What The Heart Desires Read Free

for you.” So he didn’t just rent this car, he owns it. I’m thinking.
    At the time I didn’t realize that the guy thought I was a prostitute waiting to be picked up, after all, what woman would walk on the Westside highway if she didn’t have serious business to transact or she had lost her mind?
    “I had a bad day,” I said to him straightening my skirt. “I’m a working girl, but just not the kind you’re talking about.”
    He leans to his left and says, “What’s the matter little lady, you didn’t make enough money to satisfy your pimp?” He wasn’t being demeaning, he appeared concerned about me. He reached into his pocket and took out a roll of hundred dollar bills, “Here take it. Consider it a gift.”
    “I can’t take that. I’m not a prostitute.”
    “I know you’re a working girl,” he says with a smirk, not understanding, or he was too drunk for anything to register. “You can take it, it doesn’t mean anything to me. Maybe you can find some use for the money. Leaning over in my direction he places the wad of money on my lap. Looking down, I furrowed my brow, then my horrified sharp gaze flicks back to him.
    “Don’t worry, I don’t want you to suck my dick or fuck you in the ass, or anything like that,” he says with a drunken tone to his voice. “But the way I feel I couldn’t get it up for you anyway.” He glances at me with his big blue eyes and he sees the frown on my face. “You’re pretty and have a great figure under that blue suit, but I’m just not in the mood.”
    “I wouldn’t do that thing you said about my ass anyway, and besides you’re a strange man, and you’re drunk, and you could have any number of things wrong with you,” I say to him taking offense at his conversation.
    “What’s wrong with me?” He questions.
    “Nothing. You’re handsome for a white guy, but I’m not into white men.”
    “Well, what kind of working girl are you? You can’t make any money unless you’re willing to suck dicks white and black, and the other stuff with your ass. If you plan on making any kind of money you can’t be particular.”
    He pours himself another drink. “What’s wrong with white guys anyway?” He drinks his drink in one gulp. “Why don’t you want to fuck me?” he says his voice
    “You’re not listening to me. I’m not a prostitute. You are a handsome man and I would fuck you but like you said you are too drunk.” I’m trying to humor him because he has self-esteem problems. I understand that because I’m having a few of those myself. But I’m not trying to self-medicate like him. And unlike him, I don’t want to forget what Troy did to me and to our perfect relationship. Well, I thought it was perfect.
    The limo slows down and stops at the red light. He takes his drink and moves in the seat next to me. He’s making me uncomfortable being that close to me. I lean away from him. My scan of his body gives an incomplete picture of him. Now I can see his eyes, they are a mixture of lavender and blue. His body is muscular firm and poised, and his gaze is on me as if studying me too. I search around for words to explain to him why I wouldn’t have sex with him and I can’t find a reason, except maybe he drinks too much. I turn facing him, his eyes are on me, but his mind is somewhere else.
    “I’m having a problem with my boyfriend,” and I stop...he glances at me as if he wouldn’t believe me anyway, so I just say, “Can you have your driver take me home?”
    “Where do you live?”
    “I live...I had forgotten that I didn’t live there anymore. “Take me to Brooklyn across the bridge and drop me at the Atlantic Avenue subway and I’ll get home.”
    “No. Let me take you home. I have nothing to do and I don’t want to go to my apartment, there is no one there waiting for me. Not unless you want to spend the night with me.” He’s waiting for an answer.
    “I said I’m not a prostitute and I’m not about to go to a strange