Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
“I want to get those henna designs on my hands.” Lucy’s eyes shone with excitement.
It was such an odd sight, being that she’d just confessed they all lived together.
This is too much to handle.
I’d witnessed some of the worst fights on South End that started with a female catching her boyfriend with another chick. Once two women had battled in the middle of the street for hours, scratching skin, yanking weaves, and screaming curses the entire time. And there in Willow Park, Chase lived happily with his three women.
Why does he even need a fourth? He’s so freaking spoiled.
“Chase always runs off to the batting cage when he’s seriously pissed. When he’s full of rage he’ll stay in there until the morning.”
She studied my face as we stopped at a street corner. “So? Tell me what made him so mad Friday night.”
“Nothing happened.”
“Was there any penetration?”
“No. Oh my god.” I covered my eyes. “There wasn’t any penetration. And by the way, do you just chat about anything with anyone?”
“You’re not anyone. You’re Chase’s possible girlfriend, which would make us sort of like sisters. You know, like members of a special club.”
The sisterhood of stupidity.
“You’ll have to get used to my bluntness. Part of our success is staying truthful with each other.” She hooked her arm under mine. “No secrets. So no penetration, right?”
“None.”
“Good. He’s not allowed,” she whispered. “He can kiss and touch you, but no licking or sex until you agree to join us.”
I cringed at her words and close proximity to me. “Why can’t he have sex?”
“Dawn’s number one rule. It keeps Chase from sleeping around,” Lucy said. “At least that’s what she thinks, but I happen to know Chase is too happy with this arrangement to break the rules or sleep with other women.”
“But he is sleeping around when he hooks up with Wendy.”
Horns beeped as two men on motorcycles rolled by.
Lucy and I jumped out of the way.
I seized the opportunity to get out of her hold.
“It’s okay for him to sleep with Wendy.” Lucy bumped my hip with hers. “So do you have any questions? You must have a bunch of them.”
“None. It doesn’t matter because—”
“Oh, quit being stubborn and open your mind. You’re driving Chase crazy and when he’s wacky we all have to deal with it. I would like things to return to normal.”
We entered a bigger market area.
Tiny colorful corridors boasted piles of fresh fruit and vegetables plumper than I’d ever seen in an American supermarket. Tasty samples of exotic treats stuffed barrels, lounged on tables, and taunted me with their spicy scents.
Sacks rested on women’s heads as they headed off with determined but weary expressions. Vendors lined the streets. Scales propped on tables that held every bright shade of seasonings imaginable.
I inhaled their fragrances, so many I couldn’t pinpoint one. Other sellers displayed pots, shelves, bowls, and additional items one would find in a household. Bags, shirts, and garments hung from wires and hovered over the market square.
People traveled in all directions.
I found myself jumping out of the way as everyone journeyed to their destination. The stench of cattle became all-consuming the closer I came near them so I ventured off to the direction of the food.
Lucy followed me.
Music played all over—some sort of drumming under a hypnotic woman’s voice. I had no idea where it was blasting from, but I was exhilarated by it.
And the food, oh god, it was all over the place. Bowls of vegetables, pots of soups, containers of steaming rice.
On one side, a man flipped circular shapes of meat over burning charcoals.
On another side, a woman stirred some red and thick liquid concoction. My stomach growled in anticipation.
“I’m never leaving this place. I’m about to try everything that looks different. Starting . . . over . . . there.” I pointed to a woman mixing orange pieces of bread in a large pot of oil.
“It smells good,” Lucy admitted and took off her sunglasses.
“You can pretty much fry anything and it will taste good.” I headed over there. “When I was nine this bum sold my brother Troy and I fried squirrel legs for a dollar. They were wrapped in this dirty foil and smelled god-awful. My brother dared me to eat it.”
“Did you?”
“Oh goodness, of course. I ate anything back then on a dare— dirt, leaves, cat food. I can’t think of any dare I walked away from, even pigeon poop.”
Lucy’s eyes popped open. “This is possibly the most nauseating confession anyone has ever told me. So what did the squirrel leg taste like?”
“It tasted like chicken. Dark meat.”
“That’s horrific and yet interesting.”
“Do you ever wonder how we taste? I’ll bet an alien would come down and say we taste like chicken.”
She laughed. “I think that is probably a good time to change the subject. So why are you saying no to us?”