“Are you sure? I know I’m past imposing on your personal space.”
“Yes, you are.” She plucked a brow. “But not only are you Jordan’s dad, but I have a never yielding fear of one Sarah Barrett, who would have my head if she learned you slept on the couch at my place.”
I snort, resigning my attempt at etiquette. “Fine. Your choice.” I stood. “I guess I should be grateful you’re not limiting me to Jordan’s room.”
“Now, that would be a sight,” Zoey murmured without mirth.
“Goodnight, Zo,” I bade while walking out of the living room.
“Night, StentRo.”
“Here you go with that shit again.” I turned for the corridor.
That’s when I heard her laugh.
The following morning, I was prepared to take on the day. Zoey had breakfast ready for me and encouraged me to call my team to resume work. I wasn’t ready, and she didn’t push. She did, however, play gracious hostess and had clean clothes delivered and hot meals and desserts cooked for me throughout the day. That afternoon, Srey made me aware of my dudes, Uncle O and Mikey Dredd, of Power99 FM Morning Show requesting an interview about Quincy’s passing. Philly’s radio station wasn’t the only one requesting a slot. Angie Martinez from New York City’s Hot97 station wanted an interview as well. I’d known them for years and understood their questions would be tasteful instead of being voyeuristic. We scheduled it for the next morning. I also learned Quincy’s funeral was in two days. That made my stomach turn.
That night, I turned in rather early. I don’t know what did it, but I felt drained, both mentally and physically. I hung up with Jordan and told Zoey I was taking it down. She offered her bed and still feeling uneasy about intruding, I told her I’d be more than happy to take the couch. After going back and forth, I conceded, being too tired for even a bout of etiquette. I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
What was unfortunate was waking up just four hours later and not being able to find sleep again. I tossed and turned in bed until I realized how parched I was and decided getting something to drink was wiser than chasing sleep that was nowhere in sight. I sauntered out into the hall, en route to the kitchen, and the closer I got there, the more perceptible Zoey’s kitten voice came.
Initially, I heard mostly giggles. This sound I was familiar with from being the manipulative recipient of it on many occasions with many women, Zoey included. I swallowed hard and my heart rate increased. Suddenly I felt nervous.
“No, silly!” she whispered, then giggled. “I’m not saying that. Of course, I have.” Giggle. “Huhn? Well, yeah.”
Things got quiet, I assumed Zoey was listening to whomever this asshat was. I braved a glance into the living room to find her legs crossed and standing in the air against the back of the couch as her head, perceptively, rested on the seat cushion. All I could see were her legs. Those legs. Damn. They were smooth and firm, bare and creamy in color.
“I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to tell me all the nasty things you’ve done to, for some outlandish reason, try to make me comfortable enough to share what I’ve done,” she purred. “I’m sorry, Jae. I haven’t done any of those things.” That time she fucking whined.
What in the fuck hasn’t she ever done? What in the hell could this fucker be trying to entice her with that I hadn’t introduced her to? This fucked with me. Much of my guilt with Zoey when we started a sexual relationship was no gradualism in my approach. I took the girl from zero to one hundred in no time at all. Now she’s on the phone with this asshole saying she’s never done “those things?” I felt lightheaded, sick all over again.
Damn!