Reggie's Girl Ch. 02

Chapter 2

A favorite pastime of Jasmine's was to take a walk after receiving her paycheck, fingering the precious, crisp paper in her pocket as she made her way from block to block. She resolved to do the same this afternoon, though it would have to be short because her mother had called that morning to ask for a little help.

Besides, after the spring rains that had been rinsing the city all week, the potholed sidewalks were full of deep puddles. Still, she'd just gotten paid and it was hard not to walk around with a general sense of accomplishment.

"You're still a little rough around the edges," Amanda, her photo editor, said. She'd appeared from out of the blue to fall in step beside her. Jasmine turned her dreamy smile to her.

"Oh, I know," she replied as they exited the newspaper's ageing building together.

"You're reliable, but you can do better. Your captions shouldn't be more interesting than the pictures themselves. Stop playing it so safe."

Photography used to be a teenage hobby, which was why Jasmine's was fairly decent at it. Her camera, a solid little DSLR, with its sweet shutter speed and mind-blowing burst rate, demanded a level of expertise as well as talent. But while Amanda was passionate about photography as an art, Jasmine would always see it as a last resort.

"Look, I get that sports isn't your thing," her editor said, her tone dry as though she'd read her thoughts. "And it's maybe twelve people who'll read our little daily on any given day, but you've got talent, Fleet. And I know you want somebody to see it, even if you brush it off yourself."

Jasmine looked down from Amanda's wise green eyes and shrugged. "I'm glad you think I'm talented-"

"I do. I wouldn't be demanding more from you otherwise."

"Well, thank you. I guess."

"I know you'll deliver. You haven't let me down yet. Have a good one!"

As abruptly as she'd appeared, Amanda left Jasmine, crossing the street in impressive defiance of a Don't Walk sign and the whiplashed cabbie cussing up a storm in her wake.

In the next hour, she had wired her mother some money from her savings, cashed her check and was now debating whether to take the N-train to catch up with some buds in Coney Island. It was some time since she'd hung out and shot pool with them.

Right then, Jasmine saw a familiar figure standing some distance in front of her. A young black man in a familiar red baseball cap. Her heart leaped in her chest and she raised her hand in a frantic wave. "Ted," she called.

The man turned in her direction, stared intently for a second then abruptly turned around and started hurrying off.

Jasmine started after him then halted. It couldn't have been Ted she had seen. Surely he knew how worried she had been about him. He would never ignore her like that.

With a disappointed sigh, she began to walk again with heavier steps.

"What's happening, Dorothy!"

Jasmine jumped as she heard that already-too-familiar voice. Jesus, was no one going to bother with a greeting today?

The young man walking abreast of her stared straight ahead, but from his grin she knew he'd noticed her reaction to him and reveled in it. "What, you thought I was gonna snatch your purse?"

"If I say yes, will you get offended and go away?" she asked, annoyed.

"Relax. No one's gonna chase you today. Only I get that privilege, so consider me your protection. By the way, I got word about your boyfriend last night."

"Ted?" Jasmine almost stopped as she turned to him. "Please tell me he's alright."

"He's some piece of work, I'll say that for him," her companion said with a cackle. "Man's got a death wish or something..."

"What do you mean?" she asked, already dreading his answer.

"Hmm. See... This happens to be something that touches on Reggie's business. And I know he's a private man, so..."

The man seemed to lose all his confidence at a mere name's mention. It was almost possible to sympathize with him, except "This is about Ted, okay? Not your boss and besides, I'm not likely to tell him that we talked, am I?"

"Look, you wanna find out so bad, go ask him yourself."

Jasmine gaped at his disappearing back then jostled past some strangers to catch up. "Am I hearing this right?!" she flared. "You are that big a coward that you can't-"

"There's Tiny right there. He should take you to him."

Bewildered, she turned in the direction he was pointing. Sure enough, a big black Mercedes stood idling on the curb looking, for all intents and purposes, like it was waiting for them.

A new suspicion taking root, Jasmine stopped alongside him on the street and asked, "Did you follow me?"

"Never heard of coincidence, D?"

"I don't believe in coincidence-" she stopped and gave an irate shake of her head. "I don't even know your name!"

"Xavier," he supplied, his cocky grin returning. "My friends call me X. Girls call me Xtasy. Oh I know, not you, never you! Call me whatever you want."

Jasmine stared at the black car for a long moment. Then she swiveled on her heel and took one step in the opposite direction.

"Whoa, where you going, D?" The deathgrip on her elbow belied Xavier's cheerful tone and brought her to an abrupt halt. "Ain't no answers that way. Unless you don't give a shit about little Teddy no more. If so, I'm more or less single..."

Jasmine scowled at him then looked over at the waiting car. "Is he in there?" she asked, nodding to the vehicle.

"It's just you and Tiny. Hey, hey, don't feel bad. He's a scary motherfucker but he'd never lay a hand on a female."

"It's not that, it's..." Well, she was disappointed. If McComb had been in the car, she could have gleaned the necessary information then said goodbye forever. Now what would happen?

"Dorothy, it's alright," Xavier said softly. "If you really don't wanna be left alone with him, I'll come with-"

"Get away from me," Jasmine snarled, a warning finger pointed at him as she walked to the Mercedes. He backed off with a self-aware grin and lifted his hands.

She got in the car and shut the door behind her. Tiny eased the car to blend into the traffic and they made their way down the rain-washed streets.

"Af-afternoon, Tiny."

No response. Jasmine shrugged and settled back to enjoy the ride as well as she could. It wouldn't be easy. A week and a half had elapsed since she'd been in this car, since she'd let McComb pin her to the leather seat and kiss her.

Her conscience scoffed. She had let him do a lot more than kiss her that night. The brutal fact was, she had slept with a man she didn't know. No, a man she knew of, and whose reputation as a human being was tarnished beyond repair.

The urban scenery passed by her eyes unseen. Upon leaving his house the next morning, Jasmine had gone home, slept the clock round then resumed her routine seamlessly. She'd kept trying to contact Ted, of course, to no avail, but apart from having to do without her car, the rest of that night had been surprisingly easy to treat as a lurid dream.

Being in McComb's car, however, on her way to see him, obliterated the illusion. When his gorgeous townhouse came into view, Jasmine feared she was going to be sick. If she hadn't been so paralyzed with self-loathing, she well might have been.

Tiny pulled up into the cool, shady garage then turned the engine off. He waited for her to get out before he strode off.

"Walk this way," he ordered without a backward glance. Jasmine caught up with his long strides at the oaken front door. It was already open and right in the foyer, there was a woman fussing with her hair before a mirror mounted on the wall.

She had an aura of imperiousness about her, underscored by her expensive, if heavily applied fragrance. Her hair fell in golden waves down to her waist, a look her supermodel height let her pull off. Her skin was enviably tawny for this time of year, much of it on display next to her halter top and gold lamé miniskirt.

Jasmine was caught gawping when the woman turned her head and noticed her. She went very still as her gaze raked her from head to toe, like a gladiator sizing up a rival.

"Ah, Jasmine," a masculine voice purred, in a tone so intimate Jasmine was immediately mortified. McComb appeared at the end of the foyer. "Come on in. Thanks Tiny."

She tried to ignore the silent glare she was being subjected to as she took off her dirty sneakers. Then with her eyes glued to the floor, she stepped round the tall woman and went to McComb.

"Lucia, this is Jasmine," he introduced the two, unheeding of the deathly silence between them. "Jasmine, Lucia. Her father owns the restaurant we went to the other night."

Jasmine saw Lucia lock eyes with McComb, a furious flush spreading beneath the Neapolitan glaze of her skin.

"Charmed," Jasmine murmured to no one in particular.

"Would you excuse us a sec?"

She assumed he was talking to her and nodded. "Wait for me in the living room," he directed, his eyes never leaving Lucia's.

Jasmine wandered into the carpeted living room, checking out the art pieces decorating the place. Her gaze was drawn to a small sculpture of a human metamorphosing into a strange creature. Was McComb a spiritual type guy? No, it was Afrocentric. She vaguely remembered seeing something like this somewhere, a magazine perhaps-

"Oh Reggie!" The gushing exclamation from the foyer was followed by a laugh of such eminent relief that even Jasmine breathed a little easier from where she was. It would appear McComb had defused the tension, but how?

"Come here and give me a kiss," a breathless Lucia cooed.

As if she'd needed to ask how. Jasmine smirked at the sounds of kissing coming from the foyer. A brief whispered discussion followed before the door shut and footsteps came towards the living room.

"That's a little something I picked up in Zimbabwe," McComb informed her as he approached. "Soapstone. It's been a favored medium for sculptors there since the dawn of the Shona renaissance. Lovely, isn't it?"

Jasmine touched the pale, smooth figurine. "It's beautiful," she acknowledged.

"It's heavy, but fragile. Requires a little more care than it lets on."

"I see." She turned to him and it seemed they were both waiting for the other to add something.

"You look like you could use a drink," McComb said at last. "Whiskey alright?"

"I'm fine, I just need to know what's happening with Ted. How is he?"

He gave her a strange look. "Seriously?" He thrust his hands into his pockets. "What do you care, this is the man who threw you to the wolves so he could save himself."

"It didn't happen like that," Jasmine retorted with swift indignation. "He knew he was in danger-"

"He knew you were in danger, and his bitch ass jumped two stories down and left you."

"A split-second decison, made in the fog of an adrenaline rush! And you know what, it's easy for you to judge-"

"When he leaves his girl to fend for herself in a dicey neighborhood, yeah! It is! Hell, you should be the first to judge!"

"I told you, I love him. I still do. I always will," Jasmine declared. "And as for what happened between us, that was a mistake!" Tears shimmered in her eyes as she admitted her fault. "I have no excuses to make-"

"Neither does Ted," McComb cut in with icy finality. "Which is why I told him who took responsibility for you that night."

Jasmine stared at him with wide eyes, small fists balled at her side. "You told him we..."

"He left you alone, I took you in. He knows what it is."

"How could you?" Jasmine's voice cracked, his careless tone knifing into her insides. "He probably hates me now."

"That chump's got bigger problems. He screwed with the wrong person, didn't hand in the full amount of money for some product he was supposed to sell or something like that. He's been in hiding since."

"Product" sounded a lot like a euphemism for drugs, but that wasn't her immediate concern. "When did you talk to him?"

"This morning."

"Where is he? His mother and sister keep calling and I just don't know what to tell them."

"You can tell 'em he's lying low for a while. He should be alright once he comes up to scratch."

"Is it you?" Jasmine asked, going for broke. He was the only rumored drug lord she could ask. "Are you the one he's running from?"

He looked down his nose at her in amused condescension but gave no reply. In the strained silence, she could hear the drizzle outside turning into heavy rain, beating down on the windows.

"Tell me something, Jasmine," McComb requested at length. "What's Ted got on you? Why're you letting him off the hook like this?"

"I told you already, I love him-"

"And that translates into leeway? He can get away with anything?"

"I- of course not anything-"

"Well, where do you draw the line?" McComb asked with quiet persistence, stepping closer to her. Jasmine wanted to feel suffocated by his nearness, would have if he were any other man, but her pulse accelerated at being so close to him again.

"I never thought about it." she succeeded in keeping her tone even. He paused, as though weighing what he would say next.

"Let's say," his voice dropped a few notes, reminding her that he could raise gooseflesh even with his hands in his pockets, "he finds you truly, genuinely fascinating... but is also seeing someone else, maybe even several someones. You think you could live with that?"

Jasmine met his thoughtful gaze directly. "He wouldn't ask me to."

McComb barked a scornful laugh. "Well, of course not, but let's say the boy had a pair, and now he was asking - what would you say?"

"It would change nothing," Jasmine stated, an adamant edge to her voice. "If you've found out Ted is in a relationship, I couldn't care less. Everything I've said about him still stands, so if you're trying to poison me against him, don't bother!"

He looked away, smiled and with a single nod of his head murmured, "Gotcha."

Unsettled by a sneaking suspicion that she'd missed something, Jasmine returned to the matter at hand, requesting information on Ted's whereabouts.

"Yeah, you can't see him." He turned and headed for the crystal decanter and didn't see the shock on her features.

"No?" she asked after a second.

"No."

"Because you said so?"

"Me?" McComb shot her a bewildered look over his shoulder then went back to pouring himself a drink. "No! It's your boyfriend who says he doesn't want to see you." His voice took a sneering tone. "I hate it when fuckable blondes got my back, too."

Jasmine felt as if she'd just been shot. It had been him on the street earlier. It had been Ted, and he had recognized her. Then he had strode away as if they were strangers. Her shallow breathing hurt her chest and it was awhile before she could talk.

"Tell me where he is," she said in a faint, thready voice.

"Jasmine," he began, his tone freighted with weary disgust. He turned around then went silent when he saw her.

"Take me to him, I've got to see him." The tears spilled over, blinding her and she stepped away from the soapstone piece in case she knocked it over. "I never meant... I can explain..."

With a curt oath, McComb walked over to her and, against her will, gathered her in his arms. The last thing Jasmine wanted was physical contact with him, no matter how innocent.

Yet at the same time, she craved comfort of some kind. This was the one person who knew everything about this horrible situation and wasn't disgusted by the sight of her. If she turned away from him, where would she go?

Her mother loved her, but was easily overwhelmed. Jasmine didn't confide in her anything more serious than a wardrobe crisis, knowing well the high anxiety that would follow. As for her father, Jasmine had never met him. All her friends knew of her life was the cheery fluff she posted on Facebook.

She'd never dreamed anyone outside of her could survive her unhappiness, could in fact invite her to express it. McComb was doing so now. She never reached out, it scarcely occurred to her to do so but she didn't need to; he was already offering her his strength to lean on. And in her weakness, she couldn't help but accept. Relaxing her rigid body into his, Jasmine hid her face in his chest and cried her ribs sore.

McComb held her, murmured into her hair but it seemed ages before she calmed down. And when she did, she just stood wiping her cheek on his sodden shirt with an occasional sniffle.

"Better?" he asked, and Jasmine smiled at how his chest rumbled when he spoke. She nodded but didn't move. Her arms remained around his waist, fistfuls of his shirt caught in her hands.

"Jasmine, forget that little punk. Shit, y'all ain't even friends if he can do you like that. And you think you're a couple?"

Her smile disappeared. "Don't. Please don't," she implored, her words muffled against his shirt. Between her arms, she felt his deep sigh then the vibration of his lowered voice.

"Look, you wanna see him that much, I'll write out the address and give it to you now. Just say the word."

McComb eased back and bent her a serious look. "But I'm not gonna take you, Jasmine. If you're so dead set on it, you'll have to go after him on your own, in the driving rain," he said, stroking her cheek. "It's a hell of a romantic gesture. But he's the love of your life - he's definitely waiting for you with open arms, right?"

Her eyes wandered from his face down to the embroidered jockey on the breast of his shirt, her mouth opening without producing a sound. What could she say? She felt overwhelmed beyond all reason.

"Yeah..." Jasmine whispered after a long moment, turning her head toward the exit. Even as she spoke, she had to wonder what was waiting for her beyond the door. Who?

McComb reached down and took her hand in his. "Come with me, baby." Once again, the warm note of intimacy rendered his voice an innuendo unto itself. "Let's go upstairs and relax a little bit."

Jasmine had an idea of what the appropriate responses were: a polite no, or even an uproarious rebellion. She gave neither. Without a word, she followed him out of the living room, up the stairs into the darkened privacy of his bedroom.

Once inside, McComb shut the door behind them. In the daytime, his bedroom remained dusky; the wine-red drapes were only half opened. With some surprise, she noted that his bed was made. No trace of his ridiculously hot mistress could be seen, but a faint trace of cloying perfume still lingered in the air.

Jasmine made a small sound of surprise when he mashed her mouth to his. Then she closed her eyes and parted her lips. They kissed for a long time, reacquainting her with his wicked skill in that department. She gave a husky moan and he held her closer.

"This," McComb murmured against her lips, "is why I sent for you."

"What?" Jasmine was barely able to recognize her own husky voice. She drew back and looked at him with a frown.

"I missed you. And Ted was just the excuse you needed to come here. Admit it if you want me to give it to you again tonight."

"I admit nothing." She paused to nibble his bottom lip. "And in retaliation, you refuse to drown me in pleasure? I thought a man like you could do much worse."

He paid her goading no attention. His voice composed, he went on, "Then when we're done, we're going to have a little pillow talk. You'll answer every question I ask you, tell me everything I wanna know. Got that?"

"Whatever you say, sir," Jasmine simpered waspishly, fluttering her lashes at him.

He wasn't smiling. "Reggie," he corrected, an implacable note in the single word.

She touched her tongue to her lips, felt a sudden need to clear her throat. "Reggie," repeated in a quieter voice, her gaze lowering to his chest. With a satisfied remark, he pulled her close and kissed her again. Deep, drugging kisses that swept away all reason, annihilated all resistance.