A Taste of Honey by Darren Coleman Read Free Book Online Page B

investment banker even took me along on his honeymoon to Spain with him. My room was two doors down from his and his wife’s. I wound up meeting her when he’d booked us both hot-stone massages at the same time in the spa. She was nice I thought. For him though she was either too nice or not nice enough. I never bothered to figure it out. The three grand per day I was paid to lounge around was what it was all about for me.
    As a young girl I’d always felt cute, but as the years went on my looks became my business. I ate right, worked out religiously,and spent thousands of dollars of other people’s money to make sure that my body was flawless and that my face was always Cover Girl–worthy. My breasts naturally sat up like two grapefruits, my ass looked like I ran track for a living, I had legs for days, and my skin had been pampered by the finest creams and lotions money could buy.
    I had capped teeth like most of the Hollywood celebrities and my hair never needed much work since it was jet-black and fine like silk. It meant nothing to me that I could have worked as a video ho-fessional if I chose, but the idea of sitting on a set waiting on the “man next to the man” to notice you so that you could possibly get screwed by a rapper or some R&B fag didn’t appeal to me at all. To top it off most of those girls made five hundred for an entire day, which was a joke to me.
    I lived by the motto “Use what you got to get what you need.” A bunch of women all over the globe had it all wrong. They were using what they had to give others what they needed. Never that for me.
    My cell phone rang. “Hello, this is Honey.”
    “Honey, we’ve arrived.”
    “I’m in 2024.”
    “Thank you.”
    Priest played point guard for New Jersey. Usually I hated ballplayers. Too cocky, too ignorant, and they all thought you should want to have a baby with them. I had a strong preference for quiet money, but I made an exception for Priest.
     
    W hen the knock came at the door I was dressed in a robe, a corset, and five-inch heels. I opened it and he was standing there, tall, in jeans, a white T-shirt, and a platinum chain hangingdown to his belly. “Hey, Honey,” he greeted me with a kiss on the cheek.
    I noticed that he had a small entourage with him. One thick-bodied guy who looked like a bodyguard, and two women—one white, one black. They were both dressed and looked like a couple of typical groupies in that they, like most groupies, never realized that going half-dressed could be done with style and class. “Honey, I brought a few friends with me. This is my man, Big George. That’s Jan and she’s Reese,” he said as he’d fingered each of his cohorts. “They’re going to hit the club with us. I thought we’d have a couple of drinks and get loose before we roll.”
    “Oh, okay.” I was pissed. I wasn’t into crowds and didn’t like my face seen by a bunch of random folks but I tried to stay professional. And I definitely didn’t like the look of the big guy. He began eyeing me like a smothered pork chop the second he stepped through the door. The more I looked at him the more uncomfortable I became. Truthfully, I couldn’t tell if it was the cliché beady-eyes thing he had going on or if it was the he-looks-like-a-serial-killer thing he had going on.
    Priest leaned in and said, “As good as you’re looking, Ma, I’d rather stay here with you but they can’t get in the party without me. And they flew all the way in from L.A.”
    “I’m fine. I’m with you,” I said. “But I’m going to need them to step out while I get dressed.”
    “Honey, they okay. They with me, baby.” The look on my face gave him a response and he quickly said, “Can I at least take them out to the pool. C’mon, I did pay a couple Gs for the room.”
    I excused them out onto the balcony to drink while I dressed in a raspberry-colored Cavalli dress and a pair of matching rhinestone Chanel sandals. When I stepped out of the room