Dvontè strolled into one of the racquetball courts in Gold’s Gym in Wheaton, Maryland, at four-thirty that afternoon. Geren was hitting a ball up against the wall, working up a sweat.
Dvontè threw his gym bag down on the bench. He took off his Wilson Athletic jogging pants and Champion sweatshirt, stripping down to shorts and a tee like Geren.
Geren hit the ball one last time, then walked over to the bench to join Dvontè, pulling his goggles up to the top of his head and glancing down at his watch. “You’re late, man! We only have the court reserved for another thirty minutes.”
“Relax, it’s all good,” Dvontè replied indignantly. “There’s no one waiting for a court, so we can play for an hour as usual.”
“That’s cool!”
“I started not to even show. But I figured your ass would be here, and I didn’t want to leave you hanging.”
“Why wouldn’t I be here, Dvontè?” Geren asked. “We play racquetball every Sunday afternoon.”
“Unless it’s football season.”
“True that!” They gave each other a high five. “Nothing comes before football!”
“Well, I’m not going to say all that. I can name one thing that does.”
“What?” Geren inquired. He knew Dvontè was a serious football fan.
“Pussy, of course!”
Geren picked up his towel and slapped Dvontè on the arm before using it to wipe his brow. “I should’ve known. You have a one-track mind.”
“Speaking of which,” Dvontè said, bending over and warming up with some stretches. “I know you didn’t get any last night.”
Geren chuckled. “You’re unbelievable. Who said I was trying to get any last night?”
Dvontè grinned, realizing he had hit the nail on the head. “Like I said, I know you didn’t. Anyone can look at Tempest and tell she is one of those holdouts.”
Geren threw his right leg up on the bench to do some calf stretches. “It was just our first date, Dvontè. Sheesh! Not all sistahs give it up on the first date.”
“Hmph, all the women I deal with do, or there won’t be a second one,” Dvontè proclaimed.
Geren hated to let his male ego get the best of him, but he needed to size up the competition. “So, I take it you and Janessa got busy last night?”
Dvontè glared at him like he had the Bubonic Plague. “Surely you jest! Of course we got busy. That was predetermined.”
“Predetermined?”
“Yeah, I told her the other night on the phone I expected some ass after the wedding.”
“And she agreed?”
“We got freaky all night long.” Dvontè reached into his bag for his goggles. “That gurl is something else in the sack. I figured she would be down, but she let me do whatever the hell I wanted.”
“Good for you!” Geren couldn’t believe that some sistahs still set themselves up like that. He only hoped that nothing Dvontè did to Janessa ended up casting a negative light on him with Tempest.
“It was even better for her,” Dvontè continued, embellishing what actually happened. “I worked her body over big-time. She’s probably sitting by the phone willing me to make a midday booty call.”
“Are you going to call her again?” Geren asked, part of him wishing the answer would be no.
“All in good time,” Dvontè answered. “I have other bitches riding this dick, too. I have to spread the loving around.”
Something about the B-word always set Geren off. “Dvontè, what did I tell you about calling sistahs out of their name? A bitch is a female dog.”
“Exactly!” Dvontè exclaimed, satisfied with the definition. “Women always talk about men being dogs, but they’re no better. They all have their own agenda, just like we do.”