My Daughter's Boyfriend by Cydney Rax Read Free Book Online Page B

as my pride would allow, but the stupid and insecure parts of me won out, and I remained cemented to my seat.
    It took ten nail-biting minutes for Steve to bound down the stairs. He wore no glasses, was dressed in a wrinkled gray muscle tee with black running shorts, and his beloved ponytail was as wild-looking as an untended lawn.
    “What you want, Tracey?” he asked, standing near the television.
    Even though my mind told me to walk, I half-ran toward him. “Hey, baby—”
    “I’m not your baby,” he said. When I tried to reach for him, he stepped aside.
    I felt dumb and dumber and wasn’t sure how to handle him. Maybe I shouldn’t have come to see him. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough.
    I softened my voice. “Steve, I—I know you may be pissed about what happened, but I’ve had some time to think. I want to make sure you meant what you said the other night.”
    “What you talking about? I said a lot of things.”
    “I’m not talking about the bad stuff, Steve. I’m referring to the good stuff.”
    “Why’d you think I meant that?”
    “Because you put your arms around me as soon as Lani left . . . and you told me I’m the only woman for you.” Men are
so
forgetful.
    “And so?”
    “And sooo . . . I was thinking I must’ve meant
something
to you for you to even do that.”
    “You’re grasping, Tracey,” he said with this satisfied smirk.
    “Steve, this isn’t . . . this isn’t grasping,” I said. Couldn’t he tell this wasn’t grasping?
    “You know, with everything that went down, I can see me and you aren’t going to work out . . . so too bad you wasted your gas driving over here because . . . it
is
over.”
    “But it doesn’t have to be. I didn’t mean—”
    He groaned and looked unimpressed. “Look, I’m getting a little bit tired of repeating myself, but if necessary I can do it again.”
    “It’s not nec—”
    “For the last time, Tracey, you are through.”
    “Steve, don’t
be
like this,” I whisper-pleaded.
    A ringing noise screeched through the air.
    We both looked up.
    “Tracey, start making your way outta here,” he said in a don’t-fuckwith-me voice.
    “But all I want—”
    “Hey, Steve. Phone,” yelled Cousin Joe from the second floor.
    “Be right there,” Steve shouted, then turned to look at me.
    “It’s over, it’s over,” he said, shaking his head matter-of-factly.
    When I failed to make my way out, he looked at his watch, then at me, and asked, “Anything else?”
    I cleared my throat. “Since you claim we’re through, I—I was wondering if I could get the clothes I left over here. And the photographs . . . and the two hundred dollars I loaned you.”
    “You know, I
hate
women like you,” he hissed, and shook his fist. “I’m about to go upstairs, and by the time I come back down, you’d
better
be gone.”
    He headed upstairs without a backward glance.
    I stood frozen to my spot, blinking. Every time my eyes snapped closed, I pictured myself in his arms.
    Steve loving me. Caressing me. Him saying how I was the bomb while a tidal-wave orgasm ripped through my body and his.
    I walked toward his front door but turned to look up those stairs. Strained my ears to hear Steve’s voice one more time. To hear him say, “Hold up, don’t go.” Or hear him admit he didn’t mean what he said.
    But after waiting so long, I heard nothing, except the tragic thumping of my own heart.

Tracey 7
    It’s been two full weeks since I last talked to Steve, seven weeks since I was held in his arms. I often think about what happened when we were at his town house. It was all so embarrassing, dramatic, and unnecessary. I wish I could receive closure. The things that went down remind me of the numerous other times that my exes cut me loose.
    Poncho sent me a “Dear Jane” e-mail that had a virus attached to it. Poncho said he finally knew what he wanted in life, and it wasn’t me. Slick Rick decided it was time to get a new unlisted phone number; he never