My Man's Best Friend

Book 1: My Man's Best Friend

by Tresser Henderson

Genres: African American; African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; Women's Fiction

Synopsis

All Kea ever wanted was for someone to truly love her. She thought she’d found the man of her dreams in Jaquon, but sitting home waiting for him every night, she realizes she’s found a man whose infidelity knows no boundaries.

Derrick catches his high-maintenance girlfriend, Zacariah, cheating once again, and finally sees that he should have never given her a second chance after her first affair.

When Derrick breaks up with Zacariah, he rushes to Jaquon’s house for support from his best friend. Kea is there alone, and before they know it, their mutual pity party turns into some intense passion.

Knowing their first time should have been the last, the two of them can’t help but start a smoking hot affair. Zacariah’s not having it, though. When she discovers the two of them in bed together, she’s determined to get revenge against the woman she believes stole Derrick from her.

Zacariah plans to crash a party at Derrick’s house, but she’s armed with more than just the news of the affair. The bombshell truth that she’s prepared to reveal about Derrick and Kea could be more than any of them are prepared to handle.

Release date: July 26, 2016

Publisher: Urban Renaissance

Print pages: 288

Sample

As soon as I walked up on the porch of my parents’ house I knew this was not going to be a good visit. I made the mistake of bringing Zacariah with me. I don’t know what I was thinking, especially since she looked like she was going to a strip club to perform in her barely-there cotton top and short denim shorts clipping her butt cheeks. I knew it was warm, but damn, did she have to dress as close to naked as she could get?

She whined, “It’s too hot. Why did we have to stop by anyway? It ain’t like you don’t talk to her on the phone,” saying it like it stung her tongue.

I finally turned and looked at her, thinking, Will you please just shut the hell up for five minutes?

She rolled her eyes saying, “Don’t be looking at me all crazy. You know I don’t like coming over here anyway. Your mama doesn’t like me, so I don’t know why you insist on bringing me with you. I’m not going to pretend everything is cool between the two of us because you know that ain’t me.”

“Would you please be quiet? Like I told you in the car, we were in the neighborhood, and I wanted to see how my mother was doing. If you want to go back and sit in the hot car, go right ahead,” I said, pointing in the direction of my automobile.

“Fine! Give me the keys,” she said holding her hand out.

“For what?”

“Because I’m going to turn the air conditioner on. It’s hot, and I’m not about to sweat these curls out on my head,” she said, pointing to the spirals brushing her shoulders that she just had done at the beauty shop.

To avoid anything else with her, I reached in my pocket and handed her my keys. She popped her chewing gum and stepped off the porch.

“And hurry up because I don’t have all day.”

I shook my head watching her strut away. With her I knew I couldn’t say anything because it would just lead to an argument. I wanted so bad to tell her, “You can sit under the tree until I get back,” because I didn’t want her burning my gas up. Was she not aware of the price of gas these days? Come to think about it, she probably didn’t know since I was always filling her ride up for her.

I don’t know how our relationship ended up here. It’s been four years, and we’re going at each other’s throat about every little thing. In the beginning, things between us were good. That was, until I found out she cheated on me. I’ve had a hard time trusting anything she did and anything that came out of her mouth after that. She told me it would never happen again, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to believe her. Zacariah only cares about herself.

How I fell for her still astounds me. We met at church. I was attending morning service with Mama, and she was with her best friend Essence. I know that sounds crazy, but Zacariah did attend church. Her smile captivated me, but her body called out to me. My mama raised me to treat women with respect, and I try to, but I’m still a man.

When I saw Zacariah looking the picture of beauty standing five foot three with her coffee-colored skin and a body that made men whip their heads around, I had to speak. Once I got up close and personal, I saw her small waist and a bootie that made you want to smack your mama. Not that I would ever smack my mama because she was the woman I loved most in my life. Plus, I wanted to live. But Zacariah was slammin’. I must have been blinded by her smile. No. I think it was her hips that hypnotized me. Those hips are what got me hooked as they rocked back and forth on my Johnson the first time we ever had sex, and I have been addicted to her ever since.

It only took a couple of months to find out Zacariah’s true colors. They say opposites attract, and it couldn’t be truer in our case. I’m more of the laid-back, reserved type of guy, where Zacariah is loud and disingenuous. Her attitude kicked in like a tornado dropping down on a sleeping town. She turned into the most snobbish person I had ever met. I still can’t understand how I didn’t see this sooner.

Zacariah turned her nose up at so many people, especially the ones who do not fit into her category of slim, lovely, stylish, and established. By established, I mean having money. And I didn’t mean her own money. I mean somebody else’s hard earned cash. Who else was going to keep her nails and hair done all the time? She never pays her bills on time, but she always looks like a million dollars wherever she goes. She chooses getting her hair done over keeping the electricity on in our home. Selfish, which is what describes the woman I fell in love with, and stupid is what you can call me.

Shaking my head in frustration, I opened the screen door to my parents’ home and walked in. Cigarette smoke hit me in the face as soon as I stepped in. I waved my hand hoping I could bring some fresh air to my nostrils, but it didn’t work.

“Daddy, you need to quit that bad habit,” I said looking at him playing chess with one of his old buddies.

“And you need to stop telling me what I need to be doing, son. I’m a grown man in case you forgot.”

“I know, Pops, but in case you forgot, cigarettes kill. Secondhand smoke is just as bad, and Mama doesn’t need to be inhaling this toxic smoke.”

He looked up at me, peeking over the black-rimmed glasses hanging on the tip of his nose. Steadily puffing on his cancer stick he said, “Your mama isn’t complaining.”

“Pops, Mama has been trying to get you to quit for over twenty years.”

“And she still with me. She must not have too much of a problem with it, or maybe it’s the way I put it down on her,” he said, eyeing me again with a devilish grin.

That was my cue to leave the room. Pops knew what to say to get me out of his face. I held up both hands, smiled knowing there was no reason to argue with him, and went looking for Mama.

I went into the kitchen where I knew she would be. That short walk brought back great memories of me growing up in this house. I pictured dinner around the table with home cooked meals, and holidays when family would come over to celebrate the season, and nights when Mama snuggled next to me when I was little, talking to me about how I could be anything I wanted to be as my eyelids got heavy with sleep. I smiled as I remembered my wonderful upbringing as I moved closer to the sweet smell of Mama baking something.

When I entered, she was washing up some dishes. I felt like every time I came here she was doing something. She never stopped, and her house was proof of her impeccable efforts. Lucky for me, she instilled those same cleanliness habits in me too.

“Hey, Ma,” I said giving her a peck on the cheek.

“Well, hey, baby. What brings you over this way?”

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I would stop by to see how you and Pops were doing.”

“Well, it’s a nice surprise,” she smiled, drying her hands off on her apron. She came over to me and wrapped her arms around me.

“What was that for?”

“Is there something wrong with wanting to hug my only son?”

“Never,” I said smiling. “I see you cut your hair.” Her short cut took off at least five years from her age. Not that Mama needed time removed. For fifty-two, Mama looked great. Her skin was flawless, her smile was bright, and her energetic spirit made people think she was in her thirties.

Bringing her hand to her head, she rubbed her hair saying, “I like it too. It’s so easy to maintain. I thought about coloring it because I got some gray coming in, but I decided to let the gray show.”

“It looks good.”

“Thank you, baby. Go ahead and sit down at the table and let me fix you a glass of tea. Are you hungry? I got some leftover meatloaf from last night and a cake in the oven. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

“No, I’m good, Mama. I just had something to eat with Zacariah.”

“Um,” she said in that motherly way, letting me know she didn’t like her. “Is she with you now?”

“She’s outside.”

“I guess she too scared to come in.”

“Mama, she knows you don’t like her.”

“And she ain’t lying.”

“Mama.”

“Son, I told you before I don’t care too much for that girl. She’s disrespectful, loud, and sometimes just straight up ghetto.”

“Mama.”

“And I know you’re with her, but I wish you would leave her alone. You should’ve left her when she cheated on you the first time, and I say first time because there’s going to be a second, that’s if she hasn’t cheated on you again already. She proved then she’s not to be trusted,” Mama said, setting the glass of ice tea in front of me.

“But that’s for us to work out. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but I know what I’m doing. Plus, I love her.”

“Right now, you are lusting over that girl with all them breasts and tail hanging out all the time. I can tell she’s a freak.”

Sipping on my tea, Mama’s words caught me off guard, and I almost spit the tea halfway across the kitchen.

“You okay, baby?”

“I’m fine. I’m just wondering what you know about freaks?”

Her eyebrows arched, and I knew then I had put my foot in my mouth. I should have left the subject alone.

“Son, I may be old. Let me rephrase that. I’m not old. I’m mature, and I know a whole lot about freaking, which is why I can recognize a freak when I see one.”

I wanted to rip my ears off my head and stuff them somewhere deep so I wouldn’t have to hear about my mother being a freak. No son ever wanted the words “freak” and “Mama” in the same sentence. It is hard enough when my parents get all lovey-dovey with each other. Of course, I’d frown, and they would laugh and say, “How do you think you got here?” Everything in my stomach would want to come back up. No child wanted to know their parents had a love life of any sorts. Especially the type where freaking was involved.

“Okay, enough about that, Mama,” I said laughing as did she.

“Look at my baby boy getting uncomfortable with his mother.”

“It’s just the topic of conversation, Mama. Can we change the subject? Let’s talk about how you and Pop have been doing. Are the two of you making it okay?”

“We’re doing good. Your father is working some, and I’m still getting my disability, so we’re making it. It’s just the two of us, so we don’t need much.”

“If you need any money, Mama, you know I got you.”

“I know, baby, but we’re doing fine. God is taking really good care of us.”

I nodded in agreement. That’s when I heard a knock at the door and Pops said, “Come in.”

I knew it was Zacariah. Mama gave me that look, and then went over to the oven to check her cake. Zacariah spoke to Pops, and then came into the kitchen where Mama and I were.

“Hello, Ms. Shirley.”

“Hello, Zacariah,” my mother said not looking in her direction as she took the cake out of the oven. Zacariah looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but she decided against it when she saw me glowering at her. She knew when it came to my mother, I didn’t play.

“Are you ready to go, Derrick?” she asked, sounding impatient.

“I was just about to come out.”

“It doesn’t look that way to me with you sitting here drinking a nice cold glass of tea,” she said sounding aggravated. “I wish I had a sip of something to quench my thirst.”

Zacariah looked in Mama’s direction and was ignored like I knew she would be.

“I guess I can’t have any tea, huh? I guess I’ll continue to swallow my spit and hope that will satisfy me.”

I gripped the glass with both hands trying not to lay her out in my Mama’s house, so I pressed my lips together trying to think of something to say, but Mama beat me to the punch.

She came back over to the table with me and sat down eyeing Zacariah’s barely-there attire. Clearing her throat Mama said, “He’ll be out when he’s finished drinking his tea, okay?”

“Well, hurry up, Derrick, because I’m tired of sitting in the car. You know I got somewhere to go later, and I need to start getting ready.”

Mama looked at the clock on the wall which showed 6:48 P.M. She then looked at me, and her face told the story. Mama was doing well by maintaining herself, but I knew in a matter of seconds she was going to be all over Zacariah.

I stood and said, “Give me a few more minutes and I’ll be out, okay?”

“Just hurry up,” she said walking out of the kitchen. I didn’t want to look back at Mama because I knew I was going to hear it.

“That girl needs to learn some respect. Coming up in my house almost naked. Your daddy and his friend got an eye full of her goods. And you know she dressed like that so men can drool all over her.”

I sipped my tea.

“And if she comes up in my house one more time acting like I’m bothering her, I’m going to lay her behind out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been around a person who makes me want to lose my religion, but that child right there is aching for a tongue-lashing from me.”

I nodded, knowing better than to say anything to defend Zacariah because Mama was right.

“The nerve of her marching herself in here like you were suppose to jump when she wants you to,” she said getting up from the table and wiping the spot where my glass was sitting.

“Mama, I’ll talk to her.”

“And say what? You should have got her straight right where she stood.”

“I was trying not to disrespect your house, Mama.”

“Well, she didn’t mind disrespecting it. This house is more yours than hers.”

“But you are my mother who I respect and love.”

She smiled, letting some of the anger residing within her subside a bit. I wanted a moment of peace, and I didn’t appreciate the way Zacariah acted, but I couldn’t deal with her now. I came to see my mother and no one, not even Zacariah, was going to interfere with that.

“Well, I’m glad you came by to see me.”

Standing, I said, “You’re my mother, and I love you,” wrapping my arms around her.

“I love you too, baby. But I don’t want you to leave yet. I’m going to cut you a slice of this cake.”

“Mama.”

“I don’t want to hear it. The Lord must have known you were coming by today for me to make this cake. Now give me a few minutes and I’ll cut you some.”

“Okay,” I said smiling at her reaching into her white custom cabinet and pulling out a container to put the cake in. I looked around the kitchen thanking God for me being born to such a great woman. With my hands in my pocket, I pulled out five one-hundred-dollar bills. I knew Mama wasn’t going to take it, but I always found ways to leave it with her.

“Here you go. I cut you three pieces,” Mama said, handing over the lemon pound cake that smelled delectable. I leaned in and kissed her on the cheek again, slyly slipping the money into her apron pocket.

She felt my hand and said, “Boy, I told you I don’t need any money.”

“Love you, Mama,” I said, jogging out of the kitchen smiling.

Too many nights I have sat alone, on this couch, in this room, looking at the ivory-colored walls wondering, “Where the hell is Jaquon?” The television played while my heart was jumping out of my chest in anticipation of his arrival. Running to the door, I wondered if the footsteps in the hallway outside of our apartment door were his. I peered through the peephole trying to see who it was. Again, it was not him. It was some guys going to the apartment right across the hall from me. They were laughing, giving each other dap. One was a white boy, and the other was black. Both were dressed in jeans and a white tee. Soon as Sheila, my whore of a neighbor whom I also named Freak-a-Leak, opened the door, some sensual music scurried past her. She had the music blasting. I was surprised no one had called the cops to complain.

She stood there scantily dressed with a matching bright red bra and panty set covered by an opened silk robe hanging from her shoulders. Her long micro braids swooped over her left shoulder as her bright red lips smiled at the men, welcoming them. You could clearly see she didn’t bother to close her robe, exposing her entire body. Her size triple D breasts damn near toppled out of her bra, almost knocking at my door, and the G-string screamed to be freed from her substantial behind.

“Come in, boys,” she said smiling, stepping back to let them enter. I knew then it was going to be a freak fest over in her living quarters. Probably why she had the music so loud, to drown out the screams of passion they were about to utter. At least somebody was getting some.

I walked back to the sofa and slumped down into the plush cushions. With each minute passing, my anxiety level increased. I had already called Jaquon several times just for it to go to his voice mail. Voice mail, that evil contraption set up for individuals just like him. For individuals who said, “I don’t feel like talking to her right now,” leaving your voice floating in a cell phone message nightmare.

I knew he was screening his calls. He had to be. What other reason would he have to not call me back? How dare he see my name pop up and not answer the phone, like I wasn’t important to him. He had been gone all day without so much as a phone call. Granted, he worked, but he got off over five hours ago. He didn’t call to see if I needed anything or just to let me know he’d be home later. I wasn’t adequate enough for that. I guess that’s what I got for being his at-home bootie. You know, that bootie at home that you know is going to always be there no matter what he does. I will never matter as long as Jaquon stayed in the streets playing Casanova. Bastard!

This was getting old, and I was mad at myself for crying my man’s blues because he was out doing everything under the moon with whoever was willing to play a part in sexually pleasing him. And I knew there were enough playthings to go around. You got your freaks, bobble heads, and spread eagles. Those. . .