Theirs to PlayBy: Kenya Wright
The worst thing my parents could’ve done to my brother and I was be rich.
Money gave us time to wander the earth lazily in our massive yacht. It allowed for many indiscretions—partying three days straight with no sleep or food just the need to dance and sex till our hearts’ desired something else. We played hard and lived better than most of the planet’s population.
And the women.
Well, the women were our sport. It was the only way we judged our worth among us two, the only method of entertainment once the clubs and excitement of being adults on our own shifted into endless days of monotonous boredom.
Each month or two, we courted one unsuspecting woman together and battled for her love. No matter her age, race, size, family background, or even class level, she fell for one of us. Sometimes both. We judged her love by who she slept with first. And once we tallied up the scores and picked the winner, we left her there. Whether on her knees in tears or screaming curses at us, we moved on to the next city and the future female challenge in our twisted lives.
So with complete confidence and no worries, we docked in exotic Miami ready to play.
We shouldn’t have.
At times I sat in my empty apartment, drinking until I passed out and thinking about that day.
Had there been any signs, something foreboding enough to signal our oncoming demise? Whatever it was, that summer was the last time I fully lived.
Every day after that, I died.
I didn’t have a name for this torture, but I knew some would say it was a broken heart. Others would simply call it karma.
“Let me get this straight. You’ll give me five thousand dollars to pose for some pictures and all because you like my wavy hair and weird eyes?” I asked the two hot guys in front of me.
“No,” one of the them said. “Not weird eyes. Lovely. I can’t even tell what color they are.”
“They’re gray and not that enchanting.”
“They’re not just gray,” he countered. “There’s some gold and a few hints of blue.”
Oh brother. Where is this going?
I shielded my eyes to get a better look at this gorgeous pair.
The sun battered down on my caramel skin and made the beach so bright it was almost blinding when I stared in certain areas. According to the news, this was the hottest Miami summer of the year. Temperatures had remained in the hundreds. Regardless, I’d gathered all eight of my books, slung them in my crappy car, and drove down to South Beach.
As anyone would assume the place was packed with women dressed in the tiniest bikinis and men draped in muscle. Still not taking a hint that South Beach wasn’t a great study zone, I propped myself under a rented umbrella with a blanket. A pitcher of my special smoothie, Earth Shaker, sat on my right. In my lap rested an opened book that would prepare me for my first semester of law school in the fall.
But then, two gods with vanilla skin wrapped in muscle and oozing sexual yumminess stood directly in front of me, and now I no longer wanted to read six hundred pages on the history of American Law. Now I yearned to slip my fingers against their skin and find out if they were as solid as they seemed.
“Just a picture?” I tossed them a skeptical look.
“You’re a unique beauty,” The blond one said. “What are you mixed with?”
“How do you know I’m mixed?”
“Because there isn’t one race all over this world that owns your type of beauty. We all have a sexy quality and one we don’t prefer. Every race has some DNA strain that they’d love to get rid of and trade with another. But your face, eyes, hair, and skin color are exquisite, almost this perfect blend of everything.”
I gulped. “Um. . .I’m not interested in having my picture taken, and my mother was Puerto Rican and my dad Irish so let’s calm down with all the compliments. It’s really not that special of a blend.”
“Please, it won’t take longer than a half hour at the most.” He tapped his finger on the end of a camera that held more buttons and switches than I’d seen. Clearly the man saw picture taking as way more serious than the average person, but that didn’t mean I would star in his images, especially since I didn’t know him.
The other guy with the brown wavy hair never said anything, but he didn’t have to. It might have stopped the sex radiating from him.
Dear God, why am I being tempted today? I’m trying to be a good girl this summer.
And these men were distractions. They were eye candy—chiseled physiques in those small European cut bathing suits, full lips, and high, yet masculine cheekbones. However, they did have their differences. Where one’s hair was long and blond, the others laid low in brown waves. Where the blond stared back at me with the bluest eyes, the other gazed with sparkling green ones.