After The Dance by Lori D. Johnson Read Free Book Online

figured he’d wised up and decided it best not to mess with what he obviously couldn’t handle.
    So along comes Wednesday night, right? After my volunteering gig up at the hospital I decided to stop by the mall and check out the sale going on at the Bad Lady Boutique. I’d made my purchase and was meandering toward one of the mall’s exits when I heard this voice behind me.
    “Faye? Margaret Faye Abrahams?”
    I didn’t have to turn around. Recognition washed over me like a big ol’ bucket of ice water. Had I been a stronger woman maybe I could have just shaken it off and kept on strutting. But when it comes to this particular voice, and more specifically, this particular man, I’ve always had what can only be described as an irrepressible weakness.
    “Scoobie, Scoobie, Scoobie” was all I could say as I turned to face his still super-fine behind.
    He spread his arms and, with a smile that was even more gorgeous than I remembered, said, “It’s been, what? Eleven? Twelve years? Don’t tell me after all this time that’s the best you can do.”
    And like the simple fool that being around him frequently makes me, I couldn’t help but grin and give him a hug.
    He said, “Damn, girl, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again.” Then he had to go and add, “Put on a little weight, though, haven’t you?”
    Being that I was considerably smaller the last time Scoobie saw me, I probably wouldn’t have minded the commenthad he not been the main somebody to blame for me picking up and holding on to the forty pounds of extra flab. Or if he hadn’t been so compelled to drive the point home by slapping, squeezing, and jiggling my ass in a way that made me feel like a farm animal he intended either to mount or to ship off to market.
    “Show a girl some decency and a little respect,” I said. “In case you haven’t noticed, this is a public place.”
    He ran his fingers alongside my jawline and said in that same soft, sweet, sexy voice that used to make me tremble, “I see the years have made you modest. That’s good, because I distinctly remember a time when there wasn’t much shame in your game when it came to me.”
    “Yes, and let’s both be glad I finally grew up” is what I said on backing away from him. “Nice seeing you again, Scoobie. Who knows, maybe our paths will cross again one day when you’re ready to own up to some of that treacherous crap you did to me.”
    I know the truth can hurt sometimes, but, girl, had you seen his face you’da thought I’d just hauled off and slapped him upside the head with a hammer or something. “Baby, wait,” he said. “How do you know today’s not that day? The least you could do is give me an opportunity to redeem myself. Have dinner with me tonight. My treat.”
    Honey, please. I know all about Scoobie’s treats. In the past a “Scoobie treat” typically involved me paying in the end with money, time, tears, and quite frequently all three. I looked at him like he was crazy and said, “I guess you think we big girls are always on the lookout for an easy meal and a quick bone-jumping. Well, you’d best think again, because I’m neither hungry nor that durn desperate anymore, thank you.”
    Really, I wasn’t trying to play hard, I just know this man. My infatuation with him dates all the way back to the summer I turned twelve, and ended the same number of years ago when he borrowed—excuse me—suckered acouple grand from me and used it to treat some other woman to a weekend in the Bahamas.
    Dude told me I had him pegged all wrong. Told me there had been a lot of changes in his life since he and I were together, changes for the better. He said, “If nothing else, have a cup of coffee with me and I’ll tell you all about them.”
    I told him, “Sorry, maybe some other time.”
    He dashed in front of me and said, “Okay, coffee, an admittedly long overdue apology and”—he pulled out a checkbook and a pen and started scribbling—“and