Forty Minutes

I already knew something was off when I turned onto her street. Still texted “outside” like a fool.

Parked across from Tasha’s place and killed the engine. No reply. Her car sat in its usual spot. Right beside it was a black SUV I had never seen before.

Lights on inside, curtains half open. Movement behind the glass.

I checked my phone again. Message still unread. Sat there with the windows cracked, telling myself I was only giving her a few minutes. Five turned into ten. Ten turned into twenty.

By thirty, I should’ve pulled off.

I didn’t.

A week ago, Tasha had stood in that same driveway and told me she was done waiting for me to decide what we were.

“You want everything that comes with having a woman,” she’d said, “but every time I ask what we doing, you start acting confused.”

“I never told you not to see nobody.”

That was the slick shit I had said. Her face changed when she heard it.

“All right, Rome. Just remember you said that.”

I remembered every fucking word while I watched another man’s shadow move through her living room.

At forty minutes, the front door finally opened.

Some dude walked out fixing his jacket. Tasha followed him onto the porch wearing that short brown dress I liked. The one she claimed wasn’t for me even though she always watched my face whenever she wore it.

He turned and hugged her. She hugged him back.

Then he kissed her.

It was a real kiss, not some awkward first-date peck. His hand settled against her waist like it already knew where to go.

She smiled when he pulled away.

That smile hurt worse than the kiss.

He said something that made her laugh, got into the SUV, and pulled off.

Tasha watched his taillights disappear. When she turned toward the house, she looked across the street and saw my car.

Her whole body went still.

I waited for her to wave me over.

She didn’t.

She walked inside and shut the door.

I crossed the street and knocked hard enough to shake the damn wreath.

Tasha snatched the door open.

“The fuck you beating on my door like that for?”

“You couldn’t answer your phone?”

“I was busy.”

“No shit.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Move.”

“You don’t run shit over here.”

“Tasha.”

She looked at me for a long second before stepping aside.

“You got two minutes.”

I walked in.

Two glasses sat on the coffee table. One couch cushion was pushed sideways. His cologne still hung in the room.

I looked toward the couch.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“His name is Marcus.”

“I ain’t ask his name.”

“You asked who he was.”

“Don’t get smart with me.”

“Don’t come into my house giving me orders.”

“That’s the dude you said you were starting to date?”

“And?”

“You already bringing him here?”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Yeah, I brought him here.”

“That shit happened fast.”

“No. You just didn’t believe me.”

“You said you were starting to date.”

“And what the fuck did you think dating meant?”

“Not this.”

She laughed in my face.

“So what did you think? I was supposed to sit here crying over you until you decided you were ready?”

“I ain’t say that.”

“You told me to see other people.”

“I ain’t tell you to fuck nobody.”

“What the fuck you think moving on means, Rome?”

“You could’ve gone on a date without bringing him back here.”

“I could’ve done whatever the fuck I wanted. You made sure of that.”

I stepped closer.

“We were together.”

“No, we weren’t.”

“Yes, the fuck we were.”

“What was I then?”

“My—”

“Your what?”

I stopped.

Tasha gave me a cold little smile.

“Go ahead. Say it.”

“You know what you were.”

“No, motherfucker. I want to hear you say it.”

“You were my woman.”

“Bullshit.”

“How is that bullshit?”

“Because you never said it when it mattered.”

“I stayed here three nights a week.”

“You had a drawer.”

“I knew your alarm code.”

“So did my sister.”

“I met your mother.”

“You ate at her house one damn time.”

“I was here whenever you needed me.”

“You were here whenever you wanted something.”

“That ain’t fucking fair.”

“Fair?” She stepped right into my face. “Eight months, Rome. Eight months of you sleeping in my bed, eating my food, questioning every man who commented on my pictures—and when your cousin asked if I was your girl, you called me somebody you were talking to.”

“I wasn’t ready for all that relationship shit.”

“But you were ready for everything else.”

“I told you that from the beginning.”

“No. You kept saying you needed more time because you knew my stupid ass would keep giving it to you.”

“You wasn’t stupid.”

“I damn sure feel stupid now.”

I glanced at the couch again. Tasha caught me.

“You keep looking over there like it’s going to tell you something.”

“You fucked him?”

Her face tightened.

“What?”

“Don’t play with me. Did you fuck that nigga?”

“Watch how you talk to me.”

“Did you?”

“I don’t owe you an answer.”

“Did. You. Fuck. Him?”

She held my stare.

“Yeah.”

“You fucked him?”

“I just said I did.”

“On that couch?”

She looked over at it, then back at me.

“Yeah, Rome. On that couch.”

My hands balled into fists.

“You proud of that shit?”

“I’m not ashamed of it.”

“I’ve been sitting outside while you were in here fucking another man.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Don’t do that.”

“No, let’s do exactly that.” Her voice rose. “I begged you to take me seriously. I told you somebody else would. You looked me in my face and told me to do what I had to do.”

“I didn’t think you would actually do it.”

“And there it is.”

“What?”

“You thought I would keep waiting.”

I didn’t answer.

“You thought you could keep coming over here whenever you felt like it, keep fucking me whenever you wanted, keep acting like my man behind closed doors—and I would never get tired.”

“He use a condom?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“If I’m supposed to fuck you again, it is.”

She shoved one finger into my chest.

“You ain’t touching shit just because you’re angry.”

“Answer me.”

“Yes, he used one.”

My jaw unclenched before I could stop it.

“Good.”

“Don’t stand there looking satisfied. You didn’t win anything.”

“I wasn’t trying to win.”

“Bullshit. That’s the only reason you’re here.”

“I’m here because I want you.”

“You always want me when my clothes come off.”

“That ain’t what I meant.”

“Then say what you mean.”

I stepped toward her. She put her hand against my chest.

“Back the fuck up.”

I stopped. The anger was still burning through me, but I backed up.

“Tell me to leave,” I said.

“I should.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“You really think you can walk in here, curse at me, question me about who I fucked, and then tell me what to do?”

“No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I’m jealous.”

“No fucking shit.”

“I’m so jealous I can barely think straight.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

“I’m mad at him for touching you. I’m mad at you for letting him. But I’m the one who left the door open.”

“You didn’t leave it open. You held it open and told me to walk through.”

“I know.”

“Now you know.”

“I knew before tonight.”

“Bullshit.”

“I knew. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”

Her hand dropped from my chest.

“What happens when you calm down?”

“I’ll still want you.”

“What happens when another man ain’t standing in my driveway?”

“I’ll still be here.”

“What happens when your boys ask who I am?”

“I tell them you’re my woman.”

She shook her head.

“You saying anything now.”

“You want the truth?”

“I’ve been asking for it.”

“I knew the second I called you mine, you could fuck me up.”

She gave me a short, cold laugh.

“So you hurt me first.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, I did.”

She stepped closer and reached behind herself to lock the door.

“This don’t make me your woman.”

“You already my woman.”

“Then why did it take another man fucking me for you to say it?”

I grabbed her waist. She caught my wrist.

“Don’t put your hands on me unless you understand whose fault this is.”

“Mine.”

“Say it again.”

“My fucking fault.”

She released my wrist, grabbed my shirt, and pulled me into her.

“Good. Now show me how mad you are at yourself.”

She kissed me like she was still arguing, all teeth and hard breath. She shoved me backward onto the same couch. His cologne was still in the cushions when my back hit them.

She climbed on top of me, dress already halfway up her thighs, and opened my shirt while I undid my pants just enough.

I dragged the rest of her dress higher. She let me. When I hooked two fingers in the side of her panties and pulled them aside, she was already wet. I felt how open she still was. My stomach clenched.

She looked down at me.

“You want it raw?”

I nodded once.

“Then take it the way I give it.”

I pushed inside her in one hard stroke. No easing in. She was slick enough that I bottomed out easy, and the wet sound it made was filthy.

Tasha moaned and still managed to talk shit.

“You feel that? How easy you just slid in?”

“Yeah. I feel it.”

“That’s what you caused.”

I gripped her hips and started driving up into her harder.

“Fuck, you still this wet and you still letting me have it.”

“You like that, don’t you?” she said between moans. “You like knowing he was just in it.”

“I hate it.”

“But your dick is harder than it’s been in months.”

She was right, and it pissed me off. I sat up, flipped her onto her stomach, and yanked her hips back. One hand went into her hair. The other gripped the back of her neck as I pushed back in deep.

“Love how this pussy feels when I’m mad at you.”

“Then keep being mad.” She pushed back on me. “Fuck me like you hate that he touched it.”

I did, hard enough to make the couch creak.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“I know you don’t. That’s the problem.”

I released her neck and reached under her, rubbing her clit rough while I kept bottoming out. She was dripping, making every stroke sound nastier.

“This pussy is so fucking messy right now.”

“That’s your fault too.”

“Say that shit again.”

“It’s your fault I’m this wet. Your fault another man just left. Your fault you’re in here fucking me like you lost something.”

I fucked her harder for that while she kept talking, her voice breaking every time I went deep.

“And you’re still giving it to me.”

“Because I want to. Not because you took it.”

She looked back at me over her shoulder, still taking every stroke.

“This still don’t make you my man.”

I gripped her tighter and started fucking her with short, heavy strokes. She came first, walls locking down around me while she cursed. I buried myself deep and came hard right after, still breathing like we had been fighting.

We stayed connected for a few seconds, both of us angry and breathing hard.

Then Tasha spoke without turning around.

“I saw your text when it came through.”

I went still.

“How long was I sitting out there?”

“Almost the whole time.”

“You left me outside for forty fucking minutes?”

She looked back at me over her shoulder. Her eyes were calm, her voice steady.

“You left me waiting for eight months.”

There wasn’t shit I could say to that.

After a minute, she pulled away, fixed her dress, and sat at the other end of the couch. I stayed where I was, shirt open, still trying to catch my breath.

Tasha picked up one of the glasses.

“His?” I asked.

“Mine.”

“You seeing him again?”

“Maybe.”

“No the fuck you’re not.”

Her eyes cut toward me.

“You still giving orders?”

“I’m asking.”

“No, you’re not.”

I dragged both hands over my face.

“Fine. Don’t see him again.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to do this right.”

“You had eight months.”

“I know.”

“You keep saying that like it fixes something.”

“It don’t. But I’m done pretending I don’t know what I want.”

“And what do you want?”

“You.”

“That answer was good enough before.” She placed the glass down. “It ain’t anymore.”

She stood and opened the front door.

“Tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”

“What happens tomorrow?”

“You come to my door. You don’t text ‘outside.’ You don’t show up after midnight. And you don’t come inside.”

“Then what the fuck am I coming for?”

“You’re taking me on a date.”

“And Marcus?”

“That depends on whether you’re serious or just jealous.”

I stepped onto the porch. She started closing the door.

“Tasha.”

“What?”

“I’ll be here.”

“You better be.”

The next evening, I pulled into her driveway at 6:58.

No black SUV.

No “outside” text.

I walked to her front door and rang the bell.

Tasha opened it wearing jeans, heels, and a look that warned me I hadn’t won shit yet.

“You’re early.”

“Two minutes.”

She stepped outside and locked the door behind herself.

“Good,” she said, walking past me toward my car. “Start there.”