For Antoine there was no turning back. He had to do what he had to do. Or did he? He woke up at one in the afternoon and smiled at Roxanne. She lay with her head on his chest looking up at him seductively. He rubbed on the small of her back and became erect. He made an attempt to roll on top of her and she moved. He tried again and she pushed him off her.
“So you’re going to come in here and use my chest for a pillow all night, but not give me any morning pussy?”
She looked at him and simply rolled off the bed and walked into the bathroom.
This bitch, he thought. Antoine had continued to genuinely fall in love with her, but what he couldn’t take was her constant attitude. He felt bad and had to continually remind her that just because she pursued a degree and had a job, car and apartment, she was not special. She had what most people her age should have. He hated to remind her of that, but it made it seem that he was putting her down, but he wasn’t. He was just turning her ego down a notch. Or two.
Roxanne walked back into the room and looked in the mirror over the dresser. She pressed her palms on the dresser and forced her ass further into the air. She knew that he was looking. She knew that he wanted some pussy. She planned to tease him and maybe even give him some, ‘cause the dick was good. There were some things that she had to get straight first.
She walked over to the bed and sat in it. She slithered next to him and tossed her head back on his chest and her hand on his dick.
“Why you be on this up and down shit?” he asked her.
“What do you mean?” she asked and kissed his chest. She kissed it again, and asked, “What’s the problem with me.”
“What do you mean?” He ran his fingers through her hair.
“Antoine, are you leaving me?”
“Why? What are you talking about baby?” he asked and pulled her up to be face to face with him. “I love you, Mo. Why would I leave you?”
She reached over to the night stand and opened the top drawer. She pulled out his airplane ticket and said, “Are you sure you’re not trying to leave me? This is a one way ticket to Tampa, Florida for one person. Care to explain?”
“Where the hell? Why’re you going through my shit?” he asked and set up on the edge of the bed. “This is some bullshit.”
“No, it’s not. I can look into anything in my villa. I am not good enough. You’re going on a trip without me and staying for an undetermined amount of time, so there was no need for a round trip ticket. This is fucked up. Where are you going?”
“You know already. Tampa.”
“Don’t be a smart ass. Why? A bitch there you met off Facebook or something?”
“Now you’re being a smart-ass. I am going on business and you’re not allowed. I can’t take you to do what I am going to do there.”
“Which is?”
“Good question, because I don’t fucking know.”
“What the fuck kind of dumb ass shit are you talking about?” Roxanne asked and hopped up. She was irritated. “You have a damn ticket, boy.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” Antoine said and stood up. He got into her face and said, “Listen to me. I fucked up and the first thing I need is for you to listen to me, help me and be there for me.”
“Antoine, I am not trying to hear this shit,” she said and attempted to leave the bedroom before he grabbed her.
She pushed his hand off her arm and then slapped him hard. She then pushed him and he fell back on the bed, which gave her a spilt second to grab her service pistol from her dresser.
She pointed her gun at him and said, “I should blow ya fucking brains all over this bedroom. Don’t ever put your fucking hands on me.”
Antoine stood and walked up on her. He pressed the nose of the gun against his chest, and smiled wickedly. “Shoot, Roxanne. Shoot! I am already dead. I kidnapped a fucking monster and he brought me that plane ticket to go to Tampa to kill someone. I think. I much rather be dead, so go ahead, do it!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Put the gun away and listen to me. I really need you right now.”
Roxanne lowered the gun and put the safety on. “I am going to sit back and relax, but I am not impressed with this, and this story better be good.”
“It’s not a fucking story.”
“Okay, tell me something good then.”