Copyright 2019 © by Airielle J. Vincent

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United Stated of America

  First Printing, 2019

  ISBN 978-1-54395-753-2 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-54395-754-9 (eBook)

  www.airiellevincent.com

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  One

  As your oldest friend, I’m allowed to tell you you’re an ass. I write the text and hit send without even thinking.

  Earl responds. Yes you can.

  You’re still cute tho. He fires back.

  The eye-roll emoji is the only response warranted for his ratchetness.

  My name is Roxanne Evans, but everyone calls me Roxie. I live in North Bergen, New Jersey. I often head home to Rochester Hills, Michigan, to visit family. And, by often, I mean every other week. And, by visit family, I mean visit Earl. I had met him over 20 years ago in middle school. I was the cute third-grader. Earl was the nerdy, short, and annoying second-grader asking to sit by me during our lunch period. Growing up, we’d run into each other at high school parties, sporting events, and even on family vacations. Yes, so very random. We even attended the same university—the University of Michigan. Go Blue!

  I fell in love with Earl in high school. He was the star football player, the varsity basketball captain, book smart, and so very fine! He stands about 6’2”, has beautiful brown skin, striking brown eyes, and a heart-stopping smile.

  Fast forward to now. Earl was supposed to pick me up for dinner last night, but he conveniently fell asleep. I’m twenty-eight years old and he’s a year behind me, but we’re both adults. If he didn’t want to go out, a simple text would have sufficed. Clearly, I’m pissed. However, Earl is clueless, unobservant, and not informed of my feelings.

  I texted him back anxiously. You wanna try for tonight, I’d love to see you before I head back to Jersey.

  The three dots appear, and it feels like I’m waiting for an eternity.

  I’m heading home from work. Why don’t you come thru now.

  It’s 3:08 p.m.

  Unconsciously, I jump up. Take a quick shower. Shave my legs. Throw on some leggings and a lace tank. Then switch to blue jeggings and a cute tank that says “I work out, just kidding, I take naps.” After throwing on some earrings and a little pink gloss, I jump on the road.

  I text back. Gotta make a few stops, then I guess I’ll stop by.

  I had ZERO stops to make. I just didn’t want to sound like I had jumped up to go see him. Even though I did—don’t judge me.

  I make a mental note of the time. I left my house at 3:33 p.m., and I don’t want to make it over there until closer to 4 p.m. I start driving slower and weaving through neighborhoods. Earl only lives 15 minutes away, but I don’t want it to seem like I’m rushing to see him. Ugh, this is pathetic. My hands are sweaty. I’m nervous. My heart is pounding. I’m giddy like I’m still in high school. And my ears are warm. While trying to focus on the road, I’m considering every scenario . . .

  I could get over there and we watch a movie or two.

  I could get over there and we could just talk, catch up, and chat about our families.

  Or we could get there and he could strip me and bend me over the kitchen table.

  Any scenario works for me!

  Riding through each subdivision brings back so many memories. I grew up down the street from Earl in a subdivision called The Winding Meadows. We were maybe 10 minutes away from each other but separated by a county line, which is why we ended up going to different high schools. That didn’t seem to matter; we somehow ended up running into each other anyway.

  The summer before my freshman year in high school, my family decided they wanted to partake in a family vacation. It was my mom, my dad, and my little brother Ricky—who’s three years younger than me. My mother thought it would be a brilliant idea to go to Cedar Point—an amusement park with a bunch of rollercoasters, games, restaurants, and other activities. I wore a white tank top, blue jean shorts, some white air force ones, and my favorite Tiffany necklace to the park. At that age I just knew I was grown. I’m walking in front of a rollercoaster called the Raptor with Ricky, and guess who runs over and gives me the biggest hug—Earl! Earl, his little brother, James, and I ended up walking from ride to ride together. Earl and I held hands the entire time, and we ended up kissing on all the dark rides, too.

  ***

  Now it’s 3:48 p.m.

  I’m driving down his street and shoot off a text. Be there in 5.

  Crap bae, I’m not even there yet.

  You should have seen the look in my eyes, like no this m***** f***** didn’t.

  The next text from Earl comes through within seconds. I’m playin bae—see you in a min.

  I still consider turning around and putting him on the blocked list, but my subconscious leads me straight to his house.

  In a daze, I pull in to his driveway, hop out, and head to the front door. Earl lives in a gorgeous three-bedroom, mid-century modern home. When you walk in, the first thing you see is a beautiful spiral staircase covered with a mustard shag carpet. There are three bedrooms and three and a half baths, mahogany hardwood floors, and an airy layout. To the right, you walk into the living room where there’s a charming gas fireplace. The entire room is made out of rich exposed brick—which I love. I’ve been over a few other times to drop Earl off, but I haven’t been inside since I was a teenager.

  Back then, I’d head over to Earl’s house after school a few nights a week—well, when he didn’t have a basketball game and I didn’t have dance practice. We always managed to have the house to ourselves on these afternoons. Earl’s dad worked as a pharmaceutical salesman and would go meet with doctors after Earl and his brother would get home from school.

  As his dad was heading out the door for the remainder of the workday, he would always shout, “Stay vertical!” We were both teenagers with raging hormones—did he really think we would stay vertical??? I’m just kidding—kinda. We made out all over that house: the basement, kitchen, garage, backyard, etc., but we never made it to his bedroom, and we never took it any further. Earl would always blame it on his coach, saying, “Coach says no sex before a big game.” I think he was just scared.

  ***

  Earl still lives in the home he grew up in. His little brother is off at college in Texas, and his parents are traveling around the world. Seriously, they’re living their best lives. He has a long-lost sister, but the family never talks about her. The story is, she hired some men to break into the family’s house. They ended up stealing all their TVs and a car—which they later crashed. I don’t know all the details, but I know it was crazy.

  Earl opens the door, looks me up and down, smiles, and says, “Hey.”

  I immediately melt, but I can’t let it show. “Wassup punk,” I respond.

  He puts his arms around me for a hug. He smells like coconuts and palm trees. I close my eyes, hoping that he can’t feel my heart pounding out of my chest. In my head I’m thinking, “Hi, I love you. Why are you such an ass? Why do you play these damn games? Let’s go upstairs now, k thanks.”

  Instead, I pull from his arms, push him back, and ask, “How’s the fam, scrub?”

  He takes a step forward, looks at me, and asks if I really came to talk about the fam. A nervous feeling creeps up my spine, and I’m overcome with anxiety without warning. My confidence is fleeting. I take a few steps back, looking down at the floor and respond, “Ugh, yeah, what else would I have come here for?”

  He continues taking steps forward, still looking at me, and responds, “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  At this point, I’m up against the door. He’s right in front of me. I can feel his breath on my face. It smells salty but sweet like the kettle corn popcorn we used to buy at the Michigan football games. I’m trying desperately not to look up, not to look at his face, not look into his gorgeous eyes. I don’t respond, and I manage not to look up. I’m frozen.

  I’m sure thousands of women have been stuck in this same place hundreds of times. Earl has this way of making you feel safe, sexy, and wanted. In college, I’d always see him sitting around flirting with the ladies at The Union—our university’s hangout spot. I wasn’t then, nor am I now, the kind of woman who wants to flirt just to flirt. I want to know it’s going to lead to more. Otherwise, what’s the point? Earl knew my feelings on the topic. For the most part, he was respectful of them.

  Shortly after Earl graduated from college, he did trick me into thinking he had gotten his shit together. He sent me a long message about how he missed me and wanted to talk about taking our relationship to the next step. I should have known he was up to no good, since the text came through at 10:59 p.m. My grandma always told me there’s nothing open that late except fast food restaurants and strippers. Earl asked me to come talk. We ended up not talking at all.

  After responding to his text that night, I rolled outta bed. It was shortly after 11 p.m.—on a Friday night, mind you—that I was headed to his house. We sta

rted the evening out on his bed watching the movie Norbit. We were half watching and half trying to nonchalantly rip off each other’s clothing. He’s always done this thing that drives me insane—he grabs my face and kisses me in a way that makes me feel like there’s no one else in the world. Unfortunately, that night ended abruptly when his then girlfriend—who I had no idea about—ended up crashing the party. Clearly, he was lying about what he wanted to talk to me about, and it was doubtful he actually intended to have a conversation with me at all. Needless to say, Earl and I didn’t talk for a few years after that.

  ***

  I snap back to my daze, but I’m almost wishing I hadn’t, as now I have these unresolved feelings of anger and disappointment that weren’t there a minute ago. Earl takes one look at my face and starts apologizing, though it’s clear he’s confused as to why I’m pissed. However, to me, it makes complete sense. He’s been playing this yo-yo game with me for over 20 years. He takes me for granted—only reaching out to me when he wants me and/or when it’s convenient for him. I’m the idiot that keeps going back for more, though.

  Earl takes his hand and lifts my face to look at his. “I’m sorry bae, don’t be mad at me,” he responds to the look on my face.

  “I’m not. I don’t care,” I say back quickly with a scowl.

  “You don’t care?” he says, moving his left hand to my waist, slowly sliding it under my shirt.

  “Why would I care so much about someone who doesn’t care about me?” I snap back, trying to concentrate on my rebuttals instead of his hand moving along the waist of my jeans.

  “Shut up,” he says.

  I look up pissed AF, and he leans down to kiss me. I push him back, but he takes a step closer. He pushes me against the door, grabs both of my hands, and pins them together above my head. I shudder as he kisses my lips.

  He whispers, “You don’t care.” It is said in a teasing way, because at the same time, he is moving his hands from above my head, to my waist, then to my breasts. My eyes are closed, my vagina is pulsing, my breath is slow, and it’s like my body has a mind of its own.

  I wrestle my hands away from his grip, putting them in the air, giving him the freedom to start taking my clothes off. Earl slides off my top, revealing a black and red lace bra. He stares at me for a second—clearly my marathon training has been paying off. YAY! Self-high-five! Without saying another word, he grabs my hand, and leads me upstairs to his room.

  The master bedroom is black and brown with turquoise accents. From the door, the first thing you see is the bed. It’s a king—maybe a California king—and the entire headboard is a mirror. The sheets and bedspread are jet-black. To the right, there’s a long, brown dresser that takes up most of the wall. On top of it, there’s another mirror staring right at me. I look away after seeing myself half-naked, awkwardly standing in the doorway. There is a brown nightstand on each side of the bed, and a bright turquoise love seat to the left. I’ve always wondered what’s the point of having a couch and a bed in the same room, but I guess some people think it looks good. After taking in the sights, I realize I’m shivering. It’s freezing, and the blackout shades are blocking out any hope of warmth or sunlight. The only glimmer of light is seeping in the room from the hallway.

  “What is it that you want?” I ask from the door.

  “Well, first, I want you to come here,” he pats the bed and motions me to sit next to him.

  Without hesitation I walk over and sit, like I’m under a spell. “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi back,” he responds. I lean my face in closer to his. He gives me a peck. Quickly he stands up, puts his hands on both sides of my hips, and slides me back on the bed with ease. I watch in awe as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing a gray wife beater and a dog tag with his name on it. Earl has strong arms, a broad chest, and nice abs. That I’d love to lick at this moment. I sit up to try to pull off his pants, but he pushes me back. He slides off his jeans and pulls off my jeggings in a few quick motions.

  Before climbing out of the bed, Earl grabs something out of the drawer next to his dresser. I start to ask what it is, but before I know it, he’s in between my legs, moving my thong to the side and kissing, then sucking, on my sweet spot. I grab a pillow to put over my face but he pulls it from me and throws it on the floor. He moves from my clit to my stomach, to my neck, whispering, “You still don’t care.”

  He then slides two fingers inside of me, his thumb rubbing around that same spot, sending my eyes to the back of my head. From under him, I awkwardly pull my thong off, inching it down to my toes.

  “Kiss me,” I respond. His sweet and salty tongue licks the top of my lip before sliding in my mouth. He’s wrapped in between my legs, his dick pushing against my lower stomach. “Put it in,” I request between kisses.

  As I look up at him now, he seems much more mature—clearly because we’re no longer teenagers. Earl is the lead project engineer for a major technology company. He drives a brand-new Infinity Q50 and probably has multiple women. Yet, I’m still here almost naked, lying in his bed.

  Earl slides off his shorts, puts on a condom, and thrusts inside of me. It’s a tad bit uncomfortable, but nothing I can’t handle. “You are mine,” he lets out while grinding against me. “All mine,” he swears again, pinning my hands above my head. My eyes are closed, and my breath is heavy. Every time he put his tongue in my mouth I suck it—as if I were sucking his dick—making his penis get just a little harder inside of me.

  It’s been a while for me, so every pump brings out a moan, sending me closer and closer to cumming. “You still don’t care,” he jokes.

  I grab his face and slide my tongue inside his mouth. “Harder,” is the only response that comes out of my mouth.

  In an instant, he stands me up, turns me around, and pushes me forward. My feet are on the floor, and my elbows are pressing into the bed. One of his hands is pushing against my back, the other grabbing my ass. After a few quick thrusts, he uses his foot to move my right foot farther to the right, so I’m lower and he can go deeper inside of me. My breasts are bouncing uncontrollably, and the mirror in front of the bed is giving me a full view of my slutdom.

  “Baby,” he whispers, “I’m not gonna last like this.”

  Not ready for it to end, I push back, motioning for him to get onto the bed. “Move,” I demand.

  I slowly sit on his dick, moving up and down, timing the thrusts with my breaths. The more I get into it, the faster I go. Earl wraps his arms around my waist and pushes farther into me. Before I know it, he is reaching behind me, sliding off my bra on the first try.

  He makes a sucking noise on my left nipple, and my toes curl. As I ride his dick, he’s slowly licking around my breast, giving soft kisses, while his other hand grips my ass. The rougher he gets, the faster I move. I lean over, saying “I want every inch of your dick inside me.” He grabs my face, putting his entire tongue in the back of my throat. Kissing him, while fucking him, makes me wetter. My breathing gets harder as he grips my ass, whispering for me to cum on his dick. I try to resist, but it’s impossible. Every point in my body sparks with desire; my back arches, my mouth drops, and I lose all control of my senses.

  “Flip over,” he says, flipping me on my stomach, away from the mirror. He slides his dick back inside of me and positions my hips so that I’m up on all fours.

  He’s giving me quick but hard pumps, and the more he slides inside of me, the louder I get. “Fuck me!” I’m now shouting. His hands grip my waist tighter than before; he holds his dick inside of me for a few moments, then collapses back onto the bed.

  It’s over. My mind is racing. Damn, is that what I’ve been missing out on for the last 20-somethin’ years? Then shock and panic ensue. OMG, what did I just do? What’s going to happen next? Should I just leave—and OMG, where are my clothes???

  My back is to the wall, I’m frozen with fear, and then I decide to make a beeline to the door. Half my clothes are downstairs, so I decide that I’ll grab some shorts from the laundry room and just take off—and we’ll act like this never happened.

  I move my right foot to start my exit, but he grabs me and pulls me backwards. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

 

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