“I would like to think that, but you never know.”
“Listen, I get that you’ve been hurt, so have I. But I’m not here to do that to you. I mean, I’m not trying to walk down the aisle and give you my last name tomorrow or shit, but I do want to know that I mean something to you more than just a good fuck.”
“Oh, you thought you were good, sir?”
“I mean, damn, I’m not conceited or shit, but I know I’m not subpar either. Matter of fact, since we’re on the subject, I’m better than good. I’m the muthafuckin’ shit, the P-I-M-P, the damn sexual don.”
“Oh, well, okay then. I’m so glad you’re so sure of yourself.”
He chuckled and shook his head before he cut a piece of pancake and forked it. “You are too, baby girl. That’s the onlyreason your little ass came running and looking for me this morning. You had to check the temperature.”
I giggled and shook my head. “Okay, you are.”
“And so are you, baby girl. Damn good. But back to what I was saying, now that we know we’re the shit. About our feelings. I can’t lie, I’m feeling you, but I get needing to take it slow, and I’d like to go there if you would.”
“I definitely want to go there with you, Ashton.”
He winked, leaned over the table, and kissed my lips. When he sat back, I had the satisfaction of licking the blueberry flavored syrup off my lips.
TWO DAYS LATER
“Isyour little girlfriend tired of being dragged in the media?”
“I don’t want to see you post another thing about her, give another interview about her, or speak on her at all. If you do, I swear your world is gonna be fucked up.”
“I knew you were messing with that girl all along.”
“You didn’t know shit. Just because I’ve got an issue with you running your mouth like diarrhea don’t mean I’m fucking with her. The last thing you need to be worried about is who I’m fucking when you’re throwing your twat at the entire starting lineup of the Pumas.”
“I couldn’t care less. It’s just the fact that you’ve been dragging me about it while you’re doing the same thing.”
“Yeah, whatever. You can believe what you wanna. Have you been sending me text messages?”
“What messages?”
“Messages that say: ‘I know you’re not perfect, but I love you still.’ ‘Why do you hurt me so badly?’ ‘You’ll soon learn no one loves you more than me.’ ‘She can never compare to me, what do you see in that bitch?’”
“What? No. It sounds like you’ve got a stalker on your hands, and it’s not me.”
“One final question.”
“What, Ashton?”
“Where the fuck did you get that photo from of Chanel climbing into my car at her parents’ house that you’ve been showing off on social media.”
“Don’t worry about where I get my shit from. You need to worry about who’s sending those damn text messages to your phone.”
“Like I said, keep her name out of ya mouth and mine too.”
“And if I don’t? You don’t rule me anymore, Ashton, and I’m not scared of you. I can give all the damn interviews I want to. Your mother fucked me over by keeping me from having your child, and she did the same thing with that prenuptial agreement. My stupid ass mother backed her up, and I walk away with nothing but five million dollars and the apartment here in Chicago after eleven years of marriage.”
“It’s more than you deserve for fucking around on me the way you did. Why don’t you tell one of your fuckboys to fund your lifestyle?”
“Fuck you, your mother, and that whore, Chanel Dubois, who you’re screwing.”
“What did I just tell you about letting her name come out of your mouth?”
“You don’t run me, Ashton. I will say whatever I want to say, post whatever I want to post, and interview with anyone I want to, and I’m not done telling the world about your trifling ass and that trifling ass ho.”
