Wiping my hands on the kitchen cloth, my brow raised as I waited for the person on the other line to announce themselves.
"Nyne," the deep baritone spoke, making my brows screw up.
In confusion, I took the phone away from my ear and glanced at the number again before listening to the familiar voice call out my name again once more. It was the voice I used to be head over heels for, but now I despised it more than anything.
"Malcolm," I replied back in an aggravated tone now. "Why are you calling me?"
"Look, shit, don't hang up," he rushed to say.
"You know me all too well." A grim expression appeared on my face. "What the fuck do you want?"
I could feel my blood pressure rising. This nigga had some nerve. He didn't have any business probing around in mine and I couldn't care less why he was here. It's common for men of wealth to do weird shit with their spare time. My number hadn't changed since our divorce, so I knew he still had it, but he didn't have to use it. I sure as hell wasn't reaching out to him.
"I need to talk to you about the other night," he uttered in one breath.
Releasing a deep sigh of annoyance, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling as I sauntered around the island to check on the food. Everything was pretty much done, so I placed lids on the pots so everything could simmer, minus the rice and salad.
"I don't care about none of that shit Malcolm. What you do in your spare time doesn't have anything to do with me," I argued.
"Nyne, I just need you to hear me out for a second." He argued back, mildly raising his voice.
"Malcolm, how many times do I need to say it? I don't give a fuck."
"I ain't gay! Okay," he yelled, talking over me.
I cackled, before erupting into loud laughter. It was petty of me, but he deserved it. Furthermore, what the fuck was he telling me all of this shit for?
"Malcolm, who are you trying to convince—me or yourself? I know what I saw."
He sighed. "It ain't what you think though, Nyne."
"Malcolm, why the fuck should I care about you being a downlow faggot? That has nothing to do with me. You don't need to confess nothing, because I don't care either way. That's guilt you have to face on your conscience. I'm not part of that."
"I swear you don't listen to shit I tell you?—"
"See, that's where you got me fucked up. You're not about to holler and cuss at me on the phone I pay the bill on. You got some fucking audacity, nigga," I snapped. "I don't give a fuckabout you being gay, Malcolm. This isn't a heart to heart. I know what I saw and I left it where I saw it."
"I wasn't gay when we were married, Nyne. If that's what you're thinking, but I did have thoughts that wouldn't go away."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Just thought you should know."
"I don't care either way."
"How much do I owe you?" he mentioned, making me face screw up.
"What?" I spat.
"Do you have the same bank? I can wire you a few grand just so you won't out me to any blogs?—"
"See, that's where you got it twisted, nigga! You and I are two different people. It's crazy after being married to me and waking up in the same bed, you've never known me. I'm not like you. I don't need to hold anything over your head for ransom. Is that what you're used to doing? Is that what you've been doing? I'm not like that. You couldn't wait to humiliate me and announce our divorce, treating it like a game of chess."
"I apologize?—"
"I don't want your sorry ass apology, Malcolm, and had you not saw me, you wouldn't be reaching out."
He sighed, releasing his frustrations. "I just thought I'd reach out."
