Flip Side of the Game by Tu-Shonda L. Whitaker Read Free Book Online

only I had a match!—and her hair hadn’t been done since 1981! I had this chick beat hands down. I arched my back and practically threw my titties in Taj’s face.
    â€œI’m Vera,” I said, holding out my hand as a polite gesture. “Oh,” she said, seeming startled. “I’m Aiesha.”
    â€œVery nice to meet you. Interesting suit. What, Target?”
    â€œI didn’t catch who you were,” the bitch said, pointing to herself and then to Taj. “I didn’t catch who you were to either one of us.”
    â€œThis is Vera,” Taj said with a sly smile. “She’s a very dear friend of mine.”
    A dear friend? “Oh, Taj,” I said, sounding concerned. “This little date seems nice, but if you don’t mind, Keisha.”
    â€œAiesha,” she said, correcting me.
    â€œWhatever. Please sit here and talk to Roger for a moment. Roger, honey, I need just a second to tell Taj something. I don’t want him to be embarrassed, so give me a moment to tell him this alone.” Then I hit ’em both with a plastic-ass smile.
    Stepping into the foyer, Taj asked, “May I help you?” sounding cocky as a mu’fucker, giving me the screw face. “What seems to be the problem?”
    â€œWhat is all of this?” I asked.
    â€œWhat is all of what?”
    â€œThe chick in the other room.”
    â€œExcuse me, but does ‘don’t hate the player, hate the game’ sound remotely familiar to you?”
    â€œYour point?”
    â€œMy point?” He chuckled. “You made these rules. Now, let me explain this to you, when you say something, you have to be comfortable with the delivery and the reception. Therefore, when you made your little player comment, you left the door wide open. Understand?”
    â€œYes, but—”
    â€œNo buts,” he said, cutting me off. “We’re being rude to our guests, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back to my party.” He winked his eye, threw on his best Billy Dee voice, and said, “ Ciao, bella .”
    After dinner, I went home and got right in the bed. I tossed and turned for hours. I thought the heat was up too high, causing me to sweat, so I turned the heat off, despite the fact that it was January. I changed my nightie at least three times, but the smoothness of the change in the material, or the prettiness of color, made no difference. I was uncomfortable from the inside out, and for the first time, I was willing to admit that I was upset.
    What did they talk about? I wondered. Did he tell her how he grew up on South Fourteenth Street with Malik, Kaareem, Raheem, John, and Big Stuff? Did he tell her how Taniesha was his first girlfriend, but she joined the army and left him for Uncle Sam? Did he tell her how his mother died but left a spirit so strong, that she raised him and his siblings from the grave, while his father helped along?
    And, if they didn’t talk, did they make love? Did he hold her the same way he held me, tight and close, like running waters? Did he whisper to her and call her his Almond Joy?
    I got up, sat in my oversized Laura Ashley recliner, and looked out the window. The last thing I remembered before hearing the phone ring and realizing that I had fallen asleep in the recliner was how pretty the sun looked sneaking into the sky. “Yes?” I said, answering the phone.
    â€œYou’re still up?” It was Taj.
    â€œNo, I’ve been ’sleep all night,” I said, lying, but relieved to hear his voice. I was forcing myself to sound indifferent.
    â€œI was thinking about you,” he said.
    â€œReally?” I snapped. “Was that before or after ole girl left your apartment?”
    â€œWould it bother you if she just left?”
    â€œNot at all.”
    I could hear him smiling. “Open the door.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œOpen the door. I’m outside.”
    When he walked in,