Page 69 of Sweetest Temptation
“Yet and still, you let me hit that same nig?—”
My smart remark died on my lips the second Samir came storming into the kitchen like a raging bull, nostrils flaring and his eyes blazing. Before I could react, Samir swung, connecting a clean shot to my jaw. I stumbled back, hitting the refrigerator with a loud crash, the cold metal rattling from the impact.
“Nigga, I knew there was a reason I ain’t like your ass!” Samir shouted, stepping closer, hands clenched like he wanted to crush me right here.
I groaned, one hand covering my jaw, looking up at him with a mix of disbelief and hate. “Yo’, what the fuck, man?!”
“I’m only gon’ say this shit one motherfuckin’ time. Stay away from Zanova. If she even tells me you so much as looked her way, I swear… I’m gon’ end your whole fucking existence!”
“Nigga, that’s my wife, and you fucking her!”
“Nah, my nigga, I’m fucking yourex-wife. The woman you fumbled and couldn’t keep,” Samir finished, voice cold as a blade.
Hearing him admit what I already knew only sent me into rage.
“She was mine first. I molded that pussy,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah? And I’m the last man that’s gon’ be stretching that shit out, my nigga.”
That shit landed like a slap on my pride. I lunged at Samir, hot and ready to tear him apart, but he met me square and dropped a punch into my stomach so hard, it felt like someone kicked my insides. Air left me in a rush as I hit the tile and folded over, hands clawing at my ribs as the room spun.
“This is your last warning,” he said, every word sounding like a promise. “Next time, I’m gon’ make my sister a single mother.”
He turned on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen, feet hitting the floor with thunder. Jamila came over, trying to help me up. I snatched away and stood to my feet. I was pissed. That nigga Samir thought this shit was over, but it was far from it.
And if Zanova thought that I was giving up on us, she had another thing coming.
A Few Days Later
Isat in my car in front of Jamila’s house, feeling empty inside. I know I can’t undo the past, but regret is a heavy burden tobear. I lost damn near everything in my divorce, leaving me to suffer the consequences of my actions. Another regret is not spending enough time with my daughter as I should’ve. That shit made me feel less of a man because I wasn’t raised that way.
I had been a shitty father. I hadn’t taken responsibility for Joya because I was too busy trying to hide my own flesh and blood from Zanova. It wasn’t that I didn’t love my daughter; I just wished she had come from my wife instead. Don’t get me wrong, my baby mama, Jamila, was fun to fuck at that time, but she wasn’t who I wanted. The story I told Zanova about how we met was a lie. I actually hit on Jamila one night at a bar. She was there with a few of her friends, celebrating her birthday, I believe, when I spotted her sexy ass on the dance floor.
I was mesmerized by her beauty and carefree nature. I was tipsy as fuck, but well aware of what I was doing. I felt that since I’d cheated before, how would one more time hurt? I slipped my wedding band in my pocket and stepped to her. I threw her my charm and some gift for gab. When she asked me if I was single, I made up the lie about Zanova cheating on me, playing a grieving husband, whose wife wasn’t shit. Before I knew it, I had Jamila face down, ass up at the Armstrong Hotel, a town over from where I lived with my wife.
The next morning, we exchanged numbers. For a few months, I strung Jamila along while fucking her brains out on a regular basis. One night, I got fucked up and went in raw. Two months later, Jamila was telling me that she was pregnant. I told her to get an abortion, but she wasn’t feeling it. So I said, “Fuck it!” I promised to do my part as a man while making her my woman, and everything was going good for a while. I had a wife and a side bitch—both getting what they needed from me to be happy. The shit was draining at times, trying to keep two women content, but I managed to do it without any problems.
That was until the night of our anniversary. What was supposed to be a celebration turned into the night everything fell apart between Zanova and me. She saw the text Jamila sent me, just a simple message letting me know my daughter was sick. However, it was enough to blow my whole cover.
The moment my eyes landed on that message, I knew it was over. There was no talking my way out of that one—no smooth lie to patch the cracks. I had to come clean, even though I wanted nothing more than for the text to disappear. The look on my wife's face; man, that shit is burned into my memory. The disbelief, heartbreak, and anger were fighting their way through her tears. I watched her spirit crumble right in front of me.
That wasn’t how I wanted her to find out. Truth be told, I never really planned on telling her any time soon. My dumb ass thought I could keep it quiet until we conceived a baby of our own, like somehow that would soften the blow.
Zanova and I had been trying for a while to have a baby. I could see it in her eyes, every negative test chipped away at her confidence, and, if I’m being real, at mine too. The doctor said we were both healthy and that it would happen when the time was right. But patience was never my strong suit. I started feeling some type of way, like I was less of a man. Watching her hurt month after month while I’d already gotten another woman pregnant, that shit messed with my head.
But instead of owning up to my mistake, I doubled down. I smiled in Zanova’s face, told her, “Our time is coming,” when I already had a baby calling another woman “mama.” Looking back, I don’t even know if I was trying to protect her or just trying to protect myself from losing the only good thing I ever had.
Then I went and fucked up, setting fire to her shop. That wasn’t my intention at first. I was in my feelings and wanted tohurt her the way she hurt me. I knew if she found out it was me who did it, she would never talk to me again.
I ran my hand down my face, grabbed my daughter’s sneakers that I’d gotten her out of the backseat, stepped out of my ride in Jamila’s driveway, and walked up to the door. Before I could ring the doorbell, it was snatched open. An angry Jamila stood with a scowl on her face, dressed in a short silk robe. I had to lick my lips. She looked sexy as fuck, making my dick jump.
My eyes slowly crept from her pink, polished toes, up her thick thighs that I missed wrapped around me while I fucked her wet-ass pussy. My eyes lingered on her breasts until I heard her scuffed. “Yeah, nigga, that’s all you could do is look and daydream. You willneverget to smell or touch this pussy again,” Jamila said, snapping me out of my lust-filled thoughts.
“Are you sure about that?” I bit my lip.
“On my life. Jerome, I wouldn’t fuck you again if you were the last man on earth!” She took a step back, allowing me to enter her home. “You can wait in the living room while I get your daughter.”
“What’s with the attitude?” I walked into the clean space and took a seat on her leather sofa. “Every time I come here, you talk to me all reckless. You don’t miss Daddy?” I was being petty.
