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I frown. “You already said that.”
He leans forward, touches my hand with two gentle strokes of his fingers. “I’ve missed you.”
I tilt my head. “You’ve missed...me? Oh really?” I question, skepticism dripping from my tone.
He strokes my hand again. His touch feels good. “Yeah, I’ve missed you.”
I pull my hand away from his. “Since when, Em?”
“Porsha, I’ve always dug you.” I raise a brow. “No bullshit.”
He tells me that I’m the chick he’s been feeling. That he realized he was catching feelings for me four months ago, but had tried to ignore them; tried to push them aside. Tells me how, after nights of fucking my sisters and me, he would go home and lie in bed, thinking about me. Trying to figure out how he got so caught up in me. I sit here and stare at this fine-ass man as he shares this with me. As he tells me how much he thinks about me; how he had to distance himself from the three of us because it was becoming more difficult for him to sex the three of us and not feel uncomfortable. That for the last two months, anytime he was with us, he’d try hard to block out Persia and Paris and keep his focus on me. My kiss, my touch, the way I felt when he was inside of me. I almost fall out of my seat when he tells me he felt a connection to me the first time we kissed.
“I know you felt it, too,” he says, licking his lips with the tip of his tongue.
I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out how he knew that I had also felt it. There was something in that first kiss. The minute his lips had touched mine, then his tongue danced its way into my mouth, I felt myself get weak at the knees as a surge of something much greater than lust washed over me. But I dismissed the feeling. Well, made an earnest attempt to. But anytime he kissed me, that weak-at-the-knees kind of feeling would come over me, again. So most times I would avoid kissing him.
“Maybe I did; maybe I didn’t. At this point it doesn’t really matter. What does your girl have to say about all of this?”
“What? Have you not heard anything I’ve said? There is no girl.”
The way he emphasizes girl causes an alarm to go off in my head. I blink. Ohmygod. I’ve sucked this nigga’s dick raw.
Yeah, but Persia’s licked all up in his ass. She would have definitely put him on blast if she suspected he liked tossing his ass up.
But he likes it licked.
So what? That doesn’t mean he’s into other men. Besides, he’s never asked to be plugged or fingered, so maybe not.
Yeah, but that doesn’t mean...
Ugh! Don’t tell me this nigga has been fudge-packing another nigga in his ass, instead.
Girl, stop! The way he slings that dick up in a pussy, there’s no way.
“Are you bisexual?” I ask, trying to shake these racing—okay, paranoid—thoughts out of my head. I keep my eyes on him, gauging his response.
He frowns, matching my stare. “What? Why would you ask me some crazy shit like that?”
“Well, the way you said ‘there is no girl’ as if you were telling me in an underhanded kind of way that there is someone else, but it isn’t a female.”
“No, what I am telling you is that there is no one else; period. I mean, yeah, I was talking to someone for a minute. It wasn’t anything serious. I thought she would help keep my mind off you. But, it didn’t. It only made me think of you more. Don’t know how many times I was tempted to say, ‘fuck it’ and let things stay the way they were just so I could keep seeing you. But, I couldn’t. That shit was killing me.”
“So there’s no other chick?”
“No. No one.”
“Hmm. Well, you still haven’t answered the question.”
“What question is that?”
“Are you bisexual? I mean, if you are, it’s okay with me. Wait a minute. No, the hell it wouldn’t be. I’d be pissed the hell off at you for not telling us up front. But I still want to know. So are you or not?”
He shakes his head, smirking. His body language, his eyes... nothing shifts in a way that heightens my concern. “I’m from far that. Trust me. Never have; never will. I don’t knock anyone else’s flow. But that ain’t mine. There ain’t shit a nigga can do for me, aiight. So relax.”
I silently sigh, relieved. “Were you really in the Poconos doing construction or were you up there laid up with some broad?”
He keeps his eyes locked on mine. “Both.”
