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And Morgan’s the perfect person to make that time useful.

She sends a reply to my last message that’ll have to be left on read for a few. The house is too quiet for me. So silent, my footsteps leave an echo. Still holding my phone, I get some Eric Benet playing through my Bluetooth speaker. Dancing around like a love-struck schoolgirl, eyes closed with imagination flooding my mind. Once they’re open again, her latest message is still in front of me.

Morgan: So, where do you want this to go?

That instantly raises my eyebrows. She really doesn’t waste time and I like that. Most people beat around the bush until I grow bored. I prefer direct assertiveness. My next response comes with a sin-filled smirk attached.

Me: Wherever the fun is.

Morgan: Ooh, good girl. I like your energy. I really think my husband would like you too. Before we really go forward, are you sure you’re okay with this situation?

Me: Yeah, I’m absolutely fine with it.

Morgan: Okay. Just wanted to ask. Because once we start, we finish. No questions asked. So look, I think we should meet up again. Get some breakfast. Are you free tomorrow morning?

Me: I am. I don’t have to work until the mid afternoon. And I work at the Thief Wine Shop in the Public Market. So, I’ll be close.

Morgan: Ooh. I see you! Okay, perfect. Build a Breakfast. 9am. Can’t wait.

Me: Same. See you there.

Date confirmed, I suppose. Strange saying that knowing her situation. I’d usually never get close to anything like this. Fucking around with a married woman. Or even a married couple, possibly. Not even an inch. But curiosity is killing the same cat I want tongued down. Why not? What else do I have to lose? I’m a thirty two year old woman, newly single with a decent enough job. I’m living on my own again. No pets. No homegirls outside of one and even she seems shaky at times. No parents either. They’ve both been dead for over fourteen years. Meanwhile, my only sister, Sajai, is in Los Angeles enjoying life as a social media influencer. Most times I barely hear from her unless she needs something. Which isn’t often. Dating apps suck. People suck. Not to mention, my rose toy died on me the other night. Ugh.

Life is so ghetto. And I’m bored, just aching for some type of adventure. Well, here it is. Staring me right in the face like a deer caught in the headlights. It’s better than dealing with Makai’s lackadaisical lovemaking and issues overall. These should be my prime years. Sipping expensive wine, taking cruises, and looking sexy on someone’s beach. Having kinky ass sex.

Spending somebody else’s money. Not going back and forth with an immature man child. That’s not the life I saw myself living. I deserve freedom. Fun. Hell, even a little danger. And I’m going to have it all. Starting with Morgan and her husband.

The Next Morning: Build a Breakfast

“Just coffee for now. Thank you.”

I’m nervous. Evident by the way I keep fidgeting in my seat. Avoiding eye contact with the others in the sun lit restaurant. Not that there’s many people here. Just a few business folks and

one grumpy older white man sitting alone, drinking coffee and reading his paper. Otherwise, it’s rather empty. With just enough low level chatter to keep the restaurant from being completely silent. It’s not often Build a Breakfast is this dead. Usually it’s jumping, especially during the week when the workforce floods the Downtown area like an army of starving ants. Looking for their fix of coffee, food, and mid-morning wine.

I’m over by the window, sitting at a table for two alone for the moment. It’s three minutes after nine. Morgan’s running late but not by much. Though it probably feels longer considering I arrived around eight fifty. Which is more of a me issue. I’m a time-oriented person, always have been. I’d rather be very early even if it means waiting around. I’m sure she’s coming. She wouldn’t have invited me if that wasn’t the case. The anticipation is killing me. It’s like waiting for the results of an important test to come back. Every second feels like watching paint dry. I haven’t felt this antsy since prom night. And that was a decade ago.

Another two minutes fly by as my waitress, Michelle, slowly walks up to the table again from the right of me. Under my watchful eye, she pours coffee into my mug at a careful pacing, placing a small bowl of creamer options on the side of me right after.

“Thank you,” I say sweetly, allowing the rising steam from the ceramic mug to flow into my nose. Michelle responds with a subtle “you’re welcome” before heading back to the bar. She’s a young chick. Probably no older than twenty. Eerily, she gives me hints of my mother in her early twenties. They have the same eyes and hazelnut skin complexion. I’m deeply fascinated by the resemblance, staring until my mind drifts to my childhood.

Fourteen years ago, my parents left us on the same night. My mother, Sidney, was just getting home when my drunk, psychopathic father, Eric, decided that was the night for complete chaos. He strangled my mother to death in an absolutely brutal fashion. Jumper cable around the neck twice, knee in her back. He then drove us to my grandmother’s house before coming back home to take his own life by hanging.

Sparing me and Sajai solely out of the minuscule amount of love still left in his decomposing soul. His motive has never been clear. There’s always been speculation he suspected Mom was cheating. As far-fetched as that is. Or maybe something darker rested in his heart that caused him to snap. Whatever the reason, our worlds shattered forever that night. It’s a memory that’s taken years of therapy and blunts to try to diminish.

It’s not like I ever really have time to grieve. Sitting with feelings always comes with a cost. I have to either heal from it or let it consume me until I’m diminished to nothing but bone. Well, I chose very early to blacklist it from my mind as much as possible. Sometimes, darkness still sneaks through. It’s what really stopped me from accepting love. Especially with men. It’s not easy trusting the same gender ultimately responsible for my biggest pain.

Sometimes, fear even sets in that my worst casualties in life will be caused by a man. So far, I haven’t been wrong. Each guy that’s entered my life in a romantic sense has either betrayed me or been responsible for my setback overall. Makai. Reese, the man right before him, who had a crazy ass baby mama. Steward, an uber-violent asshole who used to work with me. We had one date before he showed his ass. Talk about bad memories.

It’s already not easy knowing the person who took my entire world from me is my own father. Fathers are supposed to protect. They’re supposed to lead. Provide. Educate. Well, all my father taught me to do is avoid most niggas before they get an opportunity to do the same thing to me. Or if need be, I can strike first, hurting them before they ever get the chance to hurt me.

Whichever comes first.

If I do give one a chance, it’s a slim one. Because loving too hard hurts more when they leave. And I don’t have the energy for another person to leave. I’ve already lost enough. This situation with Morgan and her husband Damien seems different though. At least I’m hoping it is. I can’t imagine what might happen if it’s not. Actually, I can. It’s just not a pretty sight to envision.

That’s all I’ll say.

Thoughts flood my mind enough to push me to text big sis as I wait. She’s likely sleeping on that California time, but her Do Not Disturb setting means nothing to me. My phone isn’t in my hands for even a second before Morgan saunters towards the front entrance. Never mind, my sister can wait. My real meal just arrived.