Page 52 of The Man Handler

“Okay,” I say, gesturing with my hand for her to hurry the hell up and finish this boring-ass story. “Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is my gut tells me that they did sleep together. And I said something to Cheryl about it this morning and she shifted her eyes like she knew something, then told me to leave it a

lone.”

I glance at my watch. “Listen. Do you think you can speed this up? I have a lot to do today.”

“Geesh,” she says, acting offended, “who got your panties all in a bunch today?” She folds her arms tightly across her chest, sitting back in her seat.

“No one,” I snap. “I’m not in the mood for any of this ghetto-trash drama. And anything that has to do with any of these chicks here is exactly that. I could not care less about which ho in this building slept with your man. I told you from gate to stop telling these f-ing trollops your damn business, but you keep yapping your jaws.”

“The only person I tell anything to besides you is Cheryl, and she’s never given me a reason not to trust her.”

I laugh at her stupidity. “Are you serious?! She’s the main one who grins up in your face, then talks about you, and laughs at you behind your back.”

“Well, I can’t say if that’s true or not since nothing’s ever gotten back to me.”

I shake my head. “Bless your heart. You need to buy a vowel and get a clue, for real. But hey, it’s your life, not mine. Humph. I don’t know why you have to hang around them birds, anyway. But you do. So I have to wonder about you as well.”

She raises her eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

There’s a part of me that likes this chick; but, like I told you before, she could never be any friend of mine. “It means birds of a feather tend to flock together. So, if you’re not one of ’em, but choose to hang around ’em, then stupid is what stupid does. And you get what you get. I told you before about fucking with these chicks here. But you keep on grinning up in their faces. So, truthfully, I don’t want to hear nothing about what they said, or did, or felt. Now, unless you have something else constructive to talk about, kindly remove yourself from my office, and take this foolishness somewhere else.”

She jumps up from her seat, slamming her hands on her hips. “You got a lot of nerve to be judging me,” she snaps.

“I’m not judging you,” I snap back. Bitch! “I’m judging the company you keep. But if the shoe fits, then wear it well.”

She swings open my office door, and storms out, leaving a dust of anger behind her. I frown, shaking my head. Pathetic, I think, getting up from my seat to close the door. I’m sorry to say this, but some women out here are fucking trifling. And, trust me. It damn sure isn’t always a man’s fault for some of these women being so damn jacked up.

My cell phone rings. I glance at the number that flashes across the screen. It’s Garrett. I sigh, contemplating whether or not I should answer. Against my better judgment, I pick up. Attitude in my tone. “Hello?”

“We need to talk,” he says flatly.

“About?”

He sighs. “What we were talking about last night.”

“There’s nothing else to talk about. You said what you wanted, and I told you what I wasn’t going to give you. What more is there to talk about?”

“Listen,” he says, sounding frustrated. “I’m not trying to get into this over the phone. What time you getting off from work?”

“Oh, no,” I say, getting up from my desk and walking over to the window. I look down onto the street. Watch as the cars go to and fro. “You are not about to come to my house to beat me in the head about something that isn’t an option.”

“Why isn’t it?”

“Garrett,” I say, walking back to my desk. I shuffle through a stack of mail. “I’m not having this discussion with you, today, tonight, tomorrow, or any other time. Good bye.” I disconnect the call, plopping down in my high back leather chair.

See, this is the reason why I need to stick to my three month rule. Fuck ’em, rotate ’em, then let ’em go. Out of all my fuck charms, Garrett—aside from Maurice—is the one who has never brought any drama with him. And he’s never tried to make our arrangement out to be more than what it’s been. Until now! What the fuck has gotten into him? I should not have to remind him of our “agreement,” the one I’ve been guilty of not following (with him) the last few weeks, the last several months: Fuck on occasion, once every few months.

Everything between us was fine. Now he wants to fuck on demand. Damn him! Like I said months ago, I’ve kept him around the longest out of all my fucks for the simple fact that he came with good dick. And he understood the rules. Now he’s trying to rearrange shit. And I’m not feeling it. I already see where this is going, and I don’t like it one damn bit. I swear I don’t want to axe him. He feels so damn good inside of me, but I’ll seal this pussy shut before I allow him to try to wife me up.

I take a deep breath. I try to list the reasons why I have been riding Garrett’s dick off and on for the last two, almost three, years. Try to remind myself of the fact that he’s always good, like Wade, for those last minute tune-ups. He aims to service the pussy with no questions asked. And he doesn’t come with any damn drama. I try to balance the pros and cons of keeping him on my team. Try to rationalize holding onto him when I don’t have any emotional connection to him. Or do I?

“Hell, no!” I snap, glancing at the Waterford crystal desk clock. It is twelve-fifteen. “Girl, get over yourself. The nigga has to go!” I get up from my seat and grab my purse, deciding to go to lunch. “And the next time he calls, I’m gonna serve him his discharge papers,” I say to myself as I head out of my office and pass the different work areas en route to the elevators. I spot Nahdirah sitting at her desk, talking on the phone. I toss my hair and act as if I don’t see her. Make her retarded ass invisible.

On my way to the Olive Garden on Route 22, Ian calls me on my prepaid cell. He says he wants to see me tonight. I decline. I am in no mood for him after the fucking Garrett and Majestic put on me over the weekend. Although I know sliding up in my pussy wasn’t on his mind, having him plunging in and out of my asshole isn’t an option either; especially not after the way he had my hole sizzling the last time. Thanks, but no thanks! I don’t even feel like sucking his dick.

“Can I get a rain check?” I ask, pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot. “Tonight’s really not a good night.” I park next to a burgundy Range Rover, then remove my seatbelt, keeping the car running.

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