I lock my cell and toss it onto the table. Placing my elbows on the edge, I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “I think I need to change my number.”
“Fuckface still won’t leave you alone?”
“Nope.” I sit up straighter. “It wasn’t this bad until he saw us with Cross at the Airport.”
“You know what we should do?”
I tilt my head to the side. “No. What?” You never really know what will come out of her mouth, so I have no clue what she’s thinking about.
“We should design an app called Rate the Dick. Where we upload past sexual encounters and others can leave reviews so women can know what kind of guy they are.”
I laugh and nod. “That’s a great idea.”
“For instance, I got a text from a guy last night that I haven’t fucked in over a year. He sent me a picture of his dick.” She rolls her eyes. “It was just the picture, then he immediately sent another message sayingsorry, wrong bitch.”
“Did you respond?” I wonder.
“Of course. I saidstill disappointing women, I see.”
I chuckle, taking a drink of the water that she already had waiting for me.
“He then called me a slut.” She shrugs. “Like that was an insult. Please, he was so small I felt like I was scissoring a woman.”
I spit that water out all over the table, covering my phone, and the woman next to us chokes on her eggs.
“Like I’d miss that.” Jasmine snorts.
I sit back in my seat, cleaning off my cell with my napkin. “I feel the same way about Mitch. I’m not Jesus, nor do I have Alzheimer’s. I don’t forgive, and I don’t forget.” All of a sudden, he just expects me to come crawling back to him. It’s not going to happen.
“Men. I wish we could kill them after we’re done with them,” she says with a sigh. “At least that would give us something to look forward to.”
“Amen, sister,” I agree.
“Anyway, I know the bar keeps you busy. How is the studio doing?”
“I sold it.”
“What when?” she asks surprised.
“Last month.” I shrug, no biggie. “The people who own the coffee shop beside me wanted to expand and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” My mom had bought a small studio back when she was in college. It was a run-down hole-in-the-wall that her friend’s dad was selling. He sold T-shirts out of it. She bought it and turned it into a dance studio. She left it to my brother and me when she passed. Derek wanted nothing to do with it, and I was tired of having to keep up with it. I’d much rather have that money to put into Lucky’s someday.
CHAPTER SEVEN
CROSS
IPULL MYblack leather jacket on, then glance down at my Rolex. “Fuck! Fuck!”
“What?” Alexa asks. She’s hopping around my tattoo shop, trying to get dressed.
We’ve been meeting up for a couple of weeks now. And when I say hooking up, I mean fucking every damn chance we get. Which is twice today so far. “We’re going to be late,” I tell her just as I feel my cell vibrate in my back pocket. I pull it out to see it’s Titan. “Hey, I’m on my way—”
“You’re late,” he interrupts me. Titan has this thing about punctuality.
“I know.”
“And so is Alexa,” he adds. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
I roll my eyes. “Nope.”
