Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Oh, yeah. I was done for.
I detonated on the bed, bringing a pillow to my face and crying out my orgasm as I let the vibrator finish me off.
When the climax settled, I moved the pillow away, clicked the vibrator off, and muttered the word fuck.
It was clear to me now. Deke was in my head, and having sex with him was exactly what my body needed.
TWENTY-NINE
DAVINA
It was a Thursday, and I couldn’t concentrate for the life of me.
Not only because of how I let my imagination/fantasy run wild the night prior but also because the picture on my desk, which revealed me and Lewis, was drowning me in guilt.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, turning the frame to the left. Ugh. I was being so petty and ridiculous about this.
So what? I fantasized about Deke. I was sure many women in the world fantasized about him. And it wasn’t like he or anyone else would ever find out. I wasn’t going to see him again for several months, and that would be to renew our endorsement contract (if he even wanted to do it). I figured by then, he’d have completely forgotten about our emails and found himself a new lady to flirt with.
There was a knock at the door, and then it rapidly swung open, before I could say anything. “What’s up, sis!” Octavia barged in with a black jumpsuit on and a peach-colored bag hanging from her shoulder. “Why are you sulking in here?” she asked, dropping the bag on the coffee table.
“I’m not. I’m fine.” I placed my pen down and straightened in my chair. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, right.” She opened the peach bag and dug out a glass container, giving it a little shake. “I made that chopped salad you really like—you know, the one with the cranberries and walnuts.”
I gasped. “You didn’t!”
“I did, and I made you some double chocolate chip cookies.”
“Stop! You know I love your cookies, Tavia!” I really did. Octavia learned to bake when she was twelve. She was really good at it then, but a master at it now. I often teased her about going on one of those Food Network baking competitions. “Remind me again why we did that Pilates class?”
She snorted, handing me a container of salad. I took this moment to sit on the sofa and take a break from work. Maybe after a good meal, I could get my head back into business and stop with all this Deke nonsense.
But of course there were hardly ever any free moments in my life. This one ended when Tish stuck her head through the gap of the door and said, “Chester is on the line.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Tell him I’m having lunch, Tish.”
Tish sauntered into the office and grabbed the container of cookies. “I would, but he says it’s urgent, and you know how he gets.”
Octavia stood and snatched the cookies away from Tish. “I know you aren’t thinking about eating these without asking me.”
“Octavia, give me a cookie before I fight you in this office,” Tish hissed at her, trying to reach for the container. Octavia was reeling her elbow back, so Tish missed every time.
“I will—but only if you agree with me that Brent Faiyaz is better than Frank Ocean.” Octavia cocked a brow and smirked.
“Are you still on that?” Tish shifted her eyes toward the ceiling before dropping them to Octavia again. “Okay, fine. Brent is better. Now give me a damn cookie.” Tish snatched the container away, and Octavia cackled with glee as she sat back down with her salad.
I thought my relationship with my sister was a hot mess, but Tish and Octavia took the cake. They may as well have been sisters too.
I’d met Tish in community college, both of us weaving through the aisles of the campus bookstore, trying to find the same book. There was only one copy left, and she grabbed it first. That day, we laughed about it and agreed to split the cost of the book. Then we swapped numbers so we could text each other when we needed it. Eventually, our texting led to study sessions and general hanging out. I never looked back after that. She’d become my best friend, and my family had adored her as soon as they’d met her.
“Send the call through, Tish,” I said, returning to my desk. I forked through my salad as my best friend walked out. A few seconds later, my desk phone rang.
“Chester! Hi!” I answered with way too much enthusiasm.
“Davina, how’s it going? Listen, there’s something important I need to ask you.”
I refrained from sucking my teeth. It was just like Chester to jump straight into business. The how’s it going bid was merely to assure himself that he was a nice person who cared about others’ well-being. News flash: he didn’t care much at all.