Higher Love

  By

  Alexandria House

  Copyright © 2016 by Alexandria House

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing 2016

  Pink Cashmere Publishing, LLC

  pinkcashmerepub@gmail.com

  http://pinkcashmerepublishing.webs.com/

  For him.

  Popular travel blogger, Greer Kennedy, is living the good life with a successful career and equally as successful fiancé until one phone call from a friend opens her eyes to the truth of her relationship.

  Tall, gorgeous, and successful in his own right, Derek Hill is dealing with some serious relationship problems as well.

  When their paths cross, they mutually, but unofficially, decide to share a night—or three or four—of anonymous pleasure. Will they end up experiencing much more than either of them bargained for?

  1

  I was running late.

  In less than three hours I had to be at the airport. Yet, there I stood, rifling through my closet, still undecided about what I was taking with me on this trip, as if taking trips was something I didn’t do all the time. I sighed as I tossed another rejected outfit onto the bed next to my suitcase. At this rate, I would never make it to the airport on time.

  I turned and grabbed a floral skater dress from a hanger, held it in front of me, and stared at myself in the mirror. Deciding it was appropriate summer music festival wear, I folded it and placed it at the bottom of the cavernous suitcase.

  One down. At least five more to go. I liked having several outfit options when I traveled.

  Next, I chose a white peasant blouse and a pair of distressed denim shorts, an electric blue harem-style jumpsuit, my favorite dashiki that I paired with some black skinny jeans, a multicolored maxi dress, my turquoise bikini, and a black flouncy mini skirt. I had already packed my toiletries. The only thing left would be deciding which shoes and accessories to take, which would be an equally daunting task.

  I’d almost forgotten about packing underwear and was tossing some into my bag when my cell began to ring. Seeing that it was my friend, Trevia, I rolled my eyes and shook my head. This was the third time she’d called in less than an hour, and I just didn’t have time for her theatrics and gossip. At least not until I was settled at my gate.

  She called for the fourth time when I was in my car on my way to the airport, and since traffic was backed up, I answered, hoping whatever was so urgent would help me pass the time and keep my mind off of the possibility of missing my flight.

  Before I could say hello, “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?” was being screamed into my ear.

  “Because I was trying to get ready for this trip. And stop yelling. What’s up?”

  “You tell me.”

  I sighed. “Trevia, come on. What is going on? Why’ve you been blowing up my phone?”

  “Did you listen to my messages?”

  “Obviously not. What is it?”

  “I can’t believe you’d keep something like this from me, G. I cannot believe it! We’ve been friends since high school, talked each other off the ledge after some pretty bad break-ups, and you didn’t call me? I’m hurt. I’m really, really hurt.”

  I inched forward on the highway and slapped the steering wheel of my car. “Trevia Diann McCall! What the hell are you talking about?! What didn’t I tell you?!”

  “Well, either your man’s Facebook is hacked or you two broke up.”

  I frowned as I stopped my violet VW Bug for the thousandth time. “What are you talking about? I talked to him last night. We’re fine.”

  There was silence, and then, “Oh…my bad. I guess he got hacked then. You better let him know.”

  As the traffic began to pick up a little, I relaxed in my seat. “So all of this marathon calling was over some Facebook nonsense? You’ve got to get a grip, Trevia.”

  “Whatever. Be careful and have fun on your trip. Get a video of Maxwell for me.”

  “I’ll do my best. Any other requests?”

  “Nope, that’s it. Sorry about…well, you know.”

  “Mm-hmm. I’ll talk to you later, crazy ass.”

  I ended the call and dialed my fiancé, Lloyd’s, number. Since he was at work, I wasn’t surprised when it went straight to voicemail. “Hey, babe. It’s Greer. I’m on my way to the airport and wanted to tell you what Trevia’s crazy butt just called me with. I’ll call you when I get to Virginia. Love you. Bye.”

  I coasted the rest of the way to the airport and made it right on time.

  *****

  My room at the Embassy Suites was even nicer than expected, but that was probably because I dropped the fact that I was a travel blogger on the front desk clerk and an upgrade appeared out of thin air. Funny how often that happened to me.

  I rolled my suitcase into the closet and plopped down on the bed. My room offered a decent view of the city, and the king-sized bed seemed comfortable enough, but this was one of those times when my job felt a little lonely. I knew I’d enjoy the Neo Soul Festival better if my friends or my man were with me, but everyone either had other plans or had to work. For Lloyd, it was work. Well, it was always work with him, not that I was complaining. He earned a great living working in corporate compliance at Adventure Airlines, and that was definitely a plus since I was marrying him in a year or so. We hadn’t quite settled on a date yet.

  I grabbed my phone, decided to call and see if he’d at least talk dirty to me. I smiled as the phone rang in my ear. The smile evaporated from my face when I got his voicemail again. “Hey, it’s me again. I’m in Virginia missing you. Call me back. Show starts at seven tonight, so call me before then. Love you. Bye.” I rolled over, stared at the ceiling, and before I knew it, had fallen asleep.

  2

  I woke up later than I planned to, had to jump in and out of the shower and dress in less than thirty minutes, but still made it to the huge park that served as the festival’s venue early enough to check out the vendors and get some great pictures for my blog and my Instagram page. I’d been blogging my travel adventures for years and thanks to a huge following, blogging became a full-time career for me two years earlier. Every year I set a theme for my adventures. This year it was festivals.

  I found a spot near the center of the park, spread out the beautiful Kente-print blanket I’d just purchased from a vendor, and took a seat. I had just bitten into my foot-long corndog slathered with mustard when I heard a voice say, “Is this spot taken?”

  I looked up to see a vision in smooth chocolate standing to my left—tall, fine, dreadlocks, gold stud in his ear, deep-set dark eyes, nice bone structure, gorgeous white smile, handsome as hell—pointing to a spot of grass. If I hadn’t been a taken woman, I might have pulled my maxi dress up and flashed him some leg, because looking as good as he looked, he deserved a peek. He really did. “Not that I know of,” I said after I swallowed my food.

  “Good, this jerk chicken is calling my name.” He held up a Styrofoam container.

  My eyes widened. How the hell did I miss the jerk chicken? “I bet it is,” I replied.

  He’d opened his mouth to respond when a woman approached. “I’ve been looking all over for you!” she said.

  He gave me another smile before turning his attention to her. She said something about finding them a better spot and then led him away. He tossed me a little wave before leaving with her.

  *****

  It was 9:00 PM when that evening’s headliner, Bilal, took the stage. I was feeling myself, swaying with raised arms to Soul Sista
when I felt someone tap me on my shoulder—fine-chocolate-dreadlocks was back. I frowned slightly as he leaned in to whisper in my ear, the warmth of his breath brushing against my skin, tickling it a bit. “Hey, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

  “I didn’t throw it,” I shouted.

  “I know, I mean—” he proffered me his hand, “I’m Derek.”

  “That’s nice. What’s your wife’s name?”

  “Wife?”

  I shook my head. “Have a great evening,” I said, then closed my eyes and resumed swaying to the music. I hoped he’d get the message that I was not interested in having some extramarital Neo Soul Festival affair with him. I had a man, a good, gainfully employed, unmarried but promised to me, man. I didn’t open my eyes until two songs later. Fine-chocolate-dreadlocks was gone.

  *****

  I called Lloyd again on the Uber ride back to the hotel, and that call went straight to voicemail, too. He also hadn’t called me back. It wasn’t like Lloyd not to check on me when I was out of town, and I was beginning to worry. Maybe there was something to this whole Facebook hacking thing, and maybe that wasn’t the only thing that was hacked. Maybe he was dealing with some major damage from someone getting his financial information or worse. A crisis like that would be big enough for him to neglect me.

  Once in my hotel room, I fired up my laptop and sent him an email, then I decided to check his Facebook page out of curiosity only to find that it had been deleted.

  3

  I called Lloyd again over breakfast.

  Still no answer.

  I was seconds away from calling his mother when Trevia’s name appeared on the screen of my cell phone. “Hey,” I said, after accepting the call.

  “Hey, what’s wrong? You don’t sound right.”

  “It’s Lloyd. I can’t get in touch with him, and his Facebook page is gone. I think something serious might be going on with him.”

  “You want me to go by his place and check on him?”

  “No, no…I don’t want you to do that.” I sighed. “I think I’m gonna call his mom and see if she’s heard from him. Or maybe I’ll call his friend Kareem…”

  “Yeah, I’m on Facebook now and his page is gone. That’s so weird. I wonder…”

  “What?”

  “Well, one time I got into it with my sister, Jayla, and she changed the privacy settings on her page, blocking me. I couldn’t find it but it still existed.”

  “You think Lloyd did that?”

  “Girl, no. I was just thinking out loud. Why would he change his privacy settings and block you, of all people, from seeing him?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know, but something is going on. Look, let me call you back later.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  I sat there for a few minutes, trying to decide if I really wanted to call his mother yet and worry her; then my phone rang again. Trevia.

  “Hello?” I breathed into the phone.

  “Hey, um…I was able to see Lloyd’s page…”

  “You were? How? Wait, there is a page? I mean, he still has one?”

  “Yeah, my sister is over here and she logged in to her account and I was able to see his page through hers. It looks exactly the same, so I guess he must’ve just blocked you and me.”

  “Blocked? Why? We just talked the day before yesterday and everything was fine.”

  “Greer, are you sure everything was fine?”

  “What do you mean? Of course I’m sure.” I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on the table. “What is going on?”

  “I think I might’ve found the answer to that on his page.”

  “Okay…”

  “Um, it says he’s engaged.”

  “Yeah, to me.”

  “No, to someone named Tami.”

  4

  I don’t remember hanging up the phone or taking a shower or getting dressed or riding to the festival. All I know is I found myself standing on the grass in the middle of the park with the sounds of bass, guitar, drums, and people talking and laughing filling my ears. Various food aromas infiltrated my nose. The air around me was balmy and thick. I felt out of place, like I’d been dropped there from a time machine. I was confused and hurt, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him again. He was obviously ignoring my calls for Tami.

  Who the hell was Tami?

  What the hell happened to us? To me and Lloyd?

  I sat right where I’d been standing, folded my legs Indian-style, and thought about the first time I saw him—tall and trim with light brown skin and hazel eyes. It was two years ago, and I had spent fifteen minutes studying the back of his body as I stood in line at the Apple store where we were both waiting to snatch up their next gen cell phone. He was wearing jeans and a khaki blazer, undoubtedly for casual Friday.

  He smelled heavenly with his closely-cropped hair. I willed him to turn around, and when he did, I was sold. He was so handsome, so neat, so...everything. The man of my dreams.

  He liked what he saw, too. Asked me out right then and there. Asked me to marry him a year later during a party at his mom’s house. I’d always thought our whole relationship was so…serendipitous.

  And now this.

  Tami.

  And my Lloyd.

  But Tami who?

  Maybe Facebook autocorrected Greer to Tami, I pondered. Then I decided that notion was stupid as hell. He’d dumped me without dumping me. He’d moved on without bothering to inform be that I’d been left behind.

  What. An. Asshole.

  I glanced around at the brown bodies surrounding me and spotted a woman sipping on something that appeared to be alcoholic. I think I startled her when I approached her and asked where she got it, because she didn’t hesitate to tell me she’d brought it with her, whip out a clear plastic cup, and pour me some. Well, either that or my jilted ass just looked like I needed a drink.

  I don’t even know what it was, but it burned my throat and eased my anxiety if only just a little. Another shot and a plate of ribs later, I was right and ready for the main attraction of day two of the festival—the incomparable Angie Stone. The only problem was when I teleported to the park, I’d done so without my camera. My cell phone would have to do if I wanted pictures or videos.

  My phone.

  I dialed Lloyd’s number, waited for it to go to voicemail, and then blurted, “I know you’re screening your damn calls, you coward-ass bastard! You blocked me on Facebook like I’m some stalker? Screw your red ass! Screw you and Tami! Yeah, I know about her, too! I hope your little thing falls off! By the way, you sucked in bed. Sucked! You got no damn rhythm! It was like screwing a wooden block! No, it was worse than that! I can make the wooden block do what I need it to do! But your ass? You couldn’t please a woman with a gun pointed at your head!”

  Satisfied, I ended the call and fell onto my back in the grass. It was then that I noticed fine-chocolate-dreadlocks standing over me. “The hell you want? You lose your wife?” I spat.

  “Uh, damn, I just got here, and I wasn’t on the other end of that call.”

  I rolled my eyes, sat up and put my little cup up to my mouth, trying to make more liquor materialize. “I know that. What do you want?”

  “Look, she’s not my wife. She’s my brother’s wife. They’re standing right over there. We ain’t all dogs. At least I’m not.”

  I turned in the direction he was pointing to and saw the woman from the previous night with a guy who was almost but not quite as fine as him. He was also missing the dreadlocks. “Oh...”

  I watched as he took a seat beside me. Angie was singing Brotha, and the crowd was vibing with her. “You okay?” he asked.

  I glanced down at the lovely engagement ring I hadn’t had the presence of mind to snatch off my finger, and thought, Hell no, but said, “Me? I couldn’t be better. Footloose and fancy-damn-free.”

  He grinned. “You gonna tell me your name, Ms. Footloose?”

  “What do you think my name is?”

 
“Hmmm, you look like a Monique.”

  “Then that’s my name.”

  He scoffed. “Okay…well, I saw you over here and thought I’d come say hi and clear things up.”

  “That you did.”

  “All right. Enjoy the rest of the show, the rest of the festival, the rest of your life...” Whatever he said after that was unintelligible to me. He was probably calling me a bitter bitch or something similar. I couldn’t argue with him if he was.

  When he stood to leave, I got an eyeful of his firm butt and said, “Wait. Um, I’m sorry for being the way I’ve been being. It’s just that…look, you can sit here if you want. I’d rather not be alone right now.” It was the truth, but I wasn’t sure why I’d admitted it to him. That liquor was doing strange things to me.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  In the middle of Wish I Didn’t Miss You, I broke down. While everyone else was moving to the beat, Mr. Dreadlocks wrapped an arm around my shoulder. Before I realized what I was doing, I leaned into him and let my tears flow, sure that I had ruined both of our nights.

  *****

  “We riding out or what? Because I’m ready!”

  I held the phone from my ear as my friend, Denise, continued shouting into the other end. Denise and Trevia and I had been friends forever. We met in the same band class years ago in high school, and I knew them both as well as I knew myself. While Trevia McCall liked to stir up mess, Denise Buhari loved to finish it. Trevia was all talk. Denise was unabashed action.

  “He must be done lost his whole damn mind doing you like that! I say you let me call my cousins, you know, the twins? Girl, Larry and Barry’ll put a whooping on him he’ll never forget.”

  “Denise—”

  “And don’t worry. They’ll be discreet.”