The Ex Factor: A Novel Read online

  “And turn that shit off !” Sabrena insisted. “Fuck that niggah, we at the club now!”

  Once Tasha parked the car, everyone walked toward the front of the club. The bouncer lived in the same building as Sabrena and Imani, so the girls didn't have to wait long to get in.

  “Oh hell yeah!” Sabrena yelled, waving her arms in the air as they stepped into the club. “I'm tryna leave with a big baller tonight!” The music was blasting and the club was jam-packed. Usually the middle of the floor was designated as the dance area but tonight people were dancing all over the place.

  “This shit is fire!” Tasha said while ordering an apple martini.

  “Look at Papi-chulo over there, Mami.” Quiana grinned, waving at the guy.

  The girls stood by the bar, watching the crowd, dancing slightly in their spots, and waiting on their favorite song to seduce them to the dance floor. As if on cue Mariah Carey's “It's Like That” started blasting.

  “This is my fuckin' theme song!” Imani started getting her bounce on. Closing her eyes, she started working the hell outta the spot she was standing in. Tasha, Quiana, and Sabrena started dancing around her, clapping their hands and cheering her on. “Do that shit, Imani!” As if he'd floated in on cloud nine a sexy copper-toned Puerto Rican brother with wavy black hair corn-rowed to the back and falling to his shoulder blades danced his way over, parted the girls' circle, and started freaking Imani from behind. Imani could feel his hard dick pressed against her ass, but she didn't give a damn. All of her energy was going to the atmosphere and she was enjoying the hell outta being caught up in the moment. Sweat ran down the sides of her face, curved over her neck, and dripped between her breasts. Imani dropped it like it was hot and came back up in an instant. “Do that shit, girl!” Tasha yelled. “Freak his ass!”

  Imani continued to do her thing and with each movement, she felt as if she were shedding pieces of her broken heart. She did a spin and was now face-to-face with the guy she was dancing with. She almost lost her balance as she saw how fine he was: six feet tall with a tight eight-pack, well-defined triceps and biceps, chiseled jaw, and a shadow goatee on his chin.

  “Damyum… what's yo' name?” Imani asked, seemingly taken aback by his beauty.

  He looked her up and down. “Kree. Now tell me, do you have another name besides Fine?”

  “Imani.” She blushed.

  “You look sweet as hell, girl.” “Really?” “Yes, really.”

  Imani couldn't control her wide smile, and when she attempted to stop showing all her teeth she couldn't control the blushing. Before Imani could speak the music took over and Teairra Mari's “Make Her Feel Good” started playing: “There any boys around that know how to make a girl feel? …” Without saying a word Imani resumed dancing, and Kree followed suit.

  Dancing with Kree was making Imani's panties wetter by the moment. The way he moved made her feel as if electric currents were running through her skin. She loved the fact that he wasn't afraid to dance and was still thugged out as hell: baggy jeans, the waist of his white Dolce & Gabbana boxers showing, and his tight and just-right wife beater caressing every curve on his chest.

  This niggah gon' fuck around and make me cum, Imani thought as she continued dancing and swaying her hips. She dropped to the floor and popped back up as if her knees were made of springs. She did a spin to face Kree and as she placed her arms around his neck, she saw Walik taking slow sips of beer while eyeing her every move.

  Oh shit, Imani thought, what the fuck is this niggah doing out of jail? She started counting the months in her head. For a moment she was confused. Did his ass escape 'cause I told him to go suck a dick? Is it that serious? But I don't think he escaped, 'cause then he wouldn't be here, right? But then again, she thought, he is crazy. But maybe he maxed out. But I thought he maxed out next year, June. But I have to be wrong because this niggah is leaning against the bar, sipping a beer, and watching me work it out on the dance floor. Instantly Imani felt as if Walik had fucked up her high, and the buzz she had before hitting the club had officially left.

  She looked around for her girls in case she needed backup but they were scattered around the club. Sabrena had found her a baller, Tasha was kicking it with the bartender, and Quiana managed to get Papi-chulo's full attention.

  Them bitches, Imani thought. In an effort to play off her surprise, she took her hands from around Kree's neck, turned around, and threw her ass directly into the pit of his shaft.

  Walik walked over and stood in front of Imani. He took a sip of his drink and licked his lips. Imani was praying that she didn't piss on herself. Although she tried not to, she couldn't help but stare at Walik. He was six foot three, 245 pounds of well-put-together brown-sugar lovin'. He had a sexy-ass Gerald Levert beard, lined and trimmed to a T. His hair was freshly braided and styled with zigzag parts going different ways. Walik nodded and acknowledged Imani. She rolled her eyes, threw her hands in the air, dropped to the floor, and snaked her way back up, all while looking Walik directly in the face.

  “A niggah outta jail,” Walik smirked, looking Imani up and down. “What you gotta say now?”

  Imani started singing. “Are there any boys around that know how to make a girl feel…”

  “I'm ready to go,” Walik said sternly, speaking to Imani but staring at Kree.

  Immediately Kree stopped dancing and stared Walik down. “This you or something?” He pointed to Imani.

  “All day long,” Walik snapped.

  “Don't seem that way to me,” Kree responded.

  Imani placed her hands on her hips. “I'm dancing, niggah, what?” she spat at Walik.

  “You want me to slap the shit outta you?” Walik said to Imani.

  “Yo, my man,” Kree said, “don't trip. Please don't. My PO is in this ma'fucker and I don't need him witnessing me knockin' you the fuck out.”

  “Niggah,” Walik pushed Imani to the side, “who the fuck are you?” He pushed his shirt open to reveal the butt of his gun.

  “Wooo…I'm scared,” Kree said sarcastically. “Niggah, is you fuckin' playin' cops and robbers with me? See that camera up there?” He pointed toward the ceiling. “It's a niggah with a TEC-9 pointed directly at your fuckin' head. Now, my advice to you is to take it the fuck down.”

  “Ma'fucker, please.” Walik frowned. “Get the fuck out my face. Imani, get ya shit.”

  “Niggah,” Imani spat, “I ain't going nowhere with an escaped convict.”

  “Escaped?” Walik laughed. “For your information, I was paroled.”

  “Paroled? Then go get your bracelet checked in and leave me alone.” She looked at her watch. “Your curfew passed over an hour ago.”

  “Didn't I tell you to get your shit and let's bounce? Why you still popping off at the mouth?”

  “I ain't moving,” Imani insisted.

  “If you wanna live you'll get yo' shit and get this niggah the fuck out my face,” Walik said, “before I catch another case!”

  “Whatever, yo' I ain't beat for this bullshit.” Kree twisted his smooth lips. “Stay sweet, ma.” And he walked away.

  “I swear I feel like dragging you all over this fuckin' club!” Walik stared at Imani.

  “Niggah, please.” Imani sighed.

  “You fuckin' that faggot-ass Rican?”

  “What you think?” Imani snapped. “I ain't fuckin' yo' black ass.”

  “I asked you a question: Are you fuckin' him?”

  “Did you fuck Shante?”

  “I did… and I was wrong.”

  “Well then, ditto.” “You was wrong, or you fucked him?” The vein in Walik's neck started thumping.

  “You know what,” Imani could feel the tears clouding her eyes, “I don't even feel like arguing with you. No I'm not fuckin' him. I don't even know him.”

  “You look like you knew him to me.”

  “Whatever,” she screamed. “I just met that niggah. Now either you believe it or not.” She turned to walk away. “Fuck you!”


  Walik grabbed Imani by the waist. “Where you goin'?” He pulled her close so that her back was against his chest. He kissed her on the back of the neck. “You know I love you and I trust you, right?”

  “I've heard it all before, Walik.”

  “This time is different, baby. Being in prison made me see that I was fuckin' up my life and fuckin' up my relationship with you and my son. Y'all my world, ma. But let me explain something to you.” Walik nuzzled his broad nose into Imani's neck. “If I catch you with another niggah, I'ma beat yo' ass. Now, I heard that shit you said on the phone, Go suck a dick, go get a new jumpsuit, your friends all snappin' on me and shit, it's cool. I can take it, 'cause I know you're hurt and it's some shit we gotta work through…”

  “Niggah—” She tried to pull away from his embrace.

  “Don't interrupt me.” He pulled her back in. “I'm speaking. But if you ever in your life talk about my son calling another man daddy or how a niggah's cum slides down your throat, it's gon' be over for you.”

  “Who the hell you talking to—me?” Imani started to raise her voice.

  “Don't do that, ma,” Walik said calmly. “You see I'm talking to you right, all nice and calm. I really wanna choke the shit outta you, so it would be your best bet not to wild out on me in here.”

  “What you expect me to do, Walik? Look at what you did, she's pregnant, Walik.” Tears filled Imani's eyes.

  “I love you and I ain't goin' nowhere. I'm sorry. I really am. That bitch was coming to see me and shit. You know how it is when a niggah locked up. They mind be all fucked up, they can hardly think straight.”

  “What about me, Walik?”

  “Imani, you my fuckin' wife. I ain't gon' have you in prison, fuckin' me like that, sitting on my lap, all out in the open.”

  “Please, we used to do it all the time.”

  “I know, baby, but come on, at least I wasn't on no downlow shit. I just wanna be honest. All she doing is having my baby. Fuck that bitch. You know she like a stray dog, any niggah that feed her can keep her. Hell, she can't ever get what you and Jamal got. I love you, and I ain't leavin'.”

  Imani turned around and buried her head in Walik's chest. His cologne was causing such a seduction in her nostrils that she felt like she had popped some Ecstasy and was just starting to trip. Why do I let him do this to me? “Walik, this is too much. I don't think I can swing with it, this time.” Imani lifted her head so she could watch the reaction on his face.

  He started sucking on his bottom lip, a habit he'd had since he was a kid when he would get mad. Trying to control his temper, Walik squinted at Imani. “Let's go, right now.”

  “Walik—”

  “What the fuck did I just say, I'm not playin' no more. Now, you my wife… bottom line. I love you, I ain't leavin', and on top of that I wanna fuck you in our bed, understand?”

  Imani's pussy melted on the spot. “Walik,” she whined, “I wanted to hang with my girls for a while.”

  “Hang out tomorrow.”

  “My mother's bachelorette party is tomorrow.” “So what you saying?” “Nothing.” Imani turned her head, looking around for the girls. She spotted Tasha, placed her hand to her ear, and made a motion for Tasha to call her, then she pointed to Walik and waved bye.

  Tasha shook her head.

  Imani and Walik walked outside. Walik looked at Imani and pointed to a cab. “Since you can hang out in the club and shit, then you know you got to pay for this, right?”

  (Celeste)

  SHARIEF HADN'T BEEN home in two nights. He called Celeste and told her he was working a double shift and would be home sometime this morning.

  Anthony Hamilton's “Charlene” was on repeat, playing seductively through the kitchen's surround sound. It was eight o'clock in the morning and the kids were still sleeping. Celeste sat at her marbletop bar that doubled as a breakfast nook with her ankles crossed, sipping on a cup of instant café au lait.

  She took a puff off her Virginia Slims Menthol Light. The music continued to play softly in the background as the aroma of cinnamon-and-spice potpourri filled the air. The house was completely clean, and all she had to do was wait on the freshly waxed kitchen floor to dry, go to the grocery store, come back, and begin setting up for Starr's bachelorette party this afternoon. If everything went according to plan, Starr's party was going to be the first exciting thing she'd done since fucking herself with the beaver dildo.

  Celeste took one last drag off her cigarette and mashed it in the ashtray. Afterward she stretched her leg and touched the floor with the heel of her foot to see if the wax was dry, but it wasn't. As she lifted her cup to take a sip of coffee, the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Celeste,” Monica said, faking excitement, “what time did you want me to come over?”

  “Leave now, that'll put you getting here in about an hour. Don't bring Imani, though, 'cause that li'l bitch gets on my nerves. Let Queen Pen and her down-for-whatever clique stay on Flat-bush until the cops run through again.”

  Monica took a deep breath. “Celeste, please. Not today. I'll be there in a little while: I have to drop Jamal off first.” And she ended the call.

  As Celeste hung up, she noticed Sharief walking into the kitchen. “The floor is wet.” She gave him a quick once-over.

  He looked down at the floor. “My fault.”

  “No problem,” she said calmly, “it's almost dry anyway. So how are you this morning?”

  Sharief appeared to be caught off guard and started to stutter. “I-I-I'm good, and you?”

  “I'm well. Are you hungry? Would you like some breakfast?”

  “You wanna cook… for me?”

  “Of course. I'll cook it for you.” Celeste slid off the bar stool and walked over to the refrigerator. She took out extra-sharp cheddar cheese, bacon, and eggs for an omelet. She placed the items on the island's countertop. Then she took a pot, filled it with water, threw in a dash of salt, and placed it on the burner before stirring the grits into it.

  Celeste started to hum the gospel tune “Nearer My God to Thee” as she cracked the eggs open. Sharief stood in the doorway, not sure if he should come in and have a seat or back out.

  “Have a seat, sweetie,” Celeste said while pouring the eggs into the frying pan. “I missed you.”

  “Yeah?” Sharief said, moving slowly toward the bar. He unbut-toned the top three buttons of his sky-blue shirt, which revealed his wife beater and gave hints of the smooth hair on his chest. He sat down on the bar stool, on the opposite side of the center island from where Celeste stood cooking over the stovetop. Her hips swayed gracefully as she moved about, cooking the omelet and stirring the grits. Celeste wore a pair of CK jeans with a ribbed, sleeveless peach top, showing off the auburn freckles spread across her chest. Her hair had grown a little since she'd last cut it, and was now in an abundance of short natural curls.

  “Celeste,” Sharief said.

  “Yes?” She turned the coffeepot on.

  “You look nice.”

  “Thank you. Is your dick hard?”

  “What?”

  Celeste spoke slowly. “Is…your… dick…hard?”

  “What the hell kinda question is that?” Sharief frowned.

  “Look,” she cut off the stove, reached for a plate, and slid the omelet on it, “you said I look nice so I wanted to know if I looked nice enough to make your dick hard. It must be soft.” She leaned forward and squeezed his dick, looking him directly in the face. “It's real fucked up that your dick is soft, but not to worry, it'll be okay, sweetie, I understand.” She fixed him a bowl of grits.

  “Yo.” Sharief chuckled in disbelief, shaking his head. “Chill with that shit. Celeste, I don't wanna argue with you.”

  “Me neither…me neither.” She poured him a cup of coffee. “Milk or cream?”

  “Cream.”

  “Can you grab it for me, sweetie?”

  Sharief grabbed the cream out the refrigerator and placed it in front of her.

 
“Three sugar cubes?” Celeste asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Celeste poured the cream and placed three sugar cubes in Sharief's coffee.

  He took a sip.

  “I'm sorry about the other night. I was a little out of line,” Celeste said, cutting off the stove and bending over the island's counter.

  “Yeah, I am too.” Sharief kept his eyes on Celeste as he took a sip of his coffee.

  “Is it sweet enough?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “As sweet as the cum that was sliding down your throat last night?”

  Sharief swallowed hard. “Are you crazy? What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “Oh, Sharief, darling,” Celeste chuckled, sipping on her now cold latte, “nothing is wrong with me. I just figured that the bitch you're fuckin' must have some sweet cum because you're never here and when you are here, you play Daddy of the Year and that's it.” She took another sip. “Honestly, I don't remember the last time you fucked me.” She placed her cup on the counter. “Do you even remember what my pussy looks like?” She picked her cup back up and took a sip. “Uhmm, just so you know, I have a few gray hairs down there now. I'm thinking about dyeing it with some Just for Men, whatcha think?”

  “I think yo' ass is crazy as hell,” Sharief nervously chuckled. “Let me go take a shower, get my kids, and get out of here.”

  “There you go, planning to leave again!” Celeste slammed her fist against the counter, rattling the coffee cups. “What the hell is going on, Sharief ? Just tell me who she is! That's all I want to know!” She opened her eyes wide. “Who is she? Is she somebody that I know? Would you do that, Sharief, are you fucking one of the neighbors? Is it Drew, is it Bree…Oh hell no, I got it, it's Veronica, that's why she moved from around here. I'ma kick her fuckin' ass!”

  “I'm not fuckin' Monica! What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I didn't say Monica.” She arched her eyebrows. “I said Veronica.”

  “Whoever the hell. All I know is that I'm not feeling this shit no more. I have tried, but I'm tired. Look at you, you act like you done lost your damn mind! Naw”—he shook his head—“this is some crazy shit.”