Free AFRICAN AMERICAN ROMANCE: A Thug to Remember (Hood Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance) (African American Urban Contemporary Short Stories) by Lady Keisha Page A

her concern, but that didn’t stop me rolling my eyes just a little bit. “Come on, I’ll be fine. You know me.”
    Thea nodded cautiously before gently shaking Sam and picking up her cell to call a taxi. Leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek before she left, she whispered in my ear.
    “I hear he’s got the biggest cock in the whole city.”
    I looked up at her, a little scandalised to hear that kind of language coming from the usually chaste girl, and waved her and Sam off. I’d had a good night, but there were other things that I was even more keen to do.
    Swirling my last glass of beer around on the table, I tried to formulate a game plan. I had always been so confident and assured about my skills with picking up guys back in college, but how the hell was I meant to go about it here? I didn’t have that big reputation, and he was the one surrounded by adoring friends, not me. Or maybe they were clients? It was difficult to tell. The taboo nature of his career sent a shiver of excitement through me, even though I knew it shouldn’t have. He was bad news, but I wanted to hear him. Taking a deep breath, I had just about psyched myself up to go over and say hello when someone plopped themselves down on the seat opposite me. I lifted my head to protest, but was met by pair of startling familiar hazel eyes. Holy shit, it was him.
    “Um…hey,” I nodded, thrown of my game by his approach. “I’m Renee.” I stuck my hand out over the table, and he took it, apparently charmed by my job interview flirting technique.
    “Randy.”
    “I know who…I mean…“ I stuttered over my words, not wanting to give away the fact that I knew who he was and what he did. Maybe he wouldn’t like me knowing?
    He grinned widely, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth, the kind that Beverly Hills women pay a pretty penny for. I noticed a slight layer of stubble on his cheek, and fought the urge to run my hand across it, suddenly desperate to feel it’s roughness underneath my fingers.
    “Don’t worry about it. Pretty much everyone knows who I am. Hence…” he gestured at the bar, where his group of loud, excitable partygoers were chattering endlessly.
    “Looks exhausting.”
    “It is,” he pulled a face. “They’re all big into their coke, but it’s not really my thing.”
    “You don’t…?”
    “Unless we’re talking a Jack and Coke, I tend to avoid that kind of stuff altogether. It’s a waste of money and, anyway, I get to see how stupid people become when they take that stuff. It seriously isn’t pretty.” He shrugged. “Kind of put me off it for life.”
    “Oh,” I replied, my mind reeling. For some reason, I’d imagined him engaged in every single stereotypical drug-dealer scenario- snorting cocaine of mirrors (did people even do that anymore?), his apartment strewn with glass pipes and rolling papers.
    “So what about you?”
    “Huh?”
    “What do you do?” He smiled again, as if trying to encourage the words out of me. I wasn’t usually this useless in front of hot guys, but something about his power mixed with his disarming charm made it difficult to think straight. I didn’t think the beers had helped much, either, but then who was counting?
    “I’m a student. I used to be a student,” I corrected myself. “I just graduated and moved in to an apartment up the street.”
    “What did you study?”
    “Marketing. It’s crazy-hard trying to find a job in this kind of climate, though, I’ve been looking everywhere.” I sighed, taking a sip of my drink.
    “Marketing, huh? Maybe I could give you a job. You could come up with taglines and advertising campaigns for me.” His tone was playful, and I was once again thrown off by his demeanour. How could a guy this charming, this sweet, be a drug dealer?
    “Hmmm, I’ll have to get back to you on that one. Though I’m not sure people need a reason to take drugs other than the fact that they need something to pose with on a Saturday