Free The Other Brother by Brandon Massey Page B

wanted to come across as a man with an edge, even though, with his appearance and bearing, he didn't exactly need a drink to do so. But a little extra emphasis never hurt.
    The bartender quickly delivered the cognac. Taking a slow sip, Isaiah checked out the scenery.
    There was a group of red-faced white guys in Dockers and polo shirts sitting at one end of the bar, knocking back Budweisers and talking about their boring corporate jobs. A trio of white girls on the other side of the counter, drinking wine and laughing too hard. An overweight sista with a cute face, and her friend, a bigger girl with an ugly face, sitting near the corner, both of them glancing at him and then turning to whisper to each other in the childish way some women do.
    A scan of the restaurant and billiards room yielded no prospects either.
    He was about to get up and check out the arcade area on the other side of the complex when he spotted someone walking along the corridor past the bar, on the way to the restaurant ahead.
    He saw her from behind, and what a sight she was. Big booty fighting the seams of her designer jeans. Tiny waist. A purple halter top that showed her lean, bronzed back to perfection, her mane of brown hair swishing over her slender shoulders.
    But she wasn't alone. A tall, dark-skinned brother with an Afro walked beside her, his New York Yankees jersey dragging down to his knees like a skirt. Although the guy didn't see Isaiah, he wove his hand possessively around the woman's waist, as though to announce to onlookers: Don't even think about it.
    But Isaiah had already decided that she was the one.
    He kept his attention on the couple as they went to the restaurant. After the hostess seated them, Afro Bro got up and walked to the restrooms, a cell phone pressed to his ear.
    Big mistake.
    Within twenty seconds, Isaiah was at the table. The woman's front was just as fine as the rear. She bore a strong resemblance to Beyonce, and from the way she carried herself, you could tell she knew it. She had confidence. He liked that.
    Isaiah slid into the booth in front of her.
    She blinked. "Umm, excuse me, that seat is taken"
    "It sure is," he said. He sipped his drink. "By me. Afro Bro committed a fatal error: never leave a beautiful woman alone in public."
    His boldness earned a flickering smile from her. That flash of a smile, and the fact that she didn't immediately tell him to get stepping, told him she was interested.
    "I'm Isaiah." He offered his hand; she shook it, and he held on for a second longer than was necessary. "It's a pleasure to meet you. And you are?"
    "Why should I tell you? You come sitting here uninvited. You might be a psycho or something."
    "I might. Or I might be the man you need tonight."
    "Hmph." But she still didn't ask him to leave.
    "How about you tell me your name after I get rid of Afro Bro?"
    She laughed. "You gotta lot of nerve"
    "Is that what they call it? I call it confidence."
    "You think he just gonna let you sit here? Akili ain't no punk like that"
    "Here he comes. Let's see"
    The guy came striding down the aisle, Afro bouncing. He stopped at the table and scowled at Isaiah, and then looked at the girl.
    "Who dis?" he asked Beyonce.
    Beyonce looked at Isaiah, striving to contain a grin, and he realized that she liked to see men competing for her attention. "He said his name is Isaiah."
    "You know him?" Afro Bro asked.
    "Nope," she said. "He sat here and started talking to me when you was walking away, talking on your cell and stuff" She rolled her eyes.
    Afro Bro turned to Isaiah. His eyes hardened. "All right, brah. Get up and push on"
    "I'm more comfortable here" Isaiah drank his cognac. "Why don't you go play some arcade games while I get to know the pretty lady here?"
    "What?" Afro Bro stiffened. "Wanna step outside?"
    He was a big man, with large fists, and probably knew how to use them, but Isaiah wasn't going to let it come to that. He disliked hand-to-hand combat-his beating of the redneck at