to my side and slowly turn my head, processing if he really said the word bullshit. “You probably shouldn’t curse. Your mom might get mad.” I try to suppress my laughter. 

“She says bullshit all the time. And Auntie Shelby, that’s all she says.”

I only laugh in response as I assess this kid and his funny comments. I could get used to this guy; he cracks me up. But as soon as the thought crosses my mind, I shut it down, knowing this will be our last weekend together. I’m not supposed to get used to this, and I don’t want to think about a future when I know this is not a life I can have with him.

We are still in a deep discussion about ties and cursing when Mariah comes from the bedroom, looking absolutely gorgeous. I slowly raise my eyes. I’ve never seen a sight as sexy and breathtaking as her. I start with the top, slowly working my way down her body. Her brown hair is swept to the side and lying over her shoulder. Her navy blue eyes are light, covered with makeup, and shimmer when she looks back at me. The pink in her cheeks is from her natural flush instead of makeup, and her lips are lightly coated in a shiny gloss.

I keep moving my eyes down her body, looking over the curvature of her shoulders, down to the swell of her breasts. The deep purple, strapless dress clings perfectly to her body. The satin material is fitted through her chest, hugging her waist and hips then slightly flowing out and away from her. She looks like an angel, like the woman I’ve dreamed about all those restless nights before I met her and ever since. She is a vision. I can honestly say I have absolutely no words. She’s simply stunning.

“Wow, Mama, you look pretty,” Royce says and runs his hands along the silky fabric of the dress.

“Thanks, love.”

I’ve been open-mouthed staring at her, not even noticing she’s holding her shoes in her hand, the heels large and skinny. She would look sexy as hell wearing only those shoes.

Mariah slowly walks to the chair and attempts to sit down, but the dress is tight and probably troublesome to move in.

I get myself out of my trance and walk over to her, holding out my hand. “Here, sit on the arm of the chair.” After she takes my hand and slowly guides herself down, I take the black heels from her finger and kneel. “I’ll help you.”

She looks over to Royce and nods when she notices he is distracted by the business of the beach goers. I grab her left foot, running my hand over her ankle, lightly massaging it. I remember the last time I touched this foot. It was when I was about to fall head first into a pit of raging emotions. I was wrapping her sore ankle, all the while trying to understand why I wanted to kiss her so badly.

Without thinking, my hand trails up the lower part of her leg to feel the softness of her silky skin under my fingertips. I am becoming overwhelmed with everything I have building for Mariah. She has stirred something dormant inside of me; something I never knew existed.

I run my hands back down her leg and slip on the first shoe, sliding the leather through the metal loop that fastens it to her foot, before I lower her foot back down to the ground.

I then lift her right foot up and repeat the process of rubbing her ankle and running my fingers up the lower part of her leg. However, before I put the shoe on, I lean down and place a small kiss to the top of her foot, in the delicate spot where her foot ends and leg begins. Like every action I’ve done since meeting her, I can’t explain why I do it. I just do.

Right as I finish fastening her heel, Royce comes over and kneels down beside me. He lifts Mariah’s foot and examines my work then pats me on the shoulder and returns to the window. Mariah lets out a giggle and attempts to stand.

I get to my feet; help her up, and then we look over to Royce who has his nose planted to the glass door. As he peels himself away, his tiny fingerprints leave smudges on the door.

I look to her out of the corner of my eye. “You look stunning, Mariah.”

She tucks her chin down and blushes. “Thank you.” Looking back at me, she smiles. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Trying to lighten the charged moment, I pull on the lapels of my black suit jacket and reply, “Yeah… I know.” Then I give her my smirk, and she returns it with her megawatt, happy smile.

We walk to the door and head down to the wedding. For a moment, I feel like this could be me. I could be happy with this woman, but then I remember I’ve never been happy; as a result, this feeling will eventually fade.

M
ariah

We are all standing in relief that the ceremony is over. My feet feel like they are going to die, not to mention my bladder. It doesn’t matter how many times I pee ahead of time, the moment my body knows I can’t excuse myself to the restroom, I have to pee so badly it’s practically running down my leg. Fortunately, my sister Jami feels the same way. We quickly make a beeline for the bathroom.

Our dresses are quite tight; causing us to run like penguins to the bathroom when I realize it will be impossible to pee without help. The dress is very lovely; however, it’s tight through my hips and ass, and I won’t be able to jerk it up over my ass to sit on the toilet. My mom had to come into the room to help me zip it up the last time I peed. Jami must be thinking the same thing because she snags her husband’s arm and pulls him along for the ride, taking him into the bathroom. I cannot go pee with Matt in the bathroom, and I’m not asking him to help me unzip my dress.

They fly into the women’s bathroom as I scream, “Jami, I’ve gotta pee, too!”

“Hang on. I will help you when I’m done.” I cross my legs, praying to the gods they decide not to do a quickie in the bathroom, which they are known to do when they get a free moment from their kids.

I walk to the door and bang on the wood. It’s been thirty seconds, and he’s still in there. “Jami! You’d better not be humping in there!” Just as the words leave my mouth, a huge wave of urgency moves through my body. If I don’t go now, I’ll be peeing all over myself.

Jason chooses that moment to come strolling over, and before I can stop him, I am whisked into the men’s restroom and my dress is being zipped down. I freeze, thinking there is no way I can have sex with him now. First off, I’ll piss all over him, causing both of us to smell like urine. Secondly, I vowed the night at the club was the last time we’d have sex.

He slips my dress down and then turns me by the shoulders, directing me to the stall. Oh, thank God! I close the door behind me and sit on the toilet. Okay, my need to pee is very apparent; however, the mere fact that he is on the other side of the stall door is preventing me from doing so. I’m slightly panicked, knowing relief this great will cause me to pass gas, and how fucking embarrassing would that be if ripped a big one? There will be no way to muffle it, and when you fart in the toilet, it seems to amplify the sound. Jesus, he’s got to go.

“Everything all right in there?” Jason asks with a little laughter in his voice.

“Ah, actually, can you give me a little bit of privacy?” I ask, completely mortified.

“Oh, you got a stomach ache or something?”

What the hell? Did Jason just ask me if I have to take a shit?

“What! No! I just can’t do this with you listening on the other side. It’s weird. Just go out there and guard the door. I will be done in a second.”

I hear the door open, and once it’s closed, my body finally relaxes. I pee with so much force it completely exhausts me. Best. Feeling. Ever.

I finish using the bathroom then open up the stall door to find the bathroom blessedly empty and my dress hanging over the next stall door. I move to the sink, wash my hands, and quickly fix my makeup and hair, when the door comes flying open, Jerrica’s new husband walking through. I turn around, startled, and attempt to cover my partially naked body with my hands.

Wilson screams. “Awwww! Shit! Sorry!” Then abruptly turns to leave the bathroom just as Jason flies through the door, knocking the groom in the head.

As Wilson falls to the floor, dazed and holding his head, there is an instant bump to the center of his forehead forming. Jerrica is going to flip her shit when she sees that; poor, poor Wilson. My sister can be a little particular at times, and I’m sure a giant goose egg protruding from his head is not what she had in mind for their reception pictures.

Jason kneels to the ground, making sure he’s okay. After he’s assured Wilson will be fine, he claps Wilson on the back, smiling as he tries to brush off his clumsiness. The commotion causes a stir amongst the wedding guests. The next thing I know, my sister is on the floor of the bathroom holding Wilson’s head, and all of my other sisters are staring at me as I quickly pull my dress over my hips and up by body. Jami is laughing her ass off.