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“Did you cum?” he asks, always aiming to please me.
I don’t want to lie to his face so I answer, “I came when you ate your snack.”
“Word. I just want to make you happy, Connie.”
“I know. I am,” I lie. Damn, this situation makes me feel awful.
“Are you ready to eat?” I ask, hoping this fiasco is over.
“Yeah.”
We dress and Keith holds my hand as we walk to the kitchen. Even for that short distance, he displays his affection for me. I’m lucky to have a caring man like him.
***
I look at the crystal dial of the watch Keith gave me on Christmas last year. Thursday, six-fifty-five a.m.—five more minutes. Suddenly, I feel a little uneasy about my carpool activity. I know this is wrong, but I yearn for the sex Bishop gives me. I think about my sexual encounter with Keith yesterday evening. Lord, why didn’t you bless him with the right equipment? There’s no way I can tell him how I really feel. It would kill him. What am I supposed to do? My decision comes quickly. I just want to feel Bishop one more time, then I’ll cut him off. I promise.
At seven-thirty a.m., Bishop pulls up in a 2005, metallic silver Mercedes 500. I hope he doesn’t think that I’m impressed. I often see cars like this and nicer. Some of Keith’s clients have some serious James Bond-type rides, loaded with all kinds of gadgets. The doors unlock and I step off of the curb and into the plush vehicle. Bishop leans toward me for a good-morning peck. I oblige him with a warm, friendly greeting. I’m going to make this the best time ever, then leave his ass alone.
“Good morning, Ms. Winslow. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Good to see you.”
“You too, Bishop. Did you miss me? ’Cause I sure as hell missed you.”
“Damn, baby, your flame is combustible first thing in the morning, isn’t it?”
I hope I can go through with my plan. Looking at him right now and smelling his fresh-out-of-the shower body is turning me on some kind of bad, making me want more than just one last time. Can I do away with his fine ass? I hope so. Lord, give me strength. He puts the car in drive, then rests his right hand atop my left thigh and rubs my slender, cocoa leg gently.
“So, Connie Winslow, tell me about yourself. Who are you? Where are you from? What’s your favorite food? I want to know all there is to know about you.” He inquires like he’s genuinely interested. I place my hand atop his and lock my fingers with his. I can’t help but to toy with him. Before divulging any of my personal business, I decide whether I want him to know anything else about me.
“Well, why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious. Just thought we could get to know each other better, that’s all.”
“Oh, I see. Well, does it matter? I mean, would it change anything?” I ask.
“You never know.” He looks at me in that manly, matter-of-fact way. I know he’s serious but I ignore him. His ass is married and I’m with Keith. None of this matters. I gaze out of the window as we exit onto the main road. He raises our hands to his mouth and kisses the back of my hand, catching my attention.
“It matters,” he states, making direct eye contact with me. His sexy, hazel mirrors look at me sincerely. Shit, why does he make me melt like this?
“Well, Bishop, since it matters, originally I’m from Raleigh, North Carolina. I got a full academic scholarship to the University of Atlanta. I liked Hotlanta so much that I decided to stay after I graduated. I got a job as a pharmaceutical sales rep and hated it. Then, I decided to go to law school. So, I applied and got accepted to the University of Virginia. Earned my Juris Doctor. Moved back to Atlanta. Worked with the Circuit Court for about a year but didn’t like that too much, either. The criminal justice system is a trip. Then my friend Shelly suggested that I apply for the job I have now at Clark and Howard. Someone told her about the opening. I followed her advice and here I am. I’ve been with the company for six months. What about you?” I’m curious as hell to find out more about him, too. With another kiss on my hand, he begins to share his life.
“Atlanta is my home. I grew up in Marietta. I left home and received my undergraduate degree from West Point. Then got my master’s degree from Harvard’s School of Business. At age twenty-five, I joined the Marines as an officer. Did two four-year tours overseas. Decided I didn’t want to make a career out of the military. So, I moved back here. Got a job at King and Spalding for a few years, then joined Clark and Howard three years ago.”
“Wow, you’ve been busy. So tell me, Bishop, where in all of that did you get married?”
“My marital status really bothers you, huh?”
What the hell does he think? Obviously, it doesn’t bother him. Plus, I’m just curious as to why he’s steppin’ out on his wife.
“Well?” I look at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for his response.
“Connie, my marriage ain’t all that. If it was, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
“I didn’t ask you that. I asked when did you get married.” Men always want to dance around a question when they don’t want to answer.
