I look in the mirror, roll my head and shoulders, and reach back to rub my inspirational panties, but there are none. As a result, I dig deep into my emotional bag of tricks and grab for strength. The panties have been working for years now, but in times like this—panty-less and needing strength—I grab onto whatever dusty bit of strength I can.
The Queen B. Yes, Beyonce. My song of choice, “Run the World.”
Who runs this mother? I run this mother. I am strong. I can face this. I have faced worse. I run my world. I run my world. I run this mother.
With Queen B’s words playing in my head, I walk out of the room with all the fake confidence I can muster up. I walk down the stairs, ready to face him—Broody Caldwell, the man I allowed to bang me in the closet, the one who gave me the best sex of my life then gave me a job when I was about to get my water cut off, the guy who fixed up my car and helped me more than any other person ever had—and demand … Oh, pickles, could I demand anything of him? Nope. No, I couldn’t. Regardless, the inner Queen B is here, and I know she can take this on.
I get to the bottom of the stairs and the dog comes to my side. Broody Caldwell is in the kitchen, no shirt, sweat glistening on his tattooed skin, and ‘Caldwell’ is literally staring me in the face with the tattoo on his back. “Call me Caldwell,” runs through my head as I watch his head bop slightly to whatever music he has playing in his ear buds. He is grabbing peanut butter out of his cupboard, clearly enjoying his moment. Truth be told, I am enjoying the view.
I have never loved tattoos, but dear God, his are beautiful.
He pushes the bread down in his toaster, and then his fingers strum on the counter to the beat playing in his ears. I take a step closer, trying to figure out what song it is, but then the dog barks, causing him to turn quickly.
His phone crashes to the ground, pulling his ear buds free, which allows the song to blast through the apartment.
“Sorry to interrupt.” I am being strong here, because I am running this mother, I remind myself before continuing, “I would like to discuss a few things with you; however, I am late for work.”
He crosses his arms, his biceps flexing and distracting me a bit. I watch as his eyes look me up and down.
“Mr. Caldwell, I—”
“Hendrix,” he corrects me, his voice steady.
“In order to keep this professional..,” I continue, reaching behind me to give my behind a rub. He looks at me like he is trying to figure me out as I remember I have no inspiration at the moment, but the Queen B has given me permission to run this mother, so I am quickly back and focused. “I may be in jeopardy of losing my job at the hospital, so I ask that you please not hold it against me that I let myself act outlandishly by allowing you to make love to me in a closet.”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he looks confused.
My face immediately burns, and Queen B, well, she runs away to hide. I clear my throat, trying to continue leading this conversation in the direction I need it to go—panty-less and alone.
“It was—”
“Look, Livi, we fucked in a closet. We’re two adults.” I can tell he is fighting not to smirk. “Consent was fucking given and received with a standing ovation, a couple, if memory serves me right.”
“No need to be crude,” I say, maintaining eye contact.
“Nothing crude about fucking, and I can assure you that’s what it was. There was no love making going on in that closet.”
“I’d like to move past it.”
He studies me for a moment. “I’m not sure—”
“I won’t take no for an answer.” When I see my keys on the counter, Queen B inside me lines up directly to them. Drive, focus, resolve. I have to get finished with him and get out of here. “I have to get to work, but I’ll see you tonight.”
“Your girl called. She covered for you and got you the day off, so why don’t you slow down and chill? Eat some breakfast, and we can discuss—”
“When I have paid you back for fixing the car, I will be done at the bar.”
His eyes narrow a bit. “Eat, talk, and listen, but don’t make demands. I don’t like that shit.”
Chapter Eleven
I have already decided that Livi isn’t the kind of girl I can have hanging around. She is half crazy, indecisive, and now with all this making love shit talk, I’m not about to keep her around. To top it off, watching her in my clothes, in my place, telling me what to do is agitating.