Hittin' It Out the Park (8 page)

“I'll have a meatball sandwich with mozzarella,” she told the woman behind the counter, who gazed at her with her mouth turned down in disapproval.

“Anything to drink?” the woman asked disdainfully.

Accustomed to being hated on by other women, Sexy smirked at the deli employee, and then said, “Pepsi, a Red Bull, and . . . oh, yeah, give me an order of fries.” She turned to go have a seat at one of the small café tables.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

Sexy turned back around. “Yes?”

“You have to pay first.”

“Since when? I never heard of that policy.”

“Since now.” The woman folded her arms defiantly.

The jealous-hearted bitch was simply trying to give her a hard time, and Sexy refused to feed into her petty little game. With a shrug, she dug out her debit card from her purse and handed it over. Sexy supposed she should have been appreciative that this hater was taking orders at the counter instead of being in the back cooking the food. She seemed capable of mixing in rat poison with the meatball sauce.

Another stab of hunger reminded Sexy that she was close to starvation, and the cashier-bitch hadn't even processed her order. “Hey, why're you taking so long with my debit card?”

“It's not working.”

“What do you mean it's not working?”

“The bank declined it for insufficient funds.”

“That's bullshit. I have more than enough money in my account to pay for a damn meatball sandwich,” Sexy said, her voice rising.

“Talk to your bank,” the cashier said, sounding self-satisfied and vindicated for some perceived wrong.

Sexy wanted to slap her, but in a civilized society, the only thing she could get away with was snatching the card out of the woman's hand and storming out of the deli. Standing outside, she immediately called her mother and screamed into the phone, “What's going on? Why isn't there any money in my account?”

“Good afternoon, Amanda, dear. It's so nice to hear from you,” Clarissa said in the fake, cheerful tone that Sexy hated.

“What are you trying to do, Mom—cause me to die of starvation?”

“That wouldn't be an issue if you were home with your family where you belonged.”

“Being home wasn't working. You know it. I know it . . . we all know it.”

Clarissa sighed. “With you running wild in the city, your father and I don't rest easily. We made an agreement and you broke it.”

“Aw, Mom. Why do you insist upon treating me like a child?”

“We agreed that you'd check in with us once a week, yet we haven't heard a peep out of you in almost three weeks. We've called and left messages, to no avail. The only way to find out if you were dead or alive was to cut off your cash flow.”

“Now that you know I'm alive, can you please put the money back in my account?”

The sarcasm in Clarissa's voice turned into a whine. “How long is this rebelliousness going to go on, Amanda? After giving you the best of everything from exclusive prep schools to European vacations, your father and I never dreamed you'd turn out like this. How did we fail you?”

“You didn't fail me, Mom. I'm a work in progress.”

“Are you still staying with that dance student on Lombard Street?”

“No, we had a fight and I'm crashing with another friend.”

“Someone more responsible than a dance student, I hope.”

“Yeah, she's a future rocket scientist, Mom,” Sexy said irritably.

“Watch the attitude, young lady. I'm your mother and I have every reason to be concerned about you. A well-bred young lady shouldn't be roaming the streets the way you do.”

“You make it sound as if I'm a hooker, working the track or something. God, I'm not roaming the streets. I live in a safe place with a friend.”

“What's your friend's name? And where exactly do you live?”

“Her name is Emma. You don't need the address because I'm in the process of hooking up another crib.”

“ ‘Hooking up another crib'! Do you hear yourself, Amanda? You sound like someone from the streets—not someone from a well-educated and prominent family. How long is this going to go on? Your continual shameful behavior has broken your father's heart and it's left me utterly mortified. What kind of future can you possibly have if you don't finish your education?” Clarissa began to cry, emitting little sniffles and murmurs of anguish.

Growing bored with the conversation, Sexy said the words she knew her mother wanted to hear. “I'm not stupid, Mom. I know I need to finish school, and I plan to. But I need to have a fun summer before I allow myself to be shipped off to that snippy school in London.”

“It's for your own good.”

“I know,” Sexy grudgingly admitted.

“Before I transfer the money back into your account, you have to promise that you'll keep up your end of the bargain.”

“I promise to check in at least once a week.”

After groveling on the phone, pleading for money like a common beggar, Sexy needed more than food. She needed a couple new outfits to make her feel better. One of her booster friends—a chick named Brianne—had a few Prada pieces that she wanted Sexy to check out. Sexy was an unapologetic clothes whore and now that she no longer had access to her parents' credit cards, she had to get her designer wear the best way she could. Needing cash to pay Brianne for her stolen goods, Sexy trekked to the nearest ATM.

A man stood at the machine making a transaction and Sexy stepped back a few feet, giving him privacy. From behind, she admired his broad shoulders beneath his jacket. And his firm ass looked hot in his sweat pants.

He has a nice body, but I bet his face is ugly as sin.

Standing out in the open on the pavement, her very presence once again began to cause a commotion, attracting lots of attention. Horny male passersby appraised her leeringly, and rubbernecking motorists, unable to keep their eyes on the road, had to slam on their brakes to keep from rear-ending the car in front of them.

Sexy shrugged. It wasn't her fault that she had it like that.

When the guy at the ATM turned around, Sexy drew in a long breath. Not only was his body hot; his face was cute as shit. Playing coy, she glanced at her phone and pretended not to notice him.

“Hey, lovely lady; what's good?”

“Ain't shit,” she responded nonchalantly.

He looked her up and down. Stroking his chin, he smiled approvingly. “What are you about to get into?”

“I was about to withdraw some cash and take myself out to lunch.”

“No need to touch your funds. Why don't you let me treat you to a meal?”

“I don't even know you,” she said with her top lip turned up, pretending to be offended.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Yusef Rawls.” He said his name with emphasis, as if it should ring a bell, which it didn't.

“Hey, Yusef; my name's Sexy Sanchez.” She watched him closely, eager to see his reaction to the alias she'd given herself after leaving her family and striking out on her own.

“Sexy, huh?”

She nodded and smiled seductively.

“Damn, baby. Sexy, you are!” Laughing, he gestured to the shiny Jaguar that was parked at the curb. “My chariot awaits you.”

*  *  *

Sexy would have been satisfied going to Five Guys for a burger, but wanting to impress her, Yusef took her to a fancy restaurant—the kind with folded linen napkins, polished silver, and white tablecloths. She had suffered through far too many brunches, lunches, and dinners with her pretentious mother in upscale places such as this, and she was extremely disappointed.

Unbeknownst to Yusef, he'd lost a point for bringing Sexy to an establishment that reminded her of the so-called privileged life she'd escaped from and was trying to forget.

The maître d' greeted them and as he led them to their table. Sexy pointed to a cozy little booth in the rear. “Is that table reserved?” she asked.

“No, would you prefer to sit there?” the maître d' inquired with a practiced smile.

“Yes, thank you.” Sexy returned his phony smile.

Seated across from Yusef, Sexy perused the menu. Finding nothing remotely appealing, she fought the urge to fling the stupid menu across the room.

Yusef reached over and lightly caressed her hand. “See anything you like?”

“Nothing on the menu looks familiar.” She gave him a puzzled expression. “I think I might be out of my depth. Do you mind ordering for me?” she asked, pretending to have no experience with fine dining.

“Sure, baby. I'll order for you.” With brows furrowed, Yusef began studying the menu on Sexy's behalf. “How about the Crabtini for your appetizer?”

Sexy wrinkled her nose. “What's that?”

“Lump crabmeat mixed with vinaigrette and served in a martini glass.”

Crabmeat served in a martini glass sounded ridiculous, but Sexy widened her eyes and beamed at Yusef as if intrigued by such a unique idea.

Pleased with himself, Yusef smiled back. “In my business, I meet a lot of gorgeous women, but they're all so fake. You're a natural beauty, and I dig that. I also like how down to earth you are. The average, gold-digging chick would have ordered the most expensive thing on the menu, but you gave me the option to decide how much I wanted to spend. That was very considerate.”

“Thanks, I try to be thoughtful.” She picked up her glass of water and took a sip. “So, what exactly is your business, Yusef? I hope you're not in the drug game.”

Yusef pretended to choke. “Baby, I'm all the way legit. I love myself too much to be out in the streets dodging bullets and risking a lengthy prison sentence.”

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“I play ball. I'm Yusef Rawls, and I pitch for the Philadelphia Phillies,” he said, leaning back in his chair, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Can I be honest?”

Yusef gestured for her to go ahead.

“No disrespect. I'm sure you're like, a local hero or star or something, but I've never heard of you. I don't know anything about baseball.”

“It's all gravy, baby. I'm glad you don't know anything about me. A high-profile cat like myself has to beware of groupies with hidden agendas. I made a move on you, and to be honest, it was refreshing to hit on a gorgeous woman instead of getting hit on by the kind of chick who's looking for a meal ticket for the next eighteen years.”

“It must be difficult not knowing who likes you for yourself and not your image.”

“It's not difficult. I can spot a gold digger a mile away.”

Sexy leaned forward, and said with a giggle, “Look in my eyes and tell me what you see—a gold digger or a sincere and trustworthy person?”

“I can't play that game,” Yusef said, frowning and shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm blinded by your beauty. My brain is telling me to enjoy this lunch with you and then lure you back to my place to hit it and quit it.” Yusef placed a hand on the center of his chest. “But my heart is telling me to make you wifey.”

“Umm. Listen, Yusef. I guess I should be flattered and everything, and I hate to burst your bubble, but you've mistaken me for one of those gold-digger chicks you were talking about. I don't care who you play ball for, I don't know you that well, and quite frankly, my only interest is in having lunch and possibly letting you hit it. What makes you think I want to be
wifey
to you or anyone else?”

Speechless, Yusef gaped at Sexy.

“You're full of yourself, you know that?” she said as the server brought their appetizers to the table.

Yusef waited until the served left before responding. “I believe you politely put me in my place without even raising your voice.” He broke into a smile. “And now I want you more than ever. I need a take-no-shit woman in my life.” He gazed at Sexy with a lovesick expression.

“Look, I have to be honest with you. I'm going away to school in September. I'll be attending my mother's alma mater in London.”

“London, England?” Yusef's voice went up an octave and he looked distraught.

Sexy nodded. “So, I'm sure you can understand that I'm not looking for anything long-term. I'm simply trying to get through the spring season and have an amazing summer that I'll never forget.”

“All I can ask is that you let me be a part of your memorable summer,” Yusef said with an earnest expression.

Sexy raised her water glass. “Well, let's toast to Sexy and Yusef's amazing, unforgettable summer!”

Sexy laughed as they performed the ritual of clinking glasses, but Yusef seemed lost in thought and didn't crack a smile.

After they finished their entrées, Sexy ordered a slice of Chocolate Sin Cake for dessert, but Yusef seemed to be brooding and said he didn't want any dessert.

Sexy thought it was comical that a grown man was so accustomed to having his way that he was throwing a silent tantrum merely because Sexy had no interest in becoming his
wifey
. Deciding to toy with him, Sexy held up a forkful of cake. “Wanna taste this?” She twirled her fork in the air and licked her lips provocatively.

“Stop playing.” A slight smile tugged at the corners of Yusef's mouth.

Sexy inserted the fork in her mouth and moaned, “Mmm. It's so chocolaty and sinfully sweet.” She ate the chunk of cake and licked the chocolate icing from the fork. “Baby, why don't you taste it?”

Yusef couldn't help from chuckling. “Why are you deliberately fucking with me, Sexy?”

“I want you to taste some of this deliciousness.”

“Yeah, all right,” he muttered.

She rose from her seat and slid into the seat next to Yusef. She fed him cake, murmuring, “Is it good, baby?” Before he could respond, her hand slivered beneath the table and fondled the stiffening lump inside his pants.