Page 43 of The Aries Alliance
“Give me the deets. Something.”
“We made a sex tape.”
“No the hell you didn’t with your fast, hypersexual, grown, can’t keep your coochie in your panties ass . . .” Val gasped, then shouted right in my ear.
I pulled up the video on my phone and seriously thought about sending it to my girl.
“What the eff? Have you lost your freakin’ mind? Are you having some kind of breakdown?” I heard rustling on the phone that made me pull it away from my ear. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Let me pull on some clothes and my shoes.”
I rolled my eyes and raised my voice, knowing that once my friend set her mind to something, there was no stopping her.
“I’m good. War and I have an understanding.”
“In or out of the bedroom?”
I giggled.
“Both, I think.”
“Girl, . . . that sounds freaky as hell. And I want to see that tape y’all made,” she added quickly.
“Seriously, I need you to be my moral support, girl. Our plan is intense.”
“I’ve got you, sis. Kick your feet up and rest up so you have enough energy for all the dick he’s going to feed you.”
“Whatever.”
Val raised her voice.
“Am I lying, though?”
“This is more business than pleasure, love.” I lied to myself as much as I did to Val.
“Tell yourself that if you want.”
“Bye, girl.” I grinned, then hung up, unexpectedly anxious to contact War about nothing that involved our plan.
The rest of the weekend, I occupied myself with a girls’ night in with Val, hiking, meal prepping for the week, and staying away from my phone so I wouldn’t call Warrick. To my delight, he sent a message through social media around 9 p.m. Sunday night.
War:
Goodnight, Scar. Sweetest of dreams.
Me:
Sweet dreams, Warrick.
I wanted nothing more than to be with War again, but I needed to maintain my formality to keep my emotions in check.
I snuggled into my 600-thread-count sheets and breathed deeply until I fell asleep to the sounds of rushing waves from my white noise machine. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t go to bed Sunday night dreading the beginning of a work week.
When Monday came around, the early morning sun peeked through my loosely drawn blinds. I stared at the clock on my phone, pleased I didn’t spend half the night overthinking how I would execute my plan with War. I rubbed my eyes and picked up the oversized satin bonnet that had fallen off my head and onto the pillow beside me. My phone pinged.
War:
Showtime.
Warrick sent me a photo of himself, in his bathroom mirror, with his eyeglasses on and wearing a dark suit that made him look like a scrumptious treat.
