And, maybe go see your doctor to get that wide head of yours scanned. Obviously, they crashed into you too many times on that field. You deserve compensation, but I’m not it.”
We came to a screeching halt at the stoplight.
“Yo– you–”
The door lifted with ease. I didn’t bother closing it behind me.
Don’t want to hear it.I thought, deleting the space between me and the sidewalk. With my purse in hand, I trekked across the large white lines.
“Bitch!” Brandon spewed, fuming as he dealt with the trauma rejection triggered.
That’s between him and his mother. That’s not my problem.
I’d seen it too many times. Women making the problems of men they barely knew theirs. This wasn’tProject Y Chromosome. I was well into my thirties. Therapy and meditation should’ve been things of the past for any man I dated. The work should already be done, because I refused to strap up my boots for anyone or anything but late autumn and winter.
“I’ll be a bitch,” I breathed out, “As long as I’m not a dumb bitch, a broke bitch, or Brandon’s bitch.”
I stepped up onto the sidewalk as the sweet melody of burning rubber played in the background. It was Brittany’s chance to reclaim her power. I was praying she didn’t slip and fall on that man’s dick before dawn or any time after.
Limited fabric and lots of legs reminded me where I was. My goal wasn’t to come between anyone’s money, so I continued down the street lined with bars, restaurants, and a car garage or two. I weighed my options, taking every business within walking distance into account.
The Balgariawas a mere three miles from Lamaz, the strip with concrete far too rough for my designer heels. I regretted every step I took, hoping my soles were still intact by the end of the night. Nevertheless, the night air was gentle against my skin. Liberation was at the tip of my tongue, nose, and fingertips.
God, I feel good.
“Pretty, babes!” An unfamiliar voice complimented.
“Thank you.” I tossed over my shoulder without looking behind me.
I peered in each direction before stepping into the road. My strut intensified as the thought of Brandon’s audacity resurfaced in my head. I tittered, unsure where he’d stolen it from, but I was hoping he would return it soon.
Wrap it up.
He wasn’t allowed to take up space in my head. There was no room for foolish men. Not in my thoughts, memory, presence, or future. Forgetting him and his ignorance was simple.
Besides, he hasn’t spent nearly enough to linger.
I rolled my eyes, ridding myself of that man and the false hope he carried.
Scrrrrrrrrt.
Screeching tires startled me. I froze, placing a hand on my thigh. My Glock was underneath my palm when I met the deeply troubled orbs. My heart collapsed into the seat of my panties. I observed the intricate details of the stranger’s profile, wondering who he was and where he’d come from so suddenly.
I’m sorry. He mouthed.
I could feel the heat from the Aston Martin’s engine. It wasn’t until it mirrored my body’s temperature that I realized my hand was on the hood and my thigh was just inches away from the grill.
The door of the SUV swung open as a haunting baritone echoed in the dark.
“My apologies. I– The– didn’t–Shit. Listening to this fucking GPS will have my Black ass in a ditch somewhere.”
Or shot.
“Or dead,” I said, clearing my throat.
I pressed the camera icon on my screen. Secretly, I snapped an image of the license plate just inches away from me. Without taking my eyes off the man in front of me, I forwarded the photo to my second cell. It buzzed in my handbag, letting me know the message had been received.
He tipped his head rightward and nodded. The few words he’d spoken would likely be the only ones I heard from his mouth so swiftly and so plentifully. I knew his type. After fixing what he assumed he’d broken, he retreated.
