Free Let's Get It On by Cheris Hodges

married?” Damon asked, standing in front of Maurice and blocking his view of Kenya.
    â€œAh, no,” Maurice mumbled.
    â€œOh, sorry. I’ve never been a huge fan of American football, but that Super Bowl was amazing.”
    â€œUh-huh. So how do you know that lady you were talking to?” asked Maurice.
    Damon laughed. “Oh, we just met. You know how these women are when they’re on vacation.”
    â€œNo, I don’t,” said Maurice.
    â€œGuaranteed panties. I’ll have that honey’s legs in the air by the time the waitress is serving us dessert.”
    Maurice leapt out of the pool, and in one swift motion, he had his hands around Damon’s neck. “Don’t talk about her that way.” Water from his biceps dripped down into Damon’s glass.
    Stumbling backward momentarily, Damon regained his footing and pushed Maurice off him. “What the hell is your problem, man? You can have her when I’m done.”
    Stopping himself from falling, Maurice grabbed the edge of the table. “I don’t like to hear guys disrespect women, especially ones I know. Stay away from her, or you’re going to have to deal with me.”
    â€œWhat? Are you her father? She chose me and not you. Bet that just burns your knickers, being that you’re the NFL star and I’m just a regular guy. You can have my sloppy seconds.”
    Figuring that another second talking to this guy would lead to an assault charge, Maurice stomped away from Damon. I have to find Kenya, he thought as he dashed to the front desk.
    The front-desk clerk, who’s back was turned to Maurice, was chatting away with a housekeeper.
    â€œYo, excuse me,” Maurice said, his voice deepened by aggression.
    The blond clerk whirled around, hair whipping around her face. “Is there something I can help you with?”
    â€œYes, I need to find a guest,” Maurice said, smiling wide enough to show all of his teeth. “Her name is Kenya Taylor. What room is she in?”
    Shaking her head, the clerk replied, “I can’t give you that information. Our guests have an expectation of privacy, which I can’t violate.”
    â€œShe might be in danger, and I have to warn her.”
    Placing her hands on the counter and leaning forward, the clerk smiled a generic smile, then said, “I’ll be happy to take a message and deliver it.”
    Folding his arms across his chest and frowning, Maurice exhaled loudly and took the pen and paper the clerk had extended to him. After looking at the blank piece of paper, he knew it was pointless to leave a note. He knew the moment Kenya saw his name, she wouldn’t read it. The clerk turned her back to him and continued her conversation with the housekeeper, and Maurice leaned over the counter, hoping to find something that had a list of the guests.
    â€œSir,” the clerk snapped, catching him in the middle of his snooping. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI, uh, this pen doesn’t write,” he replied, handing it back to her.
    She frowned. “Move away from the desk.”
    Maurice knew that if he had a few bills to pass to her, she would be happy to give him Kenya’s information. Walking away from the desk, he decided that he wasn’t above offering a bribe. He headed to his room to retrieve his wallet.
    As the door to the elevator opened, Kenya, dressed in a red dress that hugged her body like a second skin, started to walk out. Maurice drank in her image, eyeing her long, toned legs and noticing for the first time the small butterfly tattoo on her calf.
    He blocked her exit by grasping her elbow and pushing her back into the elevator.
    â€œWhat the hell is your problem?” she demanded hotly.
    Maurice pressed the button to close the doors. “I need to talk to you,” he said as he pressed the button for the twentieth floor.
    â€œHave you lost what’s left of your mind? Let me