my best friend's man

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legs like a dancer and a booty like Beyonce. I hate her for that. I have no ass at all, but I

make up for it with charm, I guess.

She pretends like she is Ms. Goody Two Shoes, but she’s just better at concealing her dirt

than I am. I know because every once in a while some random dude will show up at her 

door unannounced, crying and begging for her to give him another chance. Dudes don’tact like that unless a woman lays it down in the bedroom. But I’ll let her keep up her act

if it makes her feel good.

I pull down my shades as I step outside onto the curb at the Hartsfield Airport in Atlanta,

nearly bumping into a guy hauling a huge black trunk. He stops abruptly and I get a good

look at him- white boy, tanned skin, dark circles under his eyes. Eww. His nails are filthy.

He looks like he needs a vacation.

My imagination whisks me away from the airport, retracing the man’s steps like someone

rewound an old black and white movie.

 I wonder what’s in that trunk. Hmm. It could be a dead body. It could be drugs. Yeah, he’sa drug dealer from Spain and he just smuggled 20 kilos of cocaine into the country.

I watch closely as a dark haired woman in a navy blue Range Rover pulls over to the curb

and he hoists the big black case into her trunk. She doesn’t smile, they don’t embrace. He

hops into the front seat and she speeds off.

 Drug dealer. Yes. Kilos and kilos of coke. I know it. He probably isn’t the top dog of the

organization, he’s just the distributor. Earning maybe 50 G’s to transport it into the

country. I saw a documentary about drug smuggling once. I bet he’s been flying all over 

the country all year long delivering packages.

 And I bet she’s….

“Fantasizing again?” A voice interrupts me and I blink twice, snapping out of my trance.When I look to my left, I see his familiar stride and I smile remembering our last

encounter.

“Doesn’t this feel surreal,” he asked me that night two years ago as we sat side by side

on my couch. Just days away from my final departure from Atlanta I called him up and 

invited him over. He arrived two hours later wearing these cool ass silver sneakers, just the way guys from Atlanta do it, 6 pack in hand, silly grin on his face, smiling down at 

me.

“Yeah, this is surreal alright,” I teased him. “You were always talking shit when we

worked together. Now what?”

“I had to be like that,” he explained cautiously. “Because…”

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“Because what?” I challenged him.

“Because if I hadn’t I would’ve done this…”

 Before I could turn toward him to gauge his facial expression, his strong arms lifted me

onto his lap. As my breasts grazed his nose I could feel the tension mounting. No longer was I his manager, barking orders at him and giving instructions and no longer was he

the senior associate editor who seemed disengaged during most of our magazinemanagement meetings unless he was objecting one of my ideas.

That night he had turned into the Incredible Hulk.

 As his lips met mine, my chest heaved with an uncontrollable sigh. He paused from

 sucking my lips to watch my pulsating cleavage rise and fall beneath my low cut blouse.

“Take that off,” he ordered.

 I gasped at the transition in power and obeyed his command, removing my blouse withone swoop and tossing it on the chair near us.

“What about this?” he asked. As he unclasped my bra, pulling down the straps one at atime while staring into my eyes I thought that I would cry from the fever that had 

overtaken me.

 His lips invaded my body with the precision of a surgeon, tracing a line from my neck to

my collar bone down to each nipple.

“It’s like that?” I asked him breathlessly.

“All of this is mine tonight,” he responded before lifting me up and placing me on my

back, my legs dangling from the sofa. I kicked off my shoes as he removed his t-shirt and kneeled on the floor in front of me. He kissed my knees gingerly as he removed my skirt 

and panties.

“Beautiful,” he murmured as I squirmed on the couch, my body begging for him to

caress me. I closed my eyes and held my breath as his lips blessed my creamy center.

Someone must have given him lessons because his tongue engulfed my swollen bud like a

trained professional.

 As his hands gripped my waist and pulled me closer I could only mutter, “Thank you,

 Daddy.” My appreciation must have encouraged him as he lifted my bottom higher and his tongue explored my nether regions.

“Damn Daddy,” I murmured, squirming and grinding my pelvis into his face. “I likethat.”

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“Fuck that!” he proclaimed and stood up. I scrambled to regain my composure. Onehand went into his pocket, producing a gold wrapped permission slip and he silently

undressed never taking his eyes off of my prize.

“Tell me how much you want this dick!” he ordered.

“Please…” I whispered, my eyes beginning to mist.

“Tell me you want it,” he commanded, unwrapping the plastic and rolling it up his shaft.

“Please…”I begged, writhing with anticipation.

 His expression changed a bit as he smirked and said, “Bring yo’ ass here.”

Oh what a night…

“Damn Raymond, you’re looking good!” I tell him as he kisses me on my forehead and I bury my face in his chest, inhaling his beautiful scent.

“Yeah. Yeah. Don’t turn that charm on me, Sasha. I’m not falling for it again,” he teases

me.

“What? I’m always sincere,” I grin and bat my eyes coyly.

“Stop it,” he says playfully, yet I know he means business. “We’re having lunch. I’m

dropping you off to Delia’s and that’s it. Nothing else.”

“Dang, why you gotta be like that? I don’t want you anyway!” I retort and hand him my

 bag.

“I already had you anyway,” I think to myself. “But I sure would like some more.”

“Stop plotting and let’s eat,” he says and his hand wonders down the back of my well-

fitted black jeans.

“You are a tease,” I say and pout as he opens his passenger door for me.

“Just like you,” he says and kisses my forehead again before closing the door and

walking around to his side of the forest green 2008 Chrysler 300.

After that night we shared together we didn’t speak again for a full year. I moved away to

take a reporter job in Houston and he moved on to an editor position at another magazinein Atlanta. When I contacted him again through Facebook we began exchanging

messages everyday and he vowed he’d never touch me again. He wrote something about

me pushing him away, but I thought it was a mutual separation. Our love for the written

word kept us connected. He would send me links to articles that he published and I would

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give him shout outs on my wildly popular blog whenever he crossed my mind. But that

was that and this was this. It was my first time seeing him in over two years and I was

eager to chit chat with my friend.

Once we arrive at Atlantic Station, we find a corner in the food court and munch quickly

so we can dish on the latest gossip in Atlanta. We don’t care too much about celebrities because we’ve met them all but we always talk about the different publications and

writers we’ve met and worked with over the years.

By the time he pulls over in front of the Coca Cola building downtown I’m full of 

Mexican food and exhausted.

“Are you coming tonight?” I ask him, referring to the co-ed slumber party Delia had planned to celebrate her birthday.

“Probably not. But I’ll see if I can swing through and bring a bottle. What are you

drinking these days?”

“Ciroc. Straight. No chaser. On the rocks,” I reply as I step out of his car.

“Puff Daddy supporter I see,” he says and grins at me, his goatee is trimmed

immaculately.

“Puff Daddy has nothing to do with how good that vodka tastes. It’s so smooth, it’s

yummy!”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Goodbye Miss Miami.”

“Later hater,” I say and slam the car door.

I reach into my purse for my cell phone and it’s already buzzing by the time I find it.

“Hey hoe!” I answer gleefully.

“Girl, you crazy,” Delia answers back. “I’m driving up now.”

I’m glad Delia is turning 30 before I am. I have a full 4 months before I have to deal with

that landmark age and I figure it’s good practice to watch her go through it. It’s even

 better that I have so much time to remind her that I am still a young lass in my 20’s andshe’s not.

“GRANDMA!” I yell and raise both arms as she pulls over to the curb.

She laughs. “Stop it! You play too much.”

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I pull open the door as a car honks at us for stopping traffic but we don’t pay them any

attention.

“Ok,” I say and clap my hands together. “I have to give you your gift now. You can wear 

it to the party tonight.”

“Aww girl, you are so sweet,” she says with a laugh.

I reach into my bag and produce a black that is similar in size to a shoe box. Since she’sdriving I open it for her and she screams when she sees the new Fendi bag I bought for 

her.

“Thanks Sasha! It’s perfect!”

“I know, I know. I’m the shit!”

“You’re stupid girl,” she says as I close the box and place it in the backseat of her champagne colored Infiniti. “So what happened with Raymond?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he’s still acting like nothing ever happened. I’m beginning to think 

that Atlanta has finally gotten to him. They switch teams up here easily,” I say with and

smirk.

“Girl please! Anytime a man doesn’t want to sleep with you, you think he’s gay,” Delia

says and rolls her eyes.

I remove my sunglasses and stare at her. “Delia. They are.”

“No sense. You have no sense.”

“Whatever. So what’s up for tonight? What can I do?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she says. “I’ve already gotten the hotel suite, I got the hook up from Marsha

at the W.”

“Ooh…Get it!”

“Yes girl, and it’s a very intimate party. There are only 6 people coming.”

“What?” I ask incredulously. “But when we sent out the e-vite, there were 20 something

 people. What happened?”

“I changed my mind. I don’t want all of those random people at my party. I want it to be

special.”

“I guess,” I reply, biting my lip. “Wait. Is it like…couples?”

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“Don’t worry Sash. It’s not like that. I know you wouldn’t be comfortable if I did that so

no one is a couple except for me and Dre,” Delia assures me.

“Oh,” I sigh.

I hate it when my friends have their couples crap and still try to invite me. I know they’re

 just being nice and I always feel uncomfortable because I can’t imagine inviting any of 

my guyfriends because they aren’t real friends, they’re just men I sleep with when I getfrustrated and need to relax.

“Am I hosting games?” I ask. I am the PERFECT party host. I know a million games and

I always make people feel good.

“Sure, if you want, but I have some games I wanted to play too. We can do both.”

By this time I’m wondering what the hell is going on with her. We usually discusseverything down to the last detail and she did not tell me anything about changing the

 party plans.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yeah,” she says quickly. “I just…I was just thinking about Dre.”

“What about his fine ass?”

She laughs. “Yes, he is fine. But lately I’ve been feeling like something is wrong.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, Pea.” Delia says. She calls me Pea sometimes because that was the

nickname my parents gave me, Sweet Pea. “I’m getting this weird feeling when we’retogether. You know him pretty well, so when we see him tonight you tell me if you notice

something.”

I raise my left eyebrow. “Ok D. I’ll put my investigative lens on. What should I belooking for? Do you think he’s cheating? On the down low? What?”

She rolls her eyes at me as we glide up I75 toward Smyrna where she lives.

“Girl please. He’s not stupid. But we did talk the other night and I asked him if he ever 

met anyone he wanted to sleep with.”

“Girl, why the hell did you ask him that?”

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“Because…sometimes…” she pauses and licks her lips. The sun seems to completely

disappear behind a wall of clouds causing the sky to darken. She removes her sunglasses

and places them on her dashboard, which is a bad habit that I have tried to break her outof but she won’t listen.

“What are you saying D?”

“I’m just saying that…well…remember when we broke up the first time?”

Oh no. Not THAT again.

“And no Pea, I’m not mad about the fact that he cheated on me all of those years ago.

He’s proven himself over and over again,” she explains. “Sometimes I just wonder if I’mholding him back from being who he really is. I mean, if a dude is used to being like that

and I require him to stop if he wants to be with me and he chooses me am I really loving

him for HIM?”

“WHAT?” I ask, in shock.

“I mean. What would it hurt if he slept with someone else? If we talked about it first,”

Delia explained cautiously.

“Get your head checked,” I tell her. “Seriously.”

“Why’d you say that, Pea?”

“ ‘Cause you’re talking crazy. Are you saying this because YOU want to see other 

 people?” I ask her studying her face. Who is this woman? This is not my best friend. My

 best friend would never say anything like this.

“Forget it,” she says. “We have to talk about it later anyway because I’m tired and we

have to go get the decorations and head over to the suite.”

By the time the party begins both Delia and I are nearly wasted. We spent hours sipping

on mixed drinks and setting up the room with candles, chocolates as well as shiny black 

and silver balloons.

Delia’s friend DaQuoya is the first to arrive. I can’t really stand that hoe. She has an

attitude that is worse than mine and she thinks every woman is jealous of her. To behonest, if I was the insecure type, I probably would be jealous of her.

With her 5’5” inch frame, size DD breasts and an oversized firm ass to match most men

drool when they meet her. I’ve never been jealous of the way women look but I amalways a bit envious of her style. She always looks as though she is ready to take a

 picture.

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Tonight she’s wearing a pearl white overcoat which she removes dramatically,

showcasing a knee length night gown made of silk. The pink gown is accented by lime

green stitches and pearl white buttons that reveal her ample cleavage. She notices as I amchecking her out and she smiles broadly and places her coat over the back of the lounge

chair.

“Happy Birthday girl!” DeQuoya screams and walks over to Delia, hugging her tightly.

You know I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

 “Hi there,” I greet her cordially and she fakes a smile and places her silver gift bag on the

table.

Within the next half hour, the rest of the guests arrive; Danny, one of Delia’s closestguyfriends (a hunk of a firefighter from Cobb County), Brandon, a shy and slim Fed Ex

delivery man who is younger than the rest of us, and ofcourse Dre, Delia’s boyfriend of 

five years.

When Dre walks in he’s carrying a package that is so big that it takes both hands to carry

it. Dre, a former professional basketball player now owns his own gym and takes great pride in helping people to sculpt their bodies into the image that they see in their minds.

He saunters over to Delia and gives her a kiss on the cheek and then places the package

on the floor with a thud.

“Hi Sasha,” he greets me with a sly grin and a gentle hug.

As I survey the room I notice that no one is mingling so I suggest that we all remove our 

shoes and Delia walks around the room with a tray filled with her specialty drink which

she calls Delilah. It’s a mixture of gin, lemon juice, sugar syrup and fresh fruits. She saysthere’s another ingredient that she has added just for tonight but I don’t care, it all does

the same thing.

Always a proper hostess, I suggest that everyone take a seat as Delia now holds a tray

filled with neatly arranged fruits; sliced oranges, pineapples, grapes, strawberries and

cherries. The suite is sparsely furnished but Delia and I neatly arranged cozy blankets and

oversized pillows all around the floor. Everyone is dressed in comfortable nightwear,except for DeQuoya ofcourse. She sits gingerly on a big red pillow with her legs tucked

 beneath her, balancing her drink in one hand and a small plate filled with strawberries.

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