King Me Page 16

  “I’m not panicked,” I answer, but my voice is higher than usual. I sound panicked. I ask myself if it’s weird for a 32-year-old woman to date someone in his early twenties. Looking at him, I don’t think I care.

  “I started school late, Laney. And it’s a five year degree. I’m 26.”

  My body sags in relief. There’s something about not quite hitting that 10 year difference that makes me feel okay with this. I sweep my bangs from my eyes and spin to face the sink again, intending to finish washing the dishes. King’s hands start at my shoulders and trail down my arms. He captures my hands, rinses them under the water and turns it off. One arm wraps around my waist as his lips hover near my ear.

  “Come on, cougar. The dishes can wait.”

  14

  “SO, LUNCH WITH THE family,” I say, smoothing down the front of my gauzy sundress. “No pressure. I mean, what could go wrong? Your grandma already told me I’m going to die. I doubt it can get any more awkward than that, right?”

  King chuckles and pulls me past the open gate and up the porch steps. He doesn’t even knock. As soon as we’re inside, I can hear talking and laughing coming from the kitchen. Something smells delicious and my stomach growls so loudly, King gives me a strange look.

  “Relax,” he whispers before we enter the kitchen. Mamie stands at her stove, stirring a large pot while King’s mother, Hazel, sets plates around the table. “Just us today?” King asks, snagging a slice of cornbread from the table and shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

  I laugh as he tries to chew and keep the crumbs from falling out.

  “Yes, just us,” Mamie answers. “And if you take one more thing off my table before we’ve all been seated for lunch, I’ll take a wooden spoon to your behind,” she says without even turning around.

  Hazel laughs, her pretty green eyes shining. “You’re never too old to get a whippin’ from Mamie, Valentine.”

  “Don’t I know it,” he says, taking a seat at the table.

  “Can I help with anything?” I ask, looking from Hazel to Mamie.

  “No, child. You’re a guest here. Have a seat like my rude son who didn’t even offer to help,” Hazel answers. “I swear, it’s like you’re not even mine some days,” she says to King.

  Mamie turns the stovetop burner off and turns to face us now. Both hands prop on her hips and she shakes her head. “There ain’t no denying that boy, chér, and you know it. Got your looks and your stubborn will too,” she says motioning to me.

  My ears burn and I want to disappear, but King slides his hand along my thigh to calm me. His long fingers wrap around my knee and he gives it a squeeze.

  “Well, it’s ready. Serve yourselves,” Mamie says, leaning against the sink. She pulls a pitcher from the refrigerator and sets it on the table. “Lemonade,” she says. “The real stuff. Not that powdered junk.”

  I nod and fill a glass already holding ice in front of me.

  “I’ll fix your plate,” King says.

  “You don’t have to do that,” I say, unable to stop the smile from tugging my lips up into a hairpin curl.

  “Yes, he does,” Hazel says, pinching his ribs as he walks past. She gives me a warm grin and a wink.

  When we are all seated, plates and glasses full, Mamie motions for everyone to join hands. I am between Hazel and King, and the contrasting feel of each of their hands is odd. Hazel’s grip is light, her skin cool and soft. King’s warm palms press against mine as our fingers weave together tightly. Mostly, I’m thankful to not have to hold Mamie’s hand, not wanting to hear anymore foretelling of my doomed future.

  “Blessed be this kitchen,” Mamie says. “May all our meals be reminders of the presence and love of God in our home. May the ill seasonings of anger and bitterness never poison the meals prepared here. May our door be always open to those in need.”

  “Amen,” Hazel and King respond in unison.

  We are halfway through our lunch of fried catfish, greens, mac and cheese, and cornbread before anyone says another word. The food is delicious, and I can’t seem to force myself to make conversation.

  “You know we’ve been digging into the Bondye Saints?” King says between bites. Hazel and Mamie both whip their heads toward him, their food momentarily abandoned. Surprised by his topic of conversation, I also sit staring at him in shock. “Laney was attacked Friday night. They left her unconscious in the alley, broke into her apartment and stole all of her research.”

  Hazel reaches over and clasps my hand resting on the table. “Oh no. I didn’t want to ask about the scratches and bruises. But are you okay?”

  I nod, but keep my eyes on my plate. My free hand mindlessly goes to the bruise on my throat, rubbing back and forth across the sensitive skin.

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I’m more upset they took so much of my research. I’ve been working on that stuff for years, all those tablets filled with notes. It’s almost like starting over.”

  “Though you have been sidetracked by the Bondye Saints,” Mamie points out. Her words are harsh, almost accusing, though she somehow delivers them with sympathy.

  “We have,” I answer, looking to Hazel, who I know is my more sympathetic company here. “We know that they have either reformed the group or a new group has come together under the same name. All we can do now is assume that they have the same goal as the original group, but we don’t know what the end goal is.”

  I push my greens around on my plate with my fork, not knowing how much information to divulge.

  “That’s good then,” Mamie says. “You should let it be. Neither one of you need to be involved.” She continues eating her lunch like we’re just discussing the weather.

  King lays down his fork and looks back and forth between his mother and grandmother. “It’s too late for that,” he says. “We are involved. I don’t want to be disrespectful, but I know that y’all know more about this than we do. Anything you could tell us at this point would be helpful.”

  King and I exchange looks when the women remain quiet.

  “The Bondye Saints were a long time ago. They were banished. The end, Valentine. There’s no resurrection. There’s no new group. I would have surely heard it by now. Or felt it,” Mamie adds.

  He nods and refocuses on his food. When we’re finished, Mamie and King disappear while Hazel and I are left to wash dishes. I move my hands around in the hot, soapy water and wipe at the plates with the sponge.

  “I’ve always found dishwashing so therapeutic,” I say. “Most people hate it, but it kind of calms me and puts me at ease. I love doing it.”

  Hazel smiles and dries off the newest clean dish. “I am certainly not in the same boat as you, child. I do dishes because it is a duty. It needs to be done.”

  I laugh and hand her a clean pot to rinse off. “I’m sorry if we ruined lunch by bringing up my research,” I say. “King—Valentine,” I correct, “is really passionate about helping me.”

  Hazel hums and runs her towel over the pot. “Valentine is passionate about many things, Delaney. He has always had a hard exterior, and a soft heart. It’s gotten him into plenty of situations I would rather not think about.”

  We both abandon our dishwashing and face each other. She hands me a towel to dry my hands.

  “I don’t want to put him in danger,” I say. “But at this point, I couldn’t make him stay away.”

  She grabs my hands and holds them between us. “I know that. Believe me, I know. That boy is as stubborn as his father was.” There is a far off look in her eyes that I recognize. It is deep sadness and mourning. “Plus, he’s pretty smitten. And I think he’s good for you too. Your energies are much more in line than when we first met.”

  Hazel releases me and tucks her hands into the pockets of her skirt. “I never told Valentine, but my best friend’s mother was part of the Bondye Saints in ‘69. She used to tell me everything she heard and we would kind of laugh it off, like it wasn’t a big deal. What did we care? We were teenagers.”

>   My pulse spikes and I hold her gaze, begging for more information. “You didn’t know what they were up to?” I ask.

  “Not until it was too late,” she says. “We knew they had this ancient book from Africa and that they wanted to perform a ritual that would give them absolute power. The luck and power of all the Loas, plus the ability to call on Bondye himself.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “All I know is that the leaders had forbidden them to use the book, much less perform the ritual. But that didn’t stop them, as you know.”

  “Were they going to kill Emma Green?” I ask, wringing my hands in the damp dish towel.

  Hazel nods and blows out a long breath. She turns back to the dishes and I hand over the towel. Without another word, she starts drying dishes again. I pull the plug in the sink, letting the dirty, soapy water drain out.

  “That’s not Voodoo, you know,” Hazel says. Her voice is soft, almost pleading. “That kind of greed and evil is not part of our religion.”

  “I know,” I answer, meeting her eyes.

  She gives me a half-hearted smile and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s see what the other two are up to.”

  We find Mamie and King on the front porch in rocking chairs facing each other. King is leaned forward, his head bowed. Mamie has one hand on his head and the other fist is wrapped around his medallion. Her lips move quickly in silent prayer. Hazel and I just watch. A feeling of peace and calm settles in my chest as I watch the scene before me.

  When she is finished, Mamie takes King’s face between her hands and places a kiss on each cheek. “Mo laime toi,” she says.

  King smiles and leans back in his chair. “I love you too.”

  Hazel and I approach now and I’m not sure where my place is amongst them. King pats his lap, so I take a seat there as Hazel hops up onto the porch railing.

  “As for you,” Mamie says, waving her hand in my direction. “I cannot protect you. They already have many of your personal items, so it would be useless.” I nod as King slides his hand up and down my back. “But you be careful. Always keep your eyes open. Know that friends and enemies are sometimes the same.”

  “Thank you, Mamie,” I say. She presses her lips together and looks out at the street as two kids race their bikes down the sidewalk.

  _______________

  Big bold letters over the door spell out WALTER KING COMMUNITY CENTER. I read it out loud and look to King.

  “It was renamed for him after he died,” he says.

  “How did he die?” I ask.

  “He was shot trying to help a woman and her kids escape their abusive home. I like to think he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

  “He sounds like an amazing man,” I say, squeezing our joined hands.

  King leads me through the doors and I am so relieved by the cool air inside. He is immediately surrounded by kids, giving out hugs and other greetings. It’s easy to see how loved he is here, how much his presence makes a difference. I can’t help but feel like his father would be so proud. I’ve only known him a short time and I feel pride in the kind of man he is.

  Two teenage girls stand off from the rest of the group, waiting to get to King. When everyone else disperses, they move forward, wedging themselves between him and I.

  “Hi, King,” they say in unison.

  I hold in a laugh as he returns the greeting. “Trina, Alaina, this is Laney,” he says, motioning to me. They turn and look me over, the look on their faces holding nothing back.

  “What is she, like your girlfriend or something?” Trina asks.

  Our eyes meet over the girls’ heads. He doesn’t seem panicked or questioning. He holds my gaze and gives me a smirk. “Yes,” he says.

  Trina and Alaina groan and stomp off toward a back room.

  “Well, that’s an interesting development,” I say, stepping closer.

  King closes the distance between us. He ducks his head down so that his lips are near my ear. “I’m not trying to claim what belongs to me, I’m simply declaring my desire to belong to you.”

  A quick breath escapes my lips at his words. My hand presses against my chest in an effort to calm my racing heart. It thumps so hard against my ribs, I think it may break free any second.

  “You’re a smooth talker, Valentine King,” I say.

  “Would you rather I just club you over the head and drag you back to my cave?” he says, his breath fanning down my neck.

  “Mmm. Maybe later.” I step away from him, just to regain some control over my traitorous body—which is dying to mount him right here in front of everyone.

  King’s hand slides down my arm and he entwines his fingers with mine. “You’re so easy to read,” he says with a smirk, that cool voice washing over me like a breeze. “You light up like fireworks when you’re turned on. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”

  “Stop teasing me, or you’ll get no fireworks,” I say, poking him in the ribs.

  He takes his time showing me around the place. From basketball courts to a room stocked with sewing machines, the community center offers just about anything the residents of this neighborhood could need. King tells me there are also free legal services, a food pantry, a clothing closet, and a swimming pool outside.

  “This place is amazing,” I say when we’re back at the front door. “What exactly do you do here?”

  “A little of everything. I help wherever they need it. I teach an art class. I do repairs to the building. Sometimes I just come and hang out with the kids for our mentoring program.”

  “You’re an amazing, smart, talented man,” I say, lifting up on my tiptoes and clutching his t-shirt in my fists.

  “You forgot good-looking and sex god.”

  I kiss his lips. “Indeed, I did.”

  “Eww,” a voice says from behind me. I turn to find the redhead kid from The Clover Grill watching us. “There’s no kissing here. It’s a rule,” he says.

  “He’s right,” King says, releasing me. “Maybe we’ll keep it between us, Curtis?” King raises his fist out toward the boy and waits. For a few seconds, I think this kid is going to bust his balls, but eventually Curtis bumps his fist against King’s and they grin.

  “I thought she wasn’t nothing serious,” Curtis says, peeking around Valentine to look me over. I give an awkward wave and his eyes widen.

  King bends down so that he’s eye level with Curtis, he says something too low for me to hear. They bump fists again and Curtis laughs.

  “Later, King,” he says, before running off.

  We push through the doors and the heat hits me like a punch to the chest. I can’t imagine I’ll ever get used to this humidity.

  “What did you tell him?” I ask, as we make our way down the sidewalk broken up by protruding tree roots.

  King unlocks his car and grins at me over the roof. His aviator sunglasses reflect a distorted version of myself. “I told him I was just putting on a strong face back then, because you had me at ‘yello.’”

  15

  THURSDAY MORNING, THOUGH I wake up happy and naked in King’s bed, there is a sense of anxiety foreshadowing the day. My mind races and every part of my body feels tense as I think about the day and what it could bring. Tonight is the St. John’s Eve ceremony and we are no closer to learning about the Bondye Saints and their motives than we were yesterday.

  “Good morning,” I say, as King blinks his emerald green eyes open. He rolls onto his back, taking the sheet with him.

  “Hey,” I say, tugging the sheet back over my body. “You don’t steal the covers and leave a naked girl just dangling there.”

  King rolls toward me now, his hard body covering mine. My legs spread instinctually, welcoming him in. The press of his weight on me, the shift of his hips, jump starts my body awake.

  “I don’t leave a beautiful naked girl in my bed, period,” he says.

  As if he knows what I need more than I do, King slides off of me and nudges me to move onto my sto
mach. His strong hands start at my shoulders, kneading the tight muscles there. I let out a groan that should be embarrassing, but he feels so damn good, I don’t care. King works his way down each of my arms, massaging even the palms of my hands. He returns to my shoulders and rubs my neck, sliding his thumbs up and down each side to loosen me up. After that, he moves down my back. With each touch, I am sent further into a trance of relaxation. I moan and hum in satisfaction when he kneads the back of my thighs and calves, eventually massaging my feet.

  “I think I’m drooling on your pillow,” I say, my words muffled by the soft cotton beneath my face.

  “Turn over,” he commands. I am slow to move, but very willing. As I lay on my back, I expect for this to advance quickly into sex, but Valentine King surprises me yet again.

  His fingers trace over my collarbones and slide to my arms where he continues massaging. He works me over, avoiding any sexual areas completely. When he is done, King gently lays my left foot back onto the bed. I am a pile of jelly, boneless and melted into the bed itself. I have never felt so relaxed in my entire life. And even with him avoiding my naughty bits, the reverent attention and the magic of his hands has me slick, wet and wanting.

  “I want to do all the things to you right now, but I am currently unable to move. What kind of spell have you put on me?” I ask. My eyes remain closed but I can feel the warmth of the sun pushing through his bedroom window.

  “No spell,” he says. The bed shifts as I feel King crawl over my body. “Just me.”

  When my legs fall apart again, this time he slides inside. The moment is so slow, so torturous and euphoric, that I want to beg him for more. But I know that he has given me what I needed, and I recognize that this is what he needs.

  King’s rhythm remains unhurried, his fingers lace through mine and pin them to the mattress. Those eyes hold my gaze and I am barely able to stay there with him, it is so intense. I lift my head and place kisses up his neck and along the scruff of his sharp jaw. Each time he pushes into me feels like a brand new sensation. This slow steady pace eventually gets the best of me and I feel my body climbing toward climax. My hips rock up to meet him now, unable to stay passive.