The Side Effects of You (7 page)

“Okay,” he answered.

I went to my apartment, stripped, and hopped into the shower. Ten minutes later I had dried off and gotten dressed. Before I could head back to Jayden's room, Ana walked in. I was going to keep going, until I took a look at my baby's face. I didn't know what had happened, but I knew someone had whipped her ass. I couldn't go back to Jayden's room right now.

Relax
, I told myself when he touched me. I didn't want things to go too far. I was terrified that they would, so I backed away. “Ethan, baby, please. We gotta stop.”

“Why, baby?” he whispered, his voice low. “I want to taste you.”

I wanted him to taste me too, but I was terrified. I hadn't had an outbreak, thank God, in over two years, but I knew I wasn't cured.

“I want you too, so bad, baby,” I panted. But I couldn't risk it.

“Just let me. I am into you, Sam. I want more than a fling,” he said, breathing heavily into my neck.

I froze, then got up from my sofa and moved away from him as fast as I could. This was where we'd always end up after our dates, at my house on the sofa in my living room, making out.

“What's wrong, baby? Why are you holding back?”

“It's too soon.” That was all I could say.

“Samantha, I'm all in. I'm not going to play you. I think about you every minute of the day, and I'm so into you. I want you.” He stood and walked over to me. “I'm not trying to move too fast, but I'm feeling you, Sam. I want to be with you, make love to you, and take this good thing to a more passionate level.”

I lowered my head. “I know, Ethan, and, baby, trust me, it is not you.”

He lifted my face by my chin. “Then, tell me, what is it? I mean, we've hung out every night since we got together. We are on the phone more than I have ever been on the phone with any woman. Why are you holding back, babe? Do I make you feel uncomfortable? Are you not feeling me too?” His expression was serious and sad.

“Of course I'm feeling you, Ethan. Trust me, baby, I'm feeling you, and the time we've spent and the long talks and all mean so much to me, but I'm not ready for the physical part yet, okay? Can you understand that, please? Let's just move a little slower.” I tried to sound cautious, not callous.

“Yeah, I understand.” He backed away and put his shirt back on.

“Baby, please don't be mad.”

“Sam, I'm not mad at you. I'm not. But I really like you, and I would like to have more of you, all of you. It's getting harder and harder to keep my distance from you, babe.”

“And I really like you, but I don't wanna rush into the physical. It makes things more complicated.”

“I disagree with that theory, but I respect you, Sam, and I'm good. It's okay, baby.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't want you to cut me off.”

“Baby, no. I am going to be right here, waiting. I can't stop thinking of you, so you can't get rid of me that easily.”

“Even though I'm keeping my legs closed?”

“Even though your legs are closed. I'm looking for a partner, a future with someone as beautiful, sweet, and successful as you. I'm not a ‘hit it and quit it' type of guy. I wanted to have something with my ex, but it just didn't work out.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize for her and our failed relationship. That was bound to happen, because we were too different. You just focus on us. You are gorgeous and smart and beautiful and a damn good cook, so I'll wait.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Ethan. I haven't had a relationship, boyfriend, or date, for that matter, since my divorce. I'm not weird. I just want the man I'm with my next time to be the last man I give myself to. I don't want dive into a pool of hot sex before I get to know that person
well
.” I stressed the last word. “I don't want to share my body with a man unless I feel that we are down for one another. The harsh reality is we have pasts, ways, and personalities that everyone can't deal with or accept. I really want to get close enough where I can tell you everything about me and you won't run. Just understand, I need a man in my life who will love me regardless of what I've done, where I've been, or the mistakes I've made. I am flawed, Ethan, and I've got to have someone to love me past my imperfections.”

He nodded. “I understand more than you know.”

I looked him in the eyes. “Do you really?”

“Yes, baby, I do. Come here.” He pulled me close, and I rested my head on his chest while he held me tight. His embrace felt better than that of any man who had ever held me. I felt safe, but not safe enough to tell him the truth.

I knew in my heart that I was pulling a bait and switch, but I liked him so much. I didn't want to send my first shot at romance since my divorce in the opposite direction.

I wasn't prepared to get weird stares or for him to tell someone else my personal condition. I was pissed and wanted to cry in his arms. It was a hidden scar in my life, one that I never wanted anyone to see. I wished it away, I prayed for it to go away, but I was still cursed with that awful incurable virus. I wanted to load my gun, get in my car, and go and shoot every last bullet into my ex-husband's dick and nut sack. I was mortified by my diagnosis, and there wasn't shit I could do about it.

“So do you want to go out for a while, for a drink?” he asked.

“Yes, that would be cool.” I smiled.

Heavyhearted, I pretended I was fine, but I wasn't. I hated my secret. I hated that I couldn't tell him. I felt closer to him than I had to my ex-husband. He was kind and gentle, and I knew I had to dump him. He deserved someone who wasn't tainted, and I wasn't the one.

“Good. We can ride downtown, maybe hit a jazz or blues spot, or go to Dana's. That hotel has one of the most exquisite lounges.” He smiled.

I enjoyed his smile. I enjoyed his presence. And as hot as I was, I knew I couldn't spread my legs, but I wanted to give him something to assure him that I was into him.

Naughty thoughts racing through my mind, because he looked so delicious, I said, “That sounds nice, but can I give you something before we go?”

He smiled. “You have something for me? Like what?”

I stepped out of his embrace. “I just want to give you something to let you know that I'm feeling you, and even though I want to slow things down, I definitely don't want them to stop. We can do other things.”

He looked puzzled. “What did you have in mind?”

“Just relax and let me show you.” I rubbed his crotch, then undid his slacks and pulled down his boxers. I then knelt down in front of him.

“Sam, I'm good with taking things slow.” But he didn't pull away.

“I know, and I appreciate that. I just want to show you how much I do.” Eyes locked on him, I wrapped my thick lips around him, barely wetting his entire shaft. He hissed, and I knew he wanted some sexual relief.

“Aww, Sam, baby, you didn't . . . have to.... Ooh, baby, that is so good. Baby, I like that.” He moaned and placed one hand on my head. “Do that shit, baby. You look so sexy, sucking my dick like that.”

I went in even deeper, pleasing him the way I wished my infected pussy could be pleased. Hell, if I could keep him interested with blow jobs, it would be marvelous.

“I'm going to make this dick cum,” I whispered between slurps. I was bobbing my head up and down, taking his eight, maybe nine inches to Pleasureville. I wanted him to have this slob job on his brain the next day.

I wanted him to want more, and I wished I could feel this sexy-ass rod inside my body.

“Baby, let me see your tongue,” he requested.

I did exactly what he asked and followed every command he gave me until he released his fluids. Tempted to let him nut in my mouth, I pulled back. He wouldn't get that pleasure so soon.

Breathing heavily, he said. “Sam, what made you do that? I mean, one minute we are talking no sex, taking it slow, and then you sucked me to ecstasy, baby. I mean, that was . . .
woo
.”

“I just wanted to show you that I'm interested.”

“I know you are, and what you just did, baby . . . I'm convinced. I mean, you hit me out of left field. I'm still in awe. Please tell me that you will do that again.”

I stood. “Yes, darling. I plan to do that again.”

He stood and headed to the guest bathroom to clean himself up. I ran into my master bath to brush and gargle.

I met him back in the living room.

“Come here.” He pulled me close. “I really like you, Sam, and I don't want to mess this up, so whether you give me the goods, please my dick like you just did, or just want to hold hands and play Scrabble, that's what I want to do.”

I smiled. We had been dating for only four weeks, with each night spent together. He was the one. Ethan was 97 percent of the man I wanted. I knocked off 3 percent because he snored, but everything else about him was perfect.

I took a step back, touched his face, and kept smiling. “That's exactly what I want.”

He pulled me into his strong embrace again and kissed me tenderly. Our tongues danced, and my pussy was wet and ready to have that pipe in his pants, but I knew I couldn't let him inside unless I told him the truth.

I pulled back. “Baby, we should get going. I'm a little hungry.”

“Me too, but I'm hungry for you.”

“Soon, sweetheart. I promise.”

“Okay, babe. let's go.”

He went for his keys, and I for my purse. We drove downtown, holding hands and listening to the radio. I was falling for him. Ethan was my type, my desire.

I hated that Charles had come before him.

Ethan was a gentleman. Pulled out my chair, opened my door, and always asked me, “What would you like?”

I had to end it. As perfect as this thing was, I knew he'd head for the hills once he knew my secret.
God, please let humanity find a cure
, I said to myself as he helped me out of his SUV. He was the perfect man for me, but I wasn't the perfect woman for him. I wished I had never gone out with him in the first place.

If I had just said no, I wouldn't have gotten to know such a wonderful man. So far, he had treated me better than any man I'd ever dated. He was sexy, smart, romantic, funny, and gentle. I loved spending every free moment with him. I couldn't wait to see his face, and whenever he came into the restaurant to wait for me to get off or close, I knew I had found the one.

Because of that, I had to let him go.

Totally taken by surprise, I asked, “Quentin, how did you get my number?”

“It's on your business card.”

Duh!
How else would he have gotten it? “What do you want? Why are you calling me?”

“How are you?”

“I'm fine, Quentin. What is this about? Why are you calling me?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, Andrea. Listen, I know you are married, and I don't want to rattle any cages or cause you any trouble.”

“Well, don't call me, Q. I can't do this with you. What do you want?”

“Can I see you?”

I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my eyes. Was he insane? Did he think I'd say, “Sure. Come on over”? I headed for the kitchen, still rolling my eyes. “No, Quentin, you cannot see me. I am a married woman, and we cannot hang out.”

“Why can't we?”

Was he crazy? Did he not hear me say that I was a married woman? “Because we can't, and please don't call me again.” I hit the
END
button, tossed my phone onto the counter, and went to the fridge. I needed to chill the bottle of Chardonnay I had.

I didn't know what Quentin was up to, but I wasn't going to allow him to just pop back into my life. Things were bad enough with Jeremiah. I didn't need any more drama in my life. Wherever Quentin was, there was sure to be some drama.

I grabbed my shopping bags and headed toward the steps. My cell rang again. This time, I wasn't going to be so nice. I grabbed it and let out a sigh of relief when I saw it wasn't the same number.

“Hello,” I sang.

“Mrs. Young?” the other voice recited.

“Yes, this is she.”

Silence.

“Hello,” I said again.

Nothing. A moment later, the call ended. That was strange. I figured whoever it was would call me back, but after a couple of moments and no calls, I went on up to my bedroom. I went into the bathroom, hit PLAY on my iPod dock, and started the shower. While I was undressing, my mind went back to the call, but quickly my thoughts shifted to Quentin. I wondered what was he up to and why he wanted to see me again.

I knew in my heart that hanging around Quentin would be a bad thing, because I was super horny and two seconds from cheating on Pastor Young. Hanging out with my ex would lead me down the road of adultery, because he still looked sexy as hell to me. Tall, still in good physical shape, with beautiful shoulders. I had a flashback of him holding me and breathing on my ear when he spoke. I felt butterflies in my stomach, just thinking of being close to him again.

I wanted him to take my body back to the days when my thighs shook, because it was so damn good. I wanted to moan in his ear as he slowly penetrated my wetness. He knew how to make me quiver, something Jeremiah had never mastered. Quentin had a way with my breasts and could make me cum just by sucking my nipples hard and good, something I had dreamt Jeremiah would eventually learn how to do, but it had never happened.

After showering and drying my skin, I noticed the alert light on my phone blinking. I went over and saw I had three missed calls. All from the number that the mysterious woman had called from. I called my voice mail to listen to the message she had left, but there was only silence. Not really interested in who she was or why she was calling, I tossed my phone onto the bed and applied my lotion.

Finally, in a comfortable pair of sweats and a tank, I headed downstairs to pour myself a glass of chilled wine and catch up on my recorded episodes of
Scandal
. I had missed the entire season and for weeks had waited for a quiet evening alone to watch the episodes. Snuggled on the sofa in my family room, I was enjoying the series and the peace and quiet. On my third episode and my second glass of wine, I got a text alert.

I studied the message for a few moments before I replied.
No
.

I wanted to say that I did too, but I didn't.
So y do u wanna c me so bad? R u dying or something? LOL
.

LOL. I couldn't hate u even if I tried
. I wondered how I had just that quickly allowed him to engage me in this sneaky conversation.

I smiled to myself. I did miss that bond we'd shared, how he used to always make me laugh and smile, and how he'd keep me company in the kitchen while I tried to cook in our first apartment. Even if I burned something or if it didn't turn out right, he would find a way to make a joke about it so I wouldn't feel so bad.

It was wrong, and I knew I should have ended the conversation right then, but I keyed in a response.
Ok, where do u want 2 meet?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I got up from the sofa and went up to my bedroom, wondering if I should back out. Seeing Quentin was harmless, but how long would that last? He was my first love, and although I had married Jeremiah for love, the love I had for him wasn't as deep as the love I had for Quentin.

Jeremiah was always serious and uptight. Yes, we had shared some good times. I'd be lying if I said we didn't. But we had never shared any romantic times. My husband wasn't cruel, but he was far from sweet. No holding hands, no kisses, just because . . . or hardly ever, anyway. He would go out of town for ministry work and would not call me for a couple of days, as if he hadn't left his family back in a completely different state. He threw a bigger celebration for the church anniversary than he'd ever done for our anniversary, and six months after he'd initially stopped touching me, I'd woken up wishing I hadn't committed myself to him. When he stopped coming up to our bed and slowly began moving his items into the guest bedroom, I'd visited the divorce subject, but he'd put a lid on that topic quickly, saying, “Folks who follow God don't divorce.”

I still scratched my head at that. To remain in a situation that brought unhappiness was just plain stupid, but there I was a little over two years later, still in an unfulfilling marriage with someone who had become a stranger to me. Yes, there was a stranger in my house, a man impersonating my husband, and I wanted to be done with that imposter. I at least wanted to get back to the times when he pretended he loved me, or even just liked me.

Now, as I headed into my bathroom to glam up, my phone rang. When I got to it, I had missed another call from that mysterious woman's number. Too pressed for time, I put the phone down and went back to the mirror to finish getting ready to meet with Quentin. After twenty minutes of convincing myself to go, I got in my car and headed out to meet the ex-love of my life. Traffic was light, so I made it in record time. I parked went inside, and since the sports bar wasn't crowded, I immediately spotted Quentin and headed over to his table.

“You look very nice,” he complimented when I got there.

I took a seat. “So do you.”

“I ordered you an amaretto sour.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “I don't drink those anymore. I stopped drinking those ages ago.”

He signaled for our server. “I didn't know, Andrea. I thought . . . I just . . .”

“Quentin, it's okay.”

The server was there in a flash.

“Can I cancel that amaretto sour and get . . .” Quentin looked at me.

“Chardonnay will be fine,” I replied.

“Yes, ma'am.” The server was off, and I was left sitting across from a grinning Quentin.

“Why are you smiling so hard?”

“Because of you. I mean, you look amazing.”

“Amazingly huge,” I said and looked around the room to avoid eye contact with him.

“Yes, you're not that thin chick I dated back in high school and college, but it looks good on you. Thick or thin, you've always been beautiful to me.”

That was sweet, but I didn't say anything. I looked down.

“I'm serious, Andrea.”

“Listen, I agreed to come out and have a drink with you, Quentin. Now, if there is no motive behind seeing me again, we can't do this. I can't start hanging out with you. I'm married, and it's not a good look.”

“Listen, Drea, I know you are married, but I can tell you are not happy.”

Oh, now he was psychic. “What? What makes you think that?”

“Drea, come on. When you throw this marriage bull at me, it's like your shield, your way of convincing yourself not to be near me. I can tell by your body language that you're not happy. Your eyes don't dance when you say the word
marriage
. A woman who is truly happy with her marriage or her mate would smile and say it gracefully. It wouldn't come across as defensive. It would flow, like you are happy.”

Who the hell was he? Dr. Phil? Just because my face didn't glow because I was married didn't mean I wasn't happy. Okay, it did, but I refused to tell that to him.