Page 17 of Wasn't Supposed To Be Yours
“You didn’t. Your just all in my business,” I said.
“What? I’m supposed to sit here with you in silence? I’m trying to loosen you up. Take your purse off your shoulder andsit it on the couch. I ain’t the nigga that you gotta be uptight with. I was a raised by a single woman, and I spent a lot of time with my grandparents. I’m not a weird ass nigga, and I don’t violate women. I’m the last nigga that you gotta be uptight around. Just vibe,” he suggested.
I sighed, and I removed my purse from my shoulder, and sat it on the side of me. I turned to look at him, wondering if I should answer the previous question from him.
“Me, and my sisters all have different dads,” I let him know after a couple of minutes of silence.
“So, you’re the oldest, then it’s Tommie, and Free?” he asked.
“I have another little sister named Nivea. She was the baby,” I shared.
“I didn’t know it was four of ya’ll. What happened to her? Why you talking about her in past tense?” he wanted to know.
“Because she died,” I said it in a way like it was final, hoping that he would catch it, and not talk to me about it.
I didn’t like to talk about Nivea’s death. It was triggering as hell for me, and it would put me in a bad spot. I lost someone who’s diapers I used to change, who’s hair that I used to comb, so I would just rather not speak about her.
“I’m sorry for your loss. Damn. I didn’t know that,” I was glad that he read the room, and he left it at that.
I just nodded my head.
“You cool with your dad?” he changed the subject.
“He’s in prison. We have a good relationship though,” I told him.
“Damn. What that nigga in prison for? He was moving dope?” he asked me, and I grunted at his response.
“Why are you asking me all these questions?” I had to know, and again, he wasn’t fazed by my attitude because he laughed.
“Damn. I can’t ask you questions? You can ask me anything you want. I’m an open book. I don’t mind sharing anything withyou,” he said, and I just hated how handsome he looked. Those dimples on him should have been against the law. Then, when he laughed, you could see his straight, white teeth. He made it so hard to sit here and pretend that I didn’t want to talk to him.
“The bitch that you keep telling me not to worry about, when is the last time that you had sex with her?” I asked, getting right to the point. These were the kind of questions that I wanted the answers to.
The fact that he smiled at my question, instead of getting offended, that just proved to me that his ass was crazy.
“The day before Liberty’s six-month party,” he was honest with his answer, but then again, I didn’t even know if that was true.
“Hmm,” was all I said.
“What else you want to know? How many times she came? I think it was five. Did I eat her pussy? Nah. Did I use protection? Yeah. I never leave my house without it. Where did we fuck? I pulled up on her at her crib. What else you want to ask daddy?” I wanted to slap the shit out of him.
I can’t even lie, there was this feeling of rage that came over me, as I thought about him fuckin the next bitch, and giving her five orgasms. The most orgasms a man has ever given me was two, and I almost had to beg for the second one because a lot of men couldn’t go too many rounds. To know that he was out there fuckin women, giving them five orgasms proved to me that his bitch, that he was saying wasn’t his bitch was going to hate me.
God sent the server over here at a perfect time because before I even had the chance to respond to him, a beautiful, caramel skinned woman came over, standing in front of us, smiling, ready to take our orders. She introduced herself, told us a little bit about the menu, the bottle service that they offered, and some of the popular hookah flavors. I wanted to start off with something light, so I asked for a French 75, having her replacethe gin with Titos. Now, it was Tank’s turn to order, and he held the menu in his hand for the bottle service, as he looked over at me.
“If I get a bottle of Don, you gone take shots with me?” I asked.
“Probably not,” I responded, and he laughed.
“You also thought that you would never be on a date with me either, so I’m sure I can change your mind about that. Let’s do a bottle of Don Julio Reposado,” he said to the waitress, who laughed, and let him know that she would put the orders in. The second she was gone, that’s when I turned to look at him.
“This isn’t a date by the way,” I shared.
“What is it then?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, I lost a bet, so this is that,” I explained, and like it was a joke, he laughed.
“Finish telling me about your pops. Why he in prison? Was he moving weight? What’s his name? I might know him,” he went right back to the subject.
