Crazy Love (19 page)

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Authors: Amir Abrams

BOOK: Crazy Love
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He kisses me again. And this time, without thinking, I part my lips and allow his tongue to touch mine. It tastes like a watermelon Jolly Rancher. And when we finally come up for air, I've forgiven him for taking all night to finally come to his senses.
“Am I still your man, baby?”
This time I nod, whispering, “Yes.”
And just like that, with one simple kiss, this is how it all begins and ends. With Sincere being right back where he belongs—with me. And there will be no breaking up unless
I
want there to be.
24
T
hree days later, Sincere and I are chilling up in his bedroom, cuddling and watching the movie
Takers
on DVD. Of course I'm supposed to be in school today, but I'm not. I'm here with my man, laid up in his bed, being all grown and whatnot. His parents are away for the week, leaving him the house to himself. He's lounging in his Polo boxers and a wifebeater. And I have on one of his button-up shirts that fits more like a minidress on me. Although we've been spending a lot of time together, we still haven't officially had “sex.” We do a lot of making out and other things that leave us both very satisfied. Sincere never pushes the issue to go further than what we already do. And I love him for that. Anyway, Sincere says if I don't want to go all the way, then he'll wait for me.
Of course, leave it to Zahara to say he's getting
it
in somewhere else with one of them hot-box hoochie-coochies on campus. “Girl, please. If he ain't gettin' it from you, he's definitely gettin' it somewhere else, 'cause he sure ain't playin' with himself.
And
he's in college. Oh yeah, them college hoes are tossin' him them panties left and right.” That's what she keeps saying.
Then there's Erika's voice in my head, nagging me about cheating guys.
Under the right conditions, if he thinks he can get away with it, all guys will cheat. They can't help themselves. It's in their nature to be doggish, which is why you have to always keep 'em on a very short leash and yank it every so often to let 'em know who's in charge.
I've asked Sincere many times if he's ever cheated on me, and he tells me no. He says he would never cheat on me. He tells me I mean too much to him for him to do something like that. And I believe him. Well, um, I try to believe him. I mean, I really
want
to believe him. But something in my head tells me I better keep my eye on him.
Last night when I was on the phone talking to Erika about what Zahara said and about those things Erika used to say about guys, she said to me, “Now that I'm older, I don't think all guys cheat, but I still believe that most will.”
“Has Winston ever cheated on you?” I asked her.
“Not that I know of, but I'm not worried about him cheating on me.”
“Why not?” I asked, curious. She sounded so confident.
“Well, one, he's never done anything to give me a reason to worry. I trust him. But, trust and believe, don't think for one minute that I don't keep my eyes and ears open; just in case.”
“Well, how will I know if Sincere is cheating on me?” I asked her.
“Your gut will tell you,” she answered. “Trust me. You will know it and
feel
it in your bones.”
I was so relieved that
that
wasn't something I was feeling in my bones when it comes to Sincere.
She asked, “Has he given you any reason to think he's cheating on you?”
“No, not really,” I told her.
“Good. And hopefully he never does. Still, keep your eyes open; watch him closely. Trust me, if he is doing something he shouldn't be, he'll slip up and show you everything you need to know.” We talked a few minutes more then hung up.
Unfortunately, talking to her didn't really make me feel any better about what Zahara keeps saying about him sleeping with some trick. I know me. And I know
if
he is cheating on me—or if I even
think
he is, there is going to be hell to pay.
Sincere nudges me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “What you thinkin' about?”
I look up at him, shaking my head. “Nothing.”
“You sure?”
I shift my body to face him. I stare into his eyes. “Does it bother you that we aren't having sex? I mean, I want to, but. . .”
“Nah, not at all,” he says, rubbing my hair. “I told you, it's cool. When you're ready to go all the way, then I'm ready.” He lightly kisses me on the lips. “Until then, what we already do is good enough for me.”
I smile at him. “Are you sure?”
He smiles back, pressing his body into mine. “No doubt, baby.” I lower my hand, reach for him, and feel how excited he is. I squeeze. He groans.
“You like that?”
“Yeah, baby,” he says, pulling in his bottom lip, then biting down on it. I kiss his lips.
If I ever catch him with another chick,
I think, slipping my tongue in his mouth,
I'ma set it off!
Thirty minutes later, Sincere is downstairs fixing us something to eat. I glance at the clock on his nightstand—1:38
P.M.
I get up and sit on the edge of the bed and decide to text my girls to let 'em know where I'm at. As I'm texting back 'n' forth with Zahara and Ameerah, Sincere's BlackBerry starts buzzing. I glance over at it sitting up on his dresser. The buzzing stops. Two minutes later, it starts buzzing again. Now, I know I should mind my business and leave it alone. But I don't. I can't. And I won't. The temptation is too great. And against my better judgment, instead of ignoring the constant buzzing, I get up and press the space bar. His screen comes to life. I scroll over to his messages, then press the thumb ball. He has two new text messages and twelve new e-mails; mostly from Facebook.
Kamiyah, don't do it. What if he went through your phone? You know you wouldn't like it.
I try to talk myself out of it, but the voice in my head tells me this is what I'm
supposed
to do.
Keep your eyes open!
The texts are from a Miranda. I click open the first text message. I read it. Then reread it, blinking. HEY SEXY. . . WHEN AM I GONNA C U? I MISS U
I click open the next text: CALL ME WHEN U GET THIS. I WANNA HEAR UR VOICE.
“I don't think so,” I mumble, deleting both texts. Oh, but not until I memorize the number.
I'ma check this ho real quick!
I put his phone back where it was, then sit back on the bed, fuming.
My hands shake as I punch in the number. I wait. Four rings later, a chick answers. “Hello?”
“Listen,” I say, “I don't know you and you don't know me, but do me a favor, sweetie. Don't text my man again.”
“
Excuse you?
” she says with attitude. “Who is this?”
“Don't worry about who I am. All you
need
to worry about is not texting my man.”
“And who's your man?”
“Sincere,” I snap. “And like I
said
, don't text him again.”
She laughs. “Oh, you must be that little girl he calls himself messing with.”
“
Little girl?
Trick, puhleeze. This little girl will beat the snot outta you, okay? So try it on my time if you want. Don't send him any more texts.”
She laughs. “I heard how you attacked that other girl a few weeks back. I wanna see you try it with me,
sweetie
. I'll text your so-called
man
all I want. And for the record, my name is Miranda.”
“I don't care what the hell your name is. Don't call or text my man.”
She laughs again. And this only pisses me off more. “Little girl, the only thing you are to Sincere is a little plaything. Trust me. When he gets tired of messing with you, he'll come back where he belongs—with a real woman. Now get the hell up off my phone, little girl.”
Click!
“Oh, no the hell she didn't!” I snap, calling her back. She picks up and before I know it, this chick and I are arguing back and forth, threatening each other. I'm yelling at the top of my lungs. And she's yelling back. I don't even hear it when Sincere barges into the bedroom to see what all the commotion is about.
“Yo, why you screaming? Who you on the phone cursing at like that?”
“Some trick named Miranda,” I snap, throwing my phone at him.
He tries to duck, but the phone catches him upside the head. “Owww! Yo, what the eff?! Why you do that?”
My nose is flaring. I'm punching my fist in my hand, pacing the room like a wild animal. “Who the hell is Miranda?!”
He frowns. “Who?”
“Don't play stupid with me! You heard me the first time. Now, who is she?!”
He doesn't answer me. He rubs the side of his head. His jaw tightens. “What the hell you doing going through my phone?”
“What is that bird texting you for?” I ask, not answering him.
“How am I s'posed to know? I haven't talked to her in weeks.” He walks over to his dresser, snatching his phone up. He starts going through it. “Well, where are the texts at?”
“I deleted them,” I state, placing a hand on my hip.
“You did
whaaat
?”
I repeat myself.
“You buggin' now, for real, yo.”
“No,
you
buggin',” I shoot back, glaring at him.
He mumbles something under his breath. And when I ask him to repeat it, he brushes me off. The next thing I know, I slap him in the back of his head.
“Yo, Miyah, go 'head with that puttin' ya hands up on me. I'm not with that.”
I mush him in the back of the head again.
“Yo, I'm warning you, like for real. Keep your hands to yourself. You didn't like it when I snatched you up by the arm, and I told you I wouldn't do it again. Now I'm telling you to not put your hands on me.”
“Excuse you?! That broad straight disrespected me, and you're gonna stand here and try to act like I'm outta pocket. I don't think so.”
He gives me a confused look. “You
are
outta pocket. But, tell me. What did Miranda do that was so disrespectful?”
“She texted you, that's what she did. Then she started popping off at the mouth when I told her to not text you anymore.”
“Well, you had no business calling her. And you're probably the one who came at her all sideways.”
“I called her to tell her to beat it. And she started talking all reckless.”
He laughs.
And that only pisses me off more. “Oh, you think that's funny?”
He frowns. “You're joking, right?”
“Does it look like I'm joking?”
He shakes head. “You got some issues, yo. You called her. She didn't even know you were here, number one. And number two, if you hadn't gone through my phone, you wouldn't have known she texted me. So the only person who's been disrespected here is
me
. The only person who should be pissed off is
me
. You had no business going through my phone.”
Before I realize what's happening, I run over to him and punch him in the back.
Sincere quickly turns around. “Yo, what the hell is your problem, Miyah?”
“You're my problem!” I yell, glaring at him. “I wanna know why she's texting you, talking like the two of you got something going on.”
His nose flares. “Yo, how the hell am I supposed to know? I already told you I haven't spoken to her in weeks. But I'm telling you, yo. Don't put ya hands on me like that again. I let you get that off three times already. I don't hit you, so keep ya damn hands to yourself. I think you should leave.”
I slam my hands up on my hips. “Excuse you? I'm not going anywhere.”
He starts picking up my clothes off the chair and tossing them over to me. “No, for real, Miyah. You need to leave.”
“Oh, so you can call that trick up?”
“Her name is Miranda,” he says, pacing the floor.
I can tell he's heated. But that chick had no business coming at my man like that. “Oh, so now you wanna take up for her. Whatever.”
“Yeah, you right. It is whatever. Now bounce.”
For some reason, I feel like I've been slapped. I blink. Then it's on and popping like hot grease! I lunge at him, digging my nails into his neck, yelling and screaming and cursing. He grabs my wrists, trying to get my hands from around his neck. I keep screaming and cursing at him. He throws me onto the bed, pinning me down.
I try to wrestle and wiggle my way from under him, but he is too heavy.
“Sincere, get the hell off of me!”
“No, not until you calm down!” he says, out of breath.
I try to kick him off of me. But he has his legs wrapped around mine. He is strong as hell. “I didn't put my hands on you. I don't hit chicks, but you're really pushing it.”
“Hit me then. I dare you,
punk
.” I keep trying to break free, but he has me pinned down tight. “Get off of me!”
“Not until you calm down.”

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