Page 21 of Single Mom's Daddies
I grip the banana in one hand and the knife in the other, slicing tofu into neat little slabs with clean, practiced strokes. I purr, “Now what, Banana Jack? It’s right there. Should I shove it in?”
He moans. “Yeah. Fuck yeah.”
I groan for him while I heat up my skillet. “Mm, just like that?”
“Yes, baby, just like that. Deeper. Go deeper.”
“Mm, I don’t know about that. It’s pretty deep already. Feels so good?—”
Behind me, a knock sounds at the front door.
Just what I need right now.I duck behind the kitchen wall, still holding the headset mic near my mouth. “You like it cold, don’t you?”
He groans again. “You know I do.”
“I froze this one, so it’d be cold and hard for me.”
“God,” he gasps.
I tiptoe to the peephole. Lolita. She’s grinning, holding up a paper bag that probably has takeout in it and mouthing,Open up, bitch.I quietly flip the lock and ease the door open. She steps inside, and upon seeing my headset, she nods and quietly sets the bag of food on the counter. I raise an eyebrow and tilt my head toward the living room, motioning for her to wait.
Then I put the headset on speaker.
She flops onto the couch, biting her knuckles to keep from laughing out loud. She loves hearing the calls.
I turn back to the kitchen, pick up the banana again, and make my voice purr. “You want me to taste it now?”
“Yes,” he moans. “Yes, yes—please, yes.”
I make wet mouth noises while watching the tofu sizzle in the pan. “Slow, baby,” I whisper. “Real slow. Mmm, it’s so soft now. You like it soft after, don’t you?”
He chokes on a sound that makes me wince. His breaths are labored as he finishes, and I try not to picture it. “That was amazing, Jasmine.”
“I aim to please. Until next time…” I press the “End Call” button and log off immediately. The sound of the disconnect tone is one of the few things that gives me actual satisfaction these days.
Lolita loses it. She’s doubled over, wheezing. “Oh myGod, Saf. He sounds like he’s been edging since Tuesday.”
I shake my head and toss the banana into the trash. “Don’t. I can’t. Not today.”
“Please tell me you weren’t going to actually?—”
“Inevertouch myself for these men. You know that.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. “Yeah, but thebanana, babe. I mean—really?”
“He tips well.”
“He better.”
I check the system, and sure enough, there’s half a week’s paycheck as a tip. After I turn off the stove, I drop onto the couch beside my friend and let my head fall back against the cushion. We eat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the clink of chopsticks and the low hum of the fridge.
Finally, she says, “You look tired.”
“Iamtired.”
“How’s Ivy?”
“Back in the hospital. Exhaustion.”
