Z-Rated (Chocolate Flava 3)

“I don’t know. Who can remember? That was almost fifteen years ago.”

“When she finds out you’re back in town, she’ll be all over you to join her women’s group.”

“Oh, great.” What could be better? A root canal?

Precious stepped up to the podium. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you’d be kind enough to take your seats, we’ll start the program.”

I took a deep breath and sat down with Gabby and her husband, Chuck, at our assigned table.

The two hundred dollars I’d spent on the ticket was for a good cause, community development, even if it had been years since anyone in that room set foot in the ’hood—myself included. The air was dense with perfume and spotted with proper ladies’ hats, each more elaborate than the next. Reflexively, I sat up a little straighter, shoulders back, head tilted slightly upward, mirroring the image of all the other good Christian women with their respectable upbringings and superior educations.

“Thank you all for coming to Friendship Tabernacle’s Fourth Annual Youth Center fund-raiser, honoring Atlanta’s Black business leaders who are as generous with their time as they are with their donations.”

Clap and look interested, Kellie.

“Our first honoree is a man who came to Atlanta with a good idea and unstoppable determination. Today, Mr. Roderick Tyler is the founder and CEO of Tyler Foods.”

Time to clap again.

“And ladies, he’s single.”

Oh, that was the punch line. Small laugh; more clapping. I wonder if I’ll get home in time to catch the end of the basketball game.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” His voice was velvet, catching my attention for real. There he stood, the vaguely familiar specimen I’d noticed earlier. “I’m humbled by this honor and share it with my two senior vice presidents. Without them, I could not do the good work I try to do.”

That voice buttered my skin. “Gabby,” I whispered. “Did we go to school with him?”

“No, he graduated from T.U.”

Rick from Tennessee. Suddenly, I wasn’t sitting so straight in my chair. I wanted to slink out of the emergency exit. I bit softly on my lip, trying not to indulge the memories, but that voice, damn it, was bringing back every delicious detail with each rolling word.

• • •

“You could crash at our place, if you want.” Gabby made the suggestion from behind her third Rum Runner daiquiri. The noise in that slushy bar was so loud she had to repeat herself. I wasn’t too surprised. Gabby was always the more outgoing one among us, dragging me along for the ride under duress. But that night I was too drunk to care that she hadn’t bothered asking me before offering up our floor to some guys we’d just met. Besides, it was Freaknik weekend, a 200,000-strong college block party where anything goes. Not to mention how fine these men were—three flavors; chocolate, caramel, and butterscotch. I wouldn’t have minded a taste of any of them.

When the place closed, we spilled into the street with the rest of the crowd. Rick drove and we passed plenty of chicks acting a fool—booty-poppin’ on the back of pickup trucks and flashing everything you could imagine.

The thought blew past: I don’t even know these dudes. My mother would kill me. But I’d turned twenty that week and as far as I was concerned, I was grown.

What were the rest of their names? Sean? Sam, no, it was Sam. And the light-skinned one was Jeff, I think. They were cousins, both on the basketball team, giving us something to talk about back in our apartment. I acted like the night would end with some friendly sports talk and extra blankets. But Rick’s cornrows and smooth, onyx skin had me stealing looks when I thought no one would notice. Sitting on my desk with his feet in the chair, he had plenty of swagger and was all about letting me know it.

“You got a light?” he asked me, producing a freshly rolled blunt. The bass in his voice only made me want to do his bidding.

“Gabby’s the Newport fiend. Gab. Hey, Gabby.” I tapped her shoulder, but she was passed out cold on the sofa. Shaking my head, I fished a lighter from her purse and handed it over. I’d only smoked weed one time before and was looking forward to the second.

“Looks like your roommate is going to miss out,” Rick noted through a plume of smoke, then passed the blunt my way.

I took it strong, like I did that kind of thing every weekend, and shrugged. “Her loss.”

Rick smiled at this, a smug smirk with his tongue making a tantalizing appearance. Then he nodded in his friends’ direction. “We’re fixin’ to play a game. If you can handle it, that is.”

“A game? What, like Truth or Dare?”

Rick laughed. “More like just dare.”

Sam took the blunt next and dragged on it slowly while my skin started to prickle and burn. Was it the weed, or the anticipation of what he meant? I couldn’t tell.

“Jeff, you want to tell her how it goes?” Rick asked.