Page 24 of He Snatched My Soul

“Do you have to speak so bluntly?” Modesty tried to whisper.

“Aww! You guys are such a cute couple. Reminds me of my husband and I before we got married,” Carla beamed.

“Oh, um, we are not together.” Modesty chuckled nervously.

“Yeah, I’m just her side nigga.”

I held my stomach as I laughed at Modesty, who looked mortified that I was so direct. Shiddd! It wasn’t like a nigga was lying.

“Okayyy! Mr. Armstrong, I see you love the lemon, and Ms. Blackwood, you love the strawberry cake. I say go with both. Each cake is three-tiered and can feed up to three hundred people combined.”

“Let’s do it.” Modesty happily agreed.

“Perfect! Let’s get the paperwork started.”

An hour and a half later, we were done with the caterer, and I had finished uploading the system for the computers. The only thing left was for me to set up the iPads when they arrived tomorrow. Modesty stated that she was hungry and I was, too. Those small-ass pieces of cake ain’t do shit. As we drove out of the parking lot, Modesty sat in the passenger seat and stared out the window with her arms tightly crossed over her chest. It looked like she had an attitude.

“What’s good, baby girl? Are you straight?” I was concerned.

“Actually, no. Why did you tell the caterer that you were my side nigga? That made me feel some type of way, Jamian.”

“How? I only spoke the truth.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“It was disrespectful.”

I looked over at Modesty when I pulled up at a red light. “You right… the shit was wrong, and I apologize if I embarrassed you. But I’m not going to apologize for digging in them guts.”

“You are so nasty.” She chuckled.

“I’m speaking the truth. If yo’ nigga was doing his job at home, there is no way you would let me anywhere near the pussy.” I rubbed my chin while licking my lips.

“Don’t flatter yourself because you put down some good dick, nigga.” She sassed.

“Yeah, a nigga do be putting in that work,” I spoke cockily and pulled off.

“Whatever. From here on out, our relationship needs to remain professional.”

“Say less.” I chuckled.

Modesty didn’t believe that shit she said herself. I’ma continue to hit that pussy, especially after I felt that pussy raw. Her nigga better hope he doesn’t fall in her shit by the time I’m done with it.

It was past lunchtime and my stomach started rumbling. I had a taste for some jerk chicken, peas and rice, and some Callaloo. There was a Caribbean spot on the strip that I heard had some banging food a few blocks from the resort, so I headed there. We arrived and it wasn’t too crowded. Since the restaurant sat right next to the beach, Modesty requested that we be seated outside.

Once we were at our table and given menus, I found myself staring across the table at shorty. My eyes traced the delicate curve of her profile as she lost herself in the beauty of the ocean, in deep thought. Modesty’s beauty was unmatched and any man could see that. A nigga was never the romantic type, and this woman sitting across from me wasn’t my girl. But I couldn’t help but think, what if she was? I’d give her the world; give her all her heart’s desires, then some. But then those thoughts left my head just as quickly as they came because I'd given all those things to a woman once, and she broke my heart. I invested so much of myself in her, and she didn’t deserve it.

“It’s not polite to stare, Mr. Armstrong. I might think you see something you like.” Modesty caught me being a creep.

“Oh, I definitely like what I see.” I flirted. “But what are you over there thinking about? What got you so deep in your head?”

She sighed before taking a pause. “My dad. My mom. Just life in general,” she spoke softly. I was about to pry when the waitress came to take our orders before walking away from our table.

“What about your parents?” I probed.

“My dad is deceased, but I’m worried about my mom. Since he died, she’s become a bit of a homebody. No matter how much I try to get her out of the house, she refuses,” Modesty’s voice cracked.

“Damn, my bad, baby. Sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine losing a parent. Have you tried getting your mom into one of those grief counseling sessions? Maybe you both can go together. My mom has attended one every week since my aunt died a few years ago. It helped her.”

“I have. But I stopped going. They became too depressing. Hearing other people share their stories of grief of a loved one seemed to make my depression worse. As for my mom, she refuses to attend any counseling.” She was getting emotional.

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