Make You Mine
Page 29
“Enjoy your day off,” I tell him as I bend down to snuggle his cheek.
Mohammed is the repair man at The Top. My friends, Dom, Alizé, and Moët, still cannot believe I am with him. Not when my life used to be about men who helped keep me from my life of robbing Peter to pay Paul. Athletes. Celebrities. Wealthy businessmen. I had been on the hunt to be the ultimate celebrity wife. My ex-fiancé Sahad Linx is the CEO of Platinum Records. His money, his fame, and his lifestyle had almost been mine. I let it slip through my fingers like sand so that my hands were free to grab Mohammed.
He reaches across to lightly touch my face and I get chills. Fuck the money and the fame. I got love and lots of it.
“See you later?” he asks in that Jamaican accent that has the power to make me wet.
“Yes,” I whisper against his lips.
Walking out of that bedroom and leaving my man in the bed naked, willing, and with his dick rising is almost as hard as he is. I try not to judge his house as I grab my hobo from the kitchen table. I can fit half of Mohammed’s entire three-bedroom house inside my living room. It is furnished just like the bachelor he is. Mismatched this. Tore-up that. Wal-Mart this. Target that. Mohammed likes to say his house has character. Whatever.
I look inside my Gucci purse (a purchase from my more glamorous days) for my keys and my hand rubs across my “bible.” Forgetting the keys, I pick up the address book. Inside is each and every man I have ever dated or slept with. For each man there is a brief bio and a photo, if I had one. I used dollar signs to rate how free giving they were with their money, and stars to rate how good they were in bed. The more dollar signs and stars the better.
But this book isn’t me anymore. Since I have been with Mohammed I have not made an entry. I have not called one number. I have good friends. A good man. A good life.
I am happy. I am.
Then why do I still have it?
Ignoring the answer to that million-dollar question, I shove the address book down deep in my bag. I finally close my fingers around the keys before I rush out of the house.
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Copyright © 2009 by Niobia Bryant
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ISBN: 0-7582-4415-0