AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I laughed. “Married life has messed your brain up. No woman has ever shut me down, and no woman ever will.”
“Okay, okay. Look, man, go ahead and get with her, just don’t mess up and you should be fine.”
“Don’t mess up? What am I supposed to do? Have an actual relationship with her? I’m only here for five more months, and you know I don’t do relationships. The thought of that shit alone suffocates me.”
“I don’t know. If she’s got you this messed up in the head, maybe she’s the one.”
“Oh, hell no! Now you’re trying to recruit me into that little bondage club you’re in just because you married Sarita and y’all got a kid now. Man, back up with that. I’ma be single until I die!”
“All right, man. Whatever. I gotta get on back in the office. My lunch break is over. Holler at you later.”
“Yeah.”
*****
She went on another date that Friday night. I know that, because she knocked on my door around 8:00 PM wearing a turquoise dress and heels, her thick hair pulled back in a bun. She was smiling, delivering some of my mail that ended up in her box to me. I smiled back, took the mail, and watched the sway of her ass as she walked away, the intoxicating floral scent of her perfume still occupying the air outside my door.
I was in a bad mood from that moment on, kept wondering if she was out with that lame-ass dude again. Then I started wondering why I was so mad about how she spent her time. After all, she wasn’t my woman.
Maybe she should be.
I shook my head, left my couch, and headed into my kitchen. I must’ve needed a damn drink if crazy stuff like that was just popping in my head.
I was out of the only liquor I had in my place, a bottle of bourbon.
Shit.
I slumped back onto the sofa and stared at the TV. I wasn’t in the mood to go to a liquor store. What I was in the mood for was sex, but I’d broken things off with Alexis, and by broke them off, I mean I stopped answering her calls. But right at that moment, I wanted to call her and set something up. Shoot, I was almost willing to give her my address if it meant I could get my mind off of Angela Strickland and those legs of hers. And her ass? It was the kind of ass that made white girls get silicone injections—firm, round…
Or maybe I could call Lori or Lorna or whatever her name was. We met at a coffee shop a couple of days after I last saw Alexis and hooked up that same night, but I lost interest in her after that and had been ignoring her calls, too. Then there was this chick I met on my first flight to Tennessee and screwed in her car in long-term parking, but I couldn’t remember her name and didn’t bother to get her number.
I sat up straight, blew out a frustrated breath, and let my eyes shift to the wall that our living rooms shared. If she had been home instead of out with whoever, I might have gone over there and made something happen. But as it stood, she was gone, and there I sat with her on my mind. And honestly, all that stuff about hooking up with Alexis again, or anyone else, was bullshit. I didn’t want any other woman…except for Ms. Strickland.
And I wanted her bad.
10
The concert was excellent, and so was Harrison’s company. I was glad I’d taken Nicky shopping with me that morning, because the turquoise dress was her idea, and with the way it fit me, I turned plenty of heads and had Harrison’s rapt attention throughout the night. One almost would’ve thought I was the main attraction rather than the skilled R&B crooner. The evening was so nice, full of good music and good vibes, that I virtually floated from my car to my front door and entered my living room with a little twirl. Nicky’s backwards ass was right. This was fun. This was living. Going out and being appreciated by a man just for being myself. Expecting nothing from him and having no expectations attached to my company. Maybe I would try dating another guy. From what I could tell, this dating game wasn’t half bad after all.
I was in my bedroom, dress pulled down from my upper body and bunched up around my waist as I sat on my bed and kicked my heels off. I smiled at my reflection in the dresser mirror, at the way the black-laced edge of my push-up bra framed my breasts, tilted my head to the side and studied my neck, the flawless brown skin of my chest and face.
I was beautiful. Maybe not the most beautiful woman in the world, but I was beautiful. Putting so much stock in how my exes treated me had erased that truth from my mind. I made a vow to myself at that moment to never forget that, to never deny my own beauty again, and to never ever attach my self-worth to how someone else treated me.
I slipped all the way out of my clothes and hopped in the shower, relishing in the hot water pouring over me as I lathered my skin with my favorite plumeria-scented body wash. About thirty minutes later, I’d pulled on my favorite old night shirt and climbed into bed, was on my way to La La Land when the sound of thumping bass jolted me out of my semi-slumber. More than a little disoriented, I rolled over, trying to figure out what was going on, what I was hearing, and why I was hearing it. Then it occurred to me.
Ryan Boyé.
I closed my eyes and sighed, grabbed my cell phone from the bedside table, and checked the time—1:00 AM. Really? Was this negro really blasting music at this time of night or morning or whatever?
Shit.
And things were going so well.
I sat up and tried to mentally will this fool to turn his music down, because I really did not feel like having to walk over there and beat on his door to get him to do something his grown ass should’ve had sense enough to do anyway.
I waited for five whole minutes. I waited as the music thumped and the picture frame on my dresser vibrated, growing angrier by the second. I could’ve called him, but bump that. Instead, I stood up, released a frustrated groan, and threw a robe on over my night shirt. Barefoot and pissed the hell off, I left my place and stalked to his door, beating on it like I was the chief of police.
No answer.
