by Candice Dow
“I told you that I was simple. Didn’t I?”
“Now simple is one thing, but it’s my job to make sure you’ve seen at least three to five options before you put a contract on anything.”
“If that means I get to hang out with you for a little while longer, that’s cool.”
We both burst out laughing. Why did I even let those words come out of my mouth? I really wasn’t interested in dealing with a man in the middle of a nasty divorce.
“Ayana, you are cooler than Quentin made you out to be.”
“What did he say about me?”
“Honestly?”
“Yeah, honestly. Even if it does hurt my feelings.”
He looked directly in my eyes. “He said that he’s never met a woman quite like you. He said he didn’t even know God created women like you.”
He nearly brought tears to my eyes. I had known Quentin respected me but to hear it from someone else was flattering.
“Aw. He really said that?”
“He said you’re amazing and the man that snags you would be a lucky son of a bitch.”
I felt almost bashful hearing these things about myself. I was at a loss for words.
“But you’re not settling down anytime soon. Things are going too good.”
It was clear that he was prying. “Garrett, no one should ever be too busy for love.”
“Can I take you to dinner later on this evening?”
I appreciated his direct approach. Though I had placed the bait out for him, I hadn’t expected him to bite so quickly.
“I love to eat.”
“And I love a woman that likes to eat. Is seven a good time for you?”
“That works.”
Garrett took me back to my car and we agreed to meet at Copeland’s on Piedmont.
Garrett had sleepy eyes and they were so sexy under the dim lights. Over dinner I discovered that he had simply married the wrong woman for the wrong reason, but that it wouldn’t deter him from remarrying. He wanted to do it again with the right person. He loved to cook and travel. He gave me a rundown of his family structure. He respected his mother and more important he loved his father and his grandfather. His family was close and festive.
A part of me wanted to wait to like him until I got the full report from Quentin in the morning, but I already liked him. I liked how much he knew about life, how much he wanted to know about me, and how straightforward he was about what he was looking for. There was nothing pretentious about him and that seemed to be the issue with most men I met. He was real. He was open. He was different.
Good conversation made the hours pass rapidly. The staff began to clean the restaurant around us as we sat absorbed in each other. Ten o’clock arrived too soon and I didn’t want the night to end, but it was time to go.
After we left the restaurant and headed to the parking garage I was tempted to ask him to come back to my place, but I felt like it was too late. My car was a little distance from his, so he offered to drive me to it.
When I sat in the passenger seat, he looked at me. “Ayana, it’s been a really long time since I was on the dating scene. And from all the horror stories I hear, I haven’t been real anxious either. But tonight I feel different.”
“I do too, Garrett.”
He leaned over and kissed me. His masculine hand touched the side of my face. His tongue twirled slowly in my mouth and my vagina began to throb. It seemed like we were connected. Our lips were locked and neither of us pulled back. He wanted more of me and I wanted more of him. Could this be right? In a dark parking lot on our first date? Or would we ruin the possibilities if we were to succumb to our nature?
I knew better, but my body knew something else. I wanted to be wise, but I needed to feel him right there, right then. His hand slipped under my shirt and he began to rub up and down my back. He put his finger on the hook of my bra.
“May I?”
I didn’t want him to stop. Whatever was going to be that night was going to be. He struggled momentarily to unhook my bra, but finally it popped open. He lifted my shirt and looked delighted with my double Ds. He stared at me for a second.
“You’re beautiful. Your body is perfect.”
A woman can never hear those words enough, especially when by most standards she’s considered overweight. I was five foot five and 185 pounds, and it wasn’t every day that someone put my body and perfection in the same sentence. That aroused me more.
The armrest between us restricted our closeness. He kissed my breast awkwardly before asking me to sit on top of him. As I climbed over to his seat he moved the driver’s seat back. He lifted my shirt over my head and I wrapped my arms around his neck as he made oral love to my breast.
“Can I have you?”
I nodded yes. From the bulge I felt through his jeans, I wanted to have him too.
“You sure?”
I nodded yes again. He put his hands under my skirt to feel me. “Ooh, you feel so good.”
We kissed more as I tried to come out of my panties in the confines of his car and he unbuckled his jeans and pulled them to his knees. He grabbed a box of condoms from the armrest storage compartment and tore it open, taking one out before placing the box back. I was wet and he was rock solid as we shared an inquisitive, passionate stare for a few seconds. Was this right? Was this lust just too strong for us to resist? He used his mouth to open the packet and quickly put the condom on. As he held on to my thighs and I slid down on him, we both exhaled. All of our preoccupations and inhibitions dissipated as we united. We ground slowly and sighed deeply as if this was what we both needed. He kissed me passionately like we were longtime lovers. He looked in my eyes with each stroke. The warm and misty air made our skin stick together, forcing us closer. It felt better and better the longer he was inside me. It felt like he belonged there. Finally he exploded in me. His love coated my walls and I felt brand-new.
We talked inside his car for several hours longer. Finally, at around two in the morning, he drove me to my car. I looked at him and I knew at that moment this hadn’t been a mistake. He saw the same something in my eyes. We kissed. We had tried to part several times throughout the night, and I knew that if I didn’t take the first step we would stay longer.
“Garrett, I had a wonderful night.”
“I would ask you to come home with me, but…”
I didn’t want to know what had caused the but, because I was certain it would taint the wonderful night. “Don’t worry. We have to see those other condos tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”
“Ayana, you’re cool,” he said, still holding my left hand.
I reached for the handle and opened the door. “Tomorrow?”
“Definitely.”
His grip was even tighter. I set one foot out of the car and slowly pried my hand away from his. Soon after, the second foot followed and I closed the door. When I got in my car I wanted to scream with excitement, disappointment, frustration, and anticipation all at once but I didn’t. I took a deep breath and followed Garrett out of the garage.
2
My state of ecstasy spilled over into the next day. Garrett texted me bright and early in the morning. “U R A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. CAN’T WAIT TO SEE U THIS AFTERNOON.”
I had planned to ask Quentin all about him since he was the one who had referred me to Garrett, but when I saw him I no longer had the desire to. I didn’t want any secondhand information on Garrett, I wanted to explore him for myself and to see where that would lead. Garrett’s approach might have been different, based on the suspicious look Quentin returned to me.
He said, “How’d the home search go?”
“It was cool. We looked at two places and I’m looking at two today.”
“See anything you like?”
I wanted to laugh. Hell yeah, I saw something I liked. I only wished Quentin had forewarned me.
“Yeah, I saw one place that I really liked.”
“Cool. Garrett is a real good dude.”
“He seems like it.”
When I started the show, it was the first time in twelve hours that I wasn’t thinking about Garrett. I love my job. It’s not exactly what I dreamed I’d be doing, but it is something I do naturally without any thought.
While pursuing my PhD in psychology I started out on a journey to discover why all six of my good girlfriends and I were still single. We were all in our late twenties, had good jobs, and were attractive. Certainly the selection of good black men couldn’t be that bad. There had to be something wrong with us. Were we too dominant? Were we too picky? Or did we just have bad luck? Assuming this would be the perfect dissertation, I began my research. Naturally, I decided to start with the women who were where we claimed we wanted to be.
After nearly ten interviews I was shocked to learn that many of these women in the socially imposed ideal situation were unhappy, and seven of them claimed they would not remarry their husbands. While I had expected to get responses about how great it was to be committed to the one, I ended up disappointed with the reality that men are men.
Besides being single, my friends and I were happy. Most of all we were free. With freedom came options and we knew we weren’t stuck. Maybe that was why we laughed, traveled, and absorbed life. Suddenly my research shifted to single women. Were they all as happy as we were? After interviewing a few single women, I found that a large percentage of them were unhappy too. They felt like life had dealt them a bad hand. Could it be that being a woman is an unhappy existence in and of itself? Why did it seem that women were never satisfied? Finally, it hit me. The one common denominator among the unhappy women was that none of them had real good girlfriends. The women, single or married, with thriving female friendships seemed to get the most out of life.
I went to my adviser to let him know that my dissertation would be called Girlfriends: The Therapeutic Effect. He found my topic laughable until I began to explain. Women forgo the chance for true commitment and intimacy with each other, assuming that it can only be found in a marriage. My adviser was still quite perplexed as I continued. Men are completely incapable of giving women the amount of emotional security they seek. Women in turn beg, plead, and worry men to be something that they can never be, leaving themselves eternally unfulfilled. Finally he began to let down his guard and smile.
“Ayana, you’re right. I think this will be quite interesting, actually.”
“When women get in relationships, they feel like their girlfriends are disposable. ‘Finally, now I can stop hanging out and just chill with my man.’ ”
He laughed. “This is very true.”
“That’s crazy. What is the shift in our brain that makes us believe that we can do without our girls now that he’s around?” I paused, hoping the concept would sink in. “Men don’t want to go to the mall. They don’t want to gossip. They don’t want to watch romantic comedies. Men don’t give up sports or beer when they get into relationships. So why do we give up our natural antidepressant? Real girlfriends?”
He chuckled. “Ms. Blue, I’d like you to keep me posted. If your research is strong, I’ll approve it.”
He approved it and offered to help me find a literary agent. I had never imagined myself as an author, but he encouraged me to turn my dissertation into a book. He found my research and recommendations profound. With the coaxing of my girl crew, I turned my research into a book titled Where My Girls At? I was offered a two-book deal from a major publishing house and had no clue what I could write as a second book. Then one of my good friends suggested that I write about how to be a good friend, because that was a skill not all women had. My first book talked about the importance of friends but didn’t give instructions. The sales for Where My Girls At? had been nominal at best. A year later Girlfriend Confidential hit the shelves. My friends vowed that this one would not go down like the first. We had learned our lesson: Getting the book on the shelves means absolutely nothing if no one knows anything about it. We all put our skills together and I had my own in-house publicity team. We sent press kits to every media outlet, every female organization, and every sorority, and attended every chick conference we could find. Girlfriend Confidential became the topic of discussion at hair salons, book clubs, and girl groups everywhere. Women began to deem me the relationship expert. I started to get e-mails from people asking for my advice on every aspect of their lives. I’d only had my PhD for a little over a year; how was I supposed to help all these people? I wasn’t ready for all of this, but opportunity after opportunity came knocking at my door. As I took more speaking and workshop engagements, I grew more popular.
Within eighteen months I was approached with the option to host my own satellite radio show. I was offered a lunchtime slot, from ten to two. The time slot already had a listener base, primarily African-American women. The show would be named after my book: Girlfriend Confidential with Ayana Blue. I accepted the job.
Before my first day on the air I was introduced to Quentin so we could map out the format of the show. He was a senior producer and had already designed a plan for success. On the first day he decided to have my girls in the studio with me. He felt that would give me an initial dose of confidence and he was right. It was like a night out with my girls. With each phone call I became more relaxed. With each day I was more certain that this was where I was destined to be. My listeners needed me, my voice, and my advice.
“You really have to be thankful for the little things. Don’t focus so much on what he doesn’t do as opposed to what he does do. My dad’s favorite saying is ‘Accentuate the positives and eliminate the negatives.’ If you try that for one week, I bet you’ll feel differently about him and your relationship.”
I said, “You hear what I’m saying?”
“I guess it’s just hard for me to understand why he can go play golf all day and not even think about how I feel.”
“When he’s out playing golf, he is thinking about you. He’s releasing stress, possibly making business deals. Despite what time he comes home, he’s happy. Right?”
“No, ’cause he acts like I’m not supposed to say anything to him.”
“You mean he acts like you’re not supposed to nag him. Just imagine you’re having a wonderful day and you come home to him asking you ‘Where’s dinner? Did you feed the kids? Did you wash the clothes?’ Wouldn’t that irritate you?”
“Probably.”
“I’m sure it would. You don’t want anybody blowing your high. It’s really that simple.”
She laughed. “I never looked at it like that.”
“Before you start flipping out on the brother, put yourself in his shoes.”
“Thanks, Ayana. I’ll try that.”
“You’re very welcome, girlfriend. And thanks for your call.”
Quentin gave me a thumbs-up as we neared the end of another successful show. He loved my insight into men, women, and relationships. As if it weren’t enough that my words had the ability to talk a woman off the cliff or boost her self-esteem, Quentin’s response was a daily reminder that I was called to do this.
I paused. “You’ve been listening to Girlfriend Confidential. I’m your host, Ayana Blue, and we have time for one more call.”
Quentin signaled to me that there was a caller on the line. “Girlfriend Confidential. Tell me what you want to talk about.”
The caller cleared her throat. “I wanna talk about you.”
“Okay,” I said hesitantly, because I sensed agitation in her voice.
This type of call came in at least once every few days: women who wanted to keep being victims and disagreed with my trying to empower them. She huffed, “So, you’re everybody’s good girlfriend. Right?”
“I’d like to think I am.”
“If that’s the case, why did you fuck my husband last night?”
The engineer quickly disconnected the call. He was able to bleep the curse word out, but her point came across loud and clear on air. Everyone thought it was a random angry woman, but I knew I had gotten mys
elf into some shit.
Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome
A Preview of Candice Dow’s Next Book
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Reading Group Guide
Also By Candice Dow
Praise for Candice Dow
Copyright
ALSO BY CANDICE DOW
We Take This Man by Candice Dow and Daaimah S. Poole
Feelin’ the Vibe
PRAISE FOR CANDICE DOW
“Candice definitely has a legitimate flavor, and I can’t wait until the next book is on the shelves.”
—Urban-Reviews.com
“Dow has convincingly demonstrated that she [can] captivate readers.”
