I tossed the phone onto the bed and marched into the kitchen to pour a shot of Patron. I guzzled it and poured another. My pussy was stillthrobbing. That man had me running hot all day, and now he wanted to cancel like I was some casual plan to reschedule? How dare he?
I leaned against the counter, staring down into my shot glass like it might offer me divine guidance. And then the idea hitme. I set the glass down, grabbed my phone again, and opened theQuickieDropapp.
It was initially made for groceries and emergency convenience store runs, but they had this new “intimate goods” category. It was discreet and promised delivery in thirty minutes or less, depending on the location.
I scrolled past the condoms and lubes until I found a pretty little pink and chrome number with five-star reviews. TheThrustinator 3000 – Dual Action, Deep Stroke, Clit + G-Spot Vibration. I smirked and tapped “Add to Cart.” Then I took a deep breath and looked around my quiet ass apartment like… well, now what?
The candles were still burning, the lace was still laced, and I still had a whole bottle of Patron. I wasn’t about to sit here all dressed up for no damn reason. My body was still humming like a lit stove burner, and there was no turning that shit off now.
I opened a cabinet, grabbed a bag of kettle popcorn, and tossed it in the microwave. The silence made the popping sound feel louder than it should’ve, but I didn’t care. I was in a mood. The kind of mood where “I don’t need a man, I just need a nut” felt like both a mantra and a threat.
While the popcorn popped, I grabbed my laptop from the coffee table and typed in my usual XXX site. I wasn’t new to this. I had a private tab, a playlist, and a whole saved folder titled “Don’t Judge Me.”
I clicked on a video called “BBC Blows Her Back Out – 4K Creaming Ebony.” I’d seen it twice already, but the man in it had a thick dick, deep voice, and deep strokes that made you question your birth control.
He looked like he did pushups for fun and I loved how he ate pussy like it came with a check. I let it load while I poured a glass of Patron and lemonade over ice and grabbed the now-steaming popcorn bag from the microwave.
I settled into the couch, wrapped a throw blanket around my legs, and pressed play. Within minutes, moans filled the room, and I leaned my head back with a sigh. The woman onscreen was damn near crying already, and I understood. Fully. I let the tequila warm me up from the inside and reached for a handful of popcorn just as the man flipped her over and grabbed a fistful of her ass.
Right on cue, my phone buzzed. I reached for it lazily, assuming it was some promo alert or spam text. That is, until I saw it was from theQuickieDropapp.
I blinked, sat up a little, and reread the message. Then came another one.
A small laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. Not him texting me jokes about my damn dildo. I shook my head, opened the message thread and replied.
A few seconds passed. I pressed pause on the porn as the woman started screaming into a pillow. Then another message popped up.
I raised my eyebrows.Oh?
I bit my lip and glanced toward the door, locking my phone. The Patron was catching up to me, and now this stranger had jokes and BDE through the app like he knew what the hell he was doing. My phone buzzed in my hand again.
I stared at the screen, heart thudding low in my chest like the bass in a strip club. I wasn’t sure if I was impressed, intrigued, or just tipsy. Maybe all three. Either way… I muted the porno, straightened my robe, and stood by the door. Because suddenly, this wasn’t about the damn toy anymore. It was about who was delivering it.
F r i d a yn i g h t smoveddifferent when you stayed out the way. Sitting in my car in a dimly lit parking lot, I held a blunt in one hand and my phone in the other with theQuickieDropapp open.
My name stayed in rotation on that app. People always wanted something after hours like snacks, Plan B, sex toys, and whatever else. I took another pull from the blunt and exhaled slowly out the cracked window, watching the smoke twist up into the night.
Most nights around this time, I’d be somewhere at my ex’s spot, either arguing, fucking, or both. It was always some toxic shit we couldn’t quit. One minute I’d be deep in her guts, the next niggas is yelling about some shit that didn’t even really matter.
Being single again wasn’t the heartbreak playlist type of lonely. Shit felt peaceful like I could breathe in my own spot again without tip-toeing around somebody else’s fucked up attitude. No back-and-forth over dumb shit. No second-guessing myself. No silent treatments or side-eyes over nothing.
Shit, I was twenty-six. I drove a school bus during the day, ran deliveries at night, and stacked my bread in between. The students respected me, and their parents knew I didn’t play. After hours, I hustled on my own time. I delivered whatever people needed, no questions asked. Between my two jobs, shit wasn’t a quick get-rich scheme, but they paid steady, and it kept me out of the streets and caught up in bullshit.
My phone rang and I looked down at the screen, instantly annoyed.
I hit the blunt before answering.“What?”
“Wow,” my ex, Vonnae, said immediately. “That’s how you answer the phone now?”
“I’m busy. What’s up?”
She sucked her teeth through the phone. I could picture her pacing her apartment, bonnet on, mad at herself, but aiming it at me like usual. “So you really not comin’ over?”
“Nah, I’m straight.”
“Ahmad, come on. I miss you.”
“You miss chaos,” I said calmly, blowing out smoke. “Not me.”
