“Baby, I’m going to take a shower. Do you want to join me?”
“No, I’ll, um, take one when you’re done.”
“Sure?”
“Yeah.”
He kisses my forehead and leaves the room. Shit, shit, shit! What the hell is going on? This isn’t supposed to end like this. We’re suppose to have wild, butt-naked sex, not, well you know, the alternative. Keep this in perspective, I tell myself. He’s married and has never said anything about leaving his frigid wife. I wonder why? This is a dangerous, deadend road and I need to get off of it as soon as possible.
Bishop returns to the room about ten minutes later with a white towel around his waist. He sits on the edge of the bed and touches my thigh.
“Baby, are you all right?”
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason.”
“Tell me something, Bishop. What are your plans regarding your unfulfilling marriage?” Surprisingly, he gives me a straight answer the first time around.
“I plan to file for divorce shortly.”
“You ‘plan to,’ oh really. I see.” Liar. He could at least be more original.
“Seriously, Connie. My wife is a well-connected woman. I have to be careful with our situation or she will drag my ass through the mud in court. I’ve already set the wheels in motion. If everything goes as planned, I should be done with the process by Christmas next year. What a gift it’s going to be to me.” He smiles as he discusses his divorce.
“Yeah, if you say so. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I was just wondering.”
“Forget about that, Co
nnie. I’ve got it under control. What I’m interested in is, how are you feeling?”
I know he probably wants to talk about what happened between us, but I’m not letting him have that upper hand.
“I feel fine.”
Annoyed by my quick, nonchalant reply, he stands and walks to his clothes. I rise and enter the bathroom where I relax in the shower. Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to go to my car.
The ride to my car is unusually quiet but Bishop still holds my hand the entire way. He turns onto Perimeter and I see my SUV.
“Well, here you are, Connie.”
“Thanks.”
“Next week is George’s turn to drive, but I’m going to drive on Monday ’cause his car is in the shop.”
“Bishop”—I stop him from further explaining the carpool situation—“I’m not riding with you next week or the week after. This is it for me.” He just doesn’t want to accept the facts.
“Why? I thought we—”
“I know what you thought and trust me, you need to stop thinking it because it’s not going to happen. I simply can’t see you anymore, especially now.” He leans in for a kiss and I ignore his attempt and try to exit. He grabs my wrist, firmer than usual.
“Connie, let’s talk this through.”
“You best let go of my wrist,” I demand with a threatening, escalated voice. He obviously doesn’t take me serious and tries to hug me.
“I said, let me go! I don’t want this!” He tries to kiss me again. “Bishop, no!”
I hear Keith’s voice in my head. Gradually, he reaches my subconscious and I feel him shaking me saying, “Connie, baby, wake up, wake up.” But in my dream, the motion is me, frantically pushing Bishop away, not because he’s attacking me. I’m fighting my own desire to remove myself from this hypnotic state of wanting his big dick. I continue to swing my arms and say, “Leave me alone! I can’t do this!”