Читать книгу She Ain't The One - Carl Weber - Страница 8

I could hear her starting to stir as I zipped up my pants and reached for my shirt across the back of the chair. If I was lucky, she’d stay asleep for the five minutes I needed to button my shirt, slip on my shoes, and head out the door. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side.

Two seconds later, she lifted her head and began questioning me like she was one of the cops on Law and Order. “Where are you going?”

I turned toward her just as I finished buttoning my shirt. Her lips were poked out like those of a spoiled child who wasn’t getting her way.

She sat up slightly, and the sheet fell to her lap, exposing her flawless breasts and tempting dark brown, silver-dollar nipples.

My eyes drank up their beauty, but I continued to get dressed. If she was anyone else, I would have been removing my shirt, stepping out of my pants, and jumping into the bed headfirst to finish what we’d started late last night. However, she wasn’t someone else; she was Monica, the head bartender at the club.

Once again she’d proven why she was, by far, the worst piece of ass I’d ever had. Why I was stupid enough to come back to her place last night for a second time, I don’t know, but I’ll tell you this much—she didn’t have to worry about me being this stupid again.

“Jay, I asked you a question—where are you going?”

“I’m about to go home,” I replied in a rather vanilla tone.

“Home?”

I could hear the shock in her voice as she glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand.

“But it’s only eight o’clock.”

I gave her a cross-eyed look. “And…” I slipped my feet in my shoes.

“It’s Saturday; you don’t have to work. I—I thought we were going to spend the day together.”

I froze for a second, then smirked as I shook my head. “I don’t know where you got that from. I never told you I’d spend the day with you.”

“I know, but I figured after last night you might wanna spend some time with me. Go to IHop or something like that.”

I bent over to give her a kiss, hoping to get out of her apartment without incident. “Look, Monica, I’m sorry, but I got shit to do today, okay?” I was trying not to have an attitude, but it was getting harder because I absolutely hated when someone wasted my time. And last night was a true waste of my time.

“All right, but how about one for the road?” She kissed me, then pulled back the sheet, exposing the rest of her naked body.

I couldn’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. You’re what’s so funny. Do you really think offering me sex is gonna get me to stay?”

She gave me this confident smirk, then nodded like she had me wrapped around her fingers. “I don’t think, Jay—I know. Now, get your ass over here so Mama Monica can put this pussy on you like you’ve never had it before.” She gestured with her index finger for me to come closer, but I didn’t budge. She really thought she was the bomb; that wench actually thought her shit was gold. “C’mere, Jay. Stop playing hard to get and come here; you know you want this.”

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I started to laugh again. It was time to tell her what every brotha before me should have told her long before now. “Look, I don’t know what kind of brothas you’ve messed with in the past, but believe me, you weren’t all that, aw’ight.” I scrunched up my face at the memory and shook my head. “Matter of fact, you were actually pretty pathetic. You ever thought about moving when you’re having sex?”

Her jaw dropped, and her eyes bulged. I’d just crushed her ego flat as a pancake, and I could see shock, then hurt, and finally anger run across her face.

“You so full o’ shit, you know that? If I was so fucking bad, why’d you come over here tonight?”

“You don’t really wanna know the answer to that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Aw’ight, I’ll tell you.” I took a few steps toward the door, just in case she flipped. “The reason I came home with you last night is that I wanted to get laid and I didn’t have any better offers.”

“Oh, so you got what you wanted, and now you gonna front like it wasn’t good to you.”

“Got what I wanted? Don’t flatter yourself, Monica—I didn’t even come.”

“Fuck you! Get out of my house!” Out of nowhere the clock radio went flying across the room, and I had to duck to avoid it. “You trying to tell me you didn’t come.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. And if you don’t believe me, check the condom.” I glanced over my shoulder as I walked out the door. She didn’t move, but I was sure once I was gone she was going to check the garbage can to see if I was lying or not.

In a way I felt sorry for her. I knew how I felt when I thought a woman didn’t come, but I couldn’t imagine what it was like for a woman to find out she couldn’t make a man come.

Fifteen minutes later my cell phone rang as I was rolling down Fourteenth Street, headed to the Beltway and my apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. I let my voice mail pick it up because Monica had already called twice and cussed my ass out. The thought that maybe I should have kept my mouth shut about her lack of skills and just avoid her until she got the hint came to mind. Oh well, it was too late now; besides, somebody had to burst that bubble of hers. The girl was absolutely clueless.

The phone rang again. This time I was going to let her know that I knew just as many four-letter words as she did. I pushed the TALK button and yelled, “Will you stop fucking calling!”

There was silence for a few seconds. Then I was surprised by a voice that wasn’t angry, didn’t scream, and, more importantly, wasn’t Monica’s. “If you didn’t want me to call, why you give me your number?”

“Huh? Who is this?”

“Obviously, it’s not the person you thought it was, Jay,” the woman on the other end teased.

I glanced at the caller ID on the phone, and it read TEXAS.

“Okay, you had your little fun; stop playing games. Who is this?”

“I guess you give your number to so many women, you can’t keep track of them. You don’t have a clue who this is, do you?”

Damn it. I hated when women played these games, especially when they were right. I didn’t know anyone with a 713 area code. Then again, she could’ve used a calling card. “Look, I’m not having the best of days, so whoever this is, can you please just tell me who you are?”

“It’s Ashlee, Jay.”

“Ashlee? Ashlee who?”

The woman sighed; I think I was starting to frustrate her. “Ashlee Anderson. We met last night at the club. You rescued me from the guy with the big head, remember?”

A lightbulb went off in my head. “Oh, that Ashlee. Well, why didn’t you say so?” A smile crept up on my face. “How you doing, Ashlee?”

I was glad she called, though, because I’d all but given up on her after she spotted me leaving the club last night with Monica. Ashlee was one classy-ass lady and, in all honesty, the only woman I’d met that deserved my time since I’d moved to D.C.

“I’m doing all right, but I’m a little bored. I was wondering if you could tell me some of the fun things to do in D.C.”

“I can show you better than I can tell you. Why don’t I pick you up this afternoon and show you around? I haven’t lived here long, so we can do the ‘tourist thing’ together, you know. Go to the Washington Monument, the White House, the Smithsonian, and that kinda stuff. What do you think?”

There was silence on her end, like she was contemplating my offer. “I don’t know, Jay. I was really planning on spending some time alone; I’ve got a lot of things to think about.”

“Come on, Ashlee. I’ll even throw in dinner. How about Legal Seafood? I know you like seafood, don’t you?”

“Of course I do; I love fish but I don’t eat shellfish.”

“Well, all right. Then it’s a date.”

“Okay, but I don’t want you to get the wrong impression—this is not a date; I am not looking for a man, and I am nobody’s one-night stand.”

Yeah, right! So you just called me out of the blue because you’re not interested. This is going to be easier than I thought.

“If you say it’s not a date, it’s not a date. Now, where can I pick you up?”

“I’m staying at the Grand Hyatt on H Street near the Convention Center. Do you know where that is?”

“I’ll find it. How about I pick you up around two?”

“Sure. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Bye, Jay.”

“Ashlee, wait. What’s your cell number…just in case?”

“713—”

“Cool. Later, Ashlee.” I clicked off the phone, grinning from ear to ear as I saved Ashlee’s digits in my cell. I hadn’t been this excited about a date or whatever you wanna call it in years. Ashlee did something to me that no woman had done to me in a long time—she excited me in every way. I could hardly wait to run my fingers through her long, pretty hair.