His eyelids collapsed and Stenton appeared to be in pain. “Again, Zo, what does this mean?”
“I need to date other people. For real. I need to get into the game and explore men. And not even for sex. I just need to connect with someone else. You know, I’m busy with Jordan and work, but I need something especially for me. I need someone to be with me when my mother goes in for surgery. Someone devoted to me, and not simply obligated.” My eyes found his reddened and glossy. “And you’ve never loved me, Stenton. You’ve always taken care of me financially, provided for me. You’ve always coddled me, but you never took care of my heart when you stole it. You didn’t nurture it, or acknowledge it. Now I need it back. I need to find someone who can carry it properly for Elizabeth, not Zoey, the girl you damaged.” I swallowed back my tears. It wasn’t the time for those, but I needed to make something clear.
“So, for the duration of my time here, you go ahead and spend yours with your son. I’ll stay behind and allow you that with him here. He needs you. He should be your sole priority. As far as me, I’m not your family; he’s your family.” I stood to go search for my child in the house.
If there was a point in time when I could identify where my bitterness for Stenton Rogers ignited, it was there in Rio de Janeiro where I let him go. Let us go. For too long I’d spent my early adult years waiting on his ultimate commitment to me only to watch him give it only to someone who incubated in me for nearly ten months. It toyed with my heart for so long. Made me feel less than desirable, even when I couldn’t articulate it. No more. From that day on, I looked out for my heart once I’d confiscated it back from Stenton.
Chapter 8
Then
September 2012
~Stenton~
“I’m proud of you, StentRo. This is wild, man!” Quincy scanned the rowdy restaurant.
“Thanks, Q. And thanks for participating this year. I think we’ve had a nice turnout.”
“Yeah, you’ve proven to me that I need to hit the court more often.” Quincy rubbed his chest at our booth while tightening his face.
“You sure you okay, man? You sure put on a show out there, trying to show Jackson his old man still got it.”
“I’m good. She needs to hurry on up with my brewski. That’ll sure relax me.”
Just then the brunette waitress appeared with tall mugs of ice cold beer.
“Here you are, Mr. Rogers and friend,” her bright smile beamed and her hazel irises twinkled.
As she ogled me, I took the opportunity to cruise her long legs in short black shorts. Not too thin, but not thick enough if I were interested.
“Awwww… C’mon, baby. Mr. Rogers here isn’t the only tipping customer at this table. Show some equity in attention,” Quincy’s flirtatious ass poured out, being sure to give her his twinkle of the eye.
Quincy was like that; very much a ladies man. At fifty years old, the only thing tipping off his seniority was the gray of his hair. And if you knew him as long as I had, that fact would even throw you, considering he was a premature grayer. He’d once told me he started graying in high school. In all, it worked for him. Not only was he a smooth cat with hordes of lady fanfare, but he was a good looking dude, pretty type of fucker. The ladies loved Q and he them. The only problem for the ladies was that Quincy had been married for nearly thirty years. That was not a factor in his pursuit of prey, though. Q had three loves: his son, Jackson, who wasn’t his only child, his job, and women.
The waitress winked before leaving our booth. She had customers waiting on her. The place was packed. It was my third annual “Hooping for Our Youth” fund raiser and by far the best attended one. I couldn’t think of anyone I knew who didn’t come out or donate. Even Zoey donated on behalf of her bakeries. I’d only wished she could head up my nonprofit organization. With the way she quickly turned out two bakeries in Philadelphia in just about the same amount of years, and considering a third in Jersey, she was a genius.