Chapter Ten #3
“You’re married? And you are out on a date?
I don’t fuck married men; I don’t play with the Lord’s covenant.
” I placed my hand up to signal for a waiter so I could get the check.
He had me all the way fucked up. There was enough single dick in the world to bounce on that I didn’t have to fuck someone else’s husband.
If he had told me that initially, we wouldn’t be sitting here.
I knew that his ass was too good to be true.
“Put your hand down, I was married and I am no longer married. I am a widow,” he said through gritted teeth causing me to slide my hand down in embarrassment.
“Oh.” I looked away shyly and choked slightly on my drink.
“You so ready to dismiss a nigga,” he chuckled as he shook his head.
“I was married for ten years, and I lost my wife two years ago,” he told me solemnly.
I didn’t know why that surprised me. Maybe because he seemed too young to have been married for such a long time.
“What happened to her? If you don’t mind me asking,” I asked sadly as I looked down at my hands. He looked out at the city and took a deep breath.
“She was pregnant, and there were some complications during labor,” his voice became softer and I felt my stomach tighten.
“I lost both my wife and my baby girl at the same time. That is the type of hurt I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
For nine months we were excited. Nesting, built a nursery, started a college fund, bought clothes and diapers, and everything for our baby girl.
She had a shower a week before she went into labor and all of her family and friends came out, some of whom she hadn’t seen in years.
You never know when it’s going to be the last time you see someone,” he whispered.
I stopped breathing and it felt like the restaurant disappeared around me and I was mentally thrust into the delivery room with him, and his wife. There was no noise, no skyline, no people, just a delivery room filled with doctors, nurses, machines, and chaos.
“My daughter came out breathing for a few seconds then she flat lined. My wife had a heart attack on the delivery table from hemorrhaging blood. I stayed in Mississippi one year after that, but I couldn’t continue to live in that house with those memories.
Every time I walked past the nursery I broke down.
I couldn’t drive down those same roads she and I had so many memories on.
I couldn’t go to the same grocery store.
Everything reminded me of my wife and the baby girl I never got a chance to hold.
” His eyes found mine. I didn’t know what to say.
“I came here, to Atlanta, to start over,” he smiled at me.
I looked down, as sadness filled me. “I’m so sorry,” I told him.
“It took a lot of therapy and healing to be able to talk about it. I’m better than I was,” he told me honestly.
“My wife loved fresh juice,” he smiled. “She used to make me drink all kinds of nasty stuff. She always said food heals people. I couldn’t save her or my daughter, but maybe I can help other people.
I learned that people like things that taste good and they would rather gorge unhealthy shit because of the taste instead of consuming medicine through food and drinks, so I learned how to make recipes that actually taste good to you and are good for you at the same time,” he smiled.
For the first time tonight, I reached across the table and my hand covered his.
Silence settled between us. It wasn’t an awkward silence; it was a healing one.
When the waiter approached with our food, the conversation turned lighter.
He asked me about my family, the gym, and where I grew up.
I told him funny stories about growing up in the country and sad stories about life after my mother passed away.
He was so easy to talk to, and I found my mind shifting from just wanting to fuck him to being genuinely interested in the words that came out of his mouth.
He was funny, smart, and passionate about healing people from the inside out.
Hearing him talk about the importance of health and renewing our minds and bodies made me appreciate the work that was being done at the gym by my members.
I suddenly felt guilty about creating a juice bar in the gym just to compete with him.
I didn’t plan to do half the research to create something healthy and sustaining, I just planned to throw some juice in a blender and call it a smoothie.
The more we talked the less I started to see him as competition.
I planned to cancel the plans for the juice bar in the gym and let him continue to do the work that his late wife was passionate about.
Zumo told me about life growing up in Mississippi, he was the youngest of ten kids and he came from a big family.
He had nieces and nephews, and aunts, uncles, and so many cousins that when he showed me pictures from his family reunion my jaw dropped.
There was definitely more to Zumani Welsh than what I thought.
After an amazing dinner, and a few more drinks, I followed him to a nearby club, and we danced for what felt like hours.
By the end of the night, I was exhausted, full, and ready to get home to get in bed.
Zumo walked me to my car and opened the door for me so I could get inside before speaking, “Now that I’ve treated you like the lady you are, I’m ready to slut you out because I know that’s what you want.
So, should I follow you to your place or would you like to come to mine?
” he questioned as he stood in the door.
I smiled nervously and my pussy pulsated in anticipation.
“You can follow me to my place and thank you for being a gentleman,” I retorted sweetly.
The entire ride home, I contemplated calling to tell him that maybe we shouldn’t do this.
I had gotten a taste of the man he was, and I wasn’t sure if I could still fuck him no strings attached.
I looked in my rearview mirror and saw him following behind me in his ugly truck and dismissed the thought as soon as it crossed my mind.
I could handle a meaningless fuck and my body needed this.