Wives, Fiancees, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta(90)

That was until she saw the look in Miss Hart’s eyes; the tone in her voice and the words she didn’t speak out loud. Sasha didn’t sense worry in Miss Hart’s heart for her boss, just empathy for her boss’s lady friend. If Sasha wasn’t mistaken, it was actually that same look Miss Hart had given her the first night she’d met Terrance and he’d brought her home. It was as if Miss Hart had expected what Sasha found to be the unexpected. It just so happened that Sasha didn’t end up being another one of Terrance’s side-chicks who bites the dust. She was wifey. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a side-chick out there engraving her name on Terrance’s penis with her tongue.

That’s when jealousy and insecurity began to creep up on Sasha.

“Have you talked to Terrance, Miss Hart? I hope he’s okay.” Now Sasha was fishing. She wanted to know why Miss Hart wasn’t the least bit worried. Is this something Terrance has done before? Sasha asked herself, truly wanting to ask Miss Hart. But of course this was something Terrance had done before. Up until just a few months ago he’d been a single man. A grown-ass, single man. He didn’t have to come home if he didn’t want to. But that was a few months ago. Now Terrance was a grown-ass man with a woman. Hopefully he hadn’t just slipped and bumped his head, but slipped back into an old habit.

“You know what, never mind,” Sasha said to Miss Hart. She was not about to sit there and try to pick her man’s employee for information on him. She wasn’t going to be that chick. She thought back to Kels, her overly possessive and jealous neighbor from her old apartment. She refused to be that chick. Casey, who had good reason to be that chick, wasn’t even that chick. She’d heard with her own two ears Casey brush off Eric’s not coming home . . . and those two were married. Granted, Sasha and Terrance were exclusive, but not married. No commitment had been made under the eyes of God. No contract to love, honor, and not stray had been signed. No promises, legal or otherwise, had been made, therefore none had been broken. That was the reasoning and justification Sasha would use to keep her heart together . . . to keep it from breaking apart.

“You’re right, Miss Hart. I should go to bed.” Sasha got up from the couch and an hour later she was lying in bed—her bed back at her old apartment. The same theory Sasha had used to justify why she shouldn’t feel some kind of way about Terrance not coming home was the same justification she used as to why she shouldn’t be laying up in Terrance’s bed waiting for him to come home. That was his bed, not their marital bed.

Terrance always made comments about how Sasha didn’t play, yet he didn’t mind playing house with her. What made her any different than some groupie camping out outside of his hotel room waiting for him? Nothing, with the exception that the king-size bed was a lot more comfortable than the hotel hallway floor.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Sasha looked from the bedroom ceiling she’d been staring at while in thought to the doorway where Terrance stood.

Sasha had given him the spare key to her apartment after she’d agreed to move into his place. He’d had movers pack up her clothing and personal items and take them to his place. Besides, she had a key to his big ole castle; of course it made sense for him to have a key to her little ole apartment.

Sasha looked away, back to the ceiling.

Terrance looked up at the ceiling then back at her. He was trying to be playful, as if to ask what it was about the ceiling that had Sasha’s attention. But Sasha wasn’t paying him any mind at all. She simply continued staring upward.

Eventually Terrance made his way over to Sasha’s bed, lay down next to her, and stared up at the ceiling. After a few seconds, Sasha turned to look at him.

“What are you doing?” Sasha asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Doing whatever you’re doing, I guess.” He turned and looked at her.

After a few seconds of staring into his eyes, Sasha had to look away. The same way she’d been entrapped by his eyes that first night they met was about to be a repeat if she didn’t look away.

They were both, once again, staring up at ceiling.

Terrance finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Sasha asked. A man could say he was sorry a million times just to appease or keep a woman quiet, but it meant nothing unless he knew what he was apologizing for.

“Come on, Sasha. We’re grown. Let’s not play games. I fucked up. I stayed out all night and I didn’t call. I should have called. It’s just that I had one drink too many and passed out.”