Chapter Nine
Trallis McDaniel
Miami usually gave me an instant dopamine rush, but I felt so withdrawn that even the blue water and white sand couldn’t fix my mood.
I checked into my hotel suite that overlooked the ocean, and all I could think about was how lying ass Cozart was supposed to be here with me.
I had stupidly requested white rose petals on the bed because I thought this romantic getaway would end with me telling him that I’m pregnant, and us fucking like rabbits.
The sad thing about delulu-land was leaving and returning to reality.
Palm trees swayed outside my balcony while people laughed at the pool below.
The scenery was beautiful but all I could think about was how my plan backfired yesterday and slapped me in the face.
Phase one went off flawlessly. His wife’s information wasn’t hard to find if you knew where to look.
I had no idea that Co was supposed to be picking up his children.
He helped me execute the plan by being a shitty father.
When she stormed into the gym, I wanted to do a backflip watching him stammer for words.
Brick tried her best to save him like she always does, and I was so glad it didn’t work.
HIS ASS DESERVED TO BE AIRED OUT. It was so hard to keep a straight face.
I wanted to cheer like a Dallas Cowboy’s cheerleader, until he dropped a bomb that even I didn’t see coming.
SEPARATED? LIVING APART?!!
That piece of shit was separated, living in his own home, and was on the brink of a divorce but he was still using his marital status like a dirty cop hiding behind a badge.
If he had his own place, why the fuck was he sneaking me in and out of hotel rooms in the middle of the night?
I had never fucked him in his bed. He had never come to my house.
He was separated and we could have been together, while he waited for his divorce to be finalized.
Instead, he led me to believe that fucking was all he could offer.
I hated him and a busted window that his sister was going to get fixed wasn’t enough punishment for me.
I needed him to pay for wasting my time.
I decided to fly down to Miami and rent a car when I arrived, instead of driving like I planned to do.
I didn’t want to be in a car for nine hours alone with my thoughts.
After slipping out of my travel clothes, I reached for my luggage to find something to slip into.
The first thing I touched was a manilla folder full of information for our new members.
There were names, social security numbers, addresses, bank account information, copies of social security cards, bank statements, and IDs.
I had highlighted a few members I was interested in creating fake accounts for.
I closed the folder and placed it on the bed as I went back inside the bag and pulled out a red two-piece bikini, and a pair of Hermes sandals.
There was a beachside cabana on the resort, and I wanted to see if it was as beautiful in person as it was on the website.
I pulled my long weave into a high ponytail and grabbed a towel on my way out of the door.
When I made it to the oversized cabana, I was glad that there were only a few people there.
I walked over to the bar and grabbed a dirty martini.
I wasn’t pregnant. I could drink as much as I wanted.
The Soca music blasted from the speakers; the sounds of the waves and the seagulls overhead gave the Cabana an island vibe.
It felt like I was in Hawaii, enjoying a tropical drink, while sitting inside of a hut.
I snapped a selfie and posted it to my social media.
I suddenly thought about Brick, she was a nice person, and I felt slightly guilty for causing her window to break.
She had been a good friend and boss to me.
Unlike her brother, the gym was her life.
Watching her struggle to let Zumo take control while she relaxed reminded me that she was used to being the one doing the taking care of.
I sent her over the selfie I had just taken and told her that I hoped she was enjoying this mini break.
The gym would be back up and running in no time and she would be back to running around like a chicken without a head.
She needed these few days to take a breather and put herself first for once.
She texted back a picture of her in bed. I expected her to be at the gym, standing over the contractors telling them how to do their job, so the fact that she was actually home in bed was progress for her. I laughed at her picture and locked my phone, before placing it face down on the bar top.
“Lucky man,” I heard a man’s voice comment that made me snap my head quickly in the opposite direction.
Sitting two seats down was a fine ass man who looked like he had walked straight off a Nigerian soccer field.
He could have been Maduka Okoye’s twin brother.
He was tall enough to make most men look average, and his deep bronze skin glowed beneath the Cabana’s soft lighting.
His jaw was sharp, and his full beard was lined perfectly.
His eyes were dark, and heavily lidded; making him look sleepy and dangerous at the same time.
Deep dimples framed his cheeks even though he wasn’t smiling.
His nose was straight, lips full, and he had the kind of confidence that said he spent his entire life being told he was handsome.
His hair was cut low on the sides with curls on top, neat enough to look expensive but all natural.
A thin gold chain rested against his neck, and a forty-thousand-dollar watch was on his wrist. He wore a thin love Cartier ring on his middle finger.
The button-down shirt he wore was rolled at the sleeves, exposing tattoos on his forearms and thick veins that traveled down to his large hands.
His chest was broad and athletic. He looked expensive.
Like he spoke multiple languages, swiped AMEX Platinum, and only took first-class flights.
Cozart Walker was Atlanta fine, but this nigga was the kind of fine that you had to have a passport to experience.
“Excuse me?” I asked as I turned my full body towards him.
“Whoever has you smiling at the phone is a very lucky man.” The fine ass man said in his thick accent.
I blushed and waved my hand at him dismissively.
I was tempted to say that I was smiling at my boss’s picture in bed, but he didn’t need to know that.
He needed to think that I had niggas beating down my door with trip offers and expensive gifts begging to be my man.
He didn’t need to know that I had been a side bitch for a year to a married man, and I just found out I wasn’t pregnant by him.
One of the biggest mistakes bitches made was talking too much.
If he wanted to believe I was a bad bitch in high demand, who was I to correct him?
“He is incredibly lucky. I’m sure that the women who smile at their phone when they talk to you feel the same way.” I shrugged and turned my body back towards the front.
“I’m sure they do, but they aren’t here and neither is he. Can I buy you a drink? Or is he smart enough to be on his way down here to keep the men from swooping in to try to take what’s his?” he questioned.
“Actually, I’m good with this one. I was just finishing up.
It was nice to meet you,” I replied simply without entertaining the rest of his statement.
Telling a foreign nigga that you were at a resort alone sounded like the quickest way to get sex trafficked and put in a container going across the water.
I had grown up in the hood and there was no amount of fine that could get me to drop situational awareness.
He smiled at me and stood up from his seat.
He walked over, reached for my hand, and kissed the back of it.
He then pulled out two blue faces and placed them on the table near my drink.
“Bartender, take care of her tab,” he said, before winking at me and turning to walk away.
I smirked and stood from the seat feeling like that girl.
Seeing a fine ass man show interest in me reminded me that I had been on Cozart’s dick for a year and I had tunnel vision.
I was acting like he was the only nigga in the world because he was the only nigga I wanted.
Truthfully, I could get another nigga, and I could tell him and the gym to kiss my ass.
For most of those bitches in the gym, he was the best they could do.
He wasn’t the best that I could do and it was time that I remembered that.
Maybe I had dodged a bullet by not being pregnant by him.
I went back up to my suite, ordered room service, and lounged in the room for the rest of the day watching movies.
A few hours later my phone buzzed on the hotel’s nightstand. The message notification told me who it was from before I opened it.
FN DEAD BEAT.
I rolled my eyes and wondered why the fuck he was bothering me.
It was like a nigga could sense the love you have for him fading.
He didn’t want the baby I could have been carrying by him.
He didn’t want me. Why the fuck was he on my phone instead of between the next bitch’s legs doing what he did best, slang wood and tell lies?
I opened the message and my eyes went wide as I read it.
FN DEAD BEAT: That was fucked up what you did yesterday, but I deserved it. So, I guess we’re even now. Did you go to the doctor yet to get a real test to see if you’re pregnant?
I smirked and wondered how the hell he knew it was me that sent that message to his wife. I used an untraceable number. The phone only showed his face, it didn’t show mine. He was probably accusing every bitch he fucked with of sending the video to see who would confess to it.
ME: I have no idea what you are talking about