Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Mark rejoins the group he came with, and I start back to our blankets and blended families, loving how my little crew and Soledad’s are all meshed together. How Hendrix has Deja cracking up about something, and my daughter’s face is for once not petulant, but amused and open.
And then Vashti and Josiah sitting together a few feet away. With his sharp jawline and broad shoulders, he’s the picture of leashed strength and virility. I know him intimately. Know him beneath his clothes. Know him beneath the control he imposes on himself. I’ve seen him break. From pleasure, fury, agony. And I never realized how someone else knowing him that way, seeing him that way, would affect me.
Now I do.
Once I’ve reseated myself on the blanket, the movie begins and everyone falls quiet.
Everyone except Hendrix, of course.
“So what was that about?” she whispers close to my ear. Someone had the forethought to buy popcorn, bless their hearts. I fix my eyes on the screen, dipping my hand into the popcorn and not answering.
“Yas!” she whispers again. “What did he want?”
I turn on her, abandoning all pretense of watching the opening credits.
“A date,” I say more loudly than I intended. A few heads swivel toward us, accompanied by a “shhhhh.”
Soledad scoots closer, leaning in.
“What are we talking about?” she whispers, eyes moving from Hendrix’s face to mine. “Is she going out with Mark?”
“She should, if only for comparison research.” Hendrix laughs. “I’ve only ever loved Blackly, so the brothers is all the dick I know, but I would assume given the proper girth, length, and velocity—”
“Dear Jesus,” I mutter, pressing a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh. “‘Velocity’? What does that even mean?”
“You know,” Hendrix says. “The force of thrust.”
“That is a blatant misuse of ‘velocity.’” Soledad shakes her head.
“But is it, tho?” Hendrix counters, tapping her temple. “It’s speed and direction of motion. Girl, that’s a thrust.”
“She does have a point,” I admit grudgingly. “But I have no intention of finding out about Mark’s velocity, especially not on the first date.”
“Are you going out with Mark because he”—Hendrix subtly tilts her head toward Josiah—“has her?”
“No.” I wilt under the heat of Hendrix’s stare. “Okay. Maybe a little. I don’t know. I told Mark I’m not ready for anything serious.”
“Mom!” Deja whisper-shouts. “Could you guys be quiet? Like, for real.”
The three of us lean into each other like kids, hushing each other, laughter spilling through our fingers. Even as I get my amusement under control, my gaze slides over to Josiah lounging nearby, the long lines of his body, even in repose, powerful and compelling. Vashti leans her head on his shoulder and links their hands in her lap, and I have to hold back a snarl.
What the actual hell?
I have no right to snarl or growl or feel like Vashti is trespassing. I asked for the divorce. I pushed Josiah away. I can’t decide I don’t want him and then that no one should. The cold reality of this truth settles on my chest like a block of ice, and for the rest of the night, it’s easy not to laugh.
Chapter Eight
Josiah
I’ll be back in about an hour,” I tell Anthony, Grits’s manager, adjusting my earbuds and scrolling through the messages on my phone. Two texts from Vashti.
“Cool,” he says from the other end of the line. “It’s crazy-packed tonight, especially for a Wednesday, but we got it.”
“Thanks, man.” I take a seat in the empty classroom, studying the clean whiteboard and the motivational posters on the walls. “This parent-teacher meeting shouldn’t take long. I’ll be in as soon as it’s done.”
Disconnecting the call, I hear the clack of approaching footsteps and turn to find Yasmen standing in the doorway. She offers a tentative smile and enters the classroom. We haven’t seen each other much since Saturday’s Screen on the Green.
“Hey,” she says, taking the desk beside mine.
I remove my earbuds, stealing a glance at my ex-wife. The petal-pink short-sleeved sweater hugs her breasts in a way that, in my objective opinion, is indecent. Yasmen’s never been a skinny woman, and with each pregnancy, her shape only got fuller, lusher.
Bigger breasts. More ass. Thicker thighs.
But she always manages to keep it tight, toned. Just more of everything.
And I’ve always been the beneficiary, but now I watch other men follow her with their eyes, knowing if she gave even a sign that she’s interested, they’d be after her. Until now, she’s never given any signs. At least as far as I know. How will I feel when she does?
Maybe she’ll choose Mark. Of course, I didn’t miss him spitting game to my ex-wife at Screen on the Green. Hell, every time he comes to the restaurant, if she’s there, he makes a beeline for her. Eyes always on her ass. When we were married, if a man had looked at Yasmen the way Mark does, I would have punched that motherfucker in the face.