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Paris’s voice plays him my head. You fucking, man-stealing bitch!
I close my eyes and whisper against his ear, “Then make love to me.”
Paris
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
It’s been three months and still Desmond has not called me, or stopped by the shop. And there’s still no way for me to get in touch with him, so I’ve finally let it go. Shit, what else is there for me to do? I don’t even know his last name. Obviously something changed. I’m just not sure what. You’re pregnant and he doesn’t even know it. And, at this point, it really doesn’t matter. Fuck him! I’m so over him. Truth is, Persia did me a favor deleting those numbers. Niggas, I think, slipping into a pair of faded Prada jeans. My baby bump is starting to show more, but not in a way that I can’t cover it with a loose-fitting blouse or something. I bend over and roll the bottoms into big cuffs, tuck my blouse in, then step into a pair of five-inch Prada sandals. “Now where the hell is that belt?” I walk back into my walk-in closet, pulling open my belt drawer. It’s missing. I head for Porsha’s room. I walk in. “Do you have my black and talc Prada belt with the studs on it?” I ask as she’s walking out of her bathroom. She’s wrapped in a towel with her cell pressed up against her ear. She’s smiling. She holds a finger up, signaling for me to wait.
“Okay…I’ll see you when I get back from the city…Me too…I can’t wait either. You enjoy yours, too…” I can tell by the tone in her voice that she’s talking to her mystery boo. The one she’s still not ready to tell Persia and me about. I’m fine with it. As long as she’s happy, that’s all that matters to me. And judging by her disposition the last few months, I’d say she’s definitely happy. “Okay, now what are you in here asking me for, hooker? Coming up in here disrupting my conversation.”
I wave her on. “Whatever. Where’s my Prada belt?”
She drops her towel. “Look in my closet. I wore it a couple of weeks ago.” I walk into her closet. Two minutes later, I walk out with my belt in hand.
“Ummm, why is it when I borrow your shit I put it back when I’m done, but you seem to forget where to put mine?”
She stops oiling her naked body. Her beautiful brown skin shimmers. “Ummm, have you returned that leather Prada bag that your ass took up outta here almost year ago?”
I laugh. “Girl, it hasn’t been that long.”
“Mmmmph; just what I thought. And it’s been damn near close to it.”
“Whatever, how much longer are you going to be? I wanna get into the city before it gets too hectic.”
“Chile, relax. It’s only ten-thirty. I’ll be ready in like ten minutes. Don’t you see me tryna get dressed? Geesh. Where’s Persia?”
I sit on the leather ottoman situated by the window, peering out of it. “You know she’s downstairs dressed and ready. I’m surprised she hasn’t already called up here to see what’s taking you so long. You know she has no patience for waiting.”
“She’ll be fine. If not, she can go on without me. You too, boo.”
I give her the finger. We’re driving into the city to look for something to wear for Pasha’s upcoming wedding, then going somewhere to have an early dinner. “Nooooo, wrong answer. We’re all going together. So, get your ass in gear, and let’s get moving.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” she says, clasping her red LaPerla bra, then slipping into a pair of matching panties. It’s bright, bold color looks good against her skin. “I want to be home by nine.”
I smile. “You and your mystery boo have a hot date or something?”
She grins. “Something like that.”
“Well, you know I’m not going to pry. But I’m dying to know who he is.”
“You already know,” she quickly stops herself.
“What, I already…”
She puts a finger up to her lips to quiet me. She walks over to her door and quietly shuts it. “Paris, you have to swear to me that you will not repeat a single word of this to Persia.”
“Girl, you know I—”
“I’m serious, Paris. Not a word. Swear to me.”
“Oh, damn. Who is he?”
“Not until you promise me you’ll keep what I say to yourself. Until I’m ready to tell Persia, you have to keep this between us. I mean it.” I promise her. Tell her my lips are sealed. And she knows I mean it. She leans in and whispers, “It’s Em.”
“Who? I don’t know an Em?”
“Sssssh, if I wanted a loud broadcast, I woulda kept the door open.”
