Your Ex My Man

by Sharissa Coles

  YOUR EX

  MY MAN

  SHARISSA COLES

  COPYRIGHT 2014 SHARISSA COLES

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher or author. If you are reading this book and you have not purchased it or received an advanced copy directly from the author, this book has been pirated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or, if an actual place, are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  DEDICATION

  For Theo. My real Antoine.

  Shar

  OTHER BOOKS BY SHARISSA COLES

  Hot Boy’s Trophy Bitch

  Down Ass Chick

  DESCRIPTION

  Wedding columnist Rashida Quentin will never forget the day her ex-boyfriend’s wedding announcement landed on her desk. Her fallback guy, the guy she’d dumped just months prior when things became a little too boring and predictable, was suddenly engaged to be married. But it wasn’t just that. His fiancé? Ridiculously stunning local news anchor, Ayla Giovanni.

  Suddenly consumed with jealousy, Rashida is forced to reconcile feelings she never thought she’d feel towards him ever again. What did Ayla see in Antoine that she didn’t? And did she only want him because she couldn’t have him?

  But when Rashida meets Kevin Harris, the striking, charming, and somewhat elusive detective who happens to live conveniently in the same apartment building as Ayla and Antoine, she’s forced to straddle the line between moving on and never letting go.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  THANK YOU

  PREVIEW

  CHAPTER 1

  I knew exactly how I got there, but I didn’t know what I was going to do once I had arrived. As I stared at the green street sign, I reached into my left pocket and pulled out a torn piece of newspaper with an address scribbled on the top in red ink:

  “704 Vine Street, Apt 1B”

  Across the street was a piano bar called Lem’s where some local five-o-clockers were piling in for a few beers and shelter from the impending storm.

  I wasn’t paying much attention to the discordant flashes of lightning, the rumbles and groans coming from above, or the hit and miss water droplets starting to fall from the sky.

  I balanced my tote over my left shoulder as I retied the belt on my khaki trench coat. My face felt hot and my skin felt clammy and damp. My hair started to stick to my neck and I could feel it beginning to swell and curl from the humidity.

  I hurried into Lem’s and took a seat near the bar by the window that directly faced Dewberry Apartments on Vine. For a moment, my stomach fluttered from a mixture of anxiety and unsubstantiated elation.

  “Ma’am?” A skeletal, bearded bartender in his late thirties placed a napkin on the bar in front of me.

  “Amaretto and diet, please. Thanks,” I said. I flashed a two-second smile and quickly turned back to the apartment building across the way.

  The bartender swiftly returned and sat the drink in front of me, grabbing my five dollar bill and leaving two lifeless quarters in its place. Before I could tell him to keep the change he had vanished and was already tending to other patrons.

  I watched as throngs of umbrella-holding nine-to-fivers made their way through the maze of people all trying to get home for the day or at least to someplace dry.

  By 5:30 my drink was nearly finished and my neck was getting sore from holding it in one position for so long. My palms began to sweat and I could feel my face flushing again. Any minute now, Antoine would be walking through the front door of Dewberry Apartments—at least, I hoped.

  It had been over a year since I’d last spoken with him, a conversation that had occurred when I’d [r1] decided to end things for reasons I couldn’t admit to his face. I assumed he had the same old job at the same old IT company and worked the same old schedule. This apartment was new, though. He hadn’t lived in this area a year ago.

  I wondered how long he had been living just two blocks from my office and if he had moved there on the off chance he might run into me someday.

  “Is this seat taken?” a dark haired, clean-cut suit asked.

  “Go right ahead,” I replied, barely making eye contact. I refused to take my eye off the mark and miss the chance of seeing Antoine walk into that building. My own curiosity was my number one priority.

  “Are you cold or something?” the suit asked.

  “What?”

  “You’re still wearing your coat. I think it’s kind of hot in here myself.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t even noticed,” I muttered, uninterested. Couldn’t he see I was busy?

  “What are you watching?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Those guys said you’ve been staring out the window for at least a half hour.”

  “What guys?” I turned around and scanned the bar. A group of guys not much older than twenty-one were seated around a table chuckling and avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Don’t worry about them. I’ll let you get back to your bird watching.” The suit winked and flashed a blindingly white smile.

  Gag me now.

  “Excuse me.” Not one to allow myself to be mocked by an overconfident meathead, I grabbed my drink and relocated to a table closer to the window.

  Another twenty minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Antoine. I started to feel like the crazy, stalker ex-girlfriend that I always tried so hard not to be. I wondered how many times Antoine saw me walking these very streets, and I wondered how I could have missed seeing him. Lastly, I wondered why it mattered to me all of a sudden.

  The rain let up and a merciful break in the clouds allowed some sunlight to seep through. The streets slowly dried and patrons began sporadically exiting the local shops and eateries with shopping and doggy bags in hand.

  By 6:30 I had downed my second amaretto and diet. After silently debating whether or not to stick it out, I decided to call it a night and head home. But first I made a couple laps around the block, walking slowly up and down Vine Street. I didn’t want to feel like I waited there like a crazy person for absolutely nothing.

  As I took my time walking down Vine, I noticed the suit up ahead.

  “Oh, wow,” I mumbled out loud. I looked down at the ground, hoping he didn’t see me. I fished around in my tote trying to find my cell phone desperate to find a way to seem unapproachable.

  “Hey.” Of course he had to acknowledge me. “Weren’t you the girl who sat at the bar for over an hour staring at this place?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Yep. Sure was. Just waiting for a friend. Never showed.”

  “Oh, really?” he said. “Who do you know that lives in this building?”

  “What‘s it to you?”

  “I live here. I know pretty much everyone.”

  “I don’t think you know my friend. She just moved in.”

  “That’s easy. There are only two girls in this whole building.” The s
uit was persistent. “Ayla Giovanni and Maria Johnson.”

  “Maria Johnson.”

  The suit started to laugh. “You just made that up. There is no Maria Johnson in these apartments. You’re not stalking Ayla because she’s on the news, right?”

  Insulted and secretly impressed by his lie detection skills, I snorted, “Of course not. What’s your deal, anyway?”

  “Look, I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. I really am. I’m Kevin Harris, by the way.”

  “Rashida Quentin.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Kevin said. He flashed a million dollar smile as he dangled his keys and proceeded up the steps. “I’m not stalking you, by the way. I live here.”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s been one of those days.” The suit was slightly charming, I had to admit.

  The street seemed to have emptied, and we were suddenly the only two on the block. It was quiet for a second as if neither one of us wanted to leave. A minute later, the sound of laughter echoed up the hollowed street. Two people, a man and a woman, linked arm in arm, rounded the corner and turned up Vine Street. It was Antoine with a dark-haired beauty on his arm.

  In a mental panic, I blurted, “I should go.”

  “Wait,” Kevin said.

  “No, I have to.” I quickly trotted up the street in the opposite direction of the oblivious twosome.

  “Come in?” he offered.

  “Fine.” I jutted around and pushed him in the door. “Quick, I have to pee. Sorry.”

  He walked a few steps to apartment 1A and unlocked the door in a hurry. “Bathroom’s the second door on the right.”

  “I don’t have to go an more,” I said.

  “You sure? Because—”

  “—positive.”

  “You are really starting to freak me out.”

  “You started talking to me. I would have been perfectly fine without you trying to stir up trouble back there at the bar,” I ranted.

  “’Stir up trouble’? I said I was sorry.”

  “I know, I know.”

  I walked over to the living room window and peered outside.

  The couple were still linked arm in arm and were simultaneously making their way up the stairs. I could hear keys jingling as the big front door opened and closed.

  “Will you excuse me for a sec?” Kevin asked. He made his way to the second door on the right.

  I seized the opportunity and tip toed over to Kevin’s front door, where from the peep-hole I clearly observed my ex, Antoine, and one Miss Ayla Giovanni. She was even more beautiful than I ever could have anticipated. Her laugh was infectious and her hair bounced like a slow motion shampoo commercial with each step.

  I could barely make out their words through the muffled whispering, but before long they had entered apartment 1B across the hall and my little peepshow was over.

  Kevin came out of the bathroom with a puzzled look on his face. “Was someone just at my door?”

  “No, why?”

  “You were just looking out the peep hole.”

  “Was I?” I played dumb. “But on that note, my friend did call and she’s going to meet me at my place in a bit, so I’m taking off. But thanks for, um… thanks. It was nice meeting you.”

  That was awkward.

  “Okay. I guess I’ll see you around?” a bewildered Kevin said with a half-smile.

  I bolted from his place and walked the ten blocks to my apartment in a daze. I fished around in my oversized bag and pulled out my phone to call the only person who would understand what had just happened.

  “LaLa, answer your damn phone. I’m having a major problem right now!” I left a message on LaLa’s voicemail. I made sure to speak in a low voice so passersby wouldn’t hear.

  By the time I got home, LaLa was sitting on her couch sipping hot tea in her pajamas and watching the evening news.

  “I just called you,” I announced as I walked in the door.

  “Yeah, I was washing my face. I got your message. So what‘s up?”

  I stood with one hand on my hip as I threw my bag on the ground and kicked off my wedges.

  “Spill it, sweets. Come. Sit down. Tell me all.” LaLa muted the television and patted the seat next to her on the sofa.

  It drove me wild how easy going LaLa could be about things. But then again, LaLa was always there for me, though her advice was hardly worth taking. It always seemed too logical to be of any use to my irrational monkey brain.

  “Remember Antoine?” I began.

  “Yeah, what about him?”LaLa

  “You know Ayla Giovanni?”

  “The Channel 6 news anchor whose style you always try to copy?”

  “What? Yes. Her.” I never copied her style; I merely paid homage to it.

  “What about her?”

  “They’re getting married,” I regretfully informed her, though the regret was all mine.

  “You say that like you’re sad or something,” LaLa said. “Good for him.”

  I tilted my head back as I felt a rush of tears coming on. I had held these tears in since 11:00 that morning when the engagement announcement form first landed in my inbox. I immediately felt sick to my stomach, just like I had then. “I need some Pepto.”

  “Funny,” LaLa stared off. She was clearly not as surprised by this news as I was.

  “That’s all you can say?” I wiped my tears on the back of my hand. “I don’t find it funny.”

  “Okay, so they‘re slightly mismatched. Happens all the time anymore. It’s the new thing.”

  “Mismatched doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’ve written thousands upon thousands of engagement and wedding announcements, but never in a million years did I think that Antoine would be getting married so soon. And before me. And to an insanely beautiful girl. She’s practically a local celebrity. I didn’t think Antoine was into girls like her.”

  The truth was I didn’t think girls like her were into guys like Antoine.

  “Do I even need to remind you that you broke up with him?” LaLa rolled her eyes when she thought I wasn‘t looking. “Why are you upset? You crushed that little guy like a bug. I heard he was so distraught he didn’t shower for two weeks afterwards. You should, at the very least, be happy for him.

  “Besides, Ayla Giovanni is not ‘insanely beautiful’. Do you realize how much makeup they have to wear for the camera?”

  “No. She’s gorgeous. I saw her in person.”

  “In person? You never mentioned that.”

  “Through a peephole. It’s a long story. I think I’m going to go to bed,” I said.

  “It’s not even ten o’clock,” LaLa objected. “Our show is on soon.”

  “I’m not in the mood for it,” I sulked as I drug my feet down the hall to the bathroom.

  “I think my cousin used to date Ayla Giovanni in college. I’m sure I could find some dirt on her,” LaLa yelled back down the hall.

  CHAPTER 2

  The following day, I did everything I could to prolong[r2] actually sitting at my desk. I got to work right on time instead of fifteen minutes early as I usually did. I spent an extra fifteen minutes shooting the breeze with Mike, our one and only Harrisville Tribune Movie Critic, and I took my sweet time preparing the most perfect cup of coffee from the employee break room.

  “So that’s why I liked the original Star Wars better than the remakes,” Michael explained. “You really need to go to some movies with me. I get in free everywhere.”

  “I would hope so, being a movie critic and all,” I replied. “I’m not big on movies. They always end up depressing me somehow.”

  “Even loves stories?” Michael enquired.

  “Especially love stories. They remind me how pathetic my own love life is,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee as we walked slowly towards my cubicle.

  Michael looked like his dog had just been run over. “Rashida, I never knew that about you.”