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Not being shit is embedded deep in my bloodline. It’s a rite of passage, my damn inheritance. It is as much a part of me as these eyes chicks seem to lose their minds over.
I mean, sure, I look good on paper—educated, six-figure salary, corporate job, well-traveled, articulate, A-1 credit. And my stats? Every black woman seeking a melanated partner’s dream—six feet even, fit, handsome, friendly, personable, nice smile, irresistible accent that I’m holding on to like a has-been holding on to the past. On the outside looking in, I’m a good catch, a thirty-year-old black man with no kids and no baby mama drama. The only problem with me is the way I treat women. I’m not abusive or anything like that, but I’m dismissive as hell. No one can hold my attention past two or three rounds in the bedroom. The main issue is they try too hard to be the one. You know, the one I fall in love with, the one I propose to, the one I commit to in some way…any way. One thing I really wish women understood is that just because you want to be the one doesn’t make you the one. And hell, for some men there will never be a one at all.
I’m one of those men.
I don’t believe in that “one woman for one man” shit, because it simply doesn’t make sense, and anyone who does believe in it is a damn fool. If that’s how things are supposed to be, why are there statistically more women than men on Earth? It’s true. I read it somewhere. And if there’s supposed to be one special woman for me, why is all sex so good? I’ve never run into a woman who was bad in bed. Sure, some women are more acrobatic or more flexible, but it all boils down to what’s between their legs, and I’ve never been disappointed with that on any woman. Yeah, that’s another myth, the whole “some women got better pussy than others” mess? Bullshit! It’s all the same, and it’s all good. Hell, I can’t get enough of it. And thanks to my job, I get to experience as much of it as I want all over the world without having to stick around and deal with these women’s attachment issues. Shit, you sleep with a woman a couple of times and she wants to introduce you to her family. Keep her around for a couple of weeks and she starts planning a wedding! With my job, I make it clear that I won’t be around long and can’t commit to a relationship. That makes things ten times easier.
But even though I’m a dog—yeah, I said it—I have rules that I follow, rules that keep me out of unnecessary trouble. For instance, as fine as my new landlord is, messing with her would be a disaster, because once she finds out she’s just one of many, she could, and probably would, make my life a living hell. How was I going to be able to screw in peace with her angry at me right next door? Yeah, she looks like the type to plot revenge if she gets hurt. So, as much as she turns me on, I have to pass.
She was the reason I was sitting at the bar in this little place I’d happened upon after work. I was horny as hell from just thinking about her, on the prowl for some satisfaction, and when a short, thick sister sitting at the other end of the bar looked my way, I knew I’d hit the jackpot. I gave her a smile and a little nod. Licked my lips and stood from the stool, slowly making my way to her. Settling in next to her, I softly said, “Hi, I’m Trey.” I rarely give my real name unless it’s unavoidable. That’s another reason Ms. Strickland is out of the question. She knows too much about me. Hell, she knows my social security number.
The sister smiled and slightly adjusted her body before thrusting her ample chest at me. “Hi, Trey. I’m Alexis.”
6
I sat in El Placer, devouring the salsa and chips the waitress had placed in the middle of the table and trying to decide if I was going to flag her down and ask for white or yellow cheese dip. Both were so delicious. Although Renee had invited me out to lunch, she was late meeting me, and that left me to sit and eat and ruminate on how Ryan Boyé’s slacks fit him this morning when he knocked on my door and asked me if it was okay to have a satellite hooked up. In the past, I had been against it, but I had no control over my brain or my mouth around this man or his smile or that Louisiana inflection of his, so I just nodded, smiled, and said, “Sure.”
I was attracted to him in a real, tangible, heart-racing way, but the problem with that was I had only ever been attracted to assholes, miscreants, horrible men who seemed to take pleasure in not only hurting me, but in humiliating me. Benny cheated with my BFF, but Khalil was more ambitious, cheating with just about any woman with an accessible vagina. And Ryan Boyé? Shit, he was a million times handsomer and more successful than either of them. And he was single. And I was one hundred percent sure he was single by choice. Beneath that smile had to be a masterfully terrible person unless I had mystically fixed whatever was broken in my sense of attraction, and I highly doubted that.
I was relieved to finally see Renee making her way to our table wearing a pale pink pair of scrubs, her hair in a ponytail. Renee had gorgeous hair that I was sure would look stunning if she went natural, but she refused, just like Nicky, who, by the way, entered the restaurant right behind Renee. Well, that was a pleasant surprise. I couldn’t remember the last time the three of us broke bread together.
I stood from the table and hugged both my sisters before reclaiming my seat, and saying, “Man, it’s been a long time since we had lunch together.”
Nicky nodded. “It’s been a long time since we did anything together.”
“That’s because you two are mean to me,” Renee said, as she grabbed one of the little white plates on the table and poured salsa into it.
“Sorry,” Nicky said, as she plunged a tortilla chip right into the big serving bowl of salsa. “You know what we should do? Set some ground rules. Let’s face it: we need each other. Neither of us really has any friends. Angie, I understand why you don’t trust other females after that Benny fiasco, and Renee, I’m pretty sure friends are a no-no when it comes to your marriage, and I don’t have any friends because I’m a ho’.”
My eyes widened, and I looked over at Renee whose expression matched mine.
“What?” Nicky asked, biting into a chip. “You think I don’t know I’m a ho’? Oh, I’m well aware of it, but I’m not your regular ho’. I’m a ho’ with a purpose. I’m hoeing for a husband.”
“Wow,” I said.
“It’s the truth! My hoeing is not purposeless, arbitrary hoeing. I’m very selective about who I screw. See, I’m a progressive ho’.”
Renee was shaking her head as she fumbled in the basket for another chip. “Nicky…”
“Anyway,” Nicky continued, “like I said, we need each other. So how about this? No more dogging each other. If we can’t lift each other up and be constructive with our words, we keep our mouths shut. Me and Angie won’t criticize your choice to stay with Satan anymore, Renee. It’s none of our business anyway.”
“You had to refer to him as Satan?” I asked.
Nicky shrugged.
Renee sighed.
“Soooo, Angie, how’s the new tenant?” Nicky asked.
“Oh, you found one?” Renee questioned, obviously relieved that our conversation had shifted.
The waitress approached us to take our orders, and after she left, I said, “He’s a great tenant. Quiet, paid the entire lease up front. I have no complaints.”
“That’s great, Angje! I know it’s a gamble when you have rental property. You never know what you might be getting yourself into. Is it just one guy over there? That’s a big place for one person.”
“No, it’s one fine-as-hell guy! Girl, I would’ve been done used my landlord key on him. He’d wake up with me on top of him!” Nicky declared.
“Um, well, Nicky…that would be unlawful entry and rape. He’s fine, but I ain’t tryna get locked up,” I responded.
