Her hesitation, caught up in her own words, was a clear indication I’d stumped her. I’d never been so sure of my decision not to just give myself away. If I’d handed my virginity to Kelsey’s annoying ass, only to live with regret and find out shewas cheating with the dude who makes the worst Chai Latte in the city, I would’ve been devastated. This selfish little bitch had to go.
“Ain’t even no need for you to answer, Kelsey. Get the fuck out.”
“Fuck you, Gage.”
“You never will. Now get your insecure ass the fuck out.”
“Insecure?” she snapped.
“Yeah. Issa Rae.”Oh shit, look at me making a joke.“Get the fuck out.”
“Your ass wasn’t sexually deprived—you’re just so used to men desiring you that these last three miserable months drove you crazy. I wouldn’t even let you smell my dick, let alone ride it.” I leaned in, each word deliberate. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”
“I live all the way across town, Gage. A ride service at this time is nonexistent, and I am not taking public transportation. Can you bring me home?”
“Call your coffee man.”
“He doesn’t drive, Gage,” she said, annoyance heavy in her tone.
“Ha. Now look who’s lacking common sense,” I laughed.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“Here you are—hot-in-the-ass—giving rides to a nigga who can’t even give you one.”
“Gage…”
“Get out.”
Mahasin
(sometime in April)
Mahasin
The warmth of the sun and the bloom of new flowers were always a beautiful sign that spring had arrived. Gorgeous weather was normal in Rosemoor. As a matter of fact, spring, in the whole beautiful state of Havenbrook, was like no other. It was like the sun’s rejuvenating power hit this state differently—smiles were brighter, the air sweeter. My birthing center even saw an influx of patients; new life really was in the air.
So why was I still stuck sulking in my old one?
That disaster at Tribal with Hunter and his wife, Morgan, was nearly two months ago, but the shit hurt like it happened yesterday. That ambush set up by Nova, the hostess, was the most humiliating episode of my life. Even with Amber by my side, I felt outnumbered.
Hearing Morgan say Hunter had a kink for successful Black women—that I was just a fetish, a high to make him feel complete in their already established marriage—shattered my confidence. But nothing prepared me for Morgan’s meltdown. She cried big, sloppy tears, snot running from her nose, her pain spilling everywhere in that hallway. She screamed about how Hunter had ruined her life, cut her off from family and friends, convinced her to drop out of college, and give up her dream of becoming a PhD-level professor just so she could have his children.
Eight. He already had eight beautiful children, and here he was feeding me a fantasy about giving him a son.
Sick bastard.
I was hoping after the humiliation he caused me, he would just go away. But nope. The moment the evening settled and my body finally forced itself to shut down, my phone started ringing. Ignored calls turned into long voicemail messages—him professing how much he loved me, how sorry he was, how he was leaving Morgan, how she had always been a “mistake.”
Was this nigga serious? How the hell you have eight children with a mistake?
And apparently this fool was able to live with me because his wife had given him a break. Who in their right mind, gives a break to someone they have eight kids with? The only break he would have gotten from me, was my foot breaking off in his ass.
Finally, after I moved out of the penthouse he purchased and two weeks of me sending every call straight to voicemail, it was like he disappeared and I could breathe again.
That’s until his ass popped up at Serenity, blasting Boyz II Men’sOn Bended Kneelike we were in a 90s R&B music video. His clothes were disheveled, facial hair unkept, eyes swollen from the same ugly cries he was currently performing out front of the birthing center. Embarrassing was an understatement.
It was time to pull out my big joker because enough was enough.
