“I’m here.” I turn my camera back on and unmute my microphone, focusing on my screen without addressing anything Deshona said.
The sweet fragrance that pierces my nostrils tells me that Deshona hasn’t left the kitchen. My eyes lift from the screen to see that she’s now in a seat on the other side of the island with her laptop open. The coffee mug in her hand is up to her lips, and I roll my eyes like a bitch from jealousy that the porcelain can have that type of connection with her. My thoughts run rampant as I try to get back into the meeting. Once that meeting ends, I only have a millisecond before another one begins. That sets the pace for my morning, which goes by in a blur as my eyes strain and water, telling me I need a break from my computer.
I lock my computer and stand to my full height, my back protesting. It takes everything in me not to look at the other person whose presence I’ve desperately avoided. My stomach grumbles, and it’s the motivation I need to head out of the room. It’s lunchtime, and I need some fresh air and time outside in the sun, even if only for a little while. My departure is uneventful, and I pass through the complex's exit less than ten minutes later. I instantly squint when the sun’s rays blaze down on me making me regret not grabbing a pair of sunglasses.
Another plus about Kaiku Luxury Apartments is that several businesses surround it. At our disposal are lounges, eateries, and even two markets where we can shop without going to a major grocery store. The various aromas wafting to my nose have me sniffing the air like a bloodhound as I try to decide what to eat for lunch. My mouth waters when the smell of firewood causes me to think about charred beef. That thought leads me going toward Chuck & Tracy’s Tavern.
It’s an eatery that I’m hoping will provide me with the ability to satisfy my sudden urge for beef. The walk takes me no time to complete, but I nearly trip on the threshold when a thought hitsme upon entry. Either I’ve waited too long to put something on my stomach, or the sun is hotter than I anticipate because I’m not sure where it’s coming from.
Maybe you should order her something to eat too. She probably hasn’t taken time to eat lunch either.
“Oh my goodness. Are you okay, sir?” a high-pitched feminine voice asks, and my face contorts from the knowledge of someone seeing my slip.
My brain spins as the statement from a second ago echoes lightly, preventing me from speaking. All I can do is nod as I allow my eyes to roam around the room and sigh a relieved breath when I notice that none of the patrons pay me any attention.
Why the hell would I take Deshona’s rude ass back some food? She called me a fine ass hobo-sexual, whatever the hell that shit means.
You could kill two birds with one stone.
What?
Prove that you aren’t a bum ass nigga and that you can be bigger than her pettiness.
Man, fuck that. I ain’t buying her shit.
“Do you want to dine in or carry out?” the woman hostess asks, which forces me out of the internal debate between me and my lame ass conscience.
Twenty minutes later, I reenter the apartment, ready to finish up the rest of my workday. The bowed head and continuous tapping from the other occupant of this residence make my next steps easy. Without a word, I drop one of the two bags in my hand next to the open laptop and keep moving toward the other side of the island.
“What’s this?”
“I believe Chuck and Tracy’s Tavern classifies it as lunch,” I say before I move my mouse around to bring my computer to life.
There’s a bit of a bite to my words because I can’t explain why I allowed my conscience to convince me to bring this woman lunch. But I’ll be damn if I didn’t double my order of a smashed burger with cheese, bacon, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and lettuce with fries with no hesitation.
“You brought me . . . you brought me lunch.” Deshona’s words are more of a statement than a question, and my conscience pumps his fist.
“I guess hobo-sexuals can be more than bums, huh?”
The room goes silent, which is fine with me because I need to get back to work, and debating with this woman isn’t something I’m up for a second time. Deshona is gonna learn that I’m not the man she believes me to be. Victory fills me with merriment when Deshona rattles the bag before the scent of beef permeates the air from the unexpected lunch I had given her. I don’t know if it was the lunch or my heavy focus on work, but thankfully, and without further incident, I’m able to go through the rest of my day.
“Wait.Wait. She cracked your ass with a bat, and you didn’t do anything to retaliate? I mean, I understand you were raised right, but that woman hit you with a bat, not once but twice,” Dre says while he laughs like we’re watching a comedy special or some shit.
“I’m telling you that her little ass swung and connected like she was trying out for the professional baseball league. On top of the aches in my back, my arm jolts with phantom pain, and theshit has me side-eyeing her little ass, although I don’t think she’s noticed one way or another.”
Dre laughs hysterically, and all I can do is shake my head because although I don’t find any of this funny, I can understand why he does. This is our first conversation since I left Ribax, and I can admit that my life has been a series of clusterfucks lately. Although Dre finds humor in my situation, it feels good to talk to someone about what’s been going on since my move. I thought the hardest thing I had to do was put space between Monika and me. It turns out God has a sense of humor, which has me wondering how I can get back on His good side. Clearly, He’s punishing me for something I haven’t quite identified.
“It sounds to me like you’re feeling your roommate, bro. How would you know what she notices and what she doesn’t?”
A deep grimace slides into place when Dre’s words register in my mind and instantly halt everything else I’m contemplating silently.
“Nah, I’m cool on her.” The words sound like a lie, even to my ears, but it’s what I have in this moment.
“What does she look like? Is she a snapping turtle, bearded dragon, or Sheneneh’s twin?” Dre asks with humor heavy in his tone.
“None of the three,” I say in a low tone as my eyes become laser-focused on the wall that leads to the back of the apartment where Deshona is.
I want to lie to my boy and tell him that Deshona fits the descriptors he’s provided. But the truth is, Deshona’s little ass is a baddie. Even now, my dick twitches at the memory of Deshona’s bare thighs that hug the bedtime shorts she’s been sleeping in and tormenting me with each morning. The plumpness of her apple-shaped ass has been making it difficult for me to not imagine how well Deshona would be able to take my dick from the back. So yeah, my four-word weak rebuttal isthe best I can come up with, because telling Dre that I’m starting to feel something other than irritation will only fuel his jokes.
