“What you did for dude—trying to celebrate him and cheer him up—that tells me that you’re compassionate and that you care about the people in your inner circle. You have a good heart, Brown Eyes.”
I scoffed. “There’s a thin line between having a good heart and being a damn fool. Women are always exposing their good hearts to no-good niggas. I practically cleared out my savings, and Preston wasn’t impressed. In his heart of hearts, he really just wanted a threesome.”
It was his turn to scoff. “That motherfucka is young, rich, and moderately well-known. He’s had hundreds of threesomes. You weren’t gonna be his first one, sweetheart.”
It wasn’t that I was surprised by that news; I just had never framed it that way in my mind. “Wow. Maybe his fantasy wasn’t necessarily a threesome. Maybe that’s why he kept stressing how much he wanted to watch me eat old girl out. Maybe his fantasy was my face in some chick’s coochie.”
“Wait.” Kaynaan’s hands were on his head. “This nigga told you that he wanted to watch you eat pussy?”
“Yes! And I never did anything to give him the impression that I was into women. And he picked out the girl. Brought her to the hotel and everything.”
He shook his head.
“Talkin’ ’bout, ‘you’re so buttoned up, Wynnie. You’re so straight-laced, Wynnie.’” I mimicked his voice. “Trying to convince me to eat coochie and calling me Wynnie. My name is Wyndi, you dumb bastard.”
He sniggered. “So, don’t ever call you Wynnie?”
“No, please don’t. That’s not my name.”
“Is Wyndi your real name?”
“Damn, we’re going from one traumatizing situation to another.”
“What? How is me asking you if Wyndi is your real name traumatizing?”
“Because now I’m gonna have to tell you my real name.”
“Your real name is traumatizing?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, now I have to hear it. What’s your real name, Wyndi?”
“The thing is . . .” I sighed. “Is that none of my names on their own is bad or traumatizing. It’s the fact that my momma put that particular combination together that’s traumatizing.” I took a deep breath.
“You’re dramatic as hell.” He chuckled.
I waved him off dismissively. “My first name is Wyndsor.”
“Wyndsor,” he repeated.
“Right. And that’s not bad. There’s nothing wrong with Wyndsor. I mean, it might sound more, I don’t know, masculine to some. But it’s not bad.”
“It’s kinda formal. Sounds like something aristocratic Caucasians were naming their kids.”
“Right?” I agreed. “Anyway, the problem comes in when you put Wyndsor with my last name, and we’re not gonna even discuss putting either my first or last names with my middle name. Because my mother was clearly still mourning her failed marriage when she named me. My last name is Castle. I’mWyndsor Castle, like the palace that the Queen of England used to live in.”
“Oh sh—wow.” He caught himself. “Okay. Wow. Is Castle your father’s last name?”
“Yeah, she gave me his last name. I mean, they were married. It was her last name too. It still is. She never went back to her maiden name or anything. She wanted us to have the same last name.”
“And you said that your middle name makes it worse?”
“So much worse.”
“Hit me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Kaynaan, if I tell you this, you can never repeat it. Hold up your hand.”
