Moving day is a hard time for even the best of people. Organization is thrown out the door as shit hits the fan, boxes are packed haphazardly, and the fuck-heads who promised to help unpack those boxes bail on you at the last second. Brian happened to know this experience first hand; his habit of throwing loud parties, rocking loud music, and encouraging his many girlfriends to scream his sexual prowess to the world had seen him thrown out of numerous apartments.
That was why, when he saw the half-empty U-Haul out front, and a luscious black woman with a much frazzled expression standing beside it, he didn't really mind offering his help. Matter of fact, he didn't mind at all.
Since he worked construction, picking up heavy boxes and carrying them up stairs wasn't much of a difficulty for him. Mischievous blue eyes, a single dimple, and muscles that roiled beneath his skin made him sure no woman would refuse his help. Maybe he could make a couple of bucks, or get a free meal.
He jogged across the road to the adjacent apartments and gave his new neighbor a friendly smile. Warm brown eyes and a hesitant smile greeted him, and Brian's hormones did a little dance. Man, did this chick smell good.
"Hi," he said, holding out his hand. "Brian Samuels. I live right across the street."
Taking his hand, the woman nodded. "Charlotte Olivette—Charlie. I'm still moving in." She gave the several boxes still on the sidewalk what Brian could only describe as a death glare, and then gave a frustrated sigh.
He grinned. "Yeah, it looks like it's coming along...nicely."
Charlie sent a half-hearted sneer his way, and Brian couldn't help but notice her lips, thick and soft, just like the rest of her. He wasn't usually into the thicker girls, but her ass and thighs were practically inviting him to take a bite. This was going to be interesting.
Running a hand through his blond curls, he shrugged. "Well, I'm not doing anything for the rest of the day, if you need some help."
"I really do, actually. Thanks so much."
Brian winked at her and grabbed for the nearest box, hefting it into his hands. "Which apartment's yours?"
"Third floor, left side," Charlie replied with a sheepish grin.
"Well, damn."
"The best part's that there's no elevator," she continued. She lowered her voice and gazed at him with her pretty brown eyes. "I really do appreciate your help, though."
That was a beguiling move if he ever saw one. "Now that's just cheating," he said, lowering his own voice and leaning towards her. "Trust me, you don't want to get into that with me."
The blush that fell across her brown cheeks only made Brian more interested, but he shifted the box in his arms and headed into the building.
Normally, one heavy box and three sets of stairs wouldn't have fazed Brian, but after the third one he was getting a little worried. "Okay, here's what I'm gonna do," he told her in her apartment, after emptying a glass of ice tea. "I'm gonna call in a few buddies of mine, see if this can't go a bit faster. Is that alright with you?"
"That's perfect," Charlie said, refilling his glass. "It'll give me time to start unpacking the boxes."
She took off her light jacket, and Brian started to think that maybe thicker girls were his thing. Charlie definitely had an ass most women would kill for, and that hourglass shape was beginning to make his mouth water. Reminding himself to think with the head on his shoulders—and not the one in his pants—he said, "The only thing is, they'll be wanting something for their work."
Charlie gave him a half smile, tossing her long curls over one shoulder. "Mama didn't raise no fool, now. If you don't mind me running to the store, I can get a meal started while you guys unload."
"You can cook?" Brian asked appreciatively.
"I'm a chef at the new Bells restaurant downtown."
Raising his glass of tea, Brian said, "Kudos to the cook." He pulled out his cell and called in three of his friends, promising them a free gourmet meal if they helped Charlie unpack. No one refused.
Within fifteen minutes, his buddies Michael, Jake, and Toby had arrived. They parked their cars in front of Brian's building instead of Charlie's to keep them out of the way. Introducing them to Charlie was a quick thing; she wanted to get to the store, and the guys wanted to hurry with the labor to get to the meal.
By the time Charlie was back with her groceries, the guys were lounging around on her couch and loveseat in front of an empty entertainment center, the only furniture in her living room. Brian was wrestling Michael when she walked through the door with full hands.
"Oh my God, this woman got beer," Toby said, taking one of the bags and peeking into it.
"And vodka, and wine," Charlie added, putting the bags on her kitchen counter. "Can one of you open the kitchen boxes and bring me some pots?"
Jake searched through the boxes on the dining room table while the other guys crowded the kitchen with Charlie. Brian hooked up Charlie's TV and went through a box labeled 'Movies and CD's', choosing Live Free or Die Hard with its kick-ass gun action. He turned the volume up high and peeked into the kitchen.
The smells that were already coming from whatever Charlie was concocting were making his mouth water. She had Michael washing potatoes and Toby cutting them while Jake stood off to the side, looking sheepish.
"Why aren't you helping?" Brian asked, looking around.
Charlie gave him a furious glance before turning back to the stove. "Idiot dropped a perfectly good bag of flour. He's lucky I was intelligent enough to buy two more."
"You bought three bags of flour?" Brian asked, incredulous.
"We've come to the conclusion that Charlie's a little crazy," Michael whispered exaggeratedly. He winked at her, his teeth white against his dark skin.
"Have you ever eaten balls, Michael?" Charlie asked, flipping a steak. "They're a delicacy in India, and yours are about to be fried in a first-class dish."
Brian and Jake burst out laughing.
"I'm not sure whether to be disgusted or turned on," Toby said.
"Try scared," Charlie answered.
The meal was served about a half-hour later, and Brian was glad. His stomach was growling painfully, and a few times he saw the other guys wince with hunger pains. They were appeased, however, with the three course meal Charlie had whipped up, and Brian was pretty sure he and the guys had died and entered culinary heaven.
A classic steak and potatoes meal was served, along with a fresh Caesar salad and several bottles of beer per person. Charlie had what the guys called a bitch-beer, a term she had never heard.
"What the hell is a bitch-beer?" she asked. She pushed a strand of curls out of her face and took a bite of potato. The guys looked at each other, grinning. "I'm not explaining," Jake said, shaking his head. He shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth and took a swig of beer. "I'm in enough trouble," he finished around the mush.
"Well," Brian said, looking at Charlie. "Bitch-beer is easy beer, the stuff that's not too hard. Like wine coolers."
"What's wrong with wine coolers?" she asked.
Michael snorted. "That's why they're called bitch-beer," he said.
"You ever wanna eat here again?" Charlie demanded.
"Who says I want to?"
"Boy, you know you love my food."
"Baby girl, I think I love you." He paused for a few seconds. "You got a man?"
"His name's BOB, and he probably reaches deeper than you ever could."
Suddenly, Toby started choking, his face growing a bright red. By the time Brian had pounded the piece of potato out of his wind pipe, his eyes were streaming with tears, but Toby just took a single deep breath and roared with laughter, almost falling off the chair.
"What the hell is so funny?" Jake asked.
Toby calmed a little and looked at Charlie. "Holy shit!"
"What?" Michael demanded.
"BOB," Toby wheezed, sitting back in his chair. "Stands for battery-operated boyfriend."
No one said anything for a few seconds. Then Michael said, "Well damn," and the table burst out laughing.
The meal ended with French vanilla ice cream and a Boston cream pie, and Charlie's dining room was christened with an ice cream fight. After the final clean up, they finished the movie, and each of Brian's friends kissed Charlie's cheek good-bye, with promises to return.
"You sure I can't convince you to be my girl?" Michael asked, caressing her cheek with one hand.
Charlie slapped him away. "You don't even who I am. I could be the bitch from hell."
"I have experience with those," Michael said, shrugging. "Besides, even if you are the bitch from hell, at least you're a bitch that can cook good food. You know how to make chitlins?"
Charlie gave him a friendly grin, then shoved him out the door, slamming it shut.
"Good job, Mike," Brian called from inside the house.
"She'll call me," Michael yelled back.
Brian laughed at the face Charlie made and helped her carry the dirty plates into the kitchen. One thing he knew that chicks loved was a guy that didn't mind cleaning up, so he promptly shooed his host out of the kitchen and proceeded to wash the dishes and wipe down the counters. Charlie hovered anxiously at the door until Brian handed her another beer and pushed her forcefully away.
When he walked into the living room twenty minutes later, she was lounging on the couch, downing the last of her beer. The TV was off, and instead she'd turned on the radio, listening to Seal croon a soft love song.
