2. Chapter 2 - Regina
Chapter 2 - Regina
“G ina! Let’s go!”
My teeth grind in annoyance at the booming voice coming from down the hall.
Work sucked, traffic sucked, and now I have to put up with this bullshit?
Jaygon Jones, my boyfriend, for lack of a better term, is dragging me to some corporate dinner banquet.
Last year, he convinced me to go with him after only knowing each other for a week. It was not only boring as hell but also awkward as fuck. People kept asking the standard questions.
“How long have you been dating?”
“Where did you meet?”
“Do you think you are going to get married?”
Oh, and did I mention that Jaygon spent most of the evening bitching about my dress.
This year, he insisted on going dress shopping with me. Most of what he wanted me to wear was more appropriate for a call girl. Not that I am bashing their profession, but my taste is more conservative. I am no prude. There’s nothing like a hard fuck against the wall, accompanied by some hair pulling, maybe some light spanking on occasion. Most girls are into that kind of stuff, even if they won’t admit it out loud. However, when it comes to my wardrobe, my philosophy has always been to keep ’em guessing.
We spent three hours in the store arguing over what was appropriate. At twenty-eight years old, with a set of tits that would make Dolly Parton jealous, what he kept picking bordered on risqué. In the end, Jaygon picked one he liked, and we left. He didn’t know that I went back to the store several days later, returning his choice and buying something more to my taste.
Shrugging off my apprehension at the pending argument, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. He is already pissed. What’s one more thing?
I square my shoulders, taking another deep breath as I brace for his temper tantrum as I step into the living room.
Jaygon spins around when he hears the clicking of my heels on the hardwood floor. His eyes take me in from head to toe, his jaw ticking. Mentally counting down, Jay doesn’t disappoint…
Three…
Two…
One.
“What the fuck, Regina? Where is the dress we agreed on?” he yells in outrage, his hand flailing in my direction.
Putting my hands on my hips, I give Jay a matching dose of attitude.
“ We didn’t agree to anything,” I start, waving my finger back and forth between us. “ You picked out something that would make me look like a whore.”
He starts to open his mouth, but I cut him off, holding my hand up to stop him.
“With tits this size, spaghetti straps and a bodycon design do not work.” Smoothing my hand down the front of my lace cocktail dress, I continue, “These are people you work with. One would think that you would want me to present a more professional look and not the kind where I spend nights on my back.”
Several emotions cross his face before he finally barks out a quick “Let’s go. We’re already late,” stepping out the door of his apartment.
Rushing to catch up to him at the elevator, I prepare myself for a long night. Thankfully, there’s going to be an open bar.