Chapter Nine #2
FN DEAD BEAT: Don’t play with me Trallis. I know you sent my wife that video. I have been fucking you for over a year. I know your body better than any nigga you have ever fucked with.
I know the birth mark on your right hip, the way your ass claps when I hit it from the back, and how you ball your hands into fists and push me back when I’m too deep in that pussy. You sent that video. Don’t deny it.
I read his message and my pussy clenched as I had a sex flashback of how good Cozart put it on me.
Why was good dick attached to demons? I sighed and placed my head in my hands.
The fact that he knew my body inside and out, but not my feelings for him made me feel worse.
If I was actually carrying his baby, he would have wanted me to kill it before he even got to know if he liked the little bastard.
ME: Ok. I sent it. But let’s talk about how you’re separated and didn’t tell me. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
I typed the words aggressively in all caps because I wanted him to know how pissed I was. He had a lot of nerve bragging about how he knew my body, but he didn’t know how to tell me he was separated from his wife and they were living apart. His three dots immediately appeared.
FN DEAD BEAT: What difference does it make?
ME: YOU BEING SEPARATED MAKES ALL THE DIFFERENCE IN THE WORLD. WE COULD HAVE ACTUALLY BEEN SEEN IN PUBLIC TOGETHER. WE COULD HAVE WENT ON DATES. WE COULD HAVE BEEN IN A RELATIONSHIP!
Tears filled my eyes as I typed feverishly.
I had never understood that comprehension is more important than communication until this very moment.
I could communicate how knowing he wasn’t married hurt me, but if he didn’t see the problem in not telling me, I may as well have been swapping recipes with a brick wall.
Three dots appeared, then went away. Then a few seconds later three dots appeared and his message popped up.
FN DEAD BEAT: It wouldn’t have made a difference. Separated is still married. Like I said, you had your fun when you sent the video and we’re even. Did you go to the doctor and get a test? You need to handle that
I laughed and shook my head at how cold he was.
He wanted me to handle that like it was a parking ticket and not his flesh and blood.
The more I thought about it the happier I became that I wasn’t actually pregnant by this piece of shit.
How could someone make me feel like I’m the only thing that matters to him while he’s inside of me, and talk to me like I’m shit on the bottom of a shoe?
Instead of texting back, I locked my phone and tossed it across the bed.
The tears rolled down my face and I wiped them quickly.
Fuck Cozart Walker.
He had told me that I was somebody he enjoyed, past tense, like I was a show he finished watching and not a human person with emotions. I wasn’t about to waste my vacation time sitting in the room crying over his ass. The best way to get over an old nigga was to get under a new one.
I showered and scrubbed my feelings for CO off my body and watched them roll down the drown.
I did my makeup, full and dramatic, tonight I didn’t want barely there, I wanted a full beat.
I slipped into a white Versace dress that hugged my body perfectly and slipped my feet into white, Christian Louboutin, open toed pumps.
It was time to go outside like Cardi B said.
I grabbed my clutch purse, put my phone and keys inside, and spritzed some Louis Vuitton Les Sables Roses on my pulse points.
The hotel beach cabana looked even more beautiful at night then it did in the daytime.
There were fire lit tiki torches that lit up the beach giving a smooth romantic ambiance.
A saxophonist played Robin Thicke’s “Lost Without You,” as couples danced, and sat near the beach.
People were holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, and wedding rings glimmered under the moonlight.
You would think this was a couple’s resort. Everybody had somebody.
There was a fire pit in the center, and the fire burned high and bright.
The orange embers illuminated the section.
I walked down to the cabana slowly; there was no need to rush.
A soft wind from the ocean lifted my hair slightly.
When I made it to where sidewalk turned into sand, I removed my pumps and held them in my hand.
I then walked through the warm sand, feeling my sadness evaporate into the earth beneath me.
I found a section at the end of the bar and slid onto a bar stool.
“Hey beautiful lady, what can I get for you?” the bartender asked me.
“A lemon drop martini please,” I answered as the soft breeze blew my hair into my face.
I dipped my head, and caught a strand between my fingers, I then tossed it behind me and allowed the wind to do the rest of the work of blowing it out of my face.
After getting my martini I took a sip and closed my eyes as the lemon caused my lips to pucker.
It was just the right amount of bitter and sweet.
“What do you think?” the bartender asked as I sipped the drink with my eyes closed.
“I think I want to take you back to Atlanta with me, because I have never tasted a lemon drop martini that was this damn good. What is the secret?” I asked him.
“I can’t have you going back and spilling my Dade County secrets to your Atlanta bartenders. You want me to make it like I make it you gotta come see me,” the bartender flirted. He was sort of cute and I was coming off crying over a married man, so I definitely wanted a little action.
“What’s your name?” I asked him sweetly as I admired his large full head of hair, slender build, and smooth caramel complexion. He looked like Allen Iverson in his prime. Skinny niggas had the biggest dicks, and I could tell that he was packing.
“Feta. What’s yours?” he questioned.
“Feta? Like the cheese? I’ll just call you cheese I ain’t calling your ass Feta. I might as well call you provolone or mozzarella,” I scoffed. The bartender laughed and I heard someone else laugh that made me quickly turn my head in his direction. It was the fine ass man from earlier.
“Hey again,” I spoke to him and he nodded his head in my direction.
“Don’t let me interrupt, I like to watch,” he smirked as he picked up his bourbon and bit his bottom lip.
I turned back to look at Feta, and he was looking at me like a starving man.
“My name is Trallis. It’s nice to meet you, Cheese,” I smiled at him.
“It’s nice to meet you too beautiful,” he winked at me before someone called for him and he went walking down to the end of the bar.
“You look too pretty to be drinking alone,” the fine man from earlier commented.
“Who said I’m alone?” I asked.
He glanced around dramatically, before saying, “I don’t know love, the empty seat beside you.”
I laughed despite myself because that really was a cute comeback.
“What’s your name I asked him?”
“Ajibola Akinfenwaa, but you can call me AK,” he smirked and his smile made my stomach do backflips.
“Come sit next to me and tell me your business since you want to be all up in mine,” I flirted and he stood up slowly allowing his full height to stretch.
He had to be over six foot seven. I didn’t have to see my face to know that I was blushing.
He walked over and sat in the seat next to me, and I wrapped my arms protectively around myself.
“You don’t have to do that, I’ll do it if you let me,” he remarked causing me to giggle shyly.
“I’m fine it’s just a little draft coming off the ocean,” I waved my hand at him dismissively.
“Why are American women so afraid to let a man take control?” he asked me quietly.
“We are used to being the man that takes control.” I shrugged as I reached for my drink and sipped slowly.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been here, but our men like to carry purses they call messenger bags, wear bedazzled jeans with rhinestones, and paint their nails. We are a little low on testosterone out here,” I shrugged.
“Luckily, I have more than enough to keep you warm,” AK said as he removed his short sleeved, white linen shirt, and draped it over my shoulders. He was left wearing a white tank top, denim jeans, and Louis Vuitton sneakers.
“You smell amazing,” I complimented as his scent enveloped me because his shirt was over me.
“Thank you, I would tell you the name of it, but I don’t want you to go back and tell that guy who was making you smile earlier my scent, and you buy it for him,” he smirked causing me to laugh loudly at his sarcasm and heavy accent.
“I would let you tell your girlfriend what scent I’m wearing if you wanted her to smell like me,” I smiled shyly.
“Why settle for a copy when I can have the original,” he retorted.
Time had a way of moving fast when you were having fun.
I didn’t realize that AK and I had been talking for hours until I felt my phone vibrate and I pulled it from my purse.
The time I read 12:58pm. It was almost one in the morning, and I had been out there drinking and talking for hours.
The bartenders had switched shifts and Cheese had said goodbye.
Without asking if he could, AK closed our tab and gave Cheese a huge tip.
We then started the next round of drinks with the new bartender.
Another reason it didn’t feel later than it was because the beach was still packed.
It was summer break and everyone was on vacation because there were still plenty of couples outside, enjoying each other’s company, flirting, laughing, and talking as if it were 8pm.