“Damn, it’s like that?” my brows hiked. “The ick?”
“Yes, the ick. You know you see a man out briefly, he asks for your number, and he looks okay, seems okay, so you give him the number. But after a few conversations it’s like ehhhhhh, you give me the ick.”
“And what do these men do to give you the ick?”
“Talk sexual too soon. Try to take me on cheap dates. Try to chill at my home or invite me to theirs instead of asking me out on a date. Divulging icky information like having six kids and five baby mamas. That kind of thing.”
“I guess those are ick worthy things, but you give picky as hell vibes.”
“If I am, I don’t see the problem. I don’t have to settle for anything I don’t like just for the sake of having someone. If I never find the man that doesn’t give me the ick then that’s just how it’s supposed to be.”
I chose not to entertain the topic further. We weren’t on a date, but we were about to hang out, and we’d had sex. Obviously, I didn’t give her the ick if she asked me to play golf with her, so a win was a win. Josie was a woman with her shit together that knew what she wanted. I couldn’t be mad at her for that. And if she truly thought I was too young for her, I couldn’t be mad at that either. Clearly, she didn’t think I was too young to slide up in that pussy.
“Mind if I smoke?” I asked when we were about fifteen minutes away from Top Golf.”
“This is your car.” She shrugged.
I grabbed the blunt from behind my ear and the lighter from the cup holder. I had smoked before I got dressed, so my clothes wouldn’t be smelling like weed, but I didn’t plan on drinking. If I wasn’t going to drink, I needed to boost my high. It had only been two hours since I’d smoked. I wasn’t completely sober, but I wasn’t as high as I wanted to be. I finished the blunt two minutes before arriving at my destination. Standing outside the car I sprayed some cologne. It wouldn’t totally eliminate the smell, but it would get the job halfway done. Shit, everyone in there had smelled weed before.
Inside, we were led to our table. It didn’t take long for a server to come over and when Josie ordered a Sprite, I glanced over at her. “Don’t feel like you can’t order a drink. I’m good. That’s why I got right in the car.”
“I’ll just take a shot of top shelf tequila. Reposado, and I still want the Sprite,” she informed the server.
I ordered water. My ass was higher than a light bill, so I was good with not drinking. I didn’t want Josie to feel like she couldn’t let loose and have fun with me. My relationship with alcohol wasn’t that bad. I could watch her have a few drinks and not fall off the deep end.
“You ready for this bachelorette trip?” I asked.
“Yes. Clients have been stressing me out left and right. I get wanting someone that will bring your vision to life exactly how you envisioned it but got damn.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m a graphic designer. I do everything from creating flyers, post cards, invitations, logos. I design websites, format books, journals, and magazines. You name it. I have fifteen projects that I completed in the past four days, so my que would be clear, and I could enjoy myself on vacation.”
“Damn that’s what’s up. So, when I start doing my little carpentry and handyman services, you’ll design some flyers and a website and shit for me?”
“I sure will,” she bobbed her head.
“That’s what’s up.”
The server brought our beverages over, then we ordered food and started our game. I had never played golf in my life, but it wasn’t that bad. I actually had fun, and I whooped Josie’s ass. Even though she asked me to hang out, I was hesitant to be touchy feely or act like I didn’t want to have sex with her again. When I arrived at her house after the date and she asked if I wanted to come in, I said fuck yes.
Sex with shorty the second time was even better than the first. It probably would have been even better if I was drunk, but I didn’t have to have alcohol in my system to have good sex. Josie’s pussy was like that, and I knew my stroke game was top of the line. I had just got back in the car after sexing her through two orgasms when my phone rang. When I saw my mother’s name on the phone screen my brows furrowed because it was almost two in the morning.
“Hello?” I answered with a racing heart. My mother had never called me at two in the morning, so something had to be wrong.
“Huncho!” I could tell just from the one word she spoke that she was under the influence of something. She was slurring bad as hell. “Why didn’t you come to dinner the other night?”
My eyes closed briefly. I prayed that she was drunk and not on heroin or pain pills. “What have you been doing? Shooting up?” I asked.
“Ain’t nobody been shooting up. I can’t have a few drinks now? I don’t want to shoot up because if I make Hymn mad, I can’t come to the wedding. I’m trying, and all my kids see that but you.”
“You really doing this right now? Where is grandma? Where are you?”
“I have to get drunk to get you to act concerned about me?”
“You gotta grow up. You can’t put that on me. Don’t you have a sponsor or something? Somebody you can call?”
“I called you! I want to talk to you.”
