Authors: Janine A. Morris

She's No Angel (23 page)

BOOK: She's No Angel

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“I-I prefer picking my own women,”
he sputtered. I guess he was uncomfortable with me trying to help him out.

“Maybe that's the problem. You might be picking the wrong type, but I'm gonna hook you up.”

“Damn, Ms. Nikki,”
he began with a chuckle. It was obvious I was making him nervous.
“I respect your advice but why you always have to be so hard? In fact, why you gotta put a brotha on the spot?”

“Hey, I'm just telling it like I see it. In the meantime, keep your head up and take my advice for a change.” I depressed the button, then took a few more calls and read several e-mails but no one phoned in interested in going out with Mr. Loser. Not that I was the least bit surprised. By midnight my head was hurting and I was anxious to wrap up the show. “This is Nikki Truth at
Hot
97 WJPC, ending another evening. When things get tough, remember the truth will set you free. Until next time.” I leaned back in my chair as I took off the headset. By the time I placed them on the table, the sound of Jennifer Hudson was bellowing over the air. Tristan always knew what song to play at the end of each show. Sitting back in my chair, I had to smile. Tonight had been another fulfilling night. My producer came running over to my desk.

“You did it girl! Another fabulous night,” Tristan snapped his fingers. He's sweeter than a Krispy Kreme donut, but he is one hell of a producer and has been one of my closest friends for years.

“Thank you, sweetie.”

He blew me a kiss, then pursed his cherry lip gloss lips as he draped a hand at his narrow waist. “After Georgia comes on to take over the quiet storm you wanna go grab an apple martini? I bought these shoes and I'm dying to be seen. Girlfriend is looking fierce!” He struck a pose and I couldn't do anything but laugh. One thing Tristan knew was clothes. And even better, he knew how to get them cheap. Whenever I was in the mood for shopping, I took Tristan because he knew where to find every bargain from St. Louis to Chicago.

“Nah, I got an early day tomorrow at the bookstore. I was planning to go home and take a hot bubble bath and curl up under the covers.”

He pursed his lips with disapproval then sat his narrow ass on the end of my desk in front of me “Miss Thang, I ain't even gonna try and beat around the bush about it. You need some dick in your life.” I got ready to speak but he held up a heavily jeweled hand. “Hold on. Let me finish. Nikki, girlfriend, it's been six months, girl. Enough is enough. It's time for you to move on.”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes and I let one roll down my cheek. Tristan was one of the few people I allowed to see me this vulnerable. He was right. I needed to start facing reality, but deep down, I wasn't ready yet to admit my marriage was over. “I know. You're right.”

“Of course I'm right,” he said with a toss of his fabulous weave. “Let's go get our drink on. I promise just one and we're out.”

Tristan and I have been friends for almost five years and that was long enough to know he wasn't going to give up until I agreed. I slipped into my winter coat, said good-bye to the rest of the night owls, then strolled out of the studio to my silver Lexus. Every time I saw my car it made me smile and gave me what I desperately neededâsomething to smile about. As I climbed behind the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn't help but think about what Tristan had said. I needed to give up hoping and finally move on. Deep down, part of me knew my marriage was over, but a part of me still hoped and prayed we still had a chance. But I needed to do something because wondering what the future held was starting to drive me crazy. Luckily, I had my bookstore, Book Ends, and the best job in the world at WJPC radio. I still don't understand how I had been so lucky professionally.

I was already working for the station as an intern when the general manager agreed to let me liven up the first half of the quiet storm. I had this crazy idea to serve the needs of the hundreds of lonely listeners who tuned in at night by giving them the opportunity to call in and express their feelings. Hell, all the show required was common sense and my own style of bold, in-your-face advice. The crazy idea earned me thousands of loyal listeners. Even though it's part-time, I love the hell out of my job. Giving advice is something I'm good at. Instead of getting a degree in radio broadcasting, I should have majored in social work like my girl Trinette. Nevertheless, giving advice is what I do best. I don't hold punches. But no matter what I say or better yet,
how
I say it, the listeners love me, and the calls and letters keep pouring in. That's why I'm pulling out of the parking lot in a pretty ass silver IS 350 convertible with butter soft leather interior. The proof is in the pudding. It's a damn shame. I can give other people advice about their lives while my own was a damn mess.

My husband and I are separated or at least we have been since Donovan's unit, 138th Engineering Battalion, was activated and sent to Iraq. Lord, please forgive me. But his being sent to war was actually a blessing. We'd been having problems for some time and the night before Donovan left, the two of us decided that maybe time and distance would give us a chance to decide if we wanted to either stay together or file for divorce. I guess he decided on the latter because despite all my letters and care packages, I haven't received a single call or letter, nothing but a sorry postcard the first week he was there. I know his ass is all right because my girl Tabitha's husband is in the same unit and she makes it her business to come to the bookstore just so she can rub it in my face how often she talks to her fat-ass husband.

After six months of nothing, I need to start facing the fact, my marriage is over, and has been for quite some time. Yet a part of me still was not ready to let go. I don't know if I am just being stubborn or just being plain stupid like half the women who call in to my show.

Tristan made a right at the next corner and I rolled my eyes when I realized where he was headed. I thought we were going to a bar close by having one drink. Yeah right. I should have known he was going to take me to his favorite hangout. Straight Shoot. A gay bar. Not that I mind. Hell, I sometimes have more fun with gay men than I do straight mothafuckas, who are too busy trying to run game.

I climbed out just as Tristan came over switching his skinny ass toward me in knee-high red leather boots. I'm hating, because he's got a walk that's out of this world, like he's related to Ms. J from
America's Next Top Model.
He's wearing black jeans, a white blouse and a red leather jacket with a wide belt cinched tight around his small waist. Tristan's five-ten with mile-long legs. I'm barely five-six, so he's definitely making a statement walking beside me.

I frowned with annoyance. “I thought you said one drink.”

“We are!” Tristan batted his eyelashes, trying to look innocent. I know there is no way he's leaving early. Thank goodness I drove my own car. “I hope you ain't using me as an excuse to hook up with Brandon tonight.”

Tristan pointed his long nail in the air. “Gurl-friend, puhleeze! He's yesterday's news.”

“Since when?”

He snapped his fingers. “Since I found out he was messing around. Don't you know that sneaky bastard left a message for another bitch on my damn answering machine?”

“What!” I tried not to laugh but couldn't help myself.

I could tell he didn't see anything the least bit funny. “I guess he thought he was calling that bitch's house. I hit star sixty-nine and cussed his ass out!”

I shrugged.” At least you found out early.”

“Your right, because I was ready to rock his mothafuckin' world.” He winked and signaled for me to follow him inside.

The club was real tasteful and clean with small intimate tables and chairs and low lighting. There was a big stage in the middle. Tristan moved to a long table in the back that was occupied by friends of his. Two of them I had met before. Coco and Mercedes. Both men were prettier than me.

Mercedes glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “'Bout time you bitches got here.”

“I know that's right.” Coco gave Tristan a high five as he slid into the seat next to him.

“Sorry I'm late, but if y'all bitches weren't listening, let me tell you, the show tonight was off the hook! Matter of fact, let me introduce the rest of y'all to the hostess with the mostess, Ms. Nikki Truth.”

I waved and took the chair at the far end.

The other he/she I didn't know started squirming in his seat. “Oooh! Girlfriend, your show is the bomb! I never miss it.”

Mercedes gave a rude snort. “She ain't lying. You've even answered her calls a few times.”

I gave the one with the blond weave a long look. “Oh yeah, when did you call?”

He looked uncomfortable. “Last month.”

Mercedes filled in the details. “Girlfriend, here was Oasis. She called telling you her man insisted on the cat sleeping in the bed with them.”

Laughing, I nodded my head. “Oh, yeah, I remember I told you to tell him to get rid of the cat or you were leaving his ass.”

“Yeah and the next day he packed his shit and left,” Oasis announced with disgust.

“Damn. I'm sorry.”

“Wasn't your fault,” she said and made an exaggerated show of fanning himself. “I think that cat was licking a lot more than just his paws under those covers.”

The table roared with laughter. Tristan signaled for a waiter and we both ordered a martini. The deejay was rocking some old school. I had gotten my drink and was having fun with the others when I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. I looked up and it was a young slender woman with her head shaved bald and jeans hanging low on her hips.

“Yo, Ma, you wanna dance?”

I looked up into the most amazing brown eyes I've seen in a long time. Her lashes were naturally long and incredibly thick. Mascara had nothing to do with it. I would give anything to have eyes like that. I don't know how long I stared at her before I finally shook my head. “Nah, boo. I'm strictly dickly.”

The look she gave me rang loud and clear. She could do anything a man could do, only better. “Yo, don't knock it 'til you try it.”

I smiled. “Not knocking it. I just prefer my dick to be attached, not strapped on.”

“A'ight, Ma. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.” With a nod of her head, she turned on the soles of her Air Force Ones.

I watched her walk away and had to admit she had a hell of a swagger that made my nipples tighten. Damn, had it been that long since I had some?

I raised my hand and quickly ordered another drink. Yep, Tristan was right. I needed some dickâquick!

DAFINA BOOKS are published by

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

Dafina Books and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

ISBN: 978-0-7582-8522-5

BOOK: She's No Angel

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