Unrequited Read online

  "Is that all?" I rose from the couch. "I'm pretty beat, mom. Coach is upping our practices to two a days in preparation for the state championship." Which would mean less time with Fatima. Not that she would care, after what happened tonight. Turning down the opportunity to have no-strings-attached sex with her made me realize that I wasn't the selfish asshole I thought I was. This had nothing to do with our dads. Fuck them. This had everything to do with the possibility of me hurting her in the long run. I wasn't willing to risk our friendship just to get laid.

  "Your father wants to see you."

  "Great."

  ∞∞∞

  DAD SAT AT HIS antique mahogany desk. It had been in our family for five generations. "Come in, son." He gestured to a chair without looking up; his attention focused on the contents inside a manila folder.

  "Mom said you wanted to see me?" I leaned against the doorframe with my arms crossed.

  Dad looked up at me and arched a brow, then glanced at the wingback chair in front of his desk.

  At this silent command, I stepped inside of his study and sat opposite him. "What's up, dad."

  "Missed you today. Reporters from Fox News were there. It would have been beneficial for you to get some camera time. The media loves you more than they did John Kennedy, Jr. It would be idiotic for you not to monopolize on that."

  "I doubt missing one town hall is going to matter. But I understand your point," I conceded. "It won't happen again." I gave him my concerned face. But he saw right through that shit and stared at me blankly. "Is that all, dad?"

  "You may go," he said, dismissing me by turning his attention to his computer. "By the way," he said when I was nearly at the door. "Get rid of the girl."

  I froze in my tracks and turned to face him. "What are you talking about, dad?"

  "The black one." His eyes remained on his computer screen. "You have girls throwing themselves at you. And you were stupid enough to fuck Faye McKay's daughter?" I narrowed my eyes at him, and my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "I understand the fascination, son. She's quite beautiful. A carbon copy of her mother. The McKay women are something else, am I right?"

  "Fuck you." I'd never cursed at my dad before, always showing him respect, even when he didn't always deserve it.

  Dad's jaw hardened as it often did when he was about to flip his lid. "Everything you do affects this family. We can't have your extracurricular activities taint our reputation. "

  Un-fucking believable. I shoved a hand through my hair. "You've done plenty to jeopardize this family's reputation, dad."

  "Surely, all the pussy you're getting elsewhere keeps you plenty entertained. I have so many NDA's floating around on you that you'd think you were a goddamn entertainer and not the son of a Senator."

  I stilled. "What the hell, dad? I'm not a kid anymore."

  Dad chuckled incredulously. "You're eighteen. Which means you're barely a man, son." He folded his hands atop his desk and leaned forward. "Sit."

  I took my seat, sighing in frustration, preparing for a lecture that would go in one ear and out the other.

  "Image is everything, son. It's bad enough that you smoke cigarettes—like your mother, and you stick your dick in more black pussy than a rapper at a strip club." I tensed in my chair. "We have a duty and a responsibility to our base. My indiscretions nearly ruined this family."

  "It did ruin our family," I said dryly. "Remember, dad?"

  He nodded slowly, taking my dig in stride. "I've worked hard to earn their trust again—to earn your trust again. The way we keep our base support is by presenting ourselves as the standard—the perfect family." Dad sighed and massaged his temples. "Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't care if you fucked every piece of black trim in town. But you can't be normal. You must be perfect, son. You have to be better than me. Don't fuck this up. I'm thinking about your future."

  My dad, the man I had looked up to despite all of his past mistakes, now disgusted me. "Your hypocrisy is astounding, dad."

  "Enough!" He slammed his fist onto the table, his calm facade evaporating in an instant. I didn't flinch. Just stared at him blankly, like I didn't give a fuck.

  Dad calmed himself and cracked his neck with the tilt of his head before relaxing his shoulders. "Don't speak on things that you know nothing about. End it. Now."

  "Not gonna happen."

  Dad leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers together. "She's gotten to you. Well, I be damned." He studied me for a moment. "I can't let this continue."

  "Stay the fuck away from her." I rose from my chair and ate up the space between us. Dad responded to my aggression and stood. Within a split second, we were face to face. This was a first—us staring at each other like enemies.

  Mom appeared in the doorway. "Everything alright?"

  Dad relaxed his stance and looked over at her. He spoke first. "We're done here." He clasped my shoulder. "Trust me on this son," he said loud enough for only me to hear. "It's better for all of us if you forget about this girl."

  Dad walked over to mom, kissed her on the forehead, and squeezed her ass. Her ivory cheeks flushed instantly. That was my cue to go.

  "Quentin, dear, go to bed. You and your father can resume this conversation tomorrow."

  "That won't be necessary. Goodnight, mom." I headed out of the office without sparing my father another glance.

  Chapter 9

  FATIMA

  POPULARITY WAS A BIRTHRIGHT at Covington High. It wasn't something you could earn. It was a secret club amongst the privileged, all based on who your parents were, what kind of car you drove, and what your hotness ranked on a scale from 1 to 10. It was all bullshit, really.

  I wish I could say that I excluded myself from high school politics, but I was superficial like the rest of them. I was foolish enough to believe that the social moves we made in high school mattered. Like when we became adults, someone was going care about who was ranked best dressed in high school, or who was voted homecoming queen. Like someone was going to remember how many cool-kids parties you were invited to.

  It was a Friday night, three days after the rooftop situation. Three days since I'd spoken to Quentin. He avoided me in the halls at school. Not one text. Not one call. Nada. Zilch. It was Jessica's eighteenth birthday party, and I wasn't going to miss it just because Quentin was acting like a jerk. High school boys sucked, with a capital S, with Quentin being the ring leader. True, I made the first move and got dissed. I had to own that. I probably ruined our friendship because of it. But what the hell? Was our bond so fragile that he was going to write me off?

  About one hundred seniors filled Jessica's home and pool. Ten of us gathered around her kitchen island to play the drinking game Suck and Blow with rows of tequila shots around us. Alec, our football wide receiver, suctioned a game card to his lips and pressed his mouth to mine, transferring the card to me. Securing the card to my lips with suction, I pressed my lips against Hunter's mouth and released a gentle blow. I expected Hunter to play the game forward by sucking the card from my mouth. What I did not expect was for him to let the card fall between us. Before I had time to react, his tongue was in my mouth.

  I was stunned for a moment, allowing his tongue to stroke mine before I pushed him away from me. The howling from the crowd around us turned into boos as I shoved him backward. "You're such as asshole, Hunter." From the corner of my eye, his ex-girlfriend, Jemma, glared at us from the deck doors, before storming out. Great. Just great.

  Hunter shrugged sheepishly while the others around began to shout, "Drink! Drink! Drink!"

  I hated the taste of tequila, but rules were rules. Hunter and I grabbed our glasses before clicking them and downed our shots.

  "I need to talk to you," Quentin suddenly voiced from behind me.

  "Hey! What's up, bro?" Hunter slurred. The effects of all the alcohol he'd consumed throughout the evening was taking its toll.

  Whatever the look on Quentin's face, made Hunter laugh, as he looked over my should
er at Quentin.

  "Come on, Hunter. You're next," Jessica purred, causing him to resume the game.

  Still feeling Quentin's heat behind me, I turned to face him. "What's up, Quentin? You need something?"

  "Can we go somewhere and talk?" He looked almost desperate and a little jealous.

  "Dude, give it a rest. She doesn't wanna go," Hunter slurred again.

  Quentin cocked his head to the side and looked at Hunter. "Was I fucking talking to you?" Quentin's calm voice was brimming with anger.

  "I don't give a shit." Hunter turned completely around and faced Quentin.

  A few bystanders witnessed the tense exchange between the two good friends. This was getting uncomfortable real fast. To diffuse the situation between them, I stepped in front of them both and placed my hands on Quentin's chest.

  "Fine," I bit out.

  Jessica wrapped her arms around Hunter's waist from behind, effectively distracting him from the tense moment. Hunter was newly single, and before he and Jemma got back together—as they often did, Jessica had her claws in him. Especially since Wes had moved on to another girl.

  Quentin reached for my hand, and I stared at it like it had the cooties. "Lead the way," I said, to which he rolled his eyes, before leading me out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I followed behind his purposeful steps, as he turned doorknob after doorknob, which were all locked. We traveled further down the hall and up another flight of stairs, all the while in silence. I had nothing to say. This was on him to fix.

  I'd been so stupid. I managed to ruin a four-year friendship in a span of minutes because of my inflated arrogance. But in all fairness, he did take my virginity. Didn't that count for something? Of course not, my subconscious screamed. After popping my cherry, it was business as usual between us. Quentin continued to hook up with everyone else and kept me firmly in the friend zone. So, to save face, I dated Brent and then Kevin, flaunting my relationships in front of him every chance I got. Unfortunately, that never worked out in my favor. It was as if he didn't even care. Accept for the time he punched Brent for calling me out of my name. But that was out of friendship. Not because he wanted me. Provoking an emotional response from Quentin was rare—very rare. Apparently, I'd fallen in love with a guy who didn't love me back and had the emotional range of a houseplant.

  We finally came upon a door on the third floor that was unlocked. Holding the door open for me, I walked past Quentin and into a laundry room. It smelled of fresh laundry and apples. Noise from the party outside spilled through a small window above a large counter. Decorative shelving covered one wall, and an industrial size washing machine and dryer took up the other.

  "¡Dios mío! I've been looking everywhere for you, Papi." The sultry Latin accent perked my ears, causing us both to pause at the threshold.

  Quentin and I turned around to a vivacious Latina with caramel skin. She was tall like me, and probably wore the same size. She practically sprinted up the stairs.

  "Now's not a good time, Amara." Quentin's arms remained at his sides as she embraced him.

  "You know what? It's cool." I didn't have time for this. "I'll just talk to you…whenever." I patted Quentin on his chest, ready to give him all the space he wanted. He pressed his hand to mine, holding it in place.

  Amara's plump lips stretched into a smile, which became forced when Quentin wouldn't release my hand from his chest. Amara gave me a once over, her eyes lingering on our hands, and then on my breasts. "Damn, girl. You are gorgeous," she purred.

  "Thanks." I plastered an evident fake smile on my face.

  With her body still attached to Quentin's, she asked, "Is this the sexy chica you've been avoiding me for?" Giving me another perusal, she added, "Now I know why." The skank winked at me. "Thanks for giving him some air over the last couple of days."

  Tha fuck? "No problem. It ain't no fun if the homies can't have none, am I right?" She giggled at my comment. "Just my contribution for all the thots out there." Her laughter immediately died on her lips, and Quentin ushered me into the laundry room with a gentle shove, before slamming the door in Amara's face.

  I was so jealous I wanted to scream. But I couldn't. There was nothing I could say. Quentin didn't belong to me.

  "What the hell was that, with you and Hunter?" The accusing and harsh tone of his voice was tragically hysterical, causing me to burst out laughing. "What the hell is so funny?"

  "You. You're what's so funny. Hunter is drunk off his ass. I didn't know he was going to kiss me."

  "He's not that drunk," Quentin muttered.

  "Well, shit. Take it up with him. But hold up," I said, stepping closer to him and invading his personal space. "Who the hell died and made you my fucking chastity belt?"

  Quentin stepped closer, and I had no choice but to back up. The edge of the counter pressed into my back. Something akin to a smile briefly flitted across his lips. "You're going to fuck Hunter because of Amara?"

  I shrugged, enjoying this dangerous game we were playing. "I hear he's single now." I strained my neck to stare up at him boldly. "But this isn't about Hunter. Who I chose to fuck is none of your business." The words dripped from my lips deliberately slow and with sweet venom. "You think that I'm so wrapped up into you that I would fuck someone just to get back at you? And you think I'm jealous of Amara?"

  "A few days ago, I would have said no. But right now? Yes." His lack of emotion infuriated me. "Honestly, Fatima. I don't care who you fuck. But to kiss one of my best friends is not a good look for you. You look desperate." His stare was one of pity.

  "That bitch, Amara, she's desperate. And if that's the kind of girl you like, suit yourself. According to her, you guys have been hooking up over the last few days."

  "Well, not exactly," he said dryly. He reached for a dreadlock, his eyes focusing on it as his two fingers ran down the length of it. "I only fucked her mouth."

  "Lucky girl," I deadpanned. "She seems like a giver."

  A slight chuckle emanated from his chest. He was cruel when he wanted to be. This is what he warned me about.

  "Circle of trust?" he asked.

  "Sure, Quentin. Whatever."

  "I used Amara to get you out of my system."

  "That's fucked up," I said, without skipping a beat.

  He tsked. "There's no judging in the circle of trust. Remember?"

  I wasn't too fond of our game at the moment. "Why even tell me something like that?"

  "To warn you."

  "To warn me about what?"

  "That I’m the worst possible thing for you."

  My eyes skated to his lips, then to the outline of his jaw before focusing on his eyes. "I'm a tough chick. You don't scare me with your black heart and your pretty face."

  His lips twitched on the verge of a smile as his eyes slightly narrowed.

  I continued, "What makes you think you're so insusceptible? Who knows? I may be the worst possible thing for you. You may even fall in love with me." I was such a liar. There was no way I could hurt Quentin. How do you hurt a boy with no heart? If there were going to be any causalities, it was going to be me. And it was so worth the risk.

  "Stranger things have happened, Fatima."

  His words shot straight to my nipples, making them hard as diamonds. The strapless bra and the flimsy scrap of fabric that Baby Phat called a halter top, provided very little coverage. Feeling emboldened, I pressed myself against his chest, the friction against my aching breasts sending bolts of arousal through me.

  Quentin branded my ass with the palms of his hands, pulling me into his straining erection. "This probably won't end well," he said against my lips.

  "Guess we better make it count."

  Quentin cupped my face in his hands. His eyes searched mine as if he were weighing my words. I wasn't going to back down. My ego was as big as my heart, and it beat for him. A second later, his lips crashed into mine, his tongue parting my mouth in a greedy kiss.

  I clawed at his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his ski
n beneath it. Our lips broke momentarily, as we both pulled his shirt over his head, revealing defined cuts of hard muscle. A slight groan escaped from my lips as my eyes scanned his ripped torso. Time stood still as I leaned into him and trailed my tongue along the tiny scar on his chest, above his heart.

  Quentin tugged on my locs, angling my mouth to his. I let out a whimper as his tongue fucked my mouth, stroking and tasting me in ways that almost made my knees buckle. His nimble fingers untied my halter and unfastened the clasp of my strapless satin bra in record timing. He gripped me by the waist and hoisted me up on the countertop as if I weighed nothing.

  "You're fucking perfect," he rasped as his hands branded my breasts. He swallowed my moans with another kiss while his skillful fingers rolled, pulled, and pinched my nipples.

  I tilted my head back and relished in the attention that his mouth gave my breasts. "Q," I moaned. "Wait." I pressed my hands against his hard pecs.

  "Should we stop? I'll stop if you want me to."

  I wanted this, yet somehow, I knew that it would irrevocably change things between us. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shook my head.

  Quentin tugged my head back by my locs, exposing my throat to his mouth. "I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me to stop or tell me you want me to fuck you."

  Wicked-sexy Quentin was hot as fuck. Looking him in the eye, I uttered the same words as I did sophomore year when my virginity hung in the balance. "I want you to fuck me." I was nearly breathless and hot with need.

  He clasped my throat and gave it a little squeeze. "I'm going to ruin you for every other guy."

  I nearly came on the spot.

  Quentin shoved his hand into the waistband of my cargo pants and made contact with my slit. "You're soaked," he growled before removing his hand, causing me to whimper. He made quick work of my pants and g-string, and before I knew it, I was bare-assed on the cold counter. His thumb stroked my clit with the perfect amount of pressure and speed, proving that he was well versed in the female genitalia.