Full Figured 14, page 3
I needed my sister.
Chapter Three
Brooke
My phone rang. I picked it up off the bar, and seeing that it was my sister calling, I answered. “Hello.”
“Hey. Are you busy?” Brittany asked. I could tell by the sound of her voice that something was wrong.
“Pouring a glass of wine. What’s going on?” I said, picking up my glass and heading over to the sofa.
“I don’t know. Today at work was just . . . exhausting, I guess,” Brittany told me. “I had a student take her clothes off, and then we got stuck in the elevator.”
“I understand. And what else happened?” I knew there was more to this than her just having a bad day at work. My sister dealt with bad kids all the time, and when emergency situations went down, she was in her element. Not saying that what she did was easy, because that would be far from the truth. But my instincts were telling me that something else was bothering her.
“Duane was in a bad mood. He’s been in a bad mood a lot lately, Brooke. It’s like I can’t do anything right. I know he’s under a lot of pressure at work, but so am I, and he doesn’t seem to understand that,” Brittany explained.
I knew I had to choose my words carefully. My sister had a tendency to become quite defensive when it came to her man. Despite her nonstop roller coaster of a relationship with Duane, she seemed to think he was the greatest thing in the world. I wasn’t impressed. I had learned a long time ago that Brittany loved being in love. She was rarely single.
“Have you told him how you feel?” I asked, knowing that she probably hadn’t. My twin was also very non-confrontational when she was in a relationship. She constantly read books on dating, love, and relationships, and she believed in doing whatever it took to be the best possible mate. The problem was her boyfriends didn’t have that same energy when it came to her. Hence, she was often left feeling frustrated, depleted, doubtful and, when things ended, lonely.
“No. I haven’t really had a chance. Tonight he walked out before I could really say anything.” Brittany went on to tell me everything that had transpired between her and Duane prior to her calling me. I fought the urge to interrupt. Finally, she asked, “Am I tripping?”
I took a long swallow of my drink before answering her. “No, Britt, you’re not tripping. Why do you always immediately think that you’re doing something wrong?”
“Because I’m trying to see my situation from all sides, not just mine.”
“I get that, but it seems like you’re the only one doing that right now. You’re always the one giving and trying and doing. Hell, you sent him a text and told him you were working late. He shoulda been the one asking if you wanted him to pick something up for dinner. He’s a grown-ass man, not your child. And that’s your bed, not his, and if you don’t want him dirtying it up, that’s your right,” I told her. “You know what you need to do?”
“What? Call and ask him to come back over so we can talk?”
Instead of tossing my phone across the room, like I felt like doing, I took another gulp of wine and said, “No, Brittany. You don’t need to call his ass. You need to give him a chance to miss you. Don’t talk to him or text him for a couple of days. Show him how important you are by removing your presence.”
“You think?” Brittany asked.
“I know,” I told her. “Trust me on this. Treat him the same way he’s been treating you and see what happens.”
“Yeah. You’re right. That’s what I need to do,” Brittany murmured. “Thanks, Sissy.”
“Anytime.” I laughed, hoping my advice hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, as it had done in the past.
“Where are you this week?”
“Believe it or not, I’m actually home. Well, at least until Sunday I am.” As soon as the words escaped my mouth, I regretted saying them. I knew what Brittany was about to say next.
Right on cue, she asked, “What? You’re home? Does Mom know?”
“She does not,” I answered. “And you don’t need to tell her.”
“I won’t,” Brittany said.
“I mean it, Britt,” I said firmly. “I was gonna tell her, but when I went to work this morning, I found out I have to go back out Sunday morning. I don’t have time to drive down and see her this week, and you know she would be mad if she knew I was home and didn’t stop in. So, if she doesn’t know I’m here, she won’t have a reason to be upset about me not coming to see her. So don’t say anything.”
My sister was much closer to my mother than I was. Mainly because they were very similar in everything, from the way they dressed to the way they thought. They were both mild mannered, modest, and what I considered overly accommodating to others. My mother was a stay-at-home wife and mother who doted on my father and catered to his every need, but she also had been the same way to us while we were growing up. Brittany adored her. I was more like my dad, who worked hard as an insurance agent and took great care of our family.
“I’m not going to say anything. I promise. But—”
“No buts,” I interrupted, stopping her before she could offer a rebuttal. “My schedule is full, and I can’t make a three-hour drive just to have to turn around and come right back. I have to get everything done in two days that I thought I was going to have time to do over the next few weeks,” I told her. “Hair, nails, feet, brows. My car has to be detailed, and I haven’t had a massage in ages.”
“And you think all of that’s more important than seeing your mother, who you haven’t seen in ages? I mean, I’m just saying,” Brittany said.
“As long as you don’t say anything to her . . .” I got up and went to pour myself more wine. Noticing the time on the microwave, I said, “Listen, I gotta go. Remember what I told you. Give Duane a chance to miss you. Don’t even think about him anymore tonight. Stop being so pressed. You are the prize, not him, and if he doesn’t appreciate that, then let his ass go and find someone who does.”
“I’m not going to say anything. And you act like finding a new guy is as simple as walking down the street.” Brittany sighed.
“It is. I’ve met guys while walking down the street.” I laughed. “Love you. Talk to you later. And do not say anything to Mom.”
“Love you too,” I barely heard her say before I ended the call.
* * *
An hour later, I was standing on the thirteenth floor of the Downtown Westin, knocking on a door. When it opened, there was Mitch, a pharmaceutical rep that I’d met a few months earlier, looking even more handsome than I remembered. The way he smiled at me let me know that he was just as excited as I was about what the night had in store for us. The last time we’d hooked up had been monumental, and when he’d sent me the random text telling me he was in town for a few days and inviting me over to have a drink, I’d accepted.
“I was starting to wonder if you were going to show.”
“Do you think I would stand you up?” I winked.
“Don’t act like it ain’t hit or miss with you.”
He opened the door wider, and I entered the room. I glanced into the bathroom area and saw a few toiletries on the sink. A few suits were in the closet, along with a pair of dress shoes and Nike running shoes. I stepped farther into the room and saw an open briefcase, a laptop, and some papers lying out on the bed. A discarded pizza box was on the dresser; and an empty bottle of beer, on the nightstand. It was clear that he’d been working when I arrived. I put my wristlet, keys, and phone on top of the television.
“You really thought I wasn’t going to show, huh?” I laughed.
“Yeah, but I’m glad you did.” He looked me up and down as he wrapped his arms around my body, and then he pulled me to him. He went to kiss me, but I tilted my head, and instead of his lips meeting mine, they ended up on my neck. Kissing was something I didn’t do, especially with men that were what I considered “run-ins,” like Mitch. Those whom I would “run into” when I felt like it. Unlike Brittany, I wasn’t trying to be “booed up” or tied down. I enjoyed my freedom and the flexibility of my life. I lived life on my terms and played by my own rules, and whoever couldn’t deal with it wasn’t my problem.
“You gonna clear the bed?” I moaned. As much as I enjoyed Mitch sucking on my collarbone, I was ready to get down to business.
“Oh, yeah.” Mitch released me and went to put the items away. “I was waiting to order a bottle of wine from room service when you got here. Or we can just go down to the bar and grab a drink, then come back up.”
“I’m fine,” I said and slipped my shirt over my head, exposing the black lace bra holding my triple D breasts in place.
“You damn right you are.” Mitch’s eyes widened, and he tossed the papers he was holding onto the floor. He went to reach for me, but I held my hand up to stop him. We stared at one another as I slowly slipped out of my short black skirt. His gaze traveled from my lace panties to the black leather boots I kept on, and he whispered, “I swear you are sexy as fuck.”
I placed my hands on my thick hips and shrugged. “I know.”
Again, Mitch reached for me; this time there was no stopping him. He pushed me onto the bed, and I slipped off my bra and caressed my nipples as I watched him take off his clothes. He had a nice build, not athletic, but he wasn’t pudgy, either. By the time he took off his sweatpants, I was moist and ready, and judging by the bulge in his boxer briefs, he was too. He stepped out of them and the sight of his hardened manhood made me even hornier than I already was. He eased on top of me, cupped my breasts, and took each one into his mouth. My back arched, and I opened my legs wider, grinding against him so he could feel my wetness. His hands found their way between my thighs, and he teased my clitoris briefly before putting his fingers into me, causing me to gasp. As incredible as his fingers felt, I wanted something else.
“Where’s the condom?” I whispered.
“Wait. Not yet,” he said. “I want to taste you.”
I slid up a bit and looked down at him. “No. Just get the rubber and come on.”
He exhaled and got up. A few moments later, he returned, gold wrapper in hand, and said, “Happy?”
“Not yet,” I said, taking the condom from him and opening it. I seductively slid it on his thick penis, then pulled him back on top of me. He maneuvered himself and, in one swift motion, plunged into my welcoming canal. His grip tightened around my leather-bound legs, and the spikes of my heels dug into his chest, which seemed to be a turn-on for him. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the rhythm of his stroke game.
“This shit is incredible,” he said as his hands slid down and pushed my thighs open wider.
“Is that all you got?” I asked him, wrapping my legs around his waist and meeting his thrusts. “Harder. Faster.”
Mitch did as I commanded, and tried his best not to climax, but the pulsation of my inner walls was no match for him. “Oh shit.”
“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, my hands holding on to his shoulders. “Yesss.”
We came together, our bodies hot and sticky from sweat.
He rolled over and panted. “Damn. That was even better than last time.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I sat up and patted his chest before standing.
“Where are you going?” Mitch frowned at me.
“Home,” I answered, locating my bra and panties, which were on the floor near the foot of the bed.
“Man, don’t leave. You just got here.”
“You know I’m not doing that.” I laughed as I put my panties on.
“Just stay for a little while,” he pleaded.
“No can do. I gotta go. But I really enjoyed myself.” I snapped my bra and twisted it around my back.
“Enough to come back tomorrow?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, pulling on my skirt and shirt.
“I guess we’ll link up next time we’re both in the same area, huh?”
“Text me and see.” I leaned over and pressed my nose against his forehead. I grabbed my items off the television and waved before walking out the door.
When I got back to my luxury condo, I took a long, hot bubble bath, and when I climbed into my comfortable bed, I was sore, satisfied, and smiling. It had been a great night.
Chapter Four
Brittany
I tried my best to take my sister’s advice and put Duane out of my mind, but I couldn’t. The following day, he didn’t reach out to me, and I didn’t reach out to him. I was so busy at work that I didn’t have time to think about him, but when I got home, I realized it. Then I got worried. It wasn’t that I was pressed; it was more like I was concerned. I watched a little television, then tossed and turned for a couple of hours, hoping he would call or send me a good night text, but he didn’t, and my worry turned to anger. I thought about my mother and all the relationship experts who said never to go to bed angry at your mate. So I reached out to him.
When he didn’t answer my call, I sent a simple “Good night, baby” text and waited for his response. I was tired and unable to keep my eyes open and fell asleep. I kept waking every so often and checking my phone, but there were only a few notifications from Facebook and Instagram, none of which were from Duane. It was clear that he wasn’t as concerned about my having a good night as I was about him.
“Maybe he was asleep,” I said to my friend Kyra, whom I called on the way to work the next morning. She was usually a little more supportive of and optimistic about my relationship than my sister.
“Maybe he was. But if that’s the case, then he should’ve responded when he woke up,” Kyra replied, not giving me the supportive answer I was hoping for. “Stop making excuses for him. He’s the one in the wrong, not you. Duane’s a nice guy and all, but you spoil him and let him get away with way too much.”
“I’m not making excuses, Kyra.” I sighed as I pulled onto the interstate and eased my Camry into the bumper-to-bumper traffic, which was sure to make me late. “Damn it. The traffic is horrible.”
“It always is. People can’t drive, especially in the rain,” Kyra commented. “I’ve been sitting in the same spot for, like, fifteen minutes.”
I turned my windshield wipers to a faster speed and leaned my head against the window. “I swear, I’m ready for this day to be over already.”
“Your day will get better, Britt. Come on, it’s almost the weekend, and we’re going to paint night,” Kyra said, sounding so cheerful that instead of making me feel better, she irritated me. I’d been so excited when we finally got tickets to the popular “Trap and Paint” event, but now I didn’t even want to go.
“Yeah.” I sighed.
“Brittany, you can’t flake on me. We been planning this for months. I know you’re in your feelings, but you’re gonna have to perk up.”
I was just about to respond when my phone beeped with another call. For a second, I became excited, thinking it might be Duane. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was my mother.
“Kyra, let me call you back. It’s my mom.”
“Tell her I said hello. Call me later. And I’m with Brooke. Don’t even stress about Duane,” Kyra said. “Bye.”
I clicked over and greeted my mother. “Hey, Ma.”
“Hey, Britt. Happy Friday,” she said, sounding pleasant.
“Come on. Go,” I yelled to the car in front of me.
“Who are you yelling at?” Mama asked.
“Traffic,” I said.
“Well, I’m sure your yelling isn’t gonna make the folks drive any faster.” She laughed. “They can’t hear you.”
She was right, and I knew she was trying to be funny, but I didn’t see any humor in it. I remained quiet.
“Britt, you okay?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Ma. I’m just running late. And it’s raining, and I’m irritated,” I told her.
“Well, take a deep breath and think positive thoughts and say positive things.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Well, maybe this will make you feel better. I’ve decided what I want to do for my birthday,” Mama said excitedly.
“What’s that, Ma?” I asked.
“A girls’ day at the spa and then a photo shoot. Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
A day at the spa didn’t sound too bad. But taking pictures with my mother and sister was the last thing I wanted to do. When we were younger, it was easier, because Mama would dress Brooke and me alike, and all we had to do was pose and smile. Even then, my sister seemed to outshine me: her eyes seemed slightly brighter, and her smile bigger. People swore they couldn’t see the differences between us, but I would stare at each and every photograph and see them. When we became teenagers, we were allowed to pick our own family-photo outfits, as long as they were in the same color scheme. Of course, Brooke’s outfit was always more fashionable, and she stood out. She always seemed to be in the spotlight, and I had no desire to compete. Brooke loved pictures; it was obvious if you looked at her selfie-filled social media pages. But I doubted that a color-coordinated photo shoot with our mother was something she was interested in now.
“Did you tell Brooke this?” I asked.
“Not yet. I haven’t talked to her in over a week. Have you spoken to her?”
“Uh, just through text,” I lied.
“She’s probably halfway across the country, in a different time zone. Hopefully, I can catch up with her this weekend,” Mama said. “Oh, and I was thinking that maybe you and Duane may want to take some pictures at the same time. I know y’all were talking about getting engaged, so it would be perfect timing.”
“I don’t think so, Mama,” I told her.
“Why not? Oh, Lord, what’s happened now?” she asked.
