Nita Floyd

Russell "Russ" Ware Jr.

The Others:

Walter Yates

Jackson Floyd

Deja Floyd

Ellis Perkins

Nash Henry

Clark Henry

Steven Floyd

"I deserve this promotion." Walter Yates raised his hands high above his head, frustration and fear mingling with the sweat on his furrowed brow as Nita Floyd pressed him further, "Fifteen years Mr. Yates, I started fresh out of undergrad, suffered through the agonizing labor and delivery of two big headed children, divorced one sorry bastard only to bury another, earned a MBA, and kept your lily white ass out of hot water with the IRS, and this is how you repay me?"

Nita Floyd was angry. At twenty one, she had been poised to take on the world. Outstanding letters of recommendation followed her from Fisk University. Impressive interviews in New York, Chicago, Atlanta, and even Los Angeles boosted her confidence but she chose an entry level position at local company in the Carolinas. Her business acumen was far too advanced for her introduction into Corporate America but she had a plan. Learn a business from the ground up, so by the time she was thirty - five, VP, could follow her name, retirement would be ten years away, and her bank account would never know the meaning of in the red again.

Life had other plans.

The advisory position she had expected turned into an administrative role which lasted for two years. She filed papers, organized soft copy files on shared drives, and ordered more lunches from the expensive deli that melted brie on every sandwich on the menu. When the first promotion came five years into her employment, it was only a step up to Executive Admin. One year and a maternity leave later, she came back to a grueling assignment as managerial babysitter, netting her the first patch of gray hair and a long overdue stint in marital counseling. Another maternity leave, divorce filing, and two years later, finally Nita was welcomed as the newest advisor at Peachtree and Ware Consultants. She was eight years behind schedule and more than a little disenchanted.

Thankfully Walter Yates, a seasoned member of the firm took her under his wing. He shared his Ivy League knowledge and his stash of scotch with Nita, "I'm grooming you for greatness," He would offer daily as he puffed a cloud of cigar smoke in her face. She believed him, chalking up the demise of her second marriage and her soon to be ex-husband's untimely death as a casualty of war. She had her son and daughter, even though they didn't care for her constant trips out of town, and her late hours at the office. Nita had accomplished something; she was a building a legacy for them, until Mr. Yates promises turned into only empty words and more years passed. Fifteen years with one organization and a five figure salary were all Nita Floyd had to show.

"Nita, I'm not disagreeing with you," He took a breath and a sip from the glass on his desk, "Things change."

She knew exactly what things had changed; Russell Ware Jr. and his inability to maintain a job outside of his daddy's shadow.

The qualifications for the position of Junior Associate read as if it were directly drafted from her resume. She had interviewed with Russell Ware Sr. and Linda Peachtree directly. She left the conference room after two hours, with the managing partners singing her praises. Then later the same evening the local news affiliate flashed Russ Jr's mugshot on the screen and Nita knew her hopes for advancement had just been flushed down the toilet. The five foot nine hooligan arrived in the office the following day freshly appareled in his new Jos A. Bank's wardrobe.

"Tell the truth Mr. Yates, no matter how hard I work, I'll always be the pleasantly plump black woman undeserving of any opportunities beyond pouring someone a cup of coffee while bowing my head and shuffling my feet."

Mr. Yates finally reached his breaking point and jumped from his seat, "Enough with the pity party Nita," His eyes were bright and full of fury, "You're too smart to insinuate racism, sexism, and sizism have anything to do...fuck..." She couldn't help but laugh when the uncharacteristic curse left the old man's lips, "Ware's botox addict wife probably made him give their ungrateful child the job, he's an idiot, you're a star." She knew where his speech was headed, "It's not fair, outshine him, show them who really deserves the job."

Nita realized her mentor was just as helpless as her. When his superiors marched in the office and informed him who he would hire, he couldn't open his mouth to share his concerns, or much less ask a question. She could see the disappointment on his face and now she knew her anger had been misplaced, "You're right." She regained her composure and stepped back into the harsh lighting of the cubicle farm where her desk was located. She would give the spoiled brat two weeks. With a population of less than five hundred thousand, Russ Jr. would surely hit on the wrong man's wife, side swipe a judge's car while drunk driving, or just get tired of the pseudo big city feel the powers that be were trying to foster in the area and go away.

A girl could dream and after fifteen years, all Nita Floyd had left were...dreams.

Russ Ware stared at the monitor on his desk. He hit control, alt, and delete, cursed, and hit the keys again. The logon and password did not immediately rush back to his memory. The sticky note containing the elusive information was a blob of black on yellow thanks to the nervous spill from his water bottle. He knew if he picked up the phone again and dialed the four digit extension to the help desk, he'd look like the idiot he was. Why in the hell had he come home? Three months in rehab and two years probation would have been easier than withstanding his father's disapproving glare or her irate voice purging the serenity of his office and assaulting his ears.

Nita Floyd didn't like him and Russ Ware understood why. Until he arrived back in his wonderful hometown, she was finally going to ascend to her long promised throne. The job he now held was meant for her. His office was decorated with a mix of classic and modern furniture she had selected for her home away from home. He could understand her bitterness, but it didn't mean she could waste five hours out of the day degrading him to Walter Yates. He had a mother and father, far more talented in the art of insults than one Nita Floyd. He heard her heels snagging the worn carpet in front of the old man's door as she stalked the path back to her desk.

"Ask Nita for assistance if you get confused about anything."

The sentence had been the only piece of practical advice his father offered outside of shedding his usual ungrateful asshat demeanor and use his brain. He studied the phone list and contemplated the call. Call the IT group and listen to them laugh at him over the line or face a black woman's wrath. He chastised himself for the borderline racist thought, but there was truth behind his closed minded logic. He had lived in New York City, Philadelphia, and Atlanta; he would rather be the punch line to a geek's joke than to suffer through a roll of her eyes.

She scared him shitless.

Russ picked up the receiver and pressed the numbers on the keypad. Her line buzzed and he couldn't make out the expletive passing from her lips when she read the screen of her phone. When her voice floated across the line he would have never known he was her least favorite person in the universe, "Nita Floyd, how may I assist you." Her tone was both sultry and sugary sweet. His heart began to pound and his mouth immediately went dry, "Hello, Mr. Ware, Mr. Ware."

He finally recovered from his sudden bout of speechlessness, "Could you come to my office Ms. Floyd." He did not intend to over emphasis the Ms. associated with her name or to inflect his voice when he established ownership of the office originally destined to belong to her. He did anticipate the attitude she sported when she graced his the threshold to the ten by fifteen foot space he occupied. He opened his mouth only to find himself stunned silent by her rebuke.

"Are you summoning me to your office like some broke down pre-reconstruction maid," Nita Floyd took two steps inside and quickly slammed the door, "I don't report to you...remember that..." She pointed her finger in his direction, "I will not think for you...remember that..." She moved closer, "I will not tarry before the Lord for you in the hopes that you won't look like the sniveling, snotting, spoiled brat you truly are," She placed her hands palms down on the surface of his desk and bent at the waist until she met him eye to eye, "I'm better than you...I'm smarter than you...I deserve this job more than you do."

All Russ could do was bob his head up and down like the idiot he was in response to her tirade. He tried to think of some eloquent phrase to erase the tension between them. Nothing came to mind. He would sound like a jerk if he shrugged his shoulders and said sorry. Nita Floyd wasn't like the majority of the women he encountered in his forty years on the earth. Everything she said was true. He didn't deserve to be here and he sure as hell couldn't hold a candle to her when it came to surviving the harsh world of Peachtree and Ware, "I forgot my login and password." He held up the soiled yellow paper for her eyes to see. He willed his hand to stop shaking while she studied the disaster between his fingers. He nearly pissed his pants when the corners of her mouth turned upwards and the cuteness that was her full cheeks graced her face. He finally remembered to breathe when her melodic voice ricocheted off his walls when she laughed.

"Clueless." Nita walked around the desk and pushed his chair out of the way and quickly went to work. For a moment he thought the storm was over as he watched her work. Her fingers glided across the keyboard with ease. Her body brushed against his momentarily and his nose received an invitation to indulge in the scent of her perfume. He knew the fragrance well, it was one of his favorites from Dolce & Gabbana, and he leaned in a little too close, the bulb of his nose connecting with her wrist, "What the..." The toe of her left pump nudged the edge of his chair and sent him sailing into the wall, "Not today white boy." He shook his head and broke free from the rose infused haze lingering in his nostrils. Within seconds she had his screen up and the necessary applications open and ready for use.

Nita stood to her full height and folded her arms across her chest, "Sink or swim on your own Mr. Ware." She made her way to the door and tossed her final words of advice over her shoulder, "Don't call me again."

Call him a glutton for punishment but Russell Ware Jr. was officially in lust.

"I'm a bad mother."

Nita collapsed on the mountain of mint green pillows covering the white sofa in her great room. Her laptop bag fell at her feet, scuffing the tip of her well worn pumps. Her keys skid across the hardwood floor leaving a host of marks in their wake. Her cell tumbled towards the French doors leading to the formal dining room and she silently prayed no damage was done to the outdated device. The smell of pressed garlic filled the air and she knew where there was her brother's Spaghetti Bolognese, wine of the white or red variety flowed in abundance. Her stomach growled, her mouth watered, and her body begged for a moment of rest.

"You suck as a sister," Her brother Ellis appeared from kitchen, his tee stained with sauce and his jeans equally destroyed, "And your children are heathens too," He dabbed at his soiled clothes attempting to remove the damage done by the eight and thirteen year olds he had sentenced to solitary confinement in their respective rooms. He was her saving grace. An accountant who worked from the home willed to both of them after their parents' deaths. He picked the kids up from school, hauled them to dance lessons, athletic practices, and tutoring sessions. He was also maid, chef, and therapist all rolled into one.

Brother and sister shared a brief smile.  Ellis took the spot to her left, squeezing into the minimal space and guiding her head to his shoulder, "Thank you." He didn't budge with the sentiment she offered, "I don't know what I would do without you." Truer phrase had never been spoken but he knew, now was not the time to gloat.

Ellis Perkins thrived in his role of older, wiser, sibling. When their parents passed within months of one another during Nita's junior of college, Ellis filled the shoes of guardian. He supported his younger sister emotionally and financially. He watched over her, making sure she kept her grades up, and attended regular grief counseling sessions. He gave her away at both of her weddings, played loving uncle to his misfit niece and nephew, and offered unsolicited advice on a continuous basis, "How was work?"

She groaned and covered her face with a pillow, "I need two bottles of wine before we even embark on that disastrous discussion...hellacious."

He pulled the satin adorned cushion from her face, "You could have left years ago Nita, moved after the divorce, started over in a different city..."

Nita raised her hand and kept her eyes on the fire burning in the hearth, Ellis knew he was right, but she was stubborn, and she refused to give him the satisfaction, "Deja and Jackson needed their father."

"Bullshit," Ellis rolled his eyes, "You're a dirty lie and a chicken." He lifted his body from the couch and held out his hand for to help Nita from her sunken spot, "Come eat, your dinner is getting cold."

They didn't speak while he piled pasta, red sauce with a mixture of sausage, peppers, and onions high on her plate. She polished off two glasses of wine and poured her third before dragging her exhausted frame from the center island to the table. They fell into an easy conversation about the events scattered about recent weeks. Ellis could tell his younger sister was struggling with her feelings surrounding the snub at her job. He had advised her time and time again, to move on. She was too smart to settle for what she received at her current employer. Fear kept her chained to her position at Peachtree and Ware. Their parents raised them to be confident, open minded, free thinkers, who never bit their tongues and at the moment Nita was anything but. Unfortunately he had more bad news to deliver. He allowed her to briefly enjoy her meal and he contemplated the best way to broach the subject of Deja Lynae Floyd.

"So," Nita looked up from her plate when Ellis stuttered on the one syllable word, "Deja got suspended." He waited for the curses to begin. The Red Foxx feigned heart attack to commence. Nothing, not a single vowel or consonant, she lowered her head and continued to push the food around her plate. He could tell the information disturbed her, but she didn't know where to begin. Most importantly he knew, like always, Nita blamed herself for her daughter's behavior.

Finally Nita dropped her fork, drained her glass, and met her brother's gaze, "What happened?"

He relayed the events the administrator had shared over the phone; the disrespectful attitude, the threats leveled at another student, and finally the fire the girl's cigarette started when she tossed the bud into the velour curtains shielding the stage in the school auditorium. He didn't repeat the thoughts tugging at his brain. Nita had been hell on wheels in junior high; a strong minded pre-teen unwilling to listen to anyone other than her parents. Why she would expect her child to be anything less was inexplicable. Deja was just like her mother, except instead of rebelling from the Perkins' family strict regime, the girl just wanted some attention from the sole parent actively involved in her life, "I think you should talk to her."

"What...so she can set me on fire?"

For the first time, the entire evening, Nita Floyd finally cracked a smile. Ellis quickly joined his sister on memory lane, "Don't even make that face, your behind was five times worse than Deja when you were thirteen."

Nita pretended to be offended, "I was misunderstood."

Ellis shook his head, "You were bad as hell." He paused, "Mean as a snake," He raised an eyebrow, "Nothing's changed."

Nita stood and tossed her eyes towards the stairs, "Maybe Steven was right, I can't..."

One twist of fate was all it took for Nita to doubt herself. Ellis stood and nudged her towards the steps, "Forget work...forget your miserable first husband...go talk to your baby," He rubbed his hand across her back, "She needs you."

And whether she wanted to admit it or not, Nita needed Deja, just as much, if not more.

~`~

"I need more than Don Equis and your bad nachos to get over this day," Russ dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and stared at his roommate slash best friend.

Nash Henry was a lifer when it came to spending time in their southern suburban kingdom. He went to all the top schools in the local area, stayed in state for college, and married the first girl who ever gave him a blow job in high school. The marriage ended before he reached twenty - three and the only thing he had left to show as his son Clark; which depending on the day of the week was either an astronomical feat or an epic disappointment. He was a carbon copy of his father Nash, sarcastic class clown, talented athlete, and supreme rebel against authority.

Russ drained his waiting beer and shoved a few chips in his mouth, "My father will and always will be the world's most talented prick."

"What's new?" Nash pulled a chair from the table and took a seat, "Was the first day that bad spoiled little rich boy?"

Rich boy, if that were the case, why was he living in a three bedroom townhome with the sloppiest man in the southeastern United States and his Linkin Park loving son. He struggled to determine where to start. Did he tell his best friend about his ineptitude when it came to use of a desktop computer? Or should he start with the verbal smack down he received from the voluptuous woman with milk chocolate skin who should have had his job? He took the easy way out, "Mediocre at best."

His friend shook his head, stole what was left of his beer, took a breath, and began his tale of woe, "Well let me tell you about my day." The lanky bastard who knew every embarrassing detail about his life sat back and propped his feet up on the table. He still lived like the college bachelor he was for one year and Russ wondered if his lack of home training was the straw that finally broke the camel's back with the ex Mrs. Henry, "My son started a fire in my drama class with his little girl toy of the week."

Clark Henry picked that exact moment to make an appearance. He stole a sip of one of the open beers on the table, "Her name is Deja," Displaying table etiquette only rivaled by his father's the boy shoved a handful of cheesy nachos in his open mouth and continued to speak, "She's not a little girl," The kid reached for the bottle again only to have both his father and surrogate father deliver simultaneous punches to his arm causing him to rethink the action. He mouthed an expletive in response to the momentary infliction of pain, before finishing his statement, "She might be the one."

Russ watched Nash's eyes stretch and the color drain from his face. A similar conversation had transpired years before between the friends and history was possibly repeating, "Don't start that shit Clark, you and your little Lolita almost got my scrawny ass fired today." He was up and pacing, stirring the spicy ground turkey mixture, and slicing more unneeded onions and jalapenos. By the end of it all he was teary, exasperated, and stuttering from frustration, "Skipping classes, smoking - WEED- Clark weed, you roll a better joint than I ever did," Russ wanted to smack him back into sanity but he tempered his response and let his friend fail terribly at being father, "Kissing backstage...what's next... what the hell are you thinking?"

Clark groaned, "One time I smoked weed dad," The teen held up a solitary finger, "One time," The boy took a breath and whispered his question, "Is this because she's black dad?"

With the new revelation of knowledge, Russ expelled the fresh swig of beer that had just filled his mouth. Yes Clark Henry was more like his father than Nash cared to admit. He watched the father and son continue their mini debate.

"No it's not because she's black," The man was grappling for words, "I have black friends."

Even Russ had to cringe with the admission. Nash should just stamp racist on his forehead if he was going to continue making flippant comments like, I have black friends.

Clark rolled his eyes, "I can't believe you just...you're a tool." The boy polished off a few more chips, "I like Deja a lot and even if we're not actually together...right now...I could see us being more," He paused, "More than friends."

"You're barely fourteen," His voice escalated, "She's thirteen, what the hell do you know about the one, I'm thirty five and can't even get laid by the easiest chick in the office." Nash slammed his hand down on the counter, "Love...you would have better luck with war." He exited the room after his emotional outburst.

Russ was left alone with the pubescent boy in a role he was not used to filling, wise, older guardian. It had been twenty two years since he had found himself experiencing anything like Clark was enduring at the moment. Yes he had battled with his father constantly, partly because he was the stoner who refused to join the Young Republicans or participate in the Future Business Leaders of America chapter meetings. He wanted to travel, follow his favorite band on the road, and settle down when he reached forty. Hard partying led to encounters with the law and finally brought him home to the city of his birth. Now he was forced to grow up. He stared at the child across the table. He had so much of his parents in him; his mother's shady brown curly hair, Nash's smarmy grin, and both of their enormous hearts rolled into one.

"Your dad just wants the best for you." Russ stood and started to clear the mess from the table, "We did some stupid shit when we were your age, remind him to tell you about Shareaka Nix when he's not acting like a little bitch," He could only laugh when the memories flooded his consciousness, "You know it took him eight years to get his undergrad and he can't blame that all on being a husband and a dad, dude never studied."

He had the kid's attention, it was obvious when his brows lifted and disappeared behind his bangs, "Doofus."

He couldn't agree more, "Definitely," His next words forced an unwelcomed realization upon Russ about his own, "But that doofus, only wants the best for you."

Russ was frozen to the spot where he was standing when Clark lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him, "Thanks Uncle Russ."

He took a look around the kitchen; it was utterly and completely destroyed. He mumbled a few words about cleaning it later, but at the moment he had an overwhelming urge to call his dad and say thank you.

Nita Floyd was late; twenty minutes and thirty five seconds late for a scheduled appointment. Her heels slid on the freshly polished floors and she nearly tumbled face first into the awards case at the end of the hall. When she rounded the corner, she immediately groaned, "Parent -teacher conference," Nita stared at her ex through an incredulous gaze, "Parent being the key word."

Steven Floyd didn't budge and when Nita tried to side step him and move into the reserved room, his hand quickly circled her wrist and held her in place, "Yes Nita, parent is the key word and we all know what a shitty job you've done with both of our children." She did her best not to tremble, sweat, or pass out from sheer terror. Confronting her ex husband always caused long dormant fears to surface. Her children kept her going. They urged her to leave the bed each morning, encouraged on long, sleepless nights when mini research papers were due, and her son and daughter always stirred a rare confidence from deep within her belly. At the moment she was struggling to appear cool, calm, and collected but she knew if she focused on them, she'd rise above Steven's taunts, "Suspension and fraternization with a white boy who just so happens to be a loser, epic parenting skills Ms. Floyd." He dropped her hand like a hot potato and fingers immediately stroked the tender and superficially damaged skin. Some things never changed.

Nita watched as Steven painted on his phony smile and extended his hand to the waiting teacher. She swallowed the breakfast creeping up her throat and threatening expulsion from her mouth at the sight of his poorly played father of the year display. He was an opportunistic asshole. A fact her brother called to attention the day the two first met. In her mind he was the first man to find her beautiful in spite of the extra body weight and the stigma that came with being known as the class brain. She employed little logic when she lay down, spread her legs, and willingly gave up her virginity on the night of her senior prom. She didn't cry once, when eight weeks later, Nita found herself in a cold, white, sterile room, ridding her body of the evidence of that night. She was hooked, convinced; no one else would ever have her. Now she hated everything about him. The full toothed grin that used to be her kryptonite. The unnatural ability he possessed to charm the boxers or thongs off a total stranger. The simple fact that some piece of her still believed it was her inadequacies were to blame for the demise of their relationship and her children's home. She took a deep breath and readied herself to do battle against Steven when she noticed the scrutinizing eye the waiting teacher cast in her ex husband's direction. Her eyebrow elevated and a quiet self reliance slowly bubbled to the surface of her consciousness.

Nash Henry's face softened when his gaze met hers, "Nita, it's really good to see you."

She shook his hand, returning his smile with one equally as genuine, "Wish it could have  been on better terms." She took a seat and immediately poured water from the pitcher in the center of the table and greedily devoured the glass' contents. In the last semester, monthly conferences with Langston Academy's head of the drama department had become common. Deja had been openly defiant with the Mr. Henry and her behavior had proven to be a conundrum. It was plainly obvious she admired the man but for one reason or another she refused to fall in line and adhere to the rules he had dictated. Her latest stunt had almost gotten the man fired. Today's meeting was more of an intervention than a formal hearing, "Before Deja enters I just want to go over a few key points with you," His eyes drifted to the man still standing, "And Mr. Floyd who has decided to grace us with his presence on this rare occasion."

The dig did not go unnoticed by Steven, but before he could unleash a mouthful of hate laced sentences directed at the educator, the intercom buzzed and announced that Deja was waiting in the school's office.

"I adore your child," The teacher slid a pair of readers on his face and opened the file in front of him, "She's extremely talented, ambitious, and in spite of recent events entertaining."

Steven interjected in the midst of Mr. Nash's introduction, "I think Deja should come and live with me." Nita's mouth went dry. She reached for the pitcher only to tip the container on its side and ruin the documents stretched across the meeting table, "She needs a stern disciplinarian," He stood directly behind his ex-wife's chair and placed his hands on her shoulder, "It's okay to admit you can't handle it Nita, everyone wasn't meant to be a wife or mother."

A flip switched and Nita Floyd went from demure corporate America employee to one of the stars of a reality television show about housewives who have lost their minds. She pushed his hands off her body, shot up from the chair, and leveled a finger to his face, "Where have you been for thirteen years Steven, second guessing my every move?" She snatched her purse and keys up from the chair beside her, "You didn't even want Deja or Jackson and now you sit here and drop some sorry assed bullshit about my daughter coming to live with you," His eyes stretched with her words, "That's right, my daughter, you were just the fucking sperm donor." She shook her head, "Level an empty threat like that one more time and I'll show you just how much I can handle."

A sinister grin curved the man's lips, "You can take the girl out of the ghetto," A flattened hand connecting with his check silenced the insult. Steven Floyd's rubbed the patch of skin Nita had eagerly assaulted, "Big mistake Nita."

He stormed from the room and she collapsed in her chair. It was then she realized Mr. Henry was still present and white as a ghost, "I'm sorry Mr..."

The man walked around the table, eyes full of empathy, and his hands motioning for her to be quiet, "Please call me Nash." The tears spilled on to her cheeks and the sobs started seconds later. He shoved a handful of Kleenex at her and did his best to soothe her with a few sporadic pats on the back, "I pegged the asshole the second he walked in this wrong." Her laughter was out of place but a welcome relief to the tension Steven's brief time in the room had created. Nash Henry settled in front of her chair and crossed his legs into an Indian style. His eyes were bright and expressive. His cheeks were rosy and Nita wondered if he had a certain amount of personal experience with unruly ex spouses, "Could I have his number I think he would be perfect for my ex-wife?"

Nita dabbed at the corners of her eyes, "Thank you."

He waved off her token of appreciation, "Trust me I understand," He looked around the room, "How about I get Deja excused for the rest of the day and the two of you go have a cup of coffee, maybe a little girl time, and you get to the bottom of what's really going on with her."

The residual whimpers were subsiding and Nita couldn't deny the teacher's plan had merit, "Sounds like a great idea."

"Okay, wait here and I'll get everything set in order," Mr. Henry jumped up from his spot on the floor and fervently walked towards the door. He paused and turned back to face Nita, "It was a pleasure seeing you again Ms. Floyd."

Her eyes were burning and growing puffier by the second and she was certain she was giving Rudolph a run for his money,but somehow Nita managed to muster what her brother would call the essence of a diva. She fluffed her curls and took to her feet, "You can call me Nita."

Russell Ware Jr. was near tears. Every time his fingers touched the keyboard of his computer the machine emitted a loud, shrill noise. He thought he detected the scent of smoke. Of course his luck would cause the computer to blow up on his desk and burn down the building. He ended his pity party of one and tried to fight his way through the assignment. Nita Floyd had run out of the office an hour before and had not returned. He was stuck, with a five o'clock deadline he needed to meet. He was doomed.

"Need some help?"

His gaze drifted upwards to find Walter Yates standing in his doorway, "No, everything is under control." He straightened his tie and returned to the screen before him.

"There's no shame in asking for much needed assistance," The man was persistent, "Nita took personal time for the rest of the afternoon," Yates slowly moved towards his desk and eased his way into the chair, "Now or never young buck, you need some help?"

Russ nodded, "I can't get my formulas to transfer to the other cells and I haven't made the graphics for the morning presentation." He waited for the pending insults but none came, "I don't want anyone to do the work for me I just need..."

Walter Yates walked around the desk, "Scoot over," He turned the monitor to face him and studied the spreadsheet before him, "I don't approve of how your father has handled this little situation," He grabbed the mouse and highlighted the necessary icon on the toolbar, "It's not far to Nita or you."

Over the span of an hour, Yates gave Russ a crash course on the entire office suite. He had enough knowledge to complete his overdue report and prep his portion of the department presentation, "Thank you Mr. Yates."

The man waved off the appreciation, "None necessary."

Russ could tell there was more he wanted to say but the man avoided further discussion, "Have a good evening Mr. Ware." Nothing further was said. He watched the man retreat from his office back to his own. He was thankful for the help and even more appreciative of the words he shared. Maybe he wasn't crazy for feeling like his father set him up for failure.

Russ shut down his computer and gathered his things. When he passed by the small area of cubicles his eyes drifted to Nita's desk. He saw the screen of her cell phone flashing. He grabbed the slim device and answered the call, "Hello."

"Mom?"

A tiny male voice greeted him, "No this is Mr. Ware?"

There was a deep sigh and something vaguely resembling a curse from the child's mouth, "Have you seen my mom?"

Russ looked around the office. He hadn't seen Nita since she rushed out hours before. Walter did inform him that she took personal time for the remainder of the day and he thought her absence was child related. Apparently he thought wrong, he was angry and infected by something reminiscent of jealousy, "I'm sorry," The child sniffled and Russ' heart broke. He stared at the frames lining her desk and immediately picked out her son in various stages of his life; infancy, preschool, and the years leading to puberty. He struggled to recall his name, Jackson that was it, "Is something wrong Jackson?"

"My mom forgot to pick me up from my art class."

What was really going on with Nita, "Where are you?" Russ knew he was setting himself up for epic retaliation but he couldn't leave the child stranded. He listened as the boy gave him directions to the gallery where the class was held, "Give me five minutes and I'm on my way."

~`~

Talking to her daughter proved more difficult than Nita expected. Deja was virtually non responsive. Every avenue the mother tried to reach her baby girl was shot down with the roll of the teen's eyes or an over exaggerated sigh. When she attempted to engage her in a discussion about her supposed older boyfriend, Clark, Nita was met with resistance, and a threat to leave the table. She gave up. She sipped on her macchiato and contemplated where things went terribly wrong between the two.

They used to have mommy and me days; visits to the spa for matching manicures and pedicures, hours spent in the salon while they both had their hair washed, conditioned, and flat ironed, and nights where they giggled like two best friends beneath a makeshift tent created from her sheets. Things needed to change, "Deja I need help understanding what's going on with you," She measured her words carefully, "Mr. Henry is concerned, your uncle is worried, and I'm..."

"Too damn busy to give a fuck," Deja jumped from her seat, "Jackson and I take a backseat to everything; work, school, and your life." She grabbed her bag and leveled her final blow, "I'd rather live with dad, at least I only have to compete with his girlfriends, not the entire world."

Nita had failed miserably as a mother, her mouth opened, and tears slowly began to fall from her eyes.

"Enough with the crying already," Deja collapsed back in her seat, "It doesn't make me feel sorry for you, in fact I only want to laugh in your face, it's ridiculous and you wonder why dad got tired of you."

Nita had two options, she could respond in typical fashion, or try and meet her daughter somewhere in between, "Deja I realize your upset," She held her hands up as a sign of peace when the pre-teen made a vocal representation of her frustration, "However, cursing and disrespect will not be tolerated during this conversation," She continued, "I apologize for the mistakes I've made and the ones I'm going to make," Her lowered her lashes shielding her eyes from the heartbroken look on her daughter's face, "I love you, everything I've done is for you and Jackson and I'm sorry..."

"I just wanted you to be there for me." The resentment gave way to hurt, "Dad left and you threw yourself into school and work, then there was Mario, and when he died," Deja stared at her until Nita had no choice but to meet her gaze head on, "I just wanted you."

It was an opening and Nita took it, stretching her hand across the table and entwining her fingers with Deja's, "Let's start over."

For the first time in years, mother and daughter shared a genuine moment, then the dread set in when Nita caught a glimpse of the clock behind the counter, and realized what and who she had forgotten.

Russ looked at the child riding shotgun in his passenger's seat. Finding the gallery had proven more difficult than he initially expected. The city had grown since his departure years before. Downtown was now a metropolitan Mecca, easily rivaling its closest counterparts in Charlotte or Atlanta. He got lost on the side street that once contained only a coffee shop and a general store. He was amazed by the recently erected buildings modernly crafted to appear decades old and worn by the weather. He found the downtown gallery purely by accident. He picked the child from the crowd immediately. Glassy brown eyes, searching the car line filled with parents excited to retrieve their offspring, and a frown that threatened to make him tear up. Russ quickly parked his vehicle and walked up to the steps where the child sat, "Jackson?"

The little boy looked at him, "You don't have blue eyes." The child's statement confused him, "Mama said you were a blue eyed devil."

He cringed at the very racial reference and representation of Nita's bitterness, "No their more hazel." He was thankful that the child's seemed oblivious to the term's real meaning. He reached for the book bag at his feet, "You ready."

Silence had been their companion for most of the ride, except for the brief interruptions of growling stomachs, and the relay of directions; no words were spoken between the man and the child. The eerie quiet soon gave way to awe, when Russ made the first turn into the subdivision housing the Floyd home. He tried not to look on amazed as they passed manicured lawns and impressive three level creations. He also silenced the looping questions in his mind. One proved relentless, how in the hell did Nita Floyd afford something like...

As if Jackson read his mind, the young boy quickly answered, "My grandparents left a lot of money to my mom and uncle," He pointed at a red brick near mansion at the end of the cul de sac, "They bought that."

Russ carefully steered the car into the driveway. The garage door was closed and he was unsure if an adult waited for the child inside, "Your uncle lives with you?"

Jackson nodded and slipped from the vehicle, "Yeah," He shifted the bag on his shoulder, "You want to come in?"

Russ removed the key from the ignition and followed the child to the door. He looked away as the kid dug for a spare key in the pot by the door. Hadn't he just seen a news report about robbers who searched flower pots before busting out pretty paned windows? He clinched his stomach when they stepped in the foyer and the pungent odor of French onion soup and gruyere cheese greeted them. He was still starving and someone was cooking their ass off. Nash's turkey nachos could not compare.

"Nita is that you?"

A deep voice boomed from the kitchen.

"No unc, its J and Mr. Ware."

Russ didn't miss the sound of plates clattering to the floor or the subsequent curses that followed. He removed Nita's forgotten cell phone from his pocket, prepared to hand it over to her brother, and disappear quietly into the night. Instead he found himself oddly at ease by the large smile on the man's face, "Ellis Perkins." He accepted the hand he offered and traded off the phone. Ellis fingered the device and shook his head, "My sister is going to shit her pants when she sees you here." Ellis waved Russ and J into the kitchen, "Come on soup's on."

~`~

Two bowls of soup and a few beers later, Ellis and Russ, could have been classified as old friends.

"So it was your old man's idea to give you Nita's job."

Russ nodded and shoveled another helping of gooey goodness into his mouth, chased by a piece of fresh bread, "Hell yes," He groaned as the homemade delicacies eased down his throat, "And I've been suffering your sister's wrath since."

Ellis smoothed another layer of peanut butter on the bread he was prepping for Jackson's sandwich, "Trust me, Nita's bark is worse than her bite," He finished his preparation and slid the plate across the counter to his nephew, "She's been under a lot of pressure."

It was a habit spurred by his increasing interest in the woman known as Nita Ware that made Russ look around for clues into her life, "Where's her husband?"

His question evoked a strange response from Ellis. The man nearly choked on his food as his mouth tried to convey his answer, "On the way to hell if he doesn't live right."

Jackson chimed in with a clearer choice of words, "My dad's an asshole."

Uncle pointed at nephew, "Watch your mouth," He shook his finger at the young boy, "Your mother is not kicking my ass." Ellis did his best to clarify Jackson's description of his father, "Nita and Steve are divorced...it was an ugly resolution to a never - ending soap opera," He took a breath, "Her second husband died a few years ago."

The woman had been through a lot and his father's sudden change of mind was probably the straw that broke the camel's back.

~`~

If Nita kept fucking the way she had been lately, Steven Floyd, wouldn't find a need to embellish the truth in order to gain custody of their two children. Granted she had made peace with her daughter, however, in the process she had managed to forget her son. She was frantic when they finally arrived at the gallery only to find one student and the teacher remaining. She panicked when they announced Jackson had left with some strange white men in an old Volvo with an array of stickers on the back window. Someone had taken her baby. Images of Jackson's face plastered on newspapers and milk cartons accompanied her on her drive.

"Mom chill out," Deja pulled out her phone and it was then that Nita remembered the slim metal that was still on her desk, "I'll call Uncle El." Three calls and no answer, mother and daughter were both near panic.

Nita drove her car along the downtown streets in search of a vehicle reminiscent of the description. She fought the urge to call her ex husband. He lived a few blocks from the gallery in a high rise building with overpriced condos but she knew he was the last person Jackson wanted to see. For all the sins she had committed against her children, they knew their mother was the definite lesser of two evils. She would give it time, if she hadn't found Jackson in the next hour or two, then Nita would call Steven for help.

She kept her eyes on the road and off a very worried Deja. She didn't want to admit her ineptitude to the police, yet, so she took a chance and headed home. She breathed a sigh of relief when she pulled in behind a navy blue, Volvo 850, with an obscene amount of decals displayed on the rear of the car. She rushed from her seat, car still running, and into the house.

"Jackson." Her son appeared after just one call of his name. She quickly scooped him in her arms and plastered kisses on his face, "I'm so sorry baby, I got...I'm sorry...I'm just sorry." She wrapped her arms tighter around her son and squeezed, "How did you get home?"

Jackson extricated himself from her arms, "Mr. Russ brought me home."

~`~

Russ steal a job Ware was in her home.

Nita took a tentative step towards the kitchen. She could hear Ellis and Russ' boisterous voices as they discussed...her. Ellis was sharing stories that needed to remain among family. Her blood pressure elevated. Her anger grew ten fold, but when her eyes landed on the man who made sure her son safely made it home, all she could do was say, "Thank you."

She could tell her words caught him off guard. He stammered and then nodded before he eased from the stool, "I should probably go."

Her voice usurped her authority, "I would like it if you stayed for what's left of dinner."

A rare smile graced his face and Nita's steps faltered for a minute as she anxiously waited for his decision, "Sure, I would like that."

Ellis had initially intended for dinner to consist of the French onion soup along with open faced grilled cheese sandwiches. During his conversation with Russ, the men managed to annihilate the soup and inhale the sandwiches; leaving Nita and Jada starving with a desperate need for nourishment. When she invited him to stay in response to the lopsided boyish grin on his face she didn't know there was nothing for them to share awkwardly over dinner. She quickly went to work, retrieving beef consommé and rice from the pantry, mushrooms, onions, garlic, and butter from the fridge in order to prep one of her favorite comfort foods. In little time she had a steaming bowl of mushroom rice in her lap and a large glass of Chardonnay in her hand. One bite and two swigs and she heard the shuffle of unfamiliar footsteps behind her.

"Truce?"

Russ should have been thankful her belly was near full and she was on the verge of a buzz. She caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye. He was nervously tugging at the sleeve of his shirt while he struggled to maintain his hold on the dish in his hand. She continued to make him sweat, slinking lower into the chaise and studying him over the rim of her glass, "Maybe." She shifted her legs, clearing a space for him, "Sit."

He squeezed into the spot and tore into his food. There was something comfortable about the silence between them. Since the first day they met, the two had been engaged in a mini battle; Nita with her bitterness and Russ with his resentment towards his father. They were just casualties in one another's senseless wars. He was funny and cute, even if he was three inches beneath the height she preferred in a man. He had done her a favor by safely seeing her youngest child home, "Oh, I almost forgot." Nita turned her attention to the man beside her and the cell phone that materialized from his back pocket, "Your phone."

Nita smiled and nodded, "Thank you." She toyed with the device in her hand, keeping her eyes locked on the screen and virtual keyboard while she tried her best to form the words she so rarely spoke, "I'm sorry." She raised her head in time enough to see the look of awe of her guest's face, "I was a real bitch to you when we first met." He tried to interrupt, "No, there's no excuse for my behavior." She placed her food on the table beside the lounger and folded her legs under her, "My priorities have been beyond skewed and I took my frustration out on you." She took a breath, "I'm sorry."

Russ countered with an apology of his own, "I'm a brat, in case you can't tell." His brutal honesty made her giggle into her shoulder, "My father gave me everything and then tossed me on my ass the moment my fuck ups stopped being cute."

She interjected, "But you kept fucking up, like it would be cute again." His mouth opened, no words came, but ear curdling laugh was emitted from his lips. "Seriously who laughs like that?" Russ raised his hand and Nita shook her head, "Never do that again."

~`~

Somewhere between Nita's introduction to his displeasing laugh and his third glass of fruit laced wine, Russ found himself on cruise control. He managed to score more space on the chaise. His leg connected with hers as his body shifted and a spark of chemistry coursed through his veins, "Sorry." For a second he swore she purposely moved to increase the chances of more bodily contact. He nervously stroked his hair and tried to force the idea from his mind. There was no way she was interested, "Why are you still working for the ungrateful bastard I call dad?"

Nita rubbed two fingers together and casually sipped her wine, "Money is the root of all evil."

He didn't want to come across pretentious but he had issues with her stance and decision to remain employed with his father's organization despite constantly being overlooked and the detrimental effect her dedication had on her personal life. One marriage lost to divorce, a short lived second ended by death, and a very tense relationship with two beautiful children, "I thought it was the love of money that proved to be the root of all evil."

She didn't deliver the blow to the side of his head he anticipated, instead, she slowly opened up and began to share, "Work is an escape, always has been," Her eyes grew distant, "In high school it was excessive studying for AP courses to compensate for not being cute enough for anyone other than Steven ‘Jackass' Floyd," He laughed and she whirled what was left her wine around in the glass, "In college I spent obscene hours in the library on work study to take my mind off the thongs I kept finding under Steven ‘Jackass' Floyd's bed," She faced him and a soft smile curved her lips, "Now its all about living and drowning the sorrows of my regrets."

"Please don't tell me Steven ‘Jackass' Floyd is one of those regrets," His quip earned him a playful nudge to the shoulder. He waited for his answer and when her mouth slowly began to form the three letter word, yes, Russ clinked his glass against hers and offered a toast, "To no regrets."

She met his glass and echoed his words, "To no regrets."

~`~

Nita had a hang over. Every time she thought about moving her stomach went in the opposite direction. Tea made her gag, ginger ale didn't stay on her stomach, and the scent of every funky tailed heifer who worked in a five foot vicinity of her desk threatened to send her praying to the porcelain god. She tried her best to focus on the screen on her desk. Just how many bottles of wine had she killed the night before and why was there a blue Volvo still in her driveway five o'clock that morning.

She heard Russ when he entered the office; a tune on his lips and a spring in his step. He was acting like he had gotten laid, "Shit," she tried to recall the previous night's events; the heart to heart with Jada, the near panic with Jackson, the dinner, the wine, and a two o'clock wake up call from her brother nudging her and Russ from the couch. Nothing had happened, except for overindulgence in alcohol and diarrhea of the mouth.

Papers crumbled and shuffled as a behind settled a top her desk, "Morning ladybug," Nita cringed with Russ' use of her brother's pet name for her. He handed her a recycled cup, "This will kill the hangover and settle your stomach." She frowned at the piping hot beverage, "Its chocolate chai," He carefully brought his cup to his lips, "Guaranteed to cure what ails you."

The scent was inviting.

The concept promising, two of her favorite things in one drink, but she had to right her wrong from the night before. She lifted the cup from his hand and tossed it in the trash, "We're not friends," She aimed a pointed look in his direction, "Get your ass off my desk."

Slowly he stood, taken aback by the sudden change in the dynamics between them. She occupied her limbs with correcting the mess he had made but her mind remained on the features of his heartbroken face. Guilt encased her as Russ, dejected and defeated walked towards his office.  

The annual Ware retreat for promising staff members with a potential for management was a coveted affair. If a black linen envelope found its way to your chair in Mid March, you were equally privileged and despised. For the first time in fifteen years, Nita Floyd found one such greeting in her chair. She looked around before she snatched the paper up into her hands. She studied the parchment, inspecting it for a possible error in delivery. Surely this had not been meant for her. Then again, life was going better, Deja had not been suspended in two months, Jackson was slated to appear in a youth art show in a few weeks, and finally after years of perfecting the art of the being the neighborhood cat lady, Nita was dating. And now she was headed up the Blue Ridge Parkway to the Grove Park Inn.

The man in her life was a well kept secret. She wasn't ready to brag or bring the gentleman around her family. Things were going well. She was happy. She had someone in her who understood her dry wit and unexplainable need to watch old episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Freaks and Geeks. They shared a common bond over music and sci-fi films. He couldn't prepare a meal to save his life, but that was okay. She was fine with meals at their favorite dinners and soon she'd treat him to a dinner filled home cooked culinary delights. Most importantly, Mr. Perfect didn't judge her, he listened, and sometimes, more often than not, he gave great advice.

She tried not to giggle like a silly school girl and the appearance of Russ Ware Jr., helped prevent an all out laugh riot. Things had been tense in the office since their exchange. They kept their relationship professional. Although Jackson constantly asked about the man, she made no effort to arrange a reunion between the two haphazard friends. She nodded at the man and continued on her way to the coffee pot.

Unfortunately Russ had other plans, "Nita?"

Her steps faltered just a bit and she over-corrected and nearly fell off her heels, but he caught her, "Thank you." She didn't miss the scent of the fragrance she had grown to associate with his morning arrival, Aqua Di Gio and Caramel Latte from McDonalds'.

"Do you have a moment?" As single brow elevated as he pointed towards his office, "Can we speak in private?"

She followed him, refusing to take the seat across from him, "I prefer to stand."

Russ shook off his jacket and she could tell her words had stung. Part of her wanted him to extend an apology she didn't deserve. She had been the one in the wrong and she had yet to give him the words he longed to hear. Sorry went a long between co - workers, friends, and for some reason quirky, cute, short men needed to hear the words. She pushed the thoughts about his muscles under his tailored shirt from her mind and tried to focus on the conversation at hand.

"I wanted to know if you would have any objections to me attending Jackson's show in a few weeks." Nita's face betrayed her and Russ answered her unspoken question, "He sent me an email with the flyer."

The two had continued to converse. She couldn't be angry. Jackson's father was a non - existent part of his life and she had purposely kept her new friend hidden, "No," She stammered just a bit, "I meant sure...Jackson would like that...Ellis will be there to..."

Russ reclined in his chair, "Cool, tell your brother I said hello."

Nita nodded, waiting for the conversation to continue, but when his fingers began to pound the keyboard. She knew he had no intentions of prolonging their awkward exchange. She retreated to her desk forgetting about her original destination.

~`~

Russ took a deep breath and filled his lungs, as soon as Nita closed the door behind her. He failed miserably at what Nash had coined playing hardball. He reached for the phone on his desk and that's when he noticed the envelope taped to his screen...black linen...silver embossed lettering... great, one of his father's well intentioned developmental retreats. He groaned when he recalled Nita had a similar envelope clutched tightly in her hands.

He snatched the receiver from the cradle and punched the digits to his best friend's cell. He heard Nash curse, swear, curse, and swear. He didn't miss the sound of tires screeching. His friend was obviously trying to sneak a smoke, drink coffee, change the track on his CD, and drive with his knees.

Russ didn't even wait for his friend to acknowledge his presence on the other end, "One day you're going to fly off the Church Street Bridge."

Nash silenced his rant, "What do you want, I'm five minutes from the school, and two minutes away from being officially tardy."

He ignored his friend's woes, "Hardball didn't work."

Nash sighed, "Dude...really...you're calling me with this at eight o'clock in the morning?"

He pushed past his friend's amicable taunt, "I don't need your crap...you said..."

"I say a lot of shit," He heard Nash take a swig of his coffee, "Doesn't mean I'm right."

Russ was growing increasingly more frustrated, "What help are you?"

"If you listen to Clark...none," Russ heard the gears shift and he knew was closer to the school, "Look, I'm having my new friend over for dinner tonight, baby boy will be gone, ask this office space diva to come by," He considered the option, "You'll have me and Ms. Perfect as a buffer and maybe just maybe it will earn you a few brownie points."

The plan was actually good; Russ just had one condition, "No tacos...nachos...or anything from the Mexican cookbook Clark got you for Christmas."

"No worries, I'm not even cooking."

Nash disconnected the call and Russ was left to wonder how the best jack ass in the world could be so lucky.

He emerged from his office and headed towards the bank of desks where Nita was seated. He channeled his inner strength with each step and by the time he reached her chair, he blurted his question for most of the office to hear, "Have dinner with me."

Nita's smile was sweet and sincere but her words cut like a knife, "Sorry, I have other plans."

Russ Ware Jr. couldn't win for trying.

Nash Henry wanted a cigarette...immediately...he needed one to mysteriously appear out of thin air and erase the stress of his pending situation. In less than two minutes, his doorbell would ring and the woman who had recently acquired the title girlfriend would be standing on the other side. She was intelligent, beautiful, virtuous, independent, and all those other adjectives one would never associate with a member of the opposite sex who would be interested in him. Somehow and some way he lucked up, peaking her interests over a conference room table and securing an lunch escort who didn't mind picking her three favorites from Mickey D's value menu.

Sooner or later, he was going to screw it up. That was the nature of his life, he had single handedly destroyed his marriage with the ex-wife from hell. Every woman who chanced sharing her phone number somehow regretted the feat within mere hours, but Nita Floyd was an entirely different story.

They were breaking the rules; she was the parent of one of his students and his son was somewhat if not completely enamored with her daughter. Hell, their relationship was seamlessly morphing into a 1980s after school special.

Still the two had been inseparable. They snuck off for lunches that fit both their schedules. There was time in their days for rushed cups of coffee and day old cupcakes. He stayed up until well past midnight talking about absolutely nothing in hushed tones on his cell phone. He was slowly but surely falling in something akin to love all over again. Now she was coming over to cook just for him and he had ruined the evening by inviting his best friend and the bitch on heels.

If Russ, whine one more time, about the big bad bully in his office, Nash would surely go insane. It was sexual frustration, plain and simple, the chick saw something in Russ she liked, and now she was running and shunning the very appearance of evil. He had never seen Russell Ware Jr., scared of pussy, but he guessed there was a first time for everything. It would be Nash's luck; Russ would impress the office terrorist, and end up locked behind closed door, scuffing the walls with his headboard, while he waited the requisite three months before he chanced a physical encounter with Nita.

He cursed aloud when the doorbell chimed. He gave himself a final once over in the mirror before he rushed down the stairs and to the front door, "Now or never," He whispered before turning the knob to reveal Nita on the other side. She was breathtakingly beautiful. He had seen her dressed for corporate America before but nothing compared to the evening's ensemble.

Nash tried his best not to sound like the under sexed divorced father of one that he was when he found Nita in a simple yet flattering black wrap dress, "Hey." The tight curly tendrils he'd grown accustomed to seeing were blown out and straightened, cascading in soft strands down her back. Her full breasts rose and fell as she inhaled and exhaled. The blood rushed from one head to the next and his feet cemented themselves to the ground, "Nash...could I get a little help." She lifted the bags to his eye level and his sex crazed haze lifted. He grabbed the items from her hand and waved her inside. He should have walked ahead of her and led the way to the kitchen, instead he encouraged her to step ahead of him, and the shape and wiggle of her ass did nothing but further increase the discomfort in his pants. He used the bags to shield his condition once he entered the professionally cleaned kitchen. She turned and admired her surroundings, the stainless steel appliances, granite counter tops, and tiled floors, "Nash, you have a beautiful home."

He choked back his initial response, the one involving a request to bend her over the counter, and finish what he had started that morning in his dreams, "Thanks." He busied himself with grabbing an assortment of pots, pans, and utensils, before pausing to flash a smile, "What can I do to help?"

Nita shook her head, elevated her height by standing on her tip toes, and brushed her lips across his forehead. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Nash gripped her hips and pulled her closer. There was no denying she felt what the dress and her body had done to his physical state. A burdened, "Shit," was all she ground out through clenched teeth, before she pressed her body closer to his and swiped her tongue across her bottom lip.

It was an involuntary reaction that caused his mouth to attack hers. He groaned in pain when their teeth collided and she nipped at his top lip. He didn't complain a moment longer when her fingers settled at the nape of his neck and laced their way through the soft layers of hair there. His hands made easy work of the hem of her dress and caressed the fullness of her thighs. It had been too long and while he didn't want this to happen like that, he found himself tumbling over the edge into the zone where reason dissipated and lust took complete control.

Nash's lips caressed the smooth skin of her neck. He kissed and teased while one hand cupped a breast and the other work tirelessly to find its way inside of the lace covering her behind. Her legs widened and he connected with arousal soaked curls and tender nether lips that begged for a few minutes of well placed attention. His fingers obliged, slipping deeper, as echoed his apologies for moving way to fast, "I didn't plan this."

Nita snorted and complied when he reached for a leg to wrap around his waist, "Sure you didn't."

He didn't still his attack but he continued until he saw her lids lower and her teeth grip her bottom lip, "I promise it was never my intention to have you for dinner tonight."

Her lips parted and a very unladylike response was emitted before she followed with, "Nash you talk entirely too fucking much."

He smirked, "Well I guess you better find a way to shut me up."

She responded with a cheeky grin before she delivered a breath stealing kiss.

Nita and Nash's tongues were still fighting for dominance when a party entered their scene and quickly shielded his eyes from the sight before him, "What the hell?"

When Nash grudgingly relinquished his hold on the woman in his arms he met the disapproving gaze of his best friend and roommate. What he didn't expect was to hear Nita acknowledge his friend's presence by speaking his name, "Russ, what...why are you here?"

Nash quickly put two and two together and realized he and Russ were reliving high school all over again. Nita Floyd was the bane of Russ' existence and the subject of his wet dreams.