The Sistah Series 1: Can a Sistah Get Some Love? by Nathasha Brooks-Harris & Gail McFarland & Zana Kayne & Tinisha Nicole-Johnson

Author:Nathasha Brooks-Harris & Gail McFarland & Zana Kayne & Tinisha Nicole-Johnson [Brooks-Harris, Nathasha & McFarland, Gail & Kayne, Zana & Nicole-Johnson, Tinisha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Short Stories & Anthologies, Anthologies, United States, African American, Women's Fiction, Anthologies & Literature Collections, Genre Fiction
Amazon: B00P017NZY
Publisher: Lady Leo Publishing
Published: 2014-10-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 2

It was one o’clock in the afternoon when Kayla put the key into the lock and opened the door to her normally neat two bedroom condo on Foxworth in Lombard and upscale neighborhood of Chicago. It had been her only big extravagance since she didn’t count her Jimmy Choo and Cole Haan shoe collection.

“Damn,” she muttered as she went to the Bose radio and turned off the one-toned-two-word rap song. She wished Gerald was a little more responsible. It irritated her to no end that he always left it and/or the TV on, water dripping in the sink, and every light in the condo burning. She wondered how in the world a playful weekend romp had turned into a six month long stay for him, complete with four pairs of sneakers, eight shirts, and nine pairs of jeans. The only suit he had was the one she’d met him in, and now she could see that it had seen better days.

After placing her purse and the box containing her office items on the counter, she slipped off her shoes, picked them up, and padded down the carpeted hall to her bedroom. Rubbing her hand across her aching forehead, she suddenly stumbled over something on the floor. “Damn you, Gerald,” she muttered then bent down to pick up what she thought was his tee shirt or shorts. But to her brow raising surprise, it was a gi-normous pair of black lace crotch-less panties. She turned up her nose and dropped them quickly, noticing that the hallway floor was littered with other assorted apparel, along with two wine bottles—one of which the remnants of its contents had dripped out and stained her expensive beige carpet—an empty bag of Fritos, and what she hoped was a squashed Hostess cupcake and not something the dog she did not have made on the floor.

Fury raced up her gorge like a Yellowstone Park geyser as she took hold of the door handle to her bedroom. Almost as though timed, she heard the sounds emanating from behind the door—sounds that could never be mistaken for anything but what it was, heavy-breathing, raspy, monkey-screaming-jungle sex at its best. Kayla burst into the room like a nuclear test missile on crack.

The drapes had been pulled and the room was in a murky dimness as she squinted, adjusting her vision and finally leveling them to the bed. At first, all she could see was a silhouette of writhing arms and legs. But her rational mind saw that it was far too many arms and legs for just two people. A musk accompanied the cheap Dollar Store incense Gerald liked to burn telling her that they had been at it for some time.

She flipped the wall switch and the room was suddenly bathed in a soft light from the slow-turning ceiling fan.

“What the hell is this?” she screamed, fighting her nausea.

All motion stopped and her eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw a heavy hipped, chocolate brown woman’s head turn to her.