“I understand. We have that in common.”
Her shoulders fell. “She deserves nothing more than all the happiness she can stand. I hope you can give that to her.”
I smiled. “Does this mean you’re okay with me dating your mother?”
Sighing, she said, “If I said no, would you back off?”
“Is that what you’re saying?”
“No, I’m not. And I’m okay with it—onlyif you promise to treat her well.” She jabbed a finger into my chest. “Don’t make me fight you,” she warned, a gleam in her eyes. “’Cause I will.”
I laughed. “You won’t have to. Des, I hope you know that I want the same things for her that you do.”
Surprising me, she gave me a hug. “I believe you,” she whispered. “Alright, you can go to her. Sloane already told all your business. Mom might look like she’s smiling, but deep inside, she’s flipping out.”
“Thanks for letting me know.”
Before I walked away, Des shared an idea she had for National Weed Day, April 20th. I told her to put a meeting on my calendar so we could discuss the details, then joined Alaiya at the bar.
Her eyes lit up. “Spence. You finally made it over here.”
Leaning closer, I whispered, “Sloane busted us, didn’t she?”
“Like only she could,” she mumbled.
I eyed the empty shot glass on the bar top. “What are you drinking?”
“Shot of tequila. My nerves are bad …”
After waving the bartender over, I placed an order. When he returned with two full shot glasses, I handed her one. We toasted to minding our business and took our shots.
Scowling, she set her glass down. “Yuck. Still nasty.”
I scanned the room. “Nice party.”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
While the music was hype and the crowd was lively, I was more interested in peeling Laiya’s clothes off and burying myself inside of her again. “You ready to go?”
Grinning, she hopped off the barstool. “I been ready. Your place or mine?”
“Mine.” Unfazed by the curious glances and the not-so-quiet whispers, I entwined my fingers with hers, kissed the inside of her wrist, and led her out of the bar.
CHAPTER 7
You’re Making Me High
Alaiya
My relationship with sex was complicated. I lost my virginity at sixteen to one of my brother’s friends. Gerald Lewis. As with most of my childhood, my mother was nowhere around, and we were left to our own devices. This particular night, my older siblings had thrown a house party, complete with liquor, weed, and debauchery.
In hindsight, it was one of those times I wished I could take back. Not for the reasons most would think, though. He sucked, but I did, too. I was completely out of my depth in the ways a person can give and receive pleasure. It was almost mechanical—insert dick here, make obnoxious grunting sounds, two pumps, then it was over. Less than a minute of absolute hell.
All I could remember thinking was,Is this it?
Unfortunately, it was. Gerald had rolled off the bed, removed his condom, tucked his little thing in his pants, and strolled out to rejoin the party. And I was lying on top of anunmade bed, staring at the ceiling and questioning my life choices.
After that experience, I vowed to never waste my time again. Until I met Rod. Our lovemaking was soft and sweet, not rushed. He was romantic and he tried his best in the beginning. I enjoyed it, but there always seemed to be something missing. Passion? Abandon? As the years passed, our sex life morphed from a loving moment between us to a consistent routine. Almost like a task, something to check off every week. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been so spent that I collapsed on the bed, struggling to catch my breath. Because that didn’t happen. Instead of going back for seconds, we each disappeared into our own bubble of responsibilities. Work. Parenting. Bills. Appearances.
