Another Woman's Man

by Shelly Ellis

“No problem. Thank you very much for your time, ma’am. Enjoy your evening!” Dawn chirped.

  After she hung up, she flopped back onto her pale blue satin comforter and blew out a breath that sent the bangs of her bob flying.

  Well, that was a big fat disappointment! So much for a hot night with Miguel, she thought.

  “Good! Now maybe you’ll give up this stupid idea, throw on some pajamas, climb into bed, eat a carton of Ben & Jerry’s, and call it a day,” the voice in her head chastised.

  Dawn ignored it and instead went back to scrolling through her phone list, looking for more contenders.

  She paused when she reached the name Hosea. She slowly sat up from the bed.

  Hosea . . . Now there was a chocolate honey-dip she wouldn’t mind seeing again. He had been her personal trainer for a while. One day last year, an intense evening workout at the gym doing push-ups and crunches led to an equally intense workout in his bedroom that also required her to get on all fours. She was sore for days after that, and for all the right reasons. She wondered if Hosea was willing to do an encore performance.

  Dawn pressed the button to dial his number while crossing her fingers that no angry wife or girlfriend answered the phone this time.

  “What’s up? Hosea speaking,” he answered casually in his rumbling, deep baritone, instantly making her toes curl.

  “Hey, Hosea, it’s Dawn. Remember me?”

  He chuckled on the other end. “Of course, I remember you, girl! You had the best abs I’ve seen in quite a long time.”

  “Really? That’s all you remember is my abs?” she purred with a laugh.

  “Oh, I remember a lot more than that! Don’t even get me started! So what have you been up to, sexy?”

  “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” She walked across her bedroom to one of her dressers. “I was sitting all alone in my bedroom wondering what you were up to, specifically what were you up to tonight.”

  “Nothing so far.” He paused on the other end. “Why? Did you have something in mind?”

  “Well . . .” She tugged open one of her dresser drawers and pulled out a black and purple bustier. “I was thinking you could drive over here. I’d open a chilled bottle of wine, set the lights and the music on low, and wear the sexiest lingerie I could find. Then we’d go from there. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even get to see my abs again.”

  “Give me your address, sexy,” he said instantly. “I’ll be right over.”

  At the sound of her doorbell ringing, Dawn tightened the belt of her silk robe and finished yet another glass of wine. She was starting to get that light buzz that let her know she was only one or two glasses away from being drunk, which was right where she wanted to be. She had just enough alcohol in her veins to make her bolder and to perk up her libido.

  “And to make a world-class ass of yourself,” the annoyed voice in her head iterated yet again.

  Oh, hush! I’ve had enough of you. I’m going to get some booty tonight and no one is going to stop me!

  She sat down her glass on her dresser, gave one last glance at her reflection in her bedroom mirror—opening the top of her robe a bit to reveal the lace cups of her bustier—and dashed to her apartment’s front door. She took a moment to gather herself, unlocked the door, and swung it open. She grinned.

  In the hallway stood Hosea—all two hundred pounds of hard muscle and chocolate delight. His dreads had grown longer since the last time she had seen him, and he had shaved off all his facial hair. But besides that, he was as handsome as she remembered and he still emanated the same sexiness and virility that made women do double takes when he passed them at the gym.

  His eyes slowly trailed over Dawn from head to toe, lingering on her breasts and the exposed thigh that peeked through the slit in her robe. She could tell from the expression on his face that he liked what he saw.

  “Hey!” She leaned seductively against the door frame. “Thanks for coming.”

  “Hey, sexy,” he drawled then stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around her, eased her back into her apartment, and shut the door behind him. He tugged at the knot in her belt, catching her off guard. Hosea pushed her robe open and lowered his mouth to hers. The next thing she knew, he was shoving his tongue down her throat and groping for the bustier clasps at her back. She could barely get her bearings before his other hand was toying with her thong, trying to tug it down her hips.

  Whoooooa! Slow down there, honey!

  Yes, this was a booty call, but that didn’t mean that they were going to skip all foreplay and any pretense that this was about more than just sex. Hell, he could at least have a drink first!

  Dawn pulled away and yanked at his hands.

  “I didn’t know we were on a timer,” she said hesitantly with a chuckle. “Why the rush?”

  “Why the rush?” He stared down at her, looking exasperated. His jaw clenched. “Damn, girl, I thought you wanted to do this! Isn’t that why you called me?”

  “Of course it is,” she said, bristling at his tone. “But we’ve got all night.” She ran her hands along his coat lapels. “At least take your jacket off. Sit down. Have a glass of wine.”

  He looked like having a glass of wine was the last thing on his mind, but he sighed and nodded. “Whatever. Go ahead and pour me some.”

  And the evening pretty much went downhill from there. While Dawn tried to engage Hosea in a little conversation, he stared off in the distance and swilled back a few glasses. After a half hour, he didn’t even bother to pretend anymore. He started groping at her again. When they made it to the bedroom, Hosea showed just as little patience and restraint. The man went straight for the bustier and the panties. Within seconds he had on a condom and her legs spread wide.

  This certainly wasn’t the lover that she remembered from a year ago. This guy could take a lesson or two in how to please a woman.

  “You like this, huh?” he grunted as he pumped his hips and plunged inside her. “You want this? Is this what you want?”

  Dawn didn’t respond but instead stared at the bedroom ceiling, completely bored. She grimaced when he roughly pumped again.

  “Take it, girl! Take it!” he ranted like some demented porn star.

  She stifled a sigh.

  Why had she called this man?

  “Because you were under some misguided notion that this would help you forget about Xavier,” the voice in her head answered. “I told you this was a bad idea!”

  Finally, after about ten minutes—the longest ten minutes of her life—Hosea gave one last grunt and collapsed on top of her. He slowly raised his head. “Aww, man! Damn, that was good! I’m worn out, girl!”

  Dawn didn’t comment. Instead, she shoved him off her and rose from the bed.

  “Wait, now! Don’t leave yet,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow. He turned on his side and hooked a finger toward her. “I’m just getting started, sexy. Give a man a few minutes to recover and we’ll go another round.”

  Dawn threw on her robe. This time when she put on the belt, she did a double knot so that there were no delusions that she was taking off her robe again. “No, that’s OK.” She walked around her bedroom and gathered his clothes. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow. I really should get some sleep.”

  “Early morning?” He frowned, sitting up from the bed as she tossed his shirt and pants at him. “But tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Yes, but sometimes I . . . I work weekends,” she said, which was true. Sometimes, she did work weekends, just not this weekend. But he didn’t know that, and frankly, she would tell any lie to get this man out of her bedroom and her apartment.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, looking doubtful. He began to put on his boxers and slowly shook his head. “Females,” he muttered.

  Dawn cocked an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

  “Y’all just don’t know what the hell you want!” He rose from the bed, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and stuck his arms through his sleeves. “First, you call me to come over h
ere like you’re hard up to get fucked in twenty minutes or less! Then you tell me you want to ‘talk’ first,” he said with widened eyes. “Whatever the hell that means! Now you’re giving me some bullshit story about working tomorrow, when you know damn well—”

  “No, Hosea, I know exactly what I want!” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “And it’s not you shouting, ‘You like this? You want this?’ when it’s pretty damn obvious that I don’t!”

  “What am I? A mind reader? How the hell was I supposed to know that you weren’t into it?” he asked, dragging on his jeans.

  “Hmm, I don’t know!” she shouted sarcastically. “Maybe it was the fact that I looked like I was counting ceiling tiles, or that my vajayjay was as dry as the Sahara desert! Maybe one of those things would have given you a clue!”

  He glared at her. “Man, to hell with this . . . and to hell with you, you moody-ass bitch! Don’t call me again. In fact, forget my damn number!”

  “Don’t worry. It’s already forgotten,” she replied as he stormed out of her bedroom.

  A few seconds later, he slammed the front door of her apartment closed behind him. After that, Dawn slumped onto her bed and dropped her head into her hands.

  Whatever buzz she had before this little episode had completely disappeared. Dawn was both sober and remorseful—not about what she had said to Hosea, but about calling him in the first place.

  Her hope had been to forget about Xavier, but she didn’t feel any better now than she had when she saw Xavier and Constance together in his kitchen earlier that night. Actually, she felt a lot worse. The heartbreak was both painful and raw.

  “Damn it,” she mumbled with a sniff. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. She impatiently wiped them away. She wished she could blame the alcohol for her crying, but she knew that was a lie.

  Why couldn’t she get that man out of her damn head? Why did she hurt this bad? It didn’t make any sense!

  “You can’t chose who you fall in love with,” the voice in her head urged.

  I’m not in love, damn it, she thought vehemently.

  “Sure, you aren’t,” the voice ridiculed.

  Dawn sighed. Okay, maybe just a little.

  She finally understood what her sisters Lauren and Stephanie had meant when they said the same thing when they both fell in love. But while her sisters found their own happy endings, she knew she wouldn’t with Xavier. That’s why she desperately wished for these feelings to go away. They didn’t serve any purpose other than to make her miserable.

  It’s time to be a grown-up about this.

  She guessed her only alternative was to suck it up, to keep pretending. Out of respect for her father, out of respect for the family rules, Dawn would continue to play the good future sister-in-law and not interfere with Xavier and Constance’s relationship. She would continue to be “just friends,” no matter how much it hurt.

  With that she rose from her bed, walked into her living room, and locked her apartment front door. Minutes later, she turned off her bedroom lights and fell asleep.

  Chapter 18

  Xavier pushed up the front of his black wool hat. It had started to droop into his eyes, making it even harder to see the roadway in front of him.

  The glare from last night’s record snowfall was almost blinding in the morning sun. It was so bright that he wanted to open his glove compartment and try to dig out his favorite pair of Ray-Bans. But he worried that if he took his hands off the steering wheel—even for a second—he could easily fishtail out here. It wasn’t noon yet and the snow was already transforming to a murky gray slush in some spots. He had hit patches of black ice twice along the way.

  No, Xavier thought as he squinted at the street in front of him, I’ll tough it out.

  He only had a few more miles until he arrived at his mother’s house anyway, even though he probably wouldn’t get there until evening, with the thirty miles per hour he was clocking on the speedometer.

  Most people were still indoors, waiting for the snow removal and salt trucks to finish their handiwork, but Xavier had braved highways and back roads in his ill-equipped Audi S4 because he knew his mother would probably be snowed in for the next few days, if not the whole week, unless he came and shoveled her walkway and driveway. Leslie Ann Hughes would stay holed up in her house with her two beloved Old English sheepdogs until the snow melted or until Xavier came to rescue her.

  “It’s no big deal, hon,” his mother had assured him over the phone when he called to check on her earlier that morning. He could hear the dogs barking in the background. “I’ve got plenty of soup, toilet paper, and Dog Chow. The boys and I will be fine! Just fine!”

  Yeah, like he was really going to leave her to fend for herself.

  He had taken on the responsibility for caring for his mother since his father had died more than a decade ago. It was a responsibility Xavier took very seriously.

  He finally pulled onto her street, feeling his tires slip a little as they fought to gain traction in the packed snow. He tentatively pressed on the gas and lurched forward again. When he drew near his mother’s white Georgian colonial with its black shutters and Christmas lights still dangling around the windows, his eyebrows shot up an inch in surprise.

  His mother’s neighbor, Jake Mahoney, was in her driveway, pushing a snowblower. The plump man was in a blue parka, jeans, and furry snow boots. A St. Louis Blues cap was on his bald head. When Xavier pulled to a stop, Jake cut the engine to the snowblower, and waved his mitten-encased hand.

  “Hey, Xavier!” Jake shouted as he carefully made his way down the almost-cleared driveway. “What the heck are you doing out here? Are you trying to hit a tree?”

  Xavier shifted the car into park, turned off the engine, and opened his car door. “I came to shovel Mom’s driveway and walkway,” he said as he climbed out and shut the Audi’s door behind him. “But it looks like you’ve taken care of it for me.”

  Jake smiled. At that moment, he looked like Santa Claus with his thick gray beard and rosy cheeks.

  “Ayuh, got it all covered,” Jake said. “I should be done with the whole thing in about an hour.”

  “Hi, hon!” Xavier’s mother called.

  Xavier looked up to find her standing in the doorway, pushing Lenny and Squiggy back inside, though the rambunctious pets tried their best to squeeze around and through her legs. They started to bay and bark excitedly the instant they saw Xavier.

  “You go on and visit with your mom,” Jake said, walking back toward his snowblower. “I’ll finish this up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Xavier trudged through the snow, which was almost up to his knees. He finally reached his mother’s front door. As he wiped and stomped his boots on her welcome mat, she stood on her toes and kissed his cold cheek.

  “Told you that you didn’t have to come!” she chided.

  Xavier walked inside and shut the front door behind him, drowning out the buzzing sound of the snowblower. He gave attention to the “boys.” They ran in circles, hopped on their hind legs, pressed their paws against Xavier’s chest, and slobbered down his face. Xavier rubbed their heads and muzzles. He scratched their chins before thumping both on their sides and shooing them away.

  “You could have told me that you already had your boyfriend out there with a snowblower. I could have saved the trip,” Xavier said with a smirk as he lowered the zipper on his wool coat.

  His mother looked offended. “Xavier Christopher Hughes, that man is not my boyfriend!”

  He tugged off his hat, ran his hand through the matted curls on his now-sweaty head, and followed his mother down the hall. The dogs raced between them. “I’m only joking, Mom.”

  “And it wasn’t funny!” She pursed her thin lips and adjusted her blue wool shawl around her shoulders. “I told him that he didn’t have to do it. Jake took it upon himself to clear my driveway.”

  “Maybe he figured if he got rid of the snow, you’d finally go on a date wit
h him,” Xavier ventured, needling her again.

  His mother obstinately tossed back her strawberry-blond head. “I’m afraid there isn’t that much snow in the world.” She turned on her heel and strode toward the kitchen, making Xavier shake his head in exasperation.

  He glanced at the living room wall and frowned at the collage of framed pictures. Most were old photos of his father, either alone or posing with her and a teenage Xavier. It was her little shrine to Malcolm Hughes. She hadn’t changed it since Malcolm’s death. In fact, if you removed the photos from the wall, you’d probably see the dusty silhouette of each picture frame. They had been nailed to the wall for so damn long.

  She had always been in awe of Malcolm, ever since the day they met on a flight from Chicago to London back in 1980. She had been the shy, small-town girl from Indiana who was going on her first trip to Europe. Malcolm was the smooth-talking, worldly lawyer who indulged her and talked to her the entire flight, answering all her questions about London. When the plane touched down at Heathrow and Malcolm asked Leslie Ann what her evening plans were and if she would like to join him for dinner in the West End, she had been dumbstruck. She was enthralled by him, but she had never dated a black man before. She had hardly even spoken to one until that day. But he was so handsome, smart, and charming that she couldn’t say no. She had been lost ever since. Even now, Xavier’s dad still cast a magic spell over her from the grave. No other man seemed to compare to him. Poor Jake Mahoney didn’t stand a chance.

  Xavier and his mother had chosen to mourn his father’s passing in very different ways. Though Xavier had chosen to push aside his emotions, locking away his mourning for his father under a staid façade, his mother wore her emotions on her sleeves. Everyone could tell that his dad still held a firm and prominent place in her heart.

  It’s not healthy, Xavier thought, turning away from the photographs. Her keeping vigil like this isn’t good for her.

  “You know, maybe you should consider going out with Jake, Mom,” Xavier ventured. He could hear her rummaging around in the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and digging through drawers. He tossed his coat and hat on the back of her flower-printed, dog-hair-covered sofa and tugged off his leather gloves, adding them to the pile of outerwear. “You might actually have fun. Remember that word? Fun? It’d be good for you to get out of the house for once. Lenny and Squiggy could handle it.”