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“Renee’d?”
“Renee’d and Cynthia’d.”
“What?” My eyes strained, trying to understand her.
“You just broke it off with me. But they got three months and I got a boat ride—and head.” Her brows met. “And bodied, now that I think about it.” Witherspoon found that shit funny.
Her head swung back as she cackled, and my dick got rock hard under the table.
“The hell’re you talkin’ about, Witherspoon?”
“Your stupid ass method of dating,” she tried explaining with wet eyes from laughing. “You give them three months before breaking it off. I didn’t even get three months.”
“You got more than they ever would have, though.”
You got into my head.
“Care to explain?”
“I don’t want to stop kickin’ it with you. I don’t wanna act as though we never met.”
“Then what do you want? I don’t even know your name.”
“I want you to get to know me. My name, too.” I caught a flash of excitement in her eyes. It wasn’t thirst or lust. It was Witherspoon’s vulnerability. It was what she exposed to me that night atDiFillippo’swhen we first kissed. It’s what she shared that night at my moms’ place in Harlem. And it was a glimpse of what she was open to giving me last weekend at my crib. It was a rare piece of her I wanted to be responsible with. Needed to be. “I mean… If you’re down.”
“Again. What does that even mean? You preface your explanation of your finances with this ‘boundary,’ confusing me even more. Did the sister-wives before me have to jump through these hoops to get to know basic details of your being? Or is this privilege reserved exclusively for lucky ol’ Shi-Shi?”
Shit…
“Witherspoon, I ain’t share the shit I’m about to tell you with no woman I’ve dated. Period. But—”
“But what?” she lowkey yelled.
“That’s my point, Witherspoon. I’m not sharing the complexities of my world to fuck you. I don’t need anything from you. I’m sharing my life’s details with someone I’m hoping, at least, wants to be my friend.”
“Is that what you want from me? Just to be your friend? Fine! Then why did we start with my ass in your face?”
Goddamn, girl…
My dick twitched again. I closed my eyes, frustrated and turned the fuck on at the memory.
“I’ve said sorry for that.”
“And now you’re saying…?”
“I wanna be friends.”
“But not like you are with former ‘potential’ wives?”
I snorted, “Nah, Witherspoon. Not like them.”
“ButIhave to jump through the hoops of being a friend for basic knowledge?”
My irritation was growing. “So, I’m supposed to walk around, telling my business to anyone asking questions for the fun of it?”
“Your name?”
“There’s so much attached to a name, Witherspoon. If you don’t care to be friends like that, say less and we can move on.”
