In The Company of My Sistahs Read Free

and Nikki out the door.
    I straightened the couch again, then moved to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I was ready to get my vacation started. Tamara never did bring me my shorts. I went down to the basement and pulled them out the dryer. I double checked the doors and windows to make sure they were secure, then raced back up the steps to grab the phone.
    It was Nadine.
    â€œDid you find it?” I asked.
    â€œNo. I must have thrown it away when I cleaned my room last week.” She sounded frustrated, but I didn’t have time to be feeling sorry for her. Nadine ain’t never bothered to clean her house before, so why start now?
    â€œI don’t know what to tell you,” I said with probably a little less feeling than I should have. Hey, it’s been a long day and my ass is horny.
    â€œI think I might have one at my parents’ house.”
    â€œIn Kansas City?” That was almost a two-hour drive.
    â€œYeah, I’m waiting for them to call me back. If so, I guess I’ll drive there and back tonight and leave for St. Louis in the morning.”
    â€œThat’s fine. Lisa and Michael are spending the night at the boat. She’s getting dicked tonight, so I won’t see her until the morning either. Just meet us at the Waffle House.” I hung up and went to my room to get dressed. Getting some dick didn’t sound like a bad idea.
    I have a hook-up in St. Louis that I visit whenever I’m in town. Vince is a real kind of brotha. What you see is what you get. He lives in one of those old historical homes in the city that is in such bad shape, it needs to be either restored or torn down. He drives on the back of a garbage truck and is broke, but what the hell. I don’t want his money. Just his dick. We met at a nightclub six months ago and just by the way he gyrated his hips I knew he could fuck. Maybe I’ll call him when I get to St. Louis. Maybe I won’t. He knows I’m coming tonight so maybe I’ll wait and see if he calls first.
    Thirty minutes later, I was rolling down the road in my black Camry with Mariah’s new CD blasting through my speakers. I rolled down my window, allowing the warm July breeze to toss my braids. I needed a drink.
    My cell phone rang. I reached for it and noticed that the number had been blocked. When I’m at home I ignore blocked or anonymous callers because nine times out of ten, it’s either a telemarketer or a damn bill collector. Now my cell phone, that’s a different story altogether. The first thing that comes to mind is somebody is playing on my dime.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œYeah, is this Renee Moore?”
    â€œWho wants to know?” I asked with straight sistah girl attitude.
    â€œRicky Johnson’s wife, that’s who.”
    Uh-uh. No the bitch didn’t. She doesn’t know my ass from the damn man on the moon. So how the hell she gonna call me talking crazy?
    â€œ Excuse me? I know you ain’t calling my phone talking slick.” The tone of my voice told her whatever my words didn’t, because she didn’t say shit. “What can I do for you?”
    Finally, she sucked her teeth. “I want to know why my man’s been calling you.”
    â€œWhy don’t you ask your man?”
    â€œI did and he says y’all been discussing business.”
    You know, one thing that burns me up is a lying-ass nigga. First off, I met Ricky’s ass last week at this club that ain’t no more than a juke joint. Now, I ain’t gonna lie. The brotha is fine. Berry black skin, wavy hair, tall, and one helluva dresser. I didn’t waste any time getting his attention and before the end of the night, we had exchanged cell phone numbers. Now I might not remember everything that slick mothafucka told me, but one thing I do know, he told me his ass wasn’t married.
    I rudely laughed in her ear. “Okay, so if he already gave you an answer, then why the hell you