Three's Company (excerpt - III)
After sitting all day with the news that his roommate had picked up one of his favorite black Hollywood starlets, Rashaad comes home to find his wayward third roommate is back-- and he came with gifts. R's plans for a relaxing evening is derailed in a surprising fashion.
I legit called Sandy to see if Max had hit her up to ask about a damn puppy as he had done with me. Then she put me on hold to drop off a customer, who when she came back to the phone, turned out to be Parys Darby Young. FUCKING PARYS DARBY YOUNG!
This thought had been running through my mind all day because, well, PDY is the epitome of fucking dope. I mean, she’s that occasional woman in Hollywood whose outward personality makes her seem like a regular everyday person. Match that up with the fact that her body is ridiculous in an all-natural way and got damn.
The number of times I have watched videos of that woman on Instagram being silly was too many to count, especially when you consider my eyes always made time to admire the tone of her legs and the contour of that ass of hers. The same ass which I can’t lie was the first thing that attracted me to her back in the day.
It made me take a second look at the new quirky, tall, slender, black woman in Hollywood with big, innocent eyes and a famous mother.
Parys was a living, breathing, walking conundrum that you couldn’t take your eyes off of. Then she fucked around and had the audacity to put some weight on as she aged, filling out a body that she worked hard at maintaining because it was a necessary evil in her field. And the best part, she shared all of those videos too. Mmmph!
Sandy and my shared affinity for Parys, was one of the first things that we connected over when I moved in with her and Max.
One weekend she was watching a replay of an awards show Parys was hosting and I just so happened to be coming out of my room and saw it.
I don’t recall if I said anything at that moment, but what I do remember is what Sandy said aloud, “She is so fucking bad. The things I would do to her if given the chance.”
That let me know firsthand how Sandy, who was still new to me then, got down. It also let me know that we had a similar taste in women. Not that it mattered, but, yeah.
Since I didn’t have to go to my second job today, I had every intention to just chill tonight. Maybe eat something unhealthy and delicious, watch the game, maybe hop on the sticks and play a little PS5. Honestly, I had zero plans with the exception of not putting on that damn purple polo and helping anyone find a bookshelf, some DIY storage system, or anything of the sort.
When I walked into our apartment building after work Mrs. Hill was walking up the steps from her lower level apartment. From the quick and dirty info session Max and Sandy had given me, Mrs. Hill was a fairly nice woman who was recently retired.
Just make sure you keep your answers to any questions she asks short and sweet. She may not be the town gossip type per se, but she is definitely a curator of folks' business.
“Good evening Mrs. Hill, how are you today?”
She smiled and tilted her head with the faintest squint, “Robert, right?”
“Rashaad,” I corrected returning her smile.
“Rashaad, yes, I’m sorry about that. You’re Cassandra’s new boyfriend right?”
With one hand cupped by the other in front of her, she leaned forward awaiting my response.
Oh, she’s good. Selfless, but good.
“No ma’am. I am in-between places right now, so I’m staying with Max and Cassandra until that is worked out.”
Clearly disappointed by my response, the woman’s physical reaction made it seem as though I had said her wig was crooked. “Oh, well that’s nice of them.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I returned, starting to head up the steps with Max and Sandy’s warning of the woman in my head. “Well, it’s been a long day and I need to get off of my feet. Have a good evening Mrs. Hill.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I put two landings between us before she could respond.
When I stepped through the door, the lamps were on in the living room and Max’s soccer bag was beside the loveseat. The television was on Bloomberg, with enough numbers and arrows on the screen to make my eyes cross.
Max and Sandy were both home for the first time in probably about a week and I didn’t know how I felt about that because well, I really just wanted to chill. I wasn’t really up for any roommate shit. After putting my bag down by the bookcase I grabbed the remote and turned to a rerun of BONES before tossing it and heading to my room.
Moans from the other side of the adjoining wall welcomed me into my space, freezing my movements. The three bedrooms in the apartment ran along the same wall with the office slash guest room serving as the divider between my and my roommate's beds.
Sandy’s nonverbal groans of extreme pleasure, in her lower-toned, bedroom voice, were peppered with some of the sexiest shit-talking I had ever heard from a woman. And I couldn’t even clearly hear what she was saying. The tone and rhythm of her words, though indecipherable were enveloped by breathy murmurs of approval that had me involuntarily grabbing a hold of the erection slowly stretching cotton behind my zipper.
Fuck me, this woman is literally fucking sex. Everything she does is effortlessly sexy, fucking, fuck.
¡Me encanta tu coño!
Aw shit, now here he comes with the Spanish. I bet that pussy is magical though. I hate your young ass by the way.
Fighting a burgeoning desire to put my ear against the wall, I decided I could just wash my hands in the kitchen versus using my bathroom which was across from the office. I took my coat off and tossed it on the futon across from my bed. A rustling sound followed from near where it landed, which made me jump back defensively.
I flipped on the lightswitch and peered under the futon only to be met by the cutest furry face I had ever seen. Patting the floor softly and holding my hand out, a long-haired reddish-brown miniature dachshund came towards me cautiously and my heart melted. His eyes were so big, unsure, and 4K levels of brown. I can’t believe this dude actually brought a damn dog home.
A loud thud hit the door of the office, causing the pup to jump and scurry into my grasp.
“Now it’s time for the mirror papi. Come here and let me watch you show me how sorry you are,” Sandy said in a tone steeped in perspiration and pressure.
Petting the little guy, my bottom lip eased between my teeth and I fought every desire imaginable to walk out of my room and tell them to speak up.
I moved towards the bed and set the puppy down long enough to pull off my sweater. Kicking off my shoes, I traded my khakis for a pair of powder blue sweats, stepped into my Nike slides, and headed to the front of the apartment with my new little friend. Balancing a bottle of water on top of a container of almonds, I went into the living room and started watching TV. Sandy’s moans began to grow in volume, so I bumped up the sound on whatever the hell I was watching or what was more so watching me.
Why does she sound so damn amazing?
Another ten minutes passed before the office door opened and I heard someone go into the bathroom.
Startled, I sat up abruptly looking to busy myself, and reached for a book lying on the coffee table. I flipped open Dinner at Sam’s by D.L. White and started pretending to read until the words on the page began to move slower than my heart rate. A few moments later, Sandy walked her sexy ass around the corner in a big white tee and nothing else.
“Hey babes, I didn’t hear you come in,” she said “And I see you met our new little friend.”
I bet you didn’t hear me come in miss. And I know your ass better have some panties or way too small shorts on under that damn shirt.
“Hey...you...hey, uh yeah,” I pushed out.
She leaned against the wall near the entrance to the kitchen and continued talking. The nipples on her small breasts were fighting for my attention and doing a damn good job. But those bare thighs held that after sex sheen that played deliciously off of her honey brown skin.
Her face was flush.
Lips fuller than usual.
And the post-orgasmic spark in her eye was triggering me to cast all restraint and ideas for being a good and decent dude into the damn gutter.
She walked over to the couch and sat down on the opposite end. I willed my eyes to stay locked on the page before me as someone named Gibson was telling his client, a young woman named Diya that he got her charges dismissed, despite her original skepticism. Hmmm, I might actually have to read this.
Sandy brushed my right arm that had been wrapped around the adorable for no reason pup lying beside me, pulling him into her lap. The electricity that shot through me in that instant made me stand to my feet, body turned at an angle away from my roomie. The book added an extra layer of concealment.
“Shit, I am starving,” I said, walking into the kitchen. “Does he have a name yet?”
My words floated around the corner from the kitchen and I hoped any reply from her did the same. I can’t deal with your usual tonight Sandy. Please stay your ass on that couch.
Water descended from the faucet and beat against the metal base of the sink slowly breaking my train of thought. I washed my hands and pulled some leftover rice, black beans, red & yellow sweet peppers, and grilled chicken breast out of the refrigerator. Having noticed the takeout on the counter when I walked in earlier I prepped enough food for one to place in a large spinach and herb tortilla wrap.
While I was moving around in the kitchen I heard what I thought was Sandy talking, but since she wasn’t visually accosting me I paid it no mind.
With the skillet clean, I picked up my plate and did a little jig on my way out of the kitchen. My stomach was banging against my ribs like a percussionist at the Black Hole. When I turned the corner, a coughing spell jumped on my back from seeing who Sandy had been speaking to.
“There he is,” Sandy said. “Rashaad, meet Parys, I call her Darby. Darby, this is my roommate Rashaad.”
Sandy explained that she had forgotten Parys mentioned possibly coming by tonight before she handed me our new apartment mascot and headed to the back for a quick shower.
“Uh, pleasure to meet you, Parys. I would extend a hand to you, but I’m a little uh…” I held up my plate in one hand and a puppy in my other arm.
“Oh, you’re fine...I mean.”
Her mouth dropped open and a silent laugh fell out. The same type that she had shared countless times on screen and in her personal videos. Cheekbones stood at attention. Her eyes normally round and expressive, reverted to smiling slits, and all of it was wild to witness in person.
The lime green Kenzo tracksuit she wore stopped mid-calf.
On her feet, were a pair of white Louboutin So Kates.
Her slightly bow-legged stance more pronounced by her style of dress was sending my mind to a place called penetration and I damn sure wasn’t trying to come off as a hormonal teen.
“Sorry. No, you are attractive, more than, actually. Wait that came off as rather forward,” she corrected herself a second time, pushing out an exasperated gust of air. “Do you mind if I take my coat off?”
“Absolutely. Just lay it across the back of the loveseat and I’ll take care of it as soon as I put at least, one, of these down. Please make yourself comfortable.”
Did Parys Darby Young just say she found me attractive?
When I came out of the kitchen from sitting my plate down, Sandy walked by me in one of her standard crop tops with no bra and a pair of capri leggings. The scent that permeated off of her warm freshly showered skin was Peach Champagne, an all-natural shea butter from the Southern Scents line that made both my and the pup’s head turn to taste the air.
I peered around the corner as Sandy made her way to the couch and folded her legs underneath her. She patted Parys on her thigh innocently before leaning against the back cushion on the couch.
“So are we ready to talk more about this threesome?”
WHAT THE FUCK?