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“Heeeey, baby fahver. Isaiah told me you finally left that ole goat-faced bit—”
Isaiah frowned, swerving his car into the nearest parking space.
“Yo, what the fuck I tell you about your mouth, huh, Cass?”
Yeah, it was true. Isaiah had left LaQuandra. Well, sort of. He’d moved out at least. But he was over there nearly every other day at her request, moving something, painting something, or putting something together because she was too cheap to hire someone else to do it.
Nevertheless, the night before leaving Passion Island, he’d decided that they both needed space. Him to sort through everything she’d told him. And her to—well, shit, work on her attitude and self-esteem. He refused to stay in a marriage with a nagging, insecure, loud-mouthed-ass woman. Period.
Cassandra sucked her teeth. “Nigga-coon, boom! Eat the inside of my ass, Isaiah. I do what I want with this mouth. Bring that ole big juicy dingaling over here ‘n’ let me remind you of what it do.”
He sighed, glancing at his watch. Nearly three p.m. He only had ten minutes to get inside the building. “Fuck outta here, Cass, with that dumb shit. I told you I’m good on that.” And he meant it. He hadn’t sexed Cassandra since he returned from the couple’s retreat.
He knew he needed to keep the peace with her to keep her spiteful-ass from trying to drag him back into court for more child support. But he was no longer going to do it with his dick. Fucking her only fueled more drama. And Isaiah was officially done with the bullshit.
Cassandra grunted. “Mmph. I’m just glad you realized exactly how trifling that bit—LaQuandra is. I don’t know why you ever stuck your dingdong in that rotted troll doll anyway.”
Isaiah sighed again. “The same reason you let me stick my shit in yours—because it was good.”
He heard her pop her lips. “Uh-huh. But I bet that wildebeest can’t make it pop on that dingaling the way I do. She never deserved you, sugah-boo.” And then she grunted. “All that dingaling gone to waste inside that nasty nut-trap.”
Isaiah shut off the engine. “Yo, I ain’t tryna hear all that shit right now, Cass. Why can’t I get ahold of Isaiah?”
“Because I took his phone,” she said nastily. “That lil’ fucker wanna be up all night on the phone talkin’ to them nasty lil’ bitches he got suckin’ on his wee-wee, then come up in here bringing home Cs and Ds on his report card. No sir. Not up in here. So, no gawtdamn phone and no more late-night ho-patrols lookin’ for nasty-ass tricks to pump his dingaling in, until he gets them gra
des up.”
Isaiah shook his head. “I’ll talk to him.”
Cassandra grunted. “Mm-hmm. You better. And you better tell him that the only two holes he better be sticking his dingaling in, is an ass or a mouth. And he better be double wrapping, too. I don’t want his horny-ass bringin’ no gawtdamn babies up in here or no diseases ’cause if he do, I’ma stomp on his balls. It’s bad enough Day’Asia got another nasty-ass drip leaking from that sewer tank.”
Isaiah cringed and then glanced at the time again. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll be there around six to pick lil’ Isaiah up. Tell him to be ready.”
“I mean it, Isaiah, you better talk—”
He disconnected the call. He’d heard enough. He had more important things to do rather than listen to the ratchet-ass ramblings of Cassandra Simms.
He removed his keys and quickly hopped out the car, slamming the door shut and then activating the alarm.
LaQuandra rolled her eyes the minute she saw him trotting across the parking lot toward the building. She was annoyed that he couldn’t pick her up and drive her to the appointment. Driving two cars made no goddamn sense. And then he’d had her sitting in the waiting room for over twenty minutes, feeling abandoned and alone.
He was probably on the phone talking to that—
She stopped herself. Nope. She wasn’t going to let that trashy-ass whore’s name roll out of her mouth. Not today. Hell—not most days.
She was getting better at not doing it, especially now. In the grand scheme of things, Cassandra was a very insignificant thing, because that’s what she was—a thing.
She had a lot to look forward to. The best thing she’d ever done was to confess her past to Isaiah. Yeah, she’d hurt him—he was still hurt. But she knew at some point he’d have to get over it. She was wrong. She’d already admitted that. And she’d apologized over and over again. And she’d keep apologizing and trying to make it up to him until he found it in his heart to forgive her, or not.
LaQuandra swallowed. She loved him. And she didn’t want to let go. But she’d promised herself that she’d give him three more months to be angry with her. And then he would need to either shit or get off the proverbial pot.
She absent-mindedly twisted her wedding band around her finger, pulling it up to her swollen knuckle, then pushing it back down.
And then she nibbled on a fingernail. Her nerves were rattled and she was starving.
God, she could eat a horse. All she did these days was graze. And right now she had a taste for sardines and olives.
