He cocked his head to the side. Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Yeah, you should have. But you’re forgiven. This time.” A slow smile worked over his mouth as he reached for his knife and fork, and said nothing more on the matter.
End of discussion.
Arabia shifted in her seat again. Then tilted her head to the side, and eyed him as he cut into his fried chicken breast. Oh how she wanted to reach over and slap his damn face. And yet there was an aura of mystery surrounding him that made her skin tingle with curiosity.
In that moment, she let out a breath—one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
The rest of the evening, they finished their dinner making small talk, mostly talking about HYPE and how much he enjoyed working with the kids there, especially now that he was one of the basketball coaches there.
Arabia smiled. “That’s great. Sounds like you really enjoy what you do.”
Cruze nodded, and grinned. “Yeah, I definitely do. It’s like those young cats give me a renewed sense of purpose. Many of them remind me of myself when I was their ages.”
Arabia nodded. “So you played basketball in college?”
Cruze shifted in his seat. “Nah.” He paused a moment, still staring intently in her eyes. “College wasn’t a part of my life plan.”
“Oh. Well, it looks like you’ve done well for yourself regardless.”
Cruze smiled. “No doubt. Thanks.”
“How old are you?” she wanted to know.
“Twenty-eight. And you?”
Arabia feigned insult. “Don’t you know it’s impolite to ask a woman her age?”
Cruze smirked. “Nah. I didn’t know that.” He shrugged. “So, what, you’re like thirty?”
Arabia playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m thirty-two.”
“Oh, a’ight. A cougar,” he teased.
She laughed, feeling her skin heat.
Ooh, this man was dangerous.
And she’d eat him alive.
Twenty-Eight
2006
The thrill of gazing at the stacks of money that lined the dresser had started to wear off. In fact, Cruze was getting so irritated waiting for Ramona, he was about to call Sameer and get a ride to the strip club. But, nah, he couldn’t make a sucka move like that. He’d never live it down if Sameer found out how bad Ramona was clowning him.
Lying on the bed, fully dressed with his hands clasped behind his head, he glared at the red digital numbers on the clock. It was four in the morning and Ramona wasn’t picking up his calls. The last time she’d pulled this shit, she promised it wouldn’t happen again, and like a fool, he believed her.
Obviously, their relationship wasn’t anything but a game to her. Maybe it was time for him to pack his shit and roll out. Shit, the money he was planning to spend on an engagement ring for her and an upgrade on their apartment could be used to get his own spot, brand-new furniture, and a set of wheels. He wouldn’t be able to buy a brand-new 2006 joint, but he could get something nice.
Cruze hopped off the bed and made a path to the closet, kicking out of his way Ramona’s shoes that were strewn about, bags of dirty laundry, and an assortment of tote and duffle bags that she used for work.
Fuck her! He was sick of living in a pigsty, anyway. Strands of weave hair were all over the bathroom floor, and it clogged up the drain in the sink and tub. Ramona’s toiletries, hair products, and makeup were scattered all over the bathroom counter. In the kitchen, dishes were piled sky-high in the sink and a bunch of funky trash bags were stacked in a corner because they always managed to miss trash day.
Cruze used to keep track of trash day, and also used to clean up behind Ramona, but ever since Moody had elevated his position, he didn’t have the kind of time he used to have.
Cruze stopped dead in his tracks, grimacing as he thought about the bloody job he’d been assigned to handle tonight. Rolling through the streets, riding shotgun with Sameer and collecting Moody’s money was a come-up, and he appreciated not having to hustle nickel and dime bags on the corner, anymore. But dumping bodies for that nigga, Moody had taken shit to a whole different level. Sameer had been excited about it and was looking forward to making more easy money, but Cruze doubted if he had the stomach to touch a dead body, ever again.
Even though he hadn’t killed the muhfucka and therefore, didn’t have any blood on his hands, his involvement still wasn’t right. His mother was probably turning in her grave. He swallowed down a hard knot of guilt and shook his head. What he needed to do was get out of the game completely before something bad happened. It wasn’t too late to enroll in a junior college and see about getting back into basketball. Shit, his jump shot was still nice—he hadn’t lost his skills.
Needing luggage for his belongings, he angrily dumped all Ramona’s stripper gear out of the duffle bags. Stilettos clunked to the floor and unwashed lingerie that held the scent of cigarette smoke, liquor, and musky pussy floated out of the bags, joining the rest of the mess that littered the floor in the cluttered bedroom.
Prepared to grab his clothes out the closet and stuff them in Ramona’s bags, he opened the closet and gawked as he realized he’d need Sameer’s car, after all, if he planned to transport the ridiculous amount of sneakers he’d accumulated.
Holding his cell phone and while his finger was poised to call his boy, he heard the familiar click of Ramona’s heels against the wooden stairs that led to their third-floor apartment. Deciding he’d listen to what she had to say before he made a rash decision, he slid the phone back inside his pocket. He swung the door open and rushed down the stairs to meet her halfway.
Seeing his baby looking good in a tight, yellow dress and observing the way her curly, blonde ponytail bounced on her left shoulder, Cruze’s pent-up anger instantly evaporated, and all he felt was intense love.
“Damn, babe, what took you so long to get home?” he inquired, relieving Ramona of the heavy duffle bag she was lugging. Even though she was dead wrong for staying out that late, Cruze didn’t feel like arguing about it. She was home now, and that was all that mattered.
“There was a bachelor’s party, and I had to stay,” she said, looking weary.
It wasn’t unusual for Ramona to whine and request a piggyback ride up the three flights whenever she wasn’t in the mood to deal with all the steps, and so Cruze extended an olive branch. “I can tell you had a hard night, so come on . . . hop on my back.”
“No, I’m good,” she said, stomping up the stairs like she was upset with Cruze.
“What’s wrong with you?” he growled, his irritation with her returning.
“Nothing,” she said at first. Then she sighed and muttered, “We gottta talk, Cruze.” Her voice was low and strained and she wouldn’t look him in the eyes.
Eyebrows furrowed, he stopped in the middle of the stairs and studied her face. “Talk about what, Mo?”
“I’ll tell you when we get in the house.” She rushed ahead, impatiently. Baffled, Cruze stood for a moment, stroking his chin and trying to figure out why she was acting so cranky and weird when she was the one who’d fucked up, again—not him!
Maybe her period came on, he surmised, disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to dig in that pussy tonight. He could tell by her pissy attitude that she wasn’t in the mood to give up any head.
When Cruze entered the apartment, he slammed the door and dropped her bag in the middle of the living room. “What the fuck is your problem?” he demanded.
She gazed at him with pain evident in her eyes. “I can’t keep lying to you. I’m sorry, Cruze, it’s over.”
He flinched, his features contorted in agony as if she’d kneed him in the groin. “What’s over?”
“Us.” She glanced down at the floor. “You can stay here; I’m leaving.” She turned and moved hastily toward the bedroom.
Cruze raced behind her, grabbing her by th
e arm when she reached the threshold of the bedroom. “Hold up! How you just gon’ bounce without telling me what I did wrong?”
“Don’t put your fuckin’ hands on me. I’m not dealing with that shit tonight.” Ramona yanked her arm from his grasp and glared at him.
“What you gon’ do?” he bellowed, pushing her inside their room, causing her to trip over the clutter on the floor. She jumped up and started swinging at him and he knocked her into the dresser. A few of the rubber-banded money stacks thumped to the floor.
Ramona wrinkled her forehead. “How’d you get all that?”
“Don’t fuckin’ worry about it, trick-ass bitch!” Eyes bulging and enraged, he picked up one of the fallen stacks and used it to smack Ramona across the face repeatedly, and then he commenced to beating her about the head and shoulders with the thick packet of bills. “I was gon’ take you shopping for an engagement ring. And this is how you do me? I should have known better than to try to turn a hooker into a housewife.”
“I’m not a hooker, and you know it,” Ramona declared, crying.
“Yeah, whatever. Yo, you fuckin’ want to leave? Then, what the fuck you waiting for? Get the fuck out, you dirty bitch.”
“Stop it, Cruze. It’s not even like you to be acting so ugly and calling me disrespectful names.”
“Oh, no? Then, what should I be doing—begging you to stay and crying like a little bitch?”
“No.”
“Then tell me what you expected?”
“I expected you to understand that with you only being eighteen and me being twenty-five, there’s really no kind of future together for us.”
Cruze made a sound of disgust. “You so full of shit, Mo,” he snarled. “Age wasn’t nothing but a number when I had my face between your legs and when my dick was up in those guts. But now my age is suddenly a problem.”
“I met someone, Cruze,” she said, taking steps away from him.
“Who?”
“It don’t matter. But me and him . . . we’re serious. He’s gon’ take care of me.”
“What the fuck have I been doing?” Cruze jerked his head toward the money on the dresser. “How you think I got all that paper—by sitting on my ass? I did shit for you that I wouldn’t even dream of doing for anybody else.”
Cruze punched the wall, creating the sound of an explosion. Ramona jumped and then rushed to the closet and began snatching items of clothing off hangers and quickly stuffing them inside her bag.
She hurried to exit the bedroom, and then paused in the doorway. “I’m sorry it had to end like this, Cruze. I do still love you. I always will, but I have to do what’s best for me.”
“Fuck you!” He threw a stiletto, narrowly missing her head.
Looking shook, Ramona backed out the door. “I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff tomorrow. And in case you plan on acting the ass, I’ma have five-oh with me,” she threatened.
“Whatever, bitch!” He stalked across the room and grabbed her. As Ramona thrashed and clawed, Cruze dragged her body down the hallway and through the living room and then forcibly tossed her out the front door.
His mother had once cautioned him to hold his emotions inside and to never let anyone see his sensitive side, and so he stood stock-still and didn’t make a sound as he listened to Ramona’s clacking heels as she ran down the three flights of stairs. When he could no longer hear her footsteps, he bit down on his bottom lip so hard, it bled. With the taste of blood in his mouth, he kicked the coffee table over, knocked the TV off the stand, and unable to hold back the tears any longer, he fell to his knees and bitterly cried.
Twenty-Nine
“I love you . . .”
Arabia cringed. The way he said I love you made her skin crawl. The whole time they’d been seeing—okay, fucking—each other he’d never used those words, not once.
Now, over the course of a week, he’d used those three words numerous times. Too many times to keep count. In fact, she’d stopped counting after he’d said it the thirty-eighth time. And here he was saying it again.
She sighed, wondering why he had to make this more complicated than it needed to be.
“Eric. You don’t love me.”
“I do, baby . . .”
Baby. She couldn’t stand hearing him call her that. Not now. He disgusted her. One thing she couldn’t stand was a begging-ass, whining man.
She shook her head. “Eric, stop. I’m not your baby. Okay?”
“No. That’s where you’re wrong. You’ll always be my baby, Arabia. Always. Mine. And I still wanna be with you. You, Arabia; not Gwen, baby. You. I left her for you.”
Oh, he sounded ridiculous. There was something seriously wrong with this man, and it had nothing to do with her. Well, that’s what she needed to keep telling herself.
“Have you been drinking?”
Eric sniffled. “No. I’m hurting. Not drunk.”
Oh. She didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing.
Eric sighed heavily into the phone. “I walked away from everything to be with you, Arabia.”
She frowned, quickly finding her voice. “And there lies the problem, Eric. You had no business leaving your wife and family for me; especially when I didn’t ask you to.”
“You didn’t have to,” he said. “I left her because my heart was with someone else—you. I couldn’t keep living a lie. I was no longer in love with my wife. And you gave me a reason to want out.”
“Then don’t say you left her for me. You left because that’s not where you wanted to be.”
“You’re right, baby . . .”
There was that word again, baby.
“Eric, look. You have to stop this. Stop calling me. Stop texting me. Please. We’re not going to be together. Face it. Please. I don’t want to sound callous. But I can’t do this with you. It’s over. And—after the way you threatened me in those text messages, then showed up here and embarrassed me down in my lobby, I’d never trust being anywhere alone with you.”
“Please don’t say that, baby,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean those things. I didn’t mean to come to your place like that. I was just so fucking angry with you for abruptly ending things between us the way you did, then refusing my calls. It hurt me. You hurt me. Still, I know I was wrong. I had no right to speak to you like that.” He took a breath. “I’ve never spoken to a woman like that before, and I had no right to do it to you, baby. I love you. I’d never do anything to hurt you, Arabia. Ever. You have to believe that.”
Arabia didn’t know what to believe. She really didn’t think he would hurt her. Or do anything to try to ruin her life, although she had no clue what he could do to possibly ruin her. But okay. Still, she didn’t want to believe that he’d come swinging through her door with a hacksaw or anything crazy like that, either. But she didn’t know what he was capable of.
She’d purposefully over the years only involved herself with men who had a whole lot more to lose than she, for fear of something like this. Thus far, it had worked for her. But she hadn’t considered the possibility of having a man willingly give up everything to be with her. Then what?
What happened when a man felt like he had nothing else to lose?
Arabia shook the question from her head. No. Eric had only spoken in anger like he’d said. He hadn’t meant what he’d typed in his text to her that if he couldn’t have her, no one else would. So its cryptic meaning held no real meaning. Did it?
For whatever reason, she felt the need to apologize to him again. In case he hadn’t heard her the three other times. “I’m sorry, Eric. Really I am. I should have handled things differently.”
“You’ve broken me, Arabia.” His voice was low, slightly above a whisper.
She swallowed. “Eric, that wasn’t my intention; to break you.”
“Then why’d you do it, huh, baby? Why?”
Maybe.
“Baby, are you there?”
She sighed. “Eric, you can’t keep doing this. Calling me like this. What do you want?”
He sniffled again. “I want you to tell me what kind of woman comes into a man’s life, then fucks him over, huh, baby?”
Arabia frowned. “I didn’t fuck you over, Eric.” You did.
“Why can’t you be honest with me, huh? Just tell the truth for once. Can you do that, baby, huh?”
She ignored the question. “Eric, what have I ever lied to you about? Please tell me.”
He snorted. “No. How about you tell me. You’re the one who likes playing with motherfuckers’ lives. Stringing them along, then dismissing them. I was good to you, Arabia.”
She swallowed. He was right. He had been. “Yes. You were, Eric. And I’ll never forget the times we shared to—”
“Fuck all that,” he said, cutting her off. “Why’d you do it?”
Surprisingly, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or cursing at her like he’d done in previous calls. In fact, he was eerily calm. Too calm. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her to not continue this conversation. Hang up. Change her number. And move on.
But . . .
“Do what?” she asked.
“End it? And don’t bullshit me. You owe me that, Arabia.”
She sighed. Had he really thought all those times she tried to encourage him to stay with his wife that she’d done so out of some sense of duty to her? No. She’d encouraged that he stayed for her. She knew the truth was rather silly in the grand scheme of things. But, still, it was her truth. It didn’t need to be his. So she told him, “Because you left your wife.” There she’d said it.
She heard him sigh. “If you didn’t want me, why did you string me along? For two fucking years, Arabia. You dangled that sweet pussy and all that wet dick sucking you did over my head, kept me coming back. For what? So you could turn around and fuck me in the end?”
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