whether to high-five your ass or chew you out! So you like this chick?”
“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. Right then, I wished I didn’t like her so much.
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“I can’t figure out how to get out of this shit-hole mess I’m in.” As much as I wanted Cherise, I didn’t want her life. Which didn’t leave me with many alternatives.
“Dump her,” Kevin suggested.
“Don’t want to, that’s the problem.”
She was my drug now, my drug of choice, but maybe a few days away would help me put things in perspective.
8
G oing cold turkey had been a sucky option, but it had also been my only option. I avoided Cherise for over a week, despite the fact I was jonesing just to hear her voice. I knew better than to talk to her until I had a plan and some fucking balls firmly in place.
More than anything, I needed a break from the sex.
Something I never thought I’d think, let alone say. And no, I didn’t say it. If I had, Cherise would have blown me off like last year’s lipstick.
Instead, I talked her into dinner with just the two of us, rather than another trip to The Manor.
“So what, uh, prompted this?” she asked when we reached the restaurant, her hand on the car door. The pale yellow wraparound dress she wore clung to every curve, and with her pale blond hair piled on top of her head, she looked classy…and damned sexy.
“I wanted to do something different.” My hand on her bare back, I led her toward the restaurant’s red double doors. “That okay with you?”
“Sure, but it’s not our anniversary or anything.”
“Does it have to be a special occasion for us to do something nice?” Something on neutral ground where I could keep the situation under control.
For the first time in all the months we’d been together, we got a look, a hard cool once-over from the maitre d’. I’d been here before with another woman and he hadn’t even flinched. But then, she was mixed, like me. And the people we’d been hanging out with didn’t give a shit about what you looked like.
For all of thirty seconds, I seriously thought about taking Cherise somewhere else. Then I muttered, “Fuck it” under my breath. Cherise frowned at me, obviously confused, and I shook my head.
“We have reservations.” And my suit probably cost more than the older man’s tux.
“You okay?” she asked once our reservations were finally located and we were seated.
“Yeah.” I’d gotten looks like that my whole life, people who couldn’t pigeonhole me, fit me in a box because my hair wasn’t black and my eyes were green. And it wasn’t just white folks doin’ it.
Luckily our waitress was a lot more discreet—or just didn’t give a shit.
We’d barely gotten our entrées—pork tenderloin in a ginger sauce for her and a steak for me—when Cherise brought up the subject of the club.
“Want to stop by The Manor later?”
Hell no! “I thought we’d go back to my place.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged, casually rolling her shoulders, but she wouldn’t look at me for the longest time. “Sure.”
I couldn’t tell if she was mad because I didn’t want to go to the club or because I’d left her behind last Sunday morning. That and the fact I’d avoided her phone calls for a week and a half hung between us, or at least it did for me. “About last Sunday…”
Cherise set her fork down and sipped at her wine, a guarded expression on her face. I got the feeling she wanted to be anywhere but here with me right now.
“I’m sorry for just up and…leaving you.”
She waved it off, but her laughter was brittle, her eyes hard. “No sweat.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No.” She shook her head, refusing to look at me again until after the waitress came and took our plates away. Then she leaned forward, her back ramrod straight as she gave me a hard assessing look. “Look, D’Angelo, I need to tell you something.”
Oh, shit. Before she could speak, the waitress reappeared to
“Yeah,” I said thoughtfully. Right then, I wished I didn’t like her so much.
“Doesn’t sound good.”
“I can’t figure out how to get out of this shit-hole mess I’m in.” As much as I wanted Cherise, I didn’t want her life. Which didn’t leave me with many alternatives.
“Dump her,” Kevin suggested.
“Don’t want to, that’s the problem.”
She was my drug now, my drug of choice, but maybe a few days away would help me put things in perspective.
8
G oing cold turkey had been a sucky option, but it had also been my only option. I avoided Cherise for over a week, despite the fact I was jonesing just to hear her voice. I knew better than to talk to her until I had a plan and some fucking balls firmly in place.
More than anything, I needed a break from the sex.
Something I never thought I’d think, let alone say. And no, I didn’t say it. If I had, Cherise would have blown me off like last year’s lipstick.
Instead, I talked her into dinner with just the two of us, rather than another trip to The Manor.
“So what, uh, prompted this?” she asked when we reached the restaurant, her hand on the car door. The pale yellow wraparound dress she wore clung to every curve, and with her pale blond hair piled on top of her head, she looked classy…and damned sexy.
“I wanted to do something different.” My hand on her bare back, I led her toward the restaurant’s red double doors. “That okay with you?”
“Sure, but it’s not our anniversary or anything.”
“Does it have to be a special occasion for us to do something nice?” Something on neutral ground where I could keep the situation under control.
For the first time in all the months we’d been together, we got a look, a hard cool once-over from the maitre d’. I’d been here before with another woman and he hadn’t even flinched. But then, she was mixed, like me. And the people we’d been hanging out with didn’t give a shit about what you looked like.
For all of thirty seconds, I seriously thought about taking Cherise somewhere else. Then I muttered, “Fuck it” under my breath. Cherise frowned at me, obviously confused, and I shook my head.
“We have reservations.” And my suit probably cost more than the older man’s tux.
“You okay?” she asked once our reservations were finally located and we were seated.
“Yeah.” I’d gotten looks like that my whole life, people who couldn’t pigeonhole me, fit me in a box because my hair wasn’t black and my eyes were green. And it wasn’t just white folks doin’ it.
Luckily our waitress was a lot more discreet—or just didn’t give a shit.
We’d barely gotten our entrées—pork tenderloin in a ginger sauce for her and a steak for me—when Cherise brought up the subject of the club.
“Want to stop by The Manor later?”
Hell no! “I thought we’d go back to my place.”
“Whatever.” She shrugged, casually rolling her shoulders, but she wouldn’t look at me for the longest time. “Sure.”
I couldn’t tell if she was mad because I didn’t want to go to the club or because I’d left her behind last Sunday morning. That and the fact I’d avoided her phone calls for a week and a half hung between us, or at least it did for me. “About last Sunday…”
Cherise set her fork down and sipped at her wine, a guarded expression on her face. I got the feeling she wanted to be anywhere but here with me right now.
“I’m sorry for just up and…leaving you.”
She waved it off, but her laughter was brittle, her eyes hard. “No sweat.”
“You’re not mad?”
“No.” She shook her head, refusing to look at me again until after the waitress came and took our plates away. Then she leaned forward, her back ramrod straight as she gave me a hard assessing look. “Look, D’Angelo, I need to tell you something.”
Oh, shit. Before she could speak, the waitress reappeared to
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