Maneater

Chapter One

    "Damn, son, is that you?"

    Marcus Waterford swirled a glimmering car key ring around one finger. "That's all me, playa," he confirmed, flashing a smile that displayed two rows of pearly whites. The brightness of his teeth was a stark contrast to his chocolate brown skin. He had dark brown eyes, a full set of lips, and stood at 6'3". He looked good. He knew it. He also knew how to dress: pinstripe dress shirt tucked into tailored black dress pants. Glossy black shoes. A watch the price of a starter home in the Midwest was looped around his wrist and the diamond-encrusted face sparkled underneath the restaurant lights.

    Three of his friends, two of which were seated at the restaurant table with their own girlfriends, gawked at Marcus's girlfriend.

    I have a girlfriend, he reminded himself with a shake of his head. It was something his friends had refused to let go. Marcus, known for keeping at least four women in rotation, was giving the woman the title of girlfriend. He was even considering taking two women out of rotation for this one. He still planned on keeping another side piece on standby, just in case he and the girlfriend weren't seeing eye to eye...but the fact that he was considering retiring some of his ladies was a major step for him. That's right...Marcus Waterford, Chief Financial Officer of a well-known online book and merchandise retailer, has a girlfriend. But then again...the woman who has come close to taming me isn't just any woman. His mouth formed into a half-smile as he watched her.

    Crystal Jennings. 5'8". Reddish-brown skin - a beautiful complexion that just popped. Adorable baby face, round brown eyes. The poutiest lips he'd ever come across. And she was stacked. Ridiculously stacked. She had the shape of an urban magazine model. She was simply beautiful; there was nothing that anyone in their right mind could hate on. Literally nothing. Gorgeous. She had her head on right. She had her shit together and made her own money as a highly respected makeup artist.

    My little jetsetter, he thought proudly, watching her head from the Ladies' room to the bar at the far end of the restaurant. He always enjoyed watching her cross a room, because he was always able to see the men she left in her wake. No matter how many men gaped at her or made a pass at her, that was all him. All Marcus. They could look, but only he was allowed to touch. Which is an exaggeration, because she doesn't let me touch her much...she makes me work for it. Which only makes me value her more, want her more. She drives me crazy.

    Men, even those seated with girlfriends and wives, turned in their seats as Crystal walked by. The clingy, fuschia material of her revealing dress draped down her body in a way that Marcus could only describe as appealing.

    No, I can do better than that, he thought. Mouthwatering. Delectable. Shit.

    "It's about time you've settled down, Marcus," Nya commented. Nya Brown was girlfriend to Darius Anderson, one of his day one boys. Marcus had grown up with Darius. Out of love for Darius, he tolerated Nya. Nya was easy on the eyes, but she had a smart mouth. She was always offering up her opinion when no one asked for it. Case in point, tonight.

    "Settle down?" he asked, chuckling. "That's stretching it."

    "You called her your girlfriend, didn't you?" Nya demanded.

    Marcus stroked his jaw. "She is my girlfriend - that doesn't mean that all of my other ladies cease to exist."

    "You said you were getting rid of some of them," Darius reminded him.

    "I did say that," Marcus said. "But whenever I think I'm close to letting one of my women go, I get that itch, man. Men were just not meant to be monogamous. I don't give a fuck what anyone says. There are too many women out there."

    "Ugh," Nya muttered with a roll of her eyes.

    "You lucked out, Nya," Marcus said. "You got one of the good ones. Darius is a standup dude. He treats you right. Doesn't step out on you."

    "Despite your bad influence," she added.

    Marcus laughed. "All right, all right, I'll take that. I deserve that."

    "So, what are you saying?" Ivan Drucker said, lifting a glass of wine to his lips. He brushed dark blonde hair out of his eyes. "Are you saying that I'm not a good, standup dude? You conveniently left me out of that."

    "Same," Brandon Williams said, sliding an arm around his fiance's shoulders. His brown skin glowed in the ambient lighting provided by the restaurant. Whenever Marcus shaved his goatee, he was told that he and Brandon resembled each other. Neither he nor Brandon saw it, but Brandon was also known for being a sharp dresser. The black dress shirt and gray dress pants he wore were the perfect example of that.

    Marcus pointedly looked at the empty chair next to Ivan. "You're in the same boat as me, brother."

    Ivan shrugged and glanced across the room at Crystal, who leaned across the bar while speaking to the bartender. "If being in the same boat as you means I'm also in the same boat as Crystal, I'll take that."

    "Back the fuck up," Marcus said. He grinned, but the look in his eyes gave Ivan a clear warning.

    Ivan held both hands up. "I know she's yours."

    "Damned right." Marcus grinned.

    Crystal turned and looked at him.

    Marcus stared back at her, drumming his fingers on top of the table. "She's almost too beautiful to be played."

    "Are you sprung, brother?" Ivan asked, clapping him on the back.

    The smile Marcus wore didn't quite touch his eyes. "I said almost."

~~~~~~

Rule #1: Learn how to read lips. It will come in handy. It will save you a lot of time. It will help you to determine the true nature of people who wear masks, facades that they show to the world.

    Crystal stood holding her drink, with her back to the bar. Her eyes were fixed on Marcus's table. "Oh, I'm almost too beautiful to be played, huh?" she asked out loud, stirring her drink. "I wonder if his friends know how completely whipped he is. Almost sprung my ass."

    She heard the bartender laughing behind her.

    Her brown eyes, which were usually wide and innocent, now looked cold and calculating.

    The bartender, tall with a beer belly most likely attributed to the perks of his job, walked around the bar and came to stand beside her. "You're going to hurt him bad, aren't you?"

    She stabbed the cherry in her glass with the insanely skinny straw that was provided to her. While watching the attractive man across the room laughing it up with his friends, she replied, "He's not even going to know what hit him."