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Her…
Her…
Her…
Her: You too.
*****
“Explain to me again why you can’t come over? I’m hot as hell, and you’ve never turned me down before. Why start now?”
“I told you. I’m busy, Veda. In the zone writing this book.”
I didn’t feel like dealing with Veda’s crazy ass. There were levels to dealing with her. Level one was the occasional booty call, where I tried to stay. Level two was regular booty calls, which led to level three, a relationship. We were at level three about two years ago, and that shit was disastrous. Veda was a short, thick, pretty half-black, half-Mexican woman, but her ass was homicidally jealous. And clingy and possessive. I just couldn’t handle it.
But she was good in bed, so I kept her at level one, and I guess, according to her calendar, I was past due for a visit. But the problem was, in addition to not having the stomach to deal with her potential crazy, I still had Ms. Strickland and her sweet treat on my mind and in my memory.
Then I started thinking maybe I needed to go see Veda and relieve some damn tension when she went into this Spanglish rant about how niggas ain’t shit and how we were all estúpido and she didn’t need me to get off anyway.
So I hung up on her insane ass and went back to staring at my blank computer screen. Yeah, I lied about that. The only zone I was in was the damn twilight zone with Ms. Strickland, having no idea when or even if I’d ever really get a chance to be with her. I was playing hard, doing exactly what she asked by breaking contact with her, but I wanted her ass. I really, really wanted her.
