Free My Daughter's Boyfriend by Cydney Rax Page A

outside the door that sounded like several footsteps coming up the landing. I knew Lauren was at the slumber party and wasn’t about to come home, but that little fact didn’t make me feel secure.
    Aaron pulled me against his chest, pressing his cheek against mine. God, his skin was
sooo
soft, so warm, it felt like our bodies were melting together, two entities becoming one.
    I heard the patter of footsteps outside, and stiffened like inertia was setting in.
    “Are we sure that it’s okay to be doing this, Aaron?” I asked, my voice quivering.
    “Ms. Davenport,” he murmured.
    “Please call me Tracey,” I said, still swaying.
    “Tracey,” he said, and pressed his face against my hair, while his hands gripped my ass. “A dance is just a dance.”
    “You sure about that?” I uttered, saying words that didn’t have to be said.
    “Why are you afraid?” he asked, and moved his hand to my shoulder, caressing it with one strong fingertip.
    “Aren’t you?”
    “Nope,” he said. He sounded like he meant it.
    “You
do
lie,” I replied. How
could
he mean it?
    “No, I’m not lying. I can honestly say I’m not afraid because I know we’re just cool like this. I date your daughter and I’m keeping you company while she’s out tonight.”
    I froze.
    “So if she were here, none of this would be happening would it?”
    “I doubt it,” he said, his body still moved by the classic Isley wail.
    “Then it must be wrong. If it’s something we can’t do in front of her face, it’s wrong,” I said, more for my sake than his.
    I felt his embrace weaken, preparing to give my body back to me.
    “Aaron, did I strike a nerve?”
    “Nothing’s struck, at least not with me. I’m not worried about me. I have self-control.”
    “Oh, really now?”
    Seconds later he stepped completely away from me, his touch now in the past.
    “Yep, I do, Tracey. I’m personable, but I’m not crazy. You’re an attractive woman, but that’s as far as it will go. Maybe I should leave.”
    “Wait a minute, wait. Let me think.”
    I cleared my throat and looked at my clothing. Who was I kidding? Giving the poor guy mixed signals. Loving the feeling of him holding me in his arms, yet wondering what would happen if Lauren saw us. I felt awful, like a tease that might not follow up.
    “Yep, you’re right. I think you should leave,” I said.
    He had already grabbed his keys. That made me mad.
    Don’t grab your keys until I say it’s all right to grab them.
    “You know your way out.”
    “Tracey, it’s a small apartment. Of course I know my way out.”
    “Well, goodie for you.”
    He stared at me for a minute, then turned to walk out the door, closing it without a sound behind him.

Aaron 8
    When I got home and turned on the lamps, my room mate Brad had a rhythmic snore going. He sounded like an eight-hundred-year-old man. Under ordinary circumstances he’s a normal-looking guy: complexion the color of maple syrup, thick waist, round legs, and a robust build. On most days, Brad’s short Afro had an uneven look and he’d wear a metal pick lodged in the back. Oh, one more thing: one of his eyes was bigger than the other, which made some folks think he’s crazy, but that was debatable.
    Tonight it looked as if he’d crashed and burned on the living room couch, stretched out lying on his belly with his lips spread apart, a small pool of saliva resting on the corner of his mouth. VH1 was playing music videos for the ultimate insomniac. I grabbed the remote, aimed it at the TV, and increased the volume to maximum.
    “What, who, what—?” Brad mumbled, shifted his body to the side, and kinda thumped, then rolled to the floor.
    “Man,” he said, opening and closing his eyes like a newborn baby adjusting to its first day of life, “what in the hell is your problem? Turn that thang down.”
    I muted the volume. “Hey, Brad, sorry ’bout dat. I—I need to talk,” I said, standing over him.
    “You need to do what?” he asked