out after the stunt he had just pulled. I was steaming hot, but I wasn’t afraid anymore. I only wanted to get the talk over with. After that, we could go our separate ways. I didn’t utter one word as he drove on Interstate 285.
Blunt poured his heart out the entire time until he pulled into the parking lot of The Ritz-Carlton off Peachtree Street downtown. He removed the keys from the ignition, opened the car door, and treaded to the front entrance of the hotel. I shook my head in dismay because I really didn’t want to go up in a room with him.
A few minutes later, he came to the car and told me to get out. He grabbed a hold of my hand once I stepped out of the car. An older Caucasian in his mid fifties came out and valet parked my Benz.
We strutted inside the building of the elegant hotel and took the elevator up to the second floor. Once inside the Presidential Suite, I strolled over to the bed. I put one foot under me and let the other foot dangle from the bed.
My eyes began to inspect the entire room and its beauty. The living room area was nice with a high definition flat panel television that I estimated to be at least 70 inches. There was a formal dining area with seating for six. French doors opened to the executive study and the bedroom suite had a luxury walk in shower.
Blunt came over and pulled me up, and I silently followed him into the bathroom. I turned the temperature knob on the Jacuzzi and ran him some bath water. He undressed in front of me, stepped over into the Jacuzzi, and submerged his body under water. I picked up a small towel and lathered it with soap. I dropped to my knees and gently bathe him.
“Damn, baby, I missed you. Happy Birthday.” He let out a long sigh and relaxed.
“Thanks and I missed you too. You didn’t have to make me ashamed by going to the restaurant confronting my classmate. All of that was unnecessary,” I griped while washing his back and shoulders.
“I ain’t tryna hear nothin’ ‘bout that nigga,” he said with an attitude and sank his body deeper under the tiny bubbles.
“Well, I can certainly change subjects.” I soaped up the towel and continued to rub his back. “It seems to me that you want your cake and ice cream too. You have some explaining to do. I want to know about Luscious and Mika. And you need to tell me about the two babies that you have had since we’ve been together. When were you going to tell me about this whole other life you’ve been living?” I smacked him across the face with the towel.
“Ow, Mo! That shit hurt.”
“The shit that you do hurts too,” I said, choking up.
“I know it does, baby girl, and I'm sorry. Fa real, none of it was supposed to happen that way. I know I fucked up, but I was gon’ tell you ‘bout my kids when the time was right.”
I stood to my feet and pressed my finger against the side of his face. “Oh, really? When was the time going to be right for you to tell me that you’ve been sticking your dick in other bitches?”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
“That’s all you have to say? Sorry didn’t do it, you did. Blunt, you don’t want a good woman, you want a street skeezer. Now, either you’re going to call both of those hoes and tell them that it’s over between y’all, or it’s going to be over between us for good,” I demanded.
“Baby, it ain't even that serious. I’m done dealing wit’ both of ‘em,” he claimed.
“Yeah, right." Sarcasm coated my reply.
“Fa real, Mo." He sat up and reached for my hand, but I snatched it away and stood up to my feet.
I frowned down and gave him a look like, Boy please! If I believed Blunt, I believed that cows could fly.
“Call both of them and put the phone on speaker so I can hear you tell them it's over, or you can forget about us ever getting back together.”
“Shawdy, you trippin'. That's some high school shit. And while you're checkin' my dirty clothes, I need to be checkin' yours. You got all sexy to go and meet up wit’ another nigga. How I kno’ that y’all ain’t fuckin’?”
I knew that he was only trying to flip the script. I