Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,18
this question, I knew that I would be able to tell if she fabricated the truth in any way.
“Ha.” She gave a fake laugh. “That’s an, um, interesting question. I’d have to say…a guilty pleasure of mine is romance books.”
Well, fuck me.
That was the truth, and we both knew it was more revealing than she probably wanted it to be.
“Now that, Sheryl South, I would not have expected,” I mused out loud. “But I get it.”
Her head nodded, as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore that subject any longer. That was a pattern of hers, so I simply moved on.
“How about we sit down and talk terms? Let’s go over non-negotiables, and though we aren’t writing a contract, we can have a standard operating procedure for communication. I’m reading this book, and it talks about how many co-parenting relationships end badly because of communication. Let’s avoid that and get ahead of it is my stance.”
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea,” she replied. “I have the perfect place we can go to do this.”
Sheryl led the way to gather our laptops, changed into some presentable clothes, then we went to the roof, where we were able to sit and spread out on the fake greenery carpet. It was a typical Philadelphia luxury condominium. Sleek furniture, clean, solids and sharp edges. Sterling silver, brown, black, and creams were the color décor, but it suited the lady. London wasn’t quite this chic. There were parts, but it would be an adjustment for her living there.
Maybe.
We had some cooked meals already in the refrigerator. Chicken parmesan and Italian salad. I knew she’d probably gathered I was Italian with Costa for a last name, and she’d be right. She’d also be right that this was my favorite dish and combination of foods.
Instead of continuing our growing list of things we wanted and didn’t want, we decided that we needed to definitely attend parenting classes and we might want to see a counselor for the two of us. I was open to it, and so was Sheryl.
Once I finished and returned to her condo, I turned on the dishwasher and extended my hand to her, so she would grab on to it.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I want you to bounce on top of my cock to work off that delicious food.” I smiled as she allowed me to pull her up.
“Sounds like dessert,” she responded and allowed me to lead her back to the bedroom.
Chapter Seven
Sheryl South
Jacquez and I spent three days in my apartment talking, planning, and fucking. The man had not said one thing about staying at a hotel, nor did he make any moves to leave. Actually, I did not make any moves to hint that he should, which was not like me. My space was mine. It was made and tailored for me, but Jacquez seamlessly folded right into the vibes. He cooked, cleaned up after me when I facilitated the food, and he was quite handy. There was a drip in my bathroom sink. It had been dripping for months, but I never was home to call the super and let him know. The first night, Jacquez saw it and asked if I had a toolbox or kit. Then he proceeded to fix it, as well as the light on my patio. It was out, but really because I broke it. The light attracted the bugs when I just wanted to sit on the patio in peace. One day, I was a tad bit on the testy side, went to swipe at a bug and broke the glass of the light, but left the silver piece in the socket. Due to this, I did not call management, so it was out, but Jacquez fixed this as well.
On our third day, we found a garden, where he proceeded to tell me every single flower, plant, and bush we passed. I was still in shock about his immense knowledge around the science of botany. That third night, he also took me out and we ate at a nice restaurant that was hard to get into.
“How did you get in here at the last minute?” I asked.
“Reservation,” he replied.
“The waiting list is years long,” I told him. “Maxine has been trying to get us in here for a while now. She’s going to be so mad I’m here.”
This made me laugh, because she would only be slightly mad, but more shocked that I was here with Jacquez. Even more stunned