Suspicions (2 page)

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Authors: Sasha Campbell

BOOK: Suspicions
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2
Chauncey
“
Oooooh!
That's it! Right there.”
Grinning, I gazed into Patricia's eyes. “Boo, I aim to please,” I purred, making sure my voice sounded as smooth as melted butter. Reaching for the warm oil, I drizzled it along the length of her legs, then massaged every drop drown to her cute little pinkie toe.
“Mmmm.” Her eyelids rolled shut and my lips curled upward. This was just too easy. All it took was me licking my lips like LL Cool J and rubbing on a woman's feet and I had her juices flowing immediately. A brotha had mad skills, and right now I had Patricia exactly where I wanted her—on the verge of an orgasm.
I focused my attention on the peanut butter brown beauty. Massaging one foot and the other, then worked my hands up her calves. She groaned and I increased the pressure. I wanted my hands to feel better than any foreplay she'd ever experienced.
“Ooh, yeah, Chauncey, damn that feel ssssoooo good!” she moaned.
Grinning, my hands were just creeping up to her inner thighs when I heard this loud voice behind me.
“Damn, Chauncey! How much longer 'fore it's my turn?”
Before I could answer, Patricia's eye snapped open and her head rolled to the woman standing impatiently to her right with a hand planted at her thick waist. “Don't be trying to rush him. My money is just as green as yours and the rest of these chicks up in here.” She pointed at the women sitting on the fake leather couch in the waiting room in front of a large flatscreen television. “You're just gonna have to
wait
like the rest of them,” Patricia replied, then closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair.
I gave the angry female my signature smile. “Beverly, I'll be with you in just a few. You know I like to make sure all my clients get their money's worth.”
My comment pleased her because she smacked her full lips. “I just bet you do,'” she mumbled under her breath yet loud enough for me to hear. Momentarily pleased, she turned and moved back to take a seat in the waiting room. I'm a man who loves a female with a big ass, so there was no way I could miss the sway of her succulent hips in low-ride jeans. I don't know how long I was staring before I heard Patricia clear her throat. My head whipped around to meet her frown.
“Now . . . where were we?” I said with a wink.
She turned up her lips. “Before we were rudely interrupted you were giving me my massage.”
“Oh yeah.” I rubbed her legs and it wasn't long before she was moaning on her chair again. A few minutes later, I rose. “I'll be right back.”
“Mmmm,” Patricia purred. “Don't keep me waiting too long.”
I moved over to a heating unit in the corner, removed a hot towel, then carried it over and placed it across her feet. “How's that feel?”
“Ooh-weee! Chauncey, you've got skills!”
I gave her another shit-eating grin, then signaled for Beverly to come on the floor. I poured hot water in the bowl beside Patricia's, then added some foot soak salts.
“Chauncey, I've been waiting all week for this.”
Beverly had a lazy eye, so I never knew which direction she was looking. It took everything I had to focus on the left eye when what I wanted to do was follow the direction of the other up toward the ceiling. “I'm glad to hear that. How you been? How's your daughter liking the new daycare?”
Her face lit up. Apparently it blew her mind that I had remembered. “Fine. That's all she talks about.”
“That's whassup.” I learned that if you want to keep your clients loyal, you have to build a personal relationship with them. All you have to do is show them you care. I instructed for her to place her right foot in my hand. Beverly started laughing like she was trying on a glass slipper. I stared down at her feet and it took all I had not to do a double take. It didn't matter how often she came in, I still couldn't get used to her having some big-ass Fred Flintstone toes. The bottoms of her feet were so hard and crusty, one would have thought she had used them to peddle her car over to the salon. “Damn, boo, you got some pretty feet.”
She smiled just the way I wanted her to, then dropped her eyes and tried to act shy while I removed the polish from her toes. “You think so?”
“Most definitely, I bet your man likes to suck your toes,” I flirted. She grinned and licked her lips—the way females do when you tell them exactly what they wanted to hear.
Patricia's nosy behind glanced over at Beverly's feet and then at me with her brow raised and snorted. “Be for real.”
It took everything I had not to laugh. What can I say? I aim to please. And so far my fat pockets proved that I knew what I was doing. How's the saying go? The proof is in the pudding. Before I had even graduated from beauty school I knew that I would make more money doing female pedicures than I ever would cutting a nigga's head. “What would you like me to do today?”
The look Beverly gave told me that whatever was on her mind had nothing to do with her feet. Maybe it's the freak in me, but I like a woman who made her intentions known. I allowed my eyes to run freely over her body. Beverly had a slamming shape. A wide ass and big breasts perfect enough to hold in the palm of my hands, but there was no way I could go out with her. Not with her wandering eye. I wouldn't know if she was looking at me or the dude sitting at the next table.
Beverly slipped her feet in the water, then shrugged. “I don't know . . . What do you think?”
I splashed water across her legs with my hand as I spoke. “How about bronze polish? I think it would bring out the gold tone of your skin.”
She batted her eyelashes. “You really think so?”
“Oh yeah. And how about a white flower on the big toe with a stud in the middle?”
“Whatever you think.” She giggled.
“I got you, boo.” Art décor was extra. The more I did, the more I got paid, and I was definitely making my money. In a few more months, I would be able to finally get a crib of my own, because living at the YMCA was cramping my style.
My boys thought I was a joke and said that only a fag would be interested in working at a beauty salon doing pedicures, but I was determined to prove them fools wrong. I've got a sister and I know there are things women don't mind spending money on—clothes, hair, and nails. Half my boys were struggling to pay their child support while I had built a clientele, and never walked around with less than a couple hundred in my pocket. Who's the man now?
I had only been working at Situations six weeks, and already the other nail technicians were complaining because I had all of their customers wanting me to sit between their legs and play with their toes. What can I say, except that I know what it takes to make the ladies happy.
The bell over the door chimed and I cursed under my breath when I recognized the chick coming through the door. Tameka. I instantly felt a migraine coming on. Ever since she found out where I worked, she'd been dropping in every couple of days, and when she did, she always did something to piss me off. She was a fatal fucking attraction. As soon as she stepped through the door and spotted me rubbing Beverly's feet, I had this feeling she was about to start some shit. My shoulders sagged with relief when she moved into the small shop off to the side where the owner of the salon sold haircare products, hoop earrings, and all that other stuff females thought they needed. Hopefully, Tameka would pick up whatever she had come for and keep it moving.
We dated for a hot second. Tameka wanted a commitment and I didn't. Hell, I wasn't offering that to nobody. Commitment was just one thing I wasn't having. Love either, for that matter. The last time I trusted a female and let my guard down, it cost me five years of my life.
I will never forget that day. I was at this club downtown located a couple of blocks from Harpo Studios. My boy and I were out celebrating my twenty-first birthday when these females stepped into the joint. Now, they all looked good, but it was the one in the middle who had my attention. She was chocolate just like a Hershey kiss and just the way I like them. Keke was chewing gum and had a walk that told you she knew she was the shit; and as good as she looked, she had every right. Those jeans were hugging everything the good Lord gave her plus some. She had her hair pulled up in a ponytail with the cutest bangs that made her look young enough that I should have known better. Instead, I found out the hard way.
“Chauncey!”
I heard one of the stylists call my name. I looked over at Tiffany, who tilted her head toward the door. As soon as I saw Tameka standing there, the question “What the hell you want now?” slipped out my mouth.
“Chauncey! Don't play like you don't know.”
“What the hell she doing up in here?” Debra yelled. She and Tiffany were stylists, and they'd seen Tameka clown the last time she had come into the salon when she tried to make it known to every female in the room she and I were screwing.
“Beverly, I'll be right back.” I handed her a magazine, then moved toward the lobby. “Tameka, you need to get out of here.”
“I ain't going no damn where until you tell me whassup!”
The salon grew silent. All eyes were on us.
I stood in front of her and smelled the scent of Juicy Fruit on her breath. One thing I had liked about Tameka was she had excellent hygiene and was a beast in bed. But when she started shopping for wedding gowns, I knew it was time for a brotha to bounce. “Ain't shit up with us. I told you, it's over.”
“You weren't saying that last week when you were lying all up in my bed!”
The roomed erupted with “oohs” and “aahs,” and by now the females had come out from under the hair dryers to hear what was about to go down.
“Don't try to play like I wasn't honest with you. I told you I wasn't looking for nothing serious.” Tameka was like all the others who thought they had what it took to change a brotha's mind. I had yet to meet a woman with pussy that damn good. I ain't gonna lie, Tameka is a cutie. She's about five-three, mocha, with a tiny waist and ass for days. She has a short curly afro that looks good on her, and if she wasn't so ghetto, maybe I would have kicked it with her a little longer. But one thing I don't do is loud-ass women.
She smacked her lips. “Okay, so I guess you now gonna deny saying you loved me?”
Her comment made me laugh. “I never said that. You got that shit twisted. I said I love what you do for me.” I'm not one to put my business in the streets, but if she wanted to go there, then so be it.
“I know you ain't passing up a top-of-the-line dime.” She planted her hands at her hips.
I reached inside my pocket. “Here's two nickels. Now get the hell up outta here.”
“Who the fuck you think you talking to!” She got all up in my face and then started to scream at the top of her lungs, making a scene. The chick was straight gutter and I had no one to blame but myself. I was ready to wrap my hands around her neck and choke the shit out of her when I spotted the owner, Noelle Gordon, coming out from her office in back. Oh snap!
“What's going on out here?” she demanded to know.
I tried to speak but my stomach was in a knot, which gave Tameka a chance to put her two cents in.
“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm trying to have a discussion with my man,” she yelled, snaking her neck as she spoke.
Noelle's eyebrows curled. “I don't know who you are, and with that attitude I don't want to know. However, I do know this is a place of business,
my
business, and I would appreciate it if you'd get out of here before I have to call the police.”
Noelle is a full-figured sistah and the look in her eyes said she was ready to take Tameka down if she even dared to look at her cross-eyed. Already, I could see my lucrative career going out the window.
“Noelle, I got this.” Before Tameka could respond, I took her by the arm and led her out the salon. As soon as we were outside the door, she snatched her arm back.
“You ain't got shit! I don't appreciate you playing with my emotions, Chauncey.”
Through the storefront window I saw them nosy chicks inside, watching like it was a soap opera. “Listen, I didn't play with your emotions. I told you straight up I wasn't looking for anything serious. It's not my fault you took it there.”
Tameka just stood there with her hands on her hips and suddenly her bottom lip quivered. “I love you.”
I simply shook my head. “I'm sorry, but I won't lie to you.” Next thing I know, she hauled off and landed a slap across my face. Inside, the salon erupted with laughter. It took everything I had not to hit that chick back. My mother taught me to never touch a female even if she wasn't acting like a lady. “We done! You hear me. Don't bring your trifling ass around here again! Otherwise, like my boss said, we're gonna call the police.”

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