Free Cheesecake and Teardrops by Faye Thompson Page B

finished his beer, paid the bartender, and prepared to leave. Just as he stood he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders.
    â€œGoing somewhere?”
    He turned. It was Chase.
    Blade broke out in a grin. “Playing hard to get?”
    â€œNot me.” She smiled mischievously. Just then a stool opened up and she sat down next to him.
    â€œSo what’s the hot drink around here?” Blade asked her
    â€œMojitos. Buy me one?”
    He laughed. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Blade said, signaling the bartender. “Let me have two mojitos,” he told him.
    The bartender looked at Blade first and then Chase—apparently not thrilled to see them coupled up. He rolled his eyes ever so slightly, prepared their drinks, and returned with them momentarily.
    Blade took a sip of his drink. “Excuse me a minute. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading for the men’s room.
    Chase ran a perfectly manicured hand through her blond locks. The bartender moved in on her.
    â€œSo what’s up with you and Mandingo?” he asked.
    â€œWhat’s it to ya?” she shot back.
    He shook his head, mumbled something under his breath, and walked away.
    Chase recalled as a twelve-year-old being in a drugstore with her mother. A black guy asked the pharmacist for extra-large condoms. The pharmacist had told him no, just what was on the shelf. He turned to the other pharmacist and asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “What the hell does he want, a freaking garbage bag?” Chase hadn’t understood then, but she understood all too well now. White men were good for wining and dining her, but when her body ached, only a brotha would do. She silently prayed that Blade would deliver her.
    As if on cue, Blade returned from the men’s room. “I think it’s time we get this party started.” He winked.
    Chase checked her watch. “And not a minute too soon,” she said, her lips curling into a wicked smile.
    Â 
    â€œWhy the hell isn’t he answering his cell?” Tangie said to Charisma and Heather as they sat on the floor of Tangie’s living room, eating Jamaican beef patties.
    Tangie had stopped by Wilson’s West Indian Bakery on Guy R. Brewer Boulevard across from Rochdale on her way home from work for the spicy treats. She had bought a dozen, knowing how much they all loved them. They were easily the best she had ever tasted, bar none. Even Heather wolfed down two.
    â€œI have been calling that man all freakin’ day. I am fed up with his crap. I’ve had it up to here.” She motioned to her chin.
    â€œI thought you erased his numbers from your life,” Charisma said.
    â€œI did, but I can’t help it if I have a memory like an elephant,” Tangie shot back.
    â€œWhy do you let him drive you crazy?” Heather asked.
    â€œYou know how he is. You should be used to him by now.”
    â€œI know, but I thought this time would be different. I thought he had changed.”
    â€œSweetie, I know you want to believe in Blade, but one tear does not a changed man make,” Charisma said.
    â€œFor all you know, he sprinkled some salt in his eyes when you weren’t looking.” Heather said, laughing and Tangie rolled her eyes.
    â€œHe knows how to play the game. Don’t underestimate him,” Charisma warned. “And what you have with Blade right now is as good as it gets. He’ll never try to wine and dine you again. He’s already got you.”
    â€œYou’re such a male basher,” Tangie told her.
    â€œNo,” Charisma insisted. “But it’s time you learned how the game is played,” Tangie reached for her cell and dialed his number once again.
    â€œStarting now,” Charisma continued. “Tangie, put the phone down. There is no reason you should be blowing up his phone like that. You’ve called him a good five times in the last half hour. Enough already.