Authors: Candice Dow

Tappin' On Thirty (5 page)

BOOK: Tappin' On Thirty

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I told him to get one from my nightstand. He quickly returned with a strip of three. Hopefully, he wasn't planning on multiple rounds. It had been a long time since I could do that. He masterfully rolled the condom on as he stood over me, arousing me, making me anxious to feel him. Finally, he carefully spread my legs apart and playfully tantalized me. Pushing my hips upward to receive him, my body begged him to end my despair.

Finally, he fully submerged. My eyes watered. I wrapped my arms around his body and welcomed him. Slowly, deeply, my first love glided inside of me. Hesitant breathing. Expectations. I raked his back. He kissed my face. Harmonious lovemaking landed me on cloud nine. I floated in the moment. Then, I came down. He lay on top of me, but I felt empty. I couldn't speak. He was first to break the silence, saying, “I need some water.”

I slid from beneath his moist body and he rolled on to his back. Though I thought I wanted this to happen, I instantly regretted the encounter. I sat up and slowly rose to my feet. How could I be so vulnerable?

I took slow, concentrated steps to the kitchen. What the hell was I thinking? When I returned to the room, Scooter was lying in my bed with the remote control in his hand. I handed him the water and he flipped through the channels. He mumbled, “Thanks Tay-Bae.”

For the water or the sex?
I climbed in the bed beside him. I pulled the covers up to my chin. When I reached over to rub his arm, he didn't reciprocate. I began to talk, but realized I had very little to say. We chatted about miscellaneous issues. He eventually dozed off. I sat there staring at the ceiling. Time swiftly escaped. Just as the sun rose, Scooter's cell phone rang three or four times in a row. I fumed, because I knew the person on the other end had to be his girlfriend. Scooter squirmed. I folded my arms and replayed our night.

Finally, he grabbed his phone and scrolled through the call log. The alarm clock buzzed. I jumped up and darted for the shower.

As the water ran down my face, my tears blended in. It was as if Scooter came over to see if he could still hit it. After he achieved his goal, our communication down-shifted to neutral. I scrubbed my skin like a rape victim.

When I finally opened the bathroom door, Scooter was gone. My heart dropped. Then, I heard him walking up the steps. He walked into the bathroom to join me.

He stretched. “I'm on vacation. I'm not supposed to be getting up this early.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, somebody thought you should be up this early.”

“You know how it is.”

I gave him a puzzled look, and replied, “No, I don't know how it is.”

He kissed my cheek. “Tay-Bae, you're a trip.”

I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and rummaged up enough courage to ask, “Scooter, where do we go from here?”

He answered with a question. “Did you enjoy being with me last night?”

Like a dummy, I nodded. He said, “Well, that's all that matters. I enjoyed myself too.”

“Scooter, why did you call me?”

He took a deep breath and didn't answer. I was pressured to ask everything before we parted. “You said that you didn't want to risk what you had. Why did you call?”

He folded his arms and leaned on the sink. “Taylor, I guess I needed to know too.”

“Needed to know what?”

“If I still cared about you. I hadn't thought about us for years. When you put it out there Friday, I thought you were trippin'. When we kissed, I felt like . . .”

He shrugged his shoulders like it was so simple. I longed to hear him say he needed me in his life. I desperately asked, “What did you feel?”

“What did I tell you last night?”

As I struggled for each response, I felt guilty. His ability to communicate his emotions is what separated him from every other man I've dated. Was this a result of me hurting him? Did I create this stoic man in front of me? I pouted. “I don't know.”

“I don't think I'll ever love anyone like I loved you.”

He stressed the past tense on his statement. Still, I clung to his every syllable. I gazed into his eyes. “So, what's next?”

He hugged me. “I don't know. We'll see. You know I'm in a relationship.”

The sting from his honesty silenced me. He was a grownass man and not the little sucker who used to be madly in love with me. I proceeded to get ready for work. Scooter watched TV until I was done and didn't appear interested in discussing our future.

We had coffee and debated current events. I scrutinized his words and gestures and found nothing but a man who belonged to someone else. Who is she? Finally, I grabbed my things and we walked out through my garage. Outside, he grabbed me and held me tightly. I searched for more in the embrace. Offering me just an inkling of hope, he kissed my cheek and promised to call.

SCOOTER

J
ust when I settled with not having it all, the full package waltzes back into my life and claims she still loves me. For the life of me, I had no plan to be driving to my parents' house this morning overwhelmed with confusion. Guilt stricken, I read Akua's messages. WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT ARE YOU DOING? CALL ME.

How could I come home for three days and find myself questioning if she's even the person I want to be with?

When I walked into my parents' house, my mother was up and ready for work. As soon as I opened the door, she grunted. I walked into the kitchen and kissed her cheek. She twisted her lips. “Where have you been, boy?”

“Am I grown?”

“Yeah, you're grown, but when your little girlfriend starts ringing my phone at seven in the morning . . . she put her hand on her hip. “Then, I got the right to ask where you been.”

My eyebrows wrinkled. “She called here?”

She nodded inquisitively.

“What did she say?”

“I didn't answer. Hell, I didn't know what to tell her.”

I kissed her cheek. “You're my girl.”

She rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh.”

I laughed. “I drank too much last night and I crashed over my boy's house.”

She rolled her neck. “You don't have to lie to me.”

“Ma, you're a trip.”

She grabbed her keys and walked to the garage door. “Look who's talking.”

I smirked, and she said, “Boy, don't you come here and lose your mind.”

I contemplated calling Akua with the scent of another woman reeking on me. Instead, I hopped in the shower first. The urge to smoke a cigarette kidnapped my senses. Smoking is a habit I picked up in medical school as a stress reliever. Knowing its effects forces me to try to kick the habit, but I can't seem to shake it. Akua's constant warnings have decreased my intake, but still in stressful situations, I revert back to my dependency.

I carried the cordless phone outside, along with a pack of Marlboro Lights. I took a puff to dismantle my guilt before dialing my girl.

After a quarter of a ring, she picked up. “Where the hell have you been?”

I took another puff. “Where do you think I've been?”

“If the hell I knew, I wouldn't be asking you. Would I?”

The nicotine had totally taken over as I attempted to reverse the blame on her. “Man, I paged you before I went out last night. Where were you?”

She huffed. “You know I was on call last night.”

“All right then, I didn't expect to hear from you until this morning.”

“Why didn't you answer your phone?”

“Akua. I'm off work. Why would I be up at seven in the morning?” I huffed.

“Whatever. You're always up.”

“I went out with the fellas last night. I was asleep.”

“Whatever.”

“You miss me?”

“What do you think?”

She never responded positively to mushy questions, but I needed it at the moment. I needed her to reaffirm why I'm planning a future with her.

“I don't know. Tell me.”

“Do you miss me?”

I chuckled and tried to give her what I wanted. “Yes, baby, I miss you. I miss you and I love you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you ready for me to come home?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What time are you going to sleep?”

“I was about to go to sleep. I'll call you when I wake up.”

“A'ight. Call me when you wake up.”

“Make sure you answer.”

She hung up and I shook my head. That's my girl. She's a little abrasive, but that's her style. I played with the phone. Then, I began to feel bad for just thinking about leaving her. I can't leave her. Despite her flaws, she's committed. That's more than all the superficial things that constitute what I declare as my ideal mate.

DEVIN

L
ife couldn't get any better than this. Clark and I danced in an empty room. All the money in the world couldn't replace what we shared. Our relationship was like a melody that didn't need lyrics, like exercise that didn't require movement. Side to side, back and forth, we swayed. The disco ball served as a compass as we spun on our own axis.

When my alarm clock buzzed in my ear at 8:00
A.M.
, my real life was spinning out of control. Here I was, dreaming about a long-gone relationship that ended more than six years ago. I'd been married to someone else and divorced. The third beautiful woman in one week lay beside me in my bed, and still I yearned for something more, something real.

She wrapped her arm around me. I slid it to the side. She moved it back. I took a deep breath. Staring at my high ceilings, I wonder why I even subject myself to this. It would make more sense to just take women out, go to their house, get my rocks off and leave before the sun comes up.

She moaned, “You okay?”

I cleared my throat. “Are you okay?”

When I slid out of bed, she stretched out, like she'd been asked to stay longer. If not for dignity or my political aspirations, I'd pay for sex. I stood at the foot of my bed and watched her lie there peacefully. I grabbed the remote from my armoire and turned on my stereo. The bass blasted through the speakers.

Her head popped up and she whined, “Devin.”

As I lowered the volume, I apologized. That strategy works with most women. Instead, she lay back down. I decided to jump in the shower and hoped she'd get up and begin gathering her things. Wishful thinking. Even after I'd gotten dressed, she slept.

I shook her arm. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Yeah.”

“I'm about to get out of here. So . . .”

She plopped her head back down. “I'll lock the door. I'm exhausted.”

Isn't this just great? Why do I feel the need to play nice guy? Women take that nice stuff to the extreme. This chick has spent two or three nights and each time, we go through this. I sat on the side of the bed. “Look, baby. I'd rather you leave now.”

“Devin, why don't you trust me?”

Maybe cause I don't know your ass? I rubbed her back. “It's not that I don't trust you. I don't really like to leave people in my house.”

She grumbled and I massaged her shoulders. “I hope you're not upset.”

She tossed the comforter back and jumped out of the bed. While mumbling under her breath, she scampered around the room. It was obvious she was offended by my stance, but I wasn't in an appeasing mood. Finally, she stood in front of me with her high heels and low-rise Capri jeans. With her huge lime-and-brown Louis Vutton bag propped on her shoulder, she put her hand on her hip.

“I'm ready.”

The wrong head throbbed and I said, “I hope you're not upset with me.”

“It's okay. I just want to get some rest.”

“I'm sorry.”

I asked for a hug and she half-heartedly obliged. I kidded, “You can do better than that.”

“Look, I'm tired. Can we go?”

Her irritation decreased my obligation. It meant that she thought I was a jerk, so she wouldn't be blowing my phone up later. She'd be a good girl and just disappear.
Hopefully
.

When we walked out of my building, I kissed her on the cheek and hailed her a taxi. I walked to my ex-wife's apartment to pick up my daughter, Nicole. I called from outside the apartment and Jennifer's live-in boyfriend answered. “I'll bring her down,” he said.

“Where's Jennifer?” I asked.

“She left early.”

All of a sudden, my anger elevated. “She left?”

An irritated sigh came through the phone. I took a deep breath. “Just bring her down.”

Before they came down, I called Jennifer. “Didn't I tell you not to leave her alone with him anymore?”

“Devin, grow up.”

My anger vanished when I looked up and saw my baby. “Daddy,” she screamed.

Stooping down to catch the cannonball of excitement flying into my chest, I closed my phone. Aaron ducked back into the elevator without speaking. Nicole crashed into me. “Daddy.”

I kissed her cheek. “Hey princess.”

When I stood up, she pulled off her backpack. “Here, Daddy.”

I laughed. “Why do I have to carry it?”

“You're stronger.”

My cell phone rang. Jennifer sighed in my ear. “Devin, when will you understand that Aaron is going to be her stepfather and there will be times when I'll need to leave her with him? He would never do anything to hurt her.”

“Okay. Can I call you when I drop her off?”

By the time I dropped her off at camp, my issue seemed selfish. How could I control what Jennifer did in her home?

I strolled into my office a little after ten. My assistant smiled. “Hi, Mr. Patterson.”

“Hey, Lisa.”

“I made your travel arrangements to DC. You'll be staying in the host hotel.”

I frowned. “Are you talking about for the Black Caucus?”

She nodded.

“I have to go down next week. I have some meetings with the legislative division of the Train Workers' Union.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “That's not on your calendar.”

I pointed to my head. “I keep it all up here.”

“That's the problem.”

We laughed. It's not funny, though. I have a whole bunch of damn problems.