When I didn’t say anything, he added, “But we can take things slow. How about dinner tonight?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what you call taking it slow?”
“That’s what I call breaking bread together and continuing to get to know each other. You can pick the spot.”
“No, you pick it this time,” I insisted. “Your choice of restaurant will tell me something about you.”
“Hmm, the only thing that it might tell you is that I like good food. How about The Oceanaire Seafood Room on F and Twelfth Streets about seven thirty? Ever been there?”
“Not yet, but I’ve heard nothing but great things about it. Count me in.”
* * *
For the rest of the school day, I felt like I was hiking on air. There was something about the man that turned me on. However, I didn’t want to risk actually falling for him so I did the one thing that any confused woman attempting to avoid falling in love would do: I went over to Anthony’s place after work and fucked the shit out of him.
Chapter Five
“You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back.”
—Barbara De Angelis
Where have you been?” Anthony asked the second he opened the front door to his house.
“I don’t have to report to you.” I entered, kicked off my brown leather pumps, and let my tan suit jacket fall to the floor. “We’re friends with benefits, remember?”
As I walked straight upstairs to his bedroom, he shut the door and followed me. “I understand all that. Friends with benefits, cuddle buddies, whatever. But does that mean we can’t socialize outside of my bedroom?”
“What the hell do you want to socialize for, Anthony?” I stood in front of his bed and started removing all of my clothing. “We start socializing and you might catch feelings, or I might catch feelings, and then that fucks up the entire arrangement.”
He crossed his arms in rebelliousness, but as soon as I took my bra and panties off, his eyes were glued to my body.
“I don’t like the term arrangement. You make it sound like I’m a male escort or something.”
“The only thing that I want you to escort me to is a hellified climax so I can hop in the shower and keep my dinner appointment.”
“Appointment or date?” he asked vehemently.
I smacked my lips and didn’t bother to respond.
Anthony was about five-nine, much shorter than Tevin, had a few extra pounds on the belly, light-skinned with a bald head, and a gorgeous smile. We had met about a year before in the produce section of Shoppers Food Warehouse. Before I actually picked up a man in a grocery store, I always believed that it being a hot spot was nothing more than an urban legend, or a marketing ploy for certain major chains. But there he was, grinning at me as I selected some limes to make a homemade key lime pie.
I had made it clear to him from the beginning that I was not interested in dating him. But we did hang out—movies, dinner, walks in the park—until it came time for me to cut the bullshit and confiscate the dick. I made sure that we were both tested for every STD known to man before we actually did anything. He bitched about it at first, but when I informed him that getting tested meant the possibility of one day fucking me and not getting tested meant that he might as well lose my number, he got the tests done.
“Are you going to stand over there staring at me, or are you going to come over here and commence to fucking?” I asked and then turned around, making a show of exposing my entire caramel ass as I climbed on top of his bed. “I love the way that you hit all of this from the back. My pussy is in distress. Please . . . put it out of its misery.”
I could hear him approaching behind me, removing his wife beater and shorts along the way. “This is the last time I’m doing this, Jemistry.”
“That’s what you said the last time, and the time before that, and the time before that.” I turned over, lay on my back, spread my legs, and started playing in my pussy with my fingers. “See how juicy Abigail is?”
Anthony laughed. “You and your dumbass nicknames for your pussy. Every time you come through, you name her something different. Who the fuck is Abigail?”
“Abigail Adams, wife of the second president of the United States, John Adams. Mother of John Quincy Adams, the sixth president of the United States. Mother of six, and if I want to call my cooter Abigail, then you need to shut the fuck up about it.”
“You’re so mean, but you’re smart. I love your bedroom trivia facts.” Anthony climbed on top of me, butt-ass naked, and started sucking on my breasts. “And I love these.”
I glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was already five.
“Where are the condoms?” I asked. “That’s enough foreplay.”