3. Breakfast & Confessions #2
I sat back with my hands on the table. “Well, I’m not sure who they are, but I doubt you can tell them anything about me past me being a ten in the face with a fat ass and an ear for music.
Anything beyond that would be speculation considering you don’t know me.
” I said a mouthful without batting an eyelash, and I could tell the wheels in his head were turning.
“You always been able to do that?”
“Do what?” I sipped my juice.
“Have a way with words.”
“Oh.” I smiled. “You mean be gifted?”
He chuckled. “Yeah, shorty. That.”
“All my life.”
Nodding, his smile faded a little but never left his eyes. “You single, Key?”
“I’m scouting.”
He lifted a brow and sat back comfortably. “What you scouting for?”
“A big dawg. One who can make my life better than it already is.”
“Back again,” Danae announced, all chipper and shit, holding a tray with our food and his drinks. She set everything down and tucked the tray under her arm. “Let me know if y’all need anything else. Enjoy.” Winking at me, she walked off backwards, making faces behind Mehki.
“When’s the last time you had one?” he asked, pulling my attention from her silly ass.
“One what? A big dawg?”
Cutting into his waffle, he drenched it in syrup before taking a bite and nodding.
“Never,” I answered honestly. “No one’s made the cut. Hence why I continue to scout.”
“And how’s that working out?”
“You sittin’ across from me, ain’t you?”
He didn’t respond, just smirked and put another forkful of waffle into his mouth.
As we ate, we fell into conversation naturally.
I learned that he was a businessowner and had been out celebrating closing a deal the night we’d met at the club.
I asked what made him approach me the way he did.
His answer was simple – my ass had called him. That made me laugh.
“So, what’s your relationship status with Baby?” I asked, taking the last bite of my waffle and savoring it. I’d cleaned my plate without shame. “And don’t lie or try to downplay it like niggas do.”
“I ain’t never told a lie a day in my life. Even if it could’ve gotten me out of some shit.”
I sipped my juice and stared at him. “You sayin’ all that before answering the question only makes me think you ‘bout to lie like a rug.”
He bust out laughing, holding his hand to his mouth to prevent any food from coming out. “Yo, you gotta chill.”
I shrugged. “I’m just saying. As soon as a nigga get to over selling it, I hear lies.”
He shook his head and washed his food down with the water. “I’m in a relationship with her and another woman.”
I blinked once. “And they both know?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We live a poly lifestyle.”
“Hmm.” I nodded slowly. “Interesting.”
“Interesting?” he repeated.
“Yeah. Were you expecting me to say something else?”
“Honestly, yeah. Some judgmental shit like women usually do without asking questions.”
“Oh, baby, I don’t care enough to judge three consenting adults. Besides, most niggas ain’t got enough dick for one woman. You slangin’ dick to two. How it feel to be that nigga?” I held my hand high for him to slap me five.
Again, he laughed, making me smirk. He’d been doing that so much since he’d sat down, I knew it would be nothing to get him out his drawers.
He high fived me. “Sound like something you’d be into?”
I replied without hesitation. “Nope.”
“Oh, you wanna be stingy wit’ the dick?”
“Wit’ the dick, the lips, the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the brain, the wallet, etc. A nigga really don’t need to be poly wit’ me. I already have seven different personalities. That’s a different bitch every day. As long as he spoils each one of ‘em, I ain’t trippin’.”
“So, you’d never add an extra party?”
“A man gotta bring that outta me. But it’ll never be on a relationship level like what you got going on. Ion even play like that.”
“I respect it.”
“Did you enjoy your food?” I thought it best to change the subject.
“I did. Enjoyed your company too.”
I started to say something slick but couldn’t deny that I enjoyed his company as well. “Same.”
“Preciate you for holding onto the phone. I’ll keep a better eye on it next time.” He picked the phone up, and it rang in his hand.
“How much you wanna bet that’s Baby?”
He waved me off and tucked the phone away without checking the screen. “Get out my business, girl.”
I shrugged, knowing I was likely right.
“Breakfast on me,” he said, standing and pulling a money clip from his pocket. Peeling off five one-hundred-dollar bills, he placed one on the table and held the other four out to me. “This your charging and finder’s fee. The extra is for being good company.”
I brushed my fingers across his hand while taking the money from him. “I love a man that’s willing to pay for my time.”
He leaned over so that he was close to my face. “And I love a woman who can talk that shit. Can I have your number?”
I folded my arms with a slick grin. “And here I am thinkin’ you were above asking.”
Pulling out two phones, he pushed them toward me on the table. “Silver one is the business line and the other is my personal line. Password 0627 on both. Lock yourself in. And never think on my behalf. I promise nine times out of ten, I’ma do the opposite of what you think.”
I loved me a nigga that matched my energy.
And as far as I was concerned, poly meant he was free to move how he wanted to.
That worked in my favor because I didn’t answer to niggas anyway.
Picking up the business phone., I typed the passcode in to unlock it and added my contact under Key with a smirking emoji.
Saving it, I pushed both phones back to him.
“After seeing how careless you are with that personal phone, I’d much rather be taken as serious as your businesses.”
Another smile came easy from him. “You something else. I wanna do this again soon. Look out for me.”
“Okay. Have a productive day, Mehki.”
“You as well, beautiful.”
I watched him as he exited, wondering if the man that was currently entertaining two women could handle me — a bitch who had the energy of seven.
Two orders of salmon croquets, grits, sausage, and scrambled eggs with cheese sat securely in the passenger seat of my car as I drove to my parents’ house.
I made it my business to stop by at least twice a week to see them.
I hoped that today would be one of the days my father remembered it was one of his favorite meals from Sullivan’s.
Growing up, he’d have my mother in the kitchen whipping up salmon croquettes at one in the morning happily, meaning without force or convincing, because Taija Sullivan loved her husband just that much.
My father used to eat enough for two men.
Nowadays, he’d forget he was hungry until my mother called him to the table and set a meal in front of him.
Pulling into their driveway, I parked behind her McLaren and walked up to the front door, using my key to let myself in.
The smell of Cashmere and Amber hit me as soon as I walked inside.
It was her signature scent for the house.
The scent floated in the air, warm, airy, with a mix of luxury.
I’d gotten my love for decorating from my mother, and it showed throughout her home.
Creams, browns, and hints of burnt orange made my parents’ house look like a page out of Better Homes & Gardens.
This was a Sullivan home though. It had that extra umph.
I could hear music coming from the backyard, so I headed back there with the food.
“Over here, babe.” My mother’s voice carried through the yard as she kneeled in front of one of her flower beds, wearing gardening gloves, a bandana to keep her hair out of her face, and what I liked to call her gardening fit.
“Here?” my dad asked, shovel in hand, dressed in a pair of cargos and an old football jersey.
“No, love. That’s mulch.”
“This one?” He pointed the shovel in another direction.
“No, Stephan,” she replied with a smile and the patience of a saint.
“They both brown though,” my father said.