quick, then . . .â He rubs his hands together. âWe gonna go back to my spot ânâ make it do what it do.â
It takes a few seconds for it to register. Get. Up. In that. Ohhhh. Get up in that . He wants to crawl up on top of me and have sex.
I roll my eyes. Disgusted. Now, wait. Iâll admit, I am boy crazy, like most girls my age. And, yes, you already know I am highly infatuated with guys from the hood. Okay, okay, thugs. But Iâm not fast like that . Iâm still a virgin. The most Iâve ever done is kiss a boy. Okay, okay, and let him feel up on my booty and play with my boobs a little. But thatâs it. And that was with only one guy. My ex-boyfriend Jake Lester who cheated on me, like five months ago, with this blonde-haired, blue-eyed Becky who didnât mind going all the way with him. Anyway, who cares? He was corny anyway.
Okay, wait. Thatâs not completely true. Jake wasnât really corny. He was really a nice guy. And smart. And athletic. And he was really horny, like most boys. Still, he wasnât for me. But what he was is corny for cheating on me instead of just breaking up with me first. He didnât have to cheat.
I hate cheaters!
But, whatever. Heâs going off to Morehouse in a few weeks on a full academic scholarship to play tennis, major in journalism, and pledge Kappa like his grandfather, father, and his three older brothers. Good for him.
Iâm over him.
But this boy right here. Mmmph. I donât know what kind of girl he thinks I am. But he has me confused. I am not easy. Therefore, I have no interest in letting him or anyone else getting up in anything over here.
I knew this was a terrible mistake! I should have never come out to meet this nasty dog!
âApologies. But Iâm not that kind of girl,â I tell him, shifting in my seat. âIf sex is what you want, youâve got the wrong one.â
He raises his brow. âNah, itâs not all about da sex. But Iâm sayinâ . . . you lickinâ da dome, though, right? âCause I ainât witâ wastinâ my time on no broad who ainât tryna treat a muhfuckka right. I got needs, yo. And I need dis snake drained, nah mean?â
I blink. I hear the question, but I donât answer. Not right away, anyway. I am too stunned, like heâd just slung snot on me. I know lots of girls at my private school who sleep around with different boys, or who will sleep with a boy just so he can spend time with her, thinking thatâs going to get him to like her more. Thatâs not me.
I know Iâm from the suburbs and all, but that doesnât make me some dizzy, dumb girl either. My parents may have some silly rules that half the time make very little sense to me. But the one rule that I wonât ever question is saving myself for that special someone. Although the waiting until Iâm over twenty-one and finished with college part is debatable. But thatâs neither here nor there, because this boy is real special if he thinks Iâm giving it up.
âNo, I donât know what you mean.â I set my fork down on my tray. And wait for his explanation. I glance at the big-faced designer watch on his wrist, then back up at him as he chews his food, swallowing.
âIâm sayinâ . . . Iâm tryna see whatâs really good witâ you.â
Iâve suddenly lost my appetite.
âYou already know what it is, so donât front. You stroke mine, Iâma stroke yours.â
I lean in, mindful so that no one else around us can hear me. âSo, let me understand this. Are you saying that the only reason weâre out today is because youâre looking for sex?â
âNah, ma, datâs not what Iâm sayinâ.â I eye him as he lifts his drink, places the straw between his lips, then takes three long sips.
I tilt my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. âThen what are you saying? Because