Read Online Bad as in Good by J. Lovelace - Free Book Online Page B

your phone, girl?”
    â€œNo one important.”
    â€œMust be important enough. The first time you got a text, you were lit up like a Christmas tree. Now the calls are coming.”
    I waved it off and shrugged my shoulders. “It’s nothing, girl. I’m here to focus on you.”
    Loraine sat up. “Listen, the last thing I wanna be doing right now is focusing on my problems. You got a new man or something? Who’s blowing you up like this?”
    I took a deep breath and stared at the wall. “Tariq.”
    â€œWhat?” Loraine jumped up and put her finger back in my face. “Tariq, who?”
    â€œYou know who I’m talkin’ about.”
    â€œMarried Tariq? What’s he saying?”
    â€œYes, married Tariq. He’s not saying much.”
    â€œWell, he must be sayin’ enough ’cause you couldn’t stop smiling when he first texted you. What’s up, girl? You holdin’ out? You and Tariq messin’ around again.”
    â€œHe showed up the other night. I tried to resist him but…” I rubbed the throbbing skin between my eyes and then sighed. “It’s nothing, though.”
    â€œIs he still married?”
    â€œWe never had the chance to discuss that.”
    Loraine stood quiet. I expected her to go through this entire spiel about how irresponsible I was being and how bad this was going to end. Instead, she quietly sat back down and shrugged her shoulders. “It is what it is then, I guess.”
    â€œThat’s it? You ain’t got nothing else to say?”
    â€œGirl, I got my own problems to deal with. If this makes you happy, then do you.”

CHAPTER 11
Tariq
Three years ago…
    I reached a turning point in my life. By the time I graduated from college, I had a plan for myself: find a job, develop a career, find a woman, and get married—all by age thirty. At twenty-eight, I was well on my way to marrying my woman with my career in tote. By twenty-nine, shit changed and my only goals were to make money and make moves. I lost interest in finding a suitable mate for myself; I was only interested in my next fix. I denied the pain that Deja had caused me by using easy women to cure the hurt; but easy women were only Band-Aids—nothing to heal me of my ailment truly. Still, I used them and abused them, and left no excuses.
    When I met Simoné, I was impressed by her drive. Initially I was solely impressed with how tight her jeans fit and how intently the sun highlighted the small crevices of her mocha skin—the small of her back, below the calves of her long legs, and the folds of her eyelids that overlapped round eyes sitting on top of her taut cheek bones while peeking through her long, black bangs. When she spread her soft lips and said her name, “Simoné, pronounced See-Mo-Nay but spelled like Simone with an accent mark,” I smirked.
    â€œI’m Riq,” I whispered in her ear as she touched my thigh in the back of a crowded soul food restaurant. Although the room waspacked with hungry ol’ fools looking to pack their faces wit’ collard greens and cornbread, I was only lookin’ to pack my face with the moistness that sat between the thighs of the pretty mocha chick that sat in the back booth.
    â€œHow ’bout we get out of here? It’s too packed in here.” She knew what she wanted and went after it. I recognized I was in trouble when I realized that I remembered her name. I was blinded by her bright smile and plump breasts that sat on top of her table. I should’ve seen that I was falling victim to the same characteristics she shared with Deja. Her sultry voice, beautiful eyes, and soft lips all reminded me of a love I tried to forget. Although I had yet to taste those lips, I could tell they’d be trouble once my lips got a hold of ’em.
    I stood up and grabbed her hand and led her to my car. Claiming her before I was given her last