A Weekend Affair (7 page)

That had been a month ago. That was why Carl's actions, while questionable, didn't surprise me. Any other time his actions would have been odd to me, but because I knew he was having trouble at home, him paying attention to another woman just told me he was doing what he had to do to move on. Carl had never cheated on his wife. Hell, he didn't even flirt with other women because he took his vows seriously. He'd come from a single-mother home, and he vowed that he would never bring children into the world unless he was a husband first. I had a hell of a lot of respect for the man my best friend was.

I checked the time on my watch while Shell and Gabby whispered back and forth. I didn't know what they were talking about, but I could guess. I didn't need to talk to Carl to know what he was thinking. I'd initially only walked over to their table because Carl had wanted to talk to Shell. He'd been checking her out for quite some time, since she had walked in the door, actually.

Even still, I found myself more than thrilled to have to take one for the team. Taking one for the team between male friends usually meant while one friend tried his luck with the pretty girl, the other friend kept the less attractive friend occupied. Turned out that Shell's friend was just as beautiful as she was. I couldn't front like her backside in the dress she was wearing wasn't holding my attention. Baby may have been a little on the short side, but she had a body that could weaken any man.

She had just the right amount of everything, I surmised, as we walked back inside. I chuckled. I had to. Gabby had given her friend, Shell, a strong side eye when we walked back in to find she and Carl locked in a battle of the tongues again. Gabby sat down and looked at her glass of wine as if something was wrong with it before pushing it away. While I didn't know why she'd done that, it was safe to assume it was because she didn't want to end up like her friend, tonguing down a stranger.

“So are you going to give me that dance we talked about, or are you going to keep cock blocking Shell?” I asked Gabby in jest.

She turned to me, then blinked slowly. “I am
not
cock blocking,” she said with a light laugh.

“Looks like it to me,” I told her.

“Whatever,” she quipped saucily. “Forgive me for making sure my friend doesn't lose herself in lust.”

“But what if she wants to?”

Carl placed a kiss on Shell's neck. Shell really looked as if she was helpless to the seduction Carl was putting on her. No way should a married woman leave home unsatisfied in such a way that a married man, not her husband, should have that look of pure lust in her eyes.

Gabby shook her head and sighed. “She's grown.”

“Yes, she is,” I replied. “What goes on, on the island, stays on the island.”

I took in Gabby's beauty under the soft glow of the lights. Her lips made me wonder what they would feel like on mine. I stood and held my hand out for her to take. She smiled, left my jacket in the booth and her clutch in Shell's possession. To be honest, Shell hadn't been paying much attention to us since she and Carl were glued into whatever conversation they were having.

I took Gabby's hand and led her onto the dance floor. The band was playing something with a catchy beat. It wasn't fast enough for us to throw our hands in the air and get down, but it wasn't slow enough to make the lovers in the room swoon to either. We moved through the throng of dancers and found a spot to settle in to.

I placed my hands on her waist while she placed hers on my chest.

“This is pretty awkward for me,” she said.

“What is?”

“Dancing.”

“You don't dance?”

“Oh, I dance. I just don't dance with men so much taller than I am.”

I gave a grin and nodded. Even in the heels she had on, I was still towering over her.

“That's too bad. I like my women short so this feels just fine to me.”

She giggled lightly. “You have an answer for everything, don't you?”

“I do like to be prepared for anything.”

“How does that work out for you?”

“I've never been caught unprepared.”

“I see.”

“See what?”

“You think you're smooth. Think you can get me with your play on words.”

I chuckled while gazing down at her. “Play on words? What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

I held eye contact with her. Couldn't get the way her brown eyes held that hint of a challenge. She was feisty.

“Can't stand the heat?”

“What heat?” she asked coolly, but the smirk on her face told me she could give as good as she got.

“Oh, I see. You're trying to say my game is weak?”

“Nope. Just wanted to hear you admit you were gaming.”

“And I always play to win.”

She shook her head, then closed the gap a little more between us as we moved to the beat. My hands slipped down to the small of her back. The temptation to run my hand over the swell of her ass was so strong I had to talk myself out of it. I wasn't a man who couldn't control his urges, but there was just something about her that pulled at everything that made me male. I moved her closer still. I was surprised at how easily she lay her head against my chest.

We stayed that way until one song gave way to another. The smooth jazz sounds of Eugene Wilde betrayed what I was thinking.
If I could get her home with me tonight
. . . I chuckled to myself. It had been a minute since I'd had a one-night stand. The satisfying thrill of the rush intrigued me. She was a stranger, one who I wouldn't mind slipping into just to see if she moved underneath me the way she easily glided against me.

And she could Step. The heels she had on didn't slow her down. She kept in time with my stylish moves. We would have made Chicago Steppers a little jealous with the way we were grooving. I could tell she was all in. She stepped back, threw her hands up, did a spin, then slid back in to me with a hip roll. She was being playful, teasing me with her eyes and the pucker of her lips.

I couldn't help it; my eyes followed her ass like I was the negative to her positive. She knew it. That was why she turned around and looked back at me as she moved seductively. Her seductive play made me wonder if she had only been trying to keep Shell on the straight and narrow so she wouldn't be tempted to be led astray as well.

Looked like Shell had already been led somewhere, though. I glanced over to see that she and Carl were nowhere to be found. I stepped in the name of seduction. Pulled Gabby against me, her backside pushing against me. I knew she could feel what her presence was doing to me. I didn't try to hide it either. I showed her why the Cuban, African, and Puerto Rican in me blended so well. I worked my hips in time with hers. Felt when her breathing changed, deepened. She did a swift turn in my arms, and before she could say anything, my lips found hers. I nibbled on the corners of her mouth, urging her to let me in. I had the urge to pick her up since dipping my head to her level wasn't giving me what I wanted. She stiffened at first, then relaxed once my tongue flicked against her lips. She stood on her toes to help me out. I kept my hands on her hips as I kissed her. Kept rocking to the tune while we kissed like lovers and not strangers.

She kissed me like she was famished for that kind of affection. She wasn't a novice to the art of kissing. I knew by the way her hands curved around my neck and by the way she tilted her head to take the kiss deeper. She sucked my tongue like she had forgotten we were in a room full of people. I returned the kiss like I didn't give a damn one way or the other.

It's been said that black men can't be faithful, that we're all cheaters, liars, and flat-out dogs. Well, in my case, that couldn't have been further from the truth. For seventeen years, I was the exception to the alleged rule. Not once did I even look at another woman, let alone sleep with one. I doted over my wife . . . gave her any and everything she ever wanted.

She wanted to move to Long Island, I moved, even though it lengthened my commute to the office considerably. She wanted a half million-dollar house built from the ground up, she got it. She wanted to lease a new car every single year, it was hers. Trips to Paris, Milan, Monaco, I made them happen. Whatever Dalisay desired, Dalisay got. Why? Simply because I loved my wife, and her happiness meant everything to me. Dammit, I knew I was a good black man, and no one could tell me different.

But I realized my love wasn't enough when I discovered that my wife was fucking her coworker, and now she was having his baby. The only reason she ended up confessing that scandalous shit in the first place was because she planned on keeping the child; otherwise, she could have simply gotten rid of it, and I would have been none the wiser. Dali was about eight weeks into the pregnancy when she came clean. I couldn't even tell that she was pregnant. She gave me some bullshit excuse about her and John working long hours together, and things just
happened
. Hell, many times I worked long hours too, but you didn't see me fucking my secretary! Unlike my lying, cheating, whore of a wife, I actually believed in, and honored, my marriage vows.

I wanted to choke the life out of her ass right then and there, but realized I couldn't. At least, not until I found out whether the baby she was carrying was mine. Thank God for a DNA blood test. Not only was it almost 100 percent accurate, it could be done as early as eight weeks, which meant hers was done right away. I admit, I did want the baby to be mine. I had always wanted children, and, at first, so did Dali, but as time passed, and she advanced further in her career, she came up with more and more excuses as to why the timing wasn't right. Back then, I had let it go. I didn't want her to think her career wasn't important, because it was. In fact, I was extremely proud of my wife; was her biggest supporter. She had made partner at her law firm and had legitimately worked her way up to being a successful attorney in her own right.

From the time we first met in college, I just knew there was something about her. Yes, her beauty was striking. Her skin held just the hint of a natural tan. She was taller than most Filipino woman, standing at five feet seven, and had the body of a Victoria's Secret model. But it was more than that; she had a brain in her head and the confidence to match her looks. That was a turn-on for me.

From the jump, Diego wasn't too fond of her, saying she was just looking for her next meal ticket, but he tolerated her for the sake of our friendship. Before we got together, Dali had dated a Heisman trophy candidate, a basketball player slated to enter the NBA draft, the student body president, and a few others who appeared to be going places.

And then there was me, a guy, who, along with Diego, had not only earned coveted internships with Apple, but also jobs with the company once we graduated. Diego and I had worked on some new technology during our internship that actually earned several patents, as well as millions of dollars, for the company. This paved the way for us to write our own tickets into Apple. Dali knew I was headed for big things, and she wanted to be right there with me. I was all for it, because I knew she had big plans of her own. She was an honor student who worked hard, so I knew she wasn't just riding on my coattails. I felt that she was an ambitious woman who wanted a man just as ambitious, and I respected that.

But every ounce of respect I once had for her died when I found out about her betrayal. I couldn't understand how someone who had everything could just throw it all away. She had a good man, a good life, and she discarded it like yesterday's garbage. She tried to tell me it was all a huge mistake and she still loved me. How could she let another man not only fuck her, but fuck her raw and in
my
bed, and say she still loves me? How could she carry that son-of-a-bitch's child, and still love me? Love, my black ass!

I was willing to forgive her, give her another chance if the baby had been mine. Hell, I had even considered doing the same if the baby wasn't mine and she got rid of it. But when we found out it wasn't mine, and she adamantly refused to terminate the pregnancy, I lost it. I'd be damned if I was going to stay with a cheating slut pregnant by the next man. If it hadn't been for Diego coming to the house to stop me, that tramp might not be alive today.

As it stood, I couldn't stay in the same house with her. I couldn't stand the sight of Dali. I was that disgusted with her. Couldn't stand to watch her belly growing as she was carrying another man's seed. I moved permanently to the condo I owned in Manhattan and filed for a divorce with a quickness. I even went so far as to have her served at work for all her coworkers to see, and even though I wasn't there to observe the deed myself, the scathing call I received from her let me know I got my point across. Her voice was laced with venom as she relayed how embarrassed she was when the messenger delivered the divorce papers and said, “You've been served,” just as she was finishing up a presentation with the entire firm in attendance. Welcome to my world, bitch!

The acid in her tone intensified when she read the part of the papers stating that either she had to buy me out of the house we once shared, or it had to be sold, with the proceeds split accordingly. While Dali made a nice salary, I knew she in no way had the funds to buy me out, which meant as soon as the house was sold, she needed to find another place for her and her unborn bastard child to live. Let her go live with her baby daddy. I didn't care. Either way, I was done with her. Seventeen fucking years of my life wasted!

So here I was, still dealing with the bitterness, the anger, and the resentment I'd harbored since the day that trifling bitch dropped an atomic bomb on me. If it wasn't for Diego reining me in and constantly reminding me that jail wasn't a good look, I would have gone off the deep end weeks ago. Instead, right now, I was silently drowning my sorrows with a voluptuous, dark skinned beauty, a woman the complete opposite of Dali. Someone who appeared to be just as troubled as I was.

Shell and I exited the club and walked a short distance to the rear parking lot where the ladies' rented Dodge Journey sat. Shell had the keys. She pressed a button, deactivating the alarm, then maneuvered herself to sit on the hood of the car. I stood in front of her, planting myself between her legs, which seemed to open reflexively, my hands resting on the hood. Looking into her eyes, I saw a sadness that most certainly resembled my own. I didn't think she'd mind if I asked why.

“Why are you so unhappy?”

She gazed at me for a long moment, as if contemplating whether she should answer me. Finally, she replied, “It's not that I'm unhappy, I'm just not as happy as I could be.”

“Bullshit,” I countered.

“What?” Her eyes locked with mine, seeking clarification of my comment.

“I said bullshit. If you were even the slightest bit happy, you wouldn't be locking lips with me. Which tells me that your life back home is no fairy tale.”

Shell broke her gaze with me, staying quiet for a few minutes. I had hit a nerve for sure. When she did answer, she tried to deflect what I said back on to me. “Well, from where I'm sitting, your life must not be a fairy tale either since you're here sucking face with me.”

Ouch! She was right. My life used to be like a fairy tale, the stuff legends were made of. Now, it was just a fractured one, and, like Humpty Dumpty, that shit couldn't be put back together again.

Shell didn't stop there. “Why did you take your ring off?”

I chortled sarcastically. “As far as I'm concerned, I'm not married anymore.”

“Why? What did she do?”

“What did your husband do to make you so unhappy?”

“Can you just answer the question, Carl?”

“You first.”

She sighed, undoubtedly exasperated with me. “Long story short, I caught him cheating on me in our home, with my kids within earshot. Then he left us and moved in with the cunt-bag whore. And you want to know the worst part?” She didn't wait for me to respond. “I'm the damn fool wondering if I did anything to cause him to cheat. Stupid, right?”

I raised an eyebrow. Like so many women who discovered their partner was cheating, Shell was blaming herself for the fuckups made by the asshole she was married to. While we appeared to be kindred spirits dealing with the same type of pain, I'd be damned if I even remotely entertained the thought that Dalisay's cheating was in any way my fault.

“I wouldn't say stupid so much as . . .
misguided
. You can't blame yourself for what your husband did. Besides, what makes you think any of it was your fault?”

“I don't know,” she started, staring off in the distance. “It's . . . he . . . I just can't do anything right by him. Nothing. And I feel trapped. Can't do anything; can't go anywhere without it leading to an argument. I can't even go to school without him trying to make me feel guilty. He makes me feel like a failure as a wife and a mother. I can't help but think I'm partially responsible in some way.”

I couldn't believe the load of crap I was hearing. Shell married a real winner. It sounded to me like he ran some psychological bullshit on her and had her completely brainwashed. She almost sounded like someone who was held captive by a kidnapper, and later sympathized with him or her. What was it called? Oh yes,
Stockholm syndrome
. He truly did a number on her.

“Let me get this straight; you're married to a complete and total jackass who's not supportive, who's holding you back, and let's not forget he cheated on you, so why not leave?” I asked, needing to know her motivation for staying in such a fucked relationship.

“I can't. We have two children together, and I can't afford to leave. Besides, despite it all, I still love my husband. Yes, we have major problems, but at the end of the day, it's for better or worse, right?” The weak smile on her face belied how she really felt.

Ours was definitely a case of misery loving company—with some stark differences. For one, I no longer loved nor cared about the woman who still bore my last name. And unlike Shell, I had both the ability and the resources to leave without so much as a thought. Lastly, I didn't have the encumbrance of children, something I once desperately wanted with Dalisay, but now was grateful never happened.

“I can understand you wanting to keep your family together, but staying because you have children doesn't always work.”

“I know, but I don't want my kids growing up without their father. Despite everything, he is still a good dad.”

I felt where she was coming from. I grew up without a father. I was the oldest child; had a mother who had six children by five different men. She was only fifteen when she had me. By the time she had my youngest brother at the age of forty, I was so fed up with her that I made her get her tubes tied. One would think that an overgrown woman her age would have known how to fucking use protection. I had to end up being responsible for everyone,
including
my mother; still am to this day. But even though I didn't have a father, in my opinion, I think I turned out pretty well.

“I get it, believe me I do, but just because both parents are in the home doesn't mean things will get any better, especially if one of the parents is the cause of the problems in the first place. And sorry to say this, but a good father doesn't screw his side pussy while his kids are in earshot, nor does he leave his kids for her.”

“Carl, what happened between you and your wife?”

Obviously, she was tired of discussing her marriage, and it was apparent that she wasn't going to stop until she found out what caused the demise of mine.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Can you fucking stop answering my questions with more questions? Please?”

I hated rehashing this shit, but it was the least I could do considering she told me about her jacked-up marriage.

“Bottom line, my cheating whore of-a-wife was fucking her coworker, and now she's having his baby.”

She covered her mouth, as in disbelief. “Oh my gosh, Carl, I am
so
sorry.”

“Why? You didn't do it. That soon-to-be ex-slut I have the displeasure of being married to did.”

I felt the bile rising in my throat at the thought of Dalisay.

“Well, I still feel bad. You're divorcing her?”

“Yes, and the sooner the better.”

“How could she do that to you? How could she get pregnant with another man's child?” Shell asked, like I had the answer to that question.

“I don't know. You'd have to ask her,” I replied, more sarcastically than I should have.

“Can I ask you one more question?” she asked cautiously. I was guessing it was because she picked up on my snarky behavior.

“Yes, but only one more, and that's it.”

“Have you ever cheated on your wife?”

“Never. Have you ever cheated on your husband?”

“No,” she replied, lowering her eyes as if in shame.

I wasn't trying to make her feel bad, but the same way she wanted to know, I wanted to know too.

“So why do you want to now?” I stood there patiently waiting for an answer that wouldn't come. “Look, as far as I'm concerned, I'm not married anymore. Like I told you before, she doesn't matter to me. Does your husband matter to you?”