MEEKS

1

 

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted my evening rendezvous.

I rolled out from beneath Blake’s beefy arm, then reached for the fluffy, pink robe draped over a chair near my nightstand. I covered my naked body and padded downstairs to the living room, tying the belt on my robe. When I opened the front door, I found a short, dark-skinned woman standing on my porch with arms folded beneath her breasts.

“My husband here?” she asked with a knowing tone.

I startled and stared.

“Look…” She blew out an impatient sigh. “His BMW is out front, so I figured he’s either here or the townhouse next door, but seeing that you’re his type, I bet he’s upstairs asleep.”

She knew her man.

“You want me to wake him?” I asked because, at this point, what else could I say?

She shook her head, sending her sister locks swinging. “Nah, I’m just dropping off his dinner.” She held out a red lunch pail. As soon as I took it, she turned and walked away. However, before she reached a blue Toyota 4-Runner that was double-parked and blocking my car, she swung around and said, “Just so you know, if I come by tomorrow and my husband is over here instead of at work, I’ll be dropping off a lot more than just Gatorade and a bologna sandwich.”

 

* * *

As soon as Blake’s wife left, I woke that fool up and kicked him out my house. I changed my bedroom sheets and made sure there were no traces of him left. Thirty minutes later, Blake had the nerve to come back knocking at my door because he’d forgotten his lunch pail.

Feeling sorry for myself, I took a long, hot shower then laid in bed and cried while thinking about all my failed relationships. At some point, I fell asleep.

I woke up, eyes red, and continued my pity party, which felt even more depressing being that it was my thirty-fifth birthday.

By the time I made a pot of coffee and was seated at a small, round, birchwood table near a bay window, I needed someone to talk to. Three minutes into the call and I was starting to regret calling my sister.

Layla managed to get out, “That’s what you get for trying to find love on the internet,” between laughter.

I momentarily held the phone away from my ear before saying, “How else am I supposed to meet anyone? Remember, I’m new to the area.”

“Do it the old fashion way. Bump into him on the street. Matter of fact…” I heard a snap of her fingers. “I was watching one of those talk shows and the host said one of the best places to meet a man is at—”

“Church?” I replied between sips.

“No. Home Depot.” Her response made me laugh. “I’m serious. A lot of handy men hang out in DIY stores.”

“There are also a lot of husbands who spend the weekend checking off their wife’s Honey-Do list. No thank you. I’ll take my chances online.”

“Whatever. I told you Faze has a friend he’d like you to meet,” she reminded for the umpteenth time.

“Uh-uh. I’m not interested in any hook-ups.” Mostly because I didn’t trust my sister’s taste in men. Her husband, Faison King, was cute in a nerdy sorta way. “At least when I’m viewing profiles online, I can swipe left if he’s scary looking.”

Layla drew a dramatic breath. “Suit yourself. You’ve never listened to your big sister before, so why start now.”

My sister needed a man to screw in a light bulb. I do not.

“I listen to you all the time. Just not when it comes to men.”

“And look where that has gotten you,” she mumbled under her breath.

“I heard that,” I warned.

“You need to learn to trust.”

Here we go again. “How can I trust when I keep hooking up with someone else’s husband?”

“Technically, that’s not your fault. You just need to start asking the right questions. You remember what mama always used to say.”

“Trust but verify,” we said in unison.

I gave a laugh that ended in a rude snort. “That’s because our father was a ho and Mama is bitter. Nope. That’s just too much work. If I have to do all that questioning and verifying, then I don’t need him.” I changed the subject. “Speaking of Mama, have you called her yet?”

Her answer was a rude snort.

I drew a huge sigh. It was my fault. When Layla and Faison were having marital problems, I accidently mentioned it to Mama. Of course, negative Rhonda jumped on the bandwagon, bad-mouthing and bashing Faison. By the time the couple worked out their issues and salvaged their marriage, Mama was livid. Layla had every right to defend her husband, and the two haven’t spoken since.

“I’ll call Mama if you call Daddy.”

It was my turn to grunt. I gulped down the last of my coffee and glanced at my watch. “Would you look at the time? I better get out of here before I’m late. The boss has been on my ass lately.”

“Ha-ha. You think you’re slick.”

I couldn’t help but laugh because my sister knows me better than anyone.

“Well, cheer up. Your prince is out there.” There was a pause. “Maybe you need to reconsider your decision not to date—”

“Uh-uh, bye, Layla.”

She giggled. “See ya later, Day, and happy birthday!”

“Thanks, sis.” I ended the call and padded through the house and up to my bedroom. I wasn’t reconsidering anything. I’d made my decision about love and I wasn’t settling for anything less.

As I stepped into my room, I stopped in front of a full-length mirror that was mounted to the wall. I turned side-to-side, striking poses. I took in all my womanly curves and smiled. I’m five-foot-eight and in phenomenal shape. I work out at least three times a week, have a small waistline, thick hips and thighs, but I’m far from fat. I also have a generous set of D-cups that look delicious in a Victoria’s Secret bra and have yet to be a victim to the gravitational pull.

I’m cute. Hell, better than cute. I’m a WOW with a brown sugar complexion and long, dark hair. So why am I single? I wish someone could tell me because I don’t understand the problem. Maybe there aren’t any good men left. The ones I meet are broke, between jobs, just got out of jail, don’t have a car, or married. Sometimes I wondered if maybe Mama could be right. Growing up, she used to tell us, “Day…Layla…listen to me when I tell you, there is no such thing as a good man.” She also told us we were stubborn and stupid, and setting ourselves up for years of heartache, and yet, I wasn’t willing to accept that as my truth.

I stepped into the ensuite and moved in front of the vanity mirror. I reached for my mascara and brushed the liquid contents across my lashes. Within seconds my chestnut-colored eyes looked large surrounded by eyelashes that were dark with luminous volume. As I stared at the woman in the mirror, I shook my head because I just didn’t get it. Is there a plague sweeping the country that I’m unaware of? Or maybe it’s just my city, which would be a shame considering I went to a lot of trouble to relocate after my last heartbreak.

Grabbing my MAC lipstick, I puckered and spread my favorite shade of soft pink across my lips, then blew myself a kiss. Yes, I looked that good. However, as I stepped back into my master bedroom, I couldn’t shake the despair I felt as I thought again about being thirty-five and still single.

Happy birthday to me...

I would be celebrating alone. Well, that wasn’t completely true. My sister had invited me to have dinner at her house this evening. I would be the guest of honor and she would make all my favorite dishes. And then I would be forced to watch her and my brother-in-law slobber all over each other, which would only remind me that I didn’t have a man to call my own.

Such a shame because I have a lot to offer. I’m educated with a Bachelor’s in Business Administration with plans to pursue an MBA in the spring.

With a long sigh, I dragged the dull brown cotton t-shirt over my head while I thought about my most recent relationship that lasted all of two weeks.

I had met Blake at the 24-hour gym near my townhouse. He was often there after work just as I was, sometimes a few treadmills away. One evening, he took the one right beside me. We jogged at a reasonable pace to strike up a conversation. The following evening, we went to dinner, and a few more occasions thereafter, until I finally invited him to my place. He worked the night shift at one of the shipyards, so he always left around eleven. I thought it was cute that he spent his evenings with me. However, I should have known that something was going on because if I called him during the day his phone always went straight to voicemail. On weekends, he could never stay overnight, and any time I asked him to take me to lunch he always had an excuse. The dick was good and maybe that’s why I preferred to ignore the signs. But when a wife comes knocking at my door, I don’t care how hooked I was on that D.

Boy, bye!

I moved out the room and back to the vanity mirror to deal with my hair. I reached for my hairbrush, sweeping it up into a hair tie. I prepared one thick braid then twirled it around into a neat bun and secured it in place with another small, black hair tie. With my hair swept away from my face, the diamond studs in my earlobes shimmered. I wear minimal makeup. I’m hoping that if I kept is simple, I might meet a guy who wouldn’t feel intimidated by my beauty and step to me like a man.

Yeah, right.

I slid on a pair of long, green socks, then walked over to the closet where I removed a lightly starched jacket and pants. I slipped my pants on, slid my arms inside my jacket, fastened the buttons, then took a seat on the edge of the bed and reached for my boots.

Loosely laced.

I slid on my foot gear, laced them up.

Tightly laced.

I rose and moved back to the full-length mirror and smiled proudly. The Air Force Battle Uniform looked good on me. The large chevron on the sleeves that proudly signified my rank looked even better.

Senior Master Sergeant Dayana Meeks.

With an about-face, I moved toward the stairs and grinned because I already knew—I looked damn good strutting in green combat boots.