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White man discovers Black woman's secret lust.
That worked. With a few choice words, Laura slapped me and was gone.
"Some guy?" He asked me. "That's all?"
"A cheap fuck," I told him, holding his gaze with a smirk. "That's all. How desperate do you have to be, to beg for your worst enemy's cock?" I writhed, mocking him. "Oh, Mark, please, more, harder, don't stop!"
He hit me. I deserved it. I think that was the third time we put each other in the hospital.
Needless to say, we quickly returned to being enemies. I've been trying to forget that weekend ever since.
After the incident at Thanksgiving, he stops coming to the family reunions. It's more his family than mine. I'm just the second cousin by marriage. So I stop going shortly thereafter.
I see him again at a club, a year later. He brushes past me, and I break the kiss I'm in with my latest boyfriend, straddled as I am across his lap. "Tybalt."
He glares. "Yes?"
My boyfriend, quick to jealousy, turns my head back. "Talk to your little friend later."
"We're not friends," Tybalt says, as he turns away.
A few months later, my boyfriend dumps me, just before Christmas.
I wander, watching the snow fall, ignoring the cold, letting my thoughts drift.
"Who'd love a selfish whore like you?" My ex-boyfriend asked me, as he threw me out. I bounce the question around in my head. Of my scattering of lovers, who'd ever loved me? One or two of them I honestly cared for, but not a single one of them ever loved me in return. I'm probably not worth loving. I've figured that out by now.
I'm not quite sure how I end up on Tybalt's doorstep.
He opens the door (I'm leaning back against it) and I fall backwards on the floor at his feet. He's barefoot. I look up at him.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"I'm not quite sure."
We consider each other for a moment.
"Are you going to come in?" he asks. "You're letting all the warm air out."
He helps me to his feet. I follow him, when he goes into the kitchen, watching him heat a pan of milk on the stove and stir in chocolate. I sit cross-legged on the counter.
"So to what do I owe the honor of your visit?" he asks, dryly.
"Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?"
"That I felt like seeing a familiar face?"
"And you were that desperate? Did something take a blow to your ego, that you wanted to come bully your old favorite punching bag?" He drops a scoop of whipped cream into each mug and hands me one.
"Do you have the little marshmallows?" I ask.
"Probably," he says. "Somewhere." He digs through a cupboard and hands me a bag full of them.
"So how long have you known you were in love with me?" I ask, conversationally, like it's a comment on the weather.
He laughs, like it's a joke. "I'm not in love with you. I never was."
He shrugs. "It's the truth."
It is, and I know it. I don't know what I'm looking for. I smirk at him as I hop down. "Admit it, you always secretly liked me."
"I didn't, dolt."
"Dolt?" I follow him into the living room.
"It suits you. Dolt." We sit down on the couch. I put my feet up on his lap.
"Did you at least miss me?"
He snorts. "Why would I?"
I roll my eyes. "Forget it."
His eyes snap over to mine. "I'm curious. Tell me."
I take a sip of my hot chocolate, licking whipped cream off my lips. "You're not worth it."
He scowls. "Tell me, damn it."
"Why do you care?"
"Just tell me."
"I don't want to. Why won't you tell me?"
"Because you're not interested." I take a sip of my hot chocolate, trying to hide my grin.
"I am. Now tell me."
I look up at him, feigning disbelief. "You're interested in me? I don't believe you. You don't like me, remember?"
I can see that he's starting to grin, too. "I thought you'd be bright enough to figure out when someone's bluffing. Apparently not."
There's no hope of hiding my grin now. "I knew. I just wanted to make sure I called that bluff."
"Are you going to tell me or not?"
"Tell you what?" I swipe out a streak of whipped cream with my finger an