“I’m okay. You know that, right?”
I snort. “What you talkin about?”
“That’s why you called, right? To make sure I wasn’t being kidnapped by some strange Uber driver and to make sure I haveenough money to pay for my Ubers, food, your mom’s stuff, and all of this junk Faye has me picking up….” She laughs. “Yes, Mr. Lovelace. I’m fine. I’ve got it covered. I heard the panic in your voice in that message you sent.”
“That’s why you wanted me to send them voice messages?”
She sputters out a laugh. “Yeah. I wanted to deceptively capture your voice on audio so I can analyze it later.”
“You know Myra installed a camera in Steve’s glasses to stalk him one time, right?”
“Oh my God. Your obsession with that chick needs to be studied.” She laughs harder. “But I guess now that I’ve sneakily gotten you on the phone, you can finally tell me how your day is going—not about all the things you’re doing for another woman you’re fucking.”
The last part of her sentence reeks of disgust. It oozed off of “fucking” and makes my eyes shoot down to my lap.
My dick is hard.
The crazy thing about it is that I can’t even remember when the blood started rushing to it. It could’ve started while I listened to her first voice message, or it could’ve been when her voice veered off and “Mr. Lovelace” dripped out of her mouth in a hot, syrupy tone.
“You think I’m gon’ go in here and fuck B?” I ask, staring down at my dick pushing against my jeans.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what you’re gonna go do after you finish checking the lawn and taking measurements and whatever else you plan on doing over there. One thing I’ve learned after all of this…this…shit I’ve been through is that I can’t control a man.”
“You sure about that?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I’ve got the scar on my face to prove it.” She laughs sarcastically.
My stomach drops and I swallow the taste of that scar I pressed my lips against while we sat on my back porch. “Slim?”
She huffs. “What?”
“Do you belong to me?”
Static crackles over her hard breathing. “Don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to. It’s too early in the morning for that.”
“Answer me.”
“Hold on, Rich. Ma’am, can I get a grande iced chai tea latte with two pumps of vani?—”
“Tell that lady to give you a minute.”
“Rich,” she hisses. “There’s a whole line of people behind me.”
“Fuck them.”
“Rich…seriously?”
“Yeah. I’m tryna listen to you right now.”
“Ma’am…I’ll be right back. I am so sorry.”
She mutters out a low “excuse me” as more static crackles over the phone.
“Okay, I’m away from the freaking barista. You happy?”
“Good. Now answer my question. Do you belong to me?”
“Yes. You know I do. Now can I go back and finish ordering my drink?”
