Diva Diaries Read Free

her cheeks. She didn’t want to cry. What if he showed up right now? She would look terrible, with bloodshot eyes and a runny nose, and on top of that she was messing up her silk pillow covers. She realized, though, she wasn’t crying because of what Tony was probably out there doing, but because of what Chrasey had said. Just hearing that made her feel really low.
    When it came to Tony, she could barely understand herself. It wasn’t like Dakota wasn’t well put together. Dakota was in great shape for her age. She was five-feet-five, 125 pounds, with just enough titties and ass—not too much and not too little. She had a pretty, dark-chocolate complexion, with off-black long hair reaching about a quarter of the way down her back, and brown eyes. Her high cheekbones brought character to her face, but her full lips and slanted eyes were what actually made Dakota beautiful. However, Ms. Dakota Watkins wasn’t all looks—she had brains, too. She was the top publicist at her PR firm, and the youngest female on her level. She had several high-profile clients, was making over $95,000 a year, had a nicely furnished loft in a chic area of Manhattan, drove a 2004 purple BMW, and had what would be considered a great life. Despite all that she had accomplished, her love life overall was still chaotic.
    Here she was, letting Tony ruin another Friday night for her. Regardless of how many times she asked herself why, the only answer she could come up with was because she allowed it. Feeling disgusted with herself, for lying in an empty bed wearing lingerie, she finally got up and threw on an oversized night shirt. She took her stereo remote control and hit PLAY. Keisha Coles’s single, “I Just Want It to Be Over,” seeped from her Bose wave speakers as she wrapped her hair and got ready for bed. She had just put her Razac Perfect for Perms hair crème away and finished tying a scarf on her head when her phone rang. She wasn’t sure if it was Chrasey calling back, or Tony finally calling.
    â€œHello.” Dakota tried to use her sexy-yet-upset voice.
    â€œHey, miss,” a male voice responded from the other end of the phone.
    â€œWho is this?”
    â€œIt’s David—you busy?”
    David was this “guy friend” of hers. They had been cool for some time; they had worked together a few years ago and never broke contact. A few years back, they’d had a few “indiscretions” between them, but they now had one of those “mature friendships.”
    After a few minutes of conversation, he was able to hear in her voice that she wasn’t at her best and offered to come over and cheer her up. She was hesitant at first, but then he offered to come make a late-night meal. Full of emotion, anger, and lust, she accepted his offer. Fully aware that she had no clue if Tony was going to just pop up eventually or not, she left her night shirt on, combed her hair back down, put on some lip gloss, and waited to see who would arrive first.

2
    About That Time
    T he Burken antique clock on the wall read 6:30 P.M., and Jordan was sitting at her black marble desk trying to finish up a project that she had given a Monday morning deadline. She was quickly scanning over the forms and notes, highlighting and marking comments down as she went along. She usually took more time with her cases, but time had flown and she couldn’t pull a late-nighter, not tonight.
    It was Friday, and the day before her six-year wedding anniversary. Her husband had called about three hours earlier and informed her that he had a special night planned to start off their romantic weekend. He told her to make sure she was home no later than 9:30, which at that time was giving her more than enough time to finish up, so she’d promised she would.
    It was still only 6:45, and she knew she had time, but she wanted to get home even earlier to take a shower and change clothes and still be ready by