Sexual Healing (32 page)

“What?” Ramona said anxiously.

“You heard me,” he said calmly, and then pulled on the blunt, holding the bitter smoke in his lungs.

“You can't be serious.”

He blew smoke out through the side of his mouth. “I'm dead serious. Moody's health issues ain't none of my business, yo. I been carrying y'all niggas for long enough, and I don't want you calling me anymore about nothing. In fact, delete my number, 'cause I'm blocking yours.”

Ramona gasped. “Cruze! This is not the time for you to be acting like this.”

“You're right, I should have cut ties with you years ago.”

“How you gon' turn your back on me, you ungrateful bastard?” Ramona exploded. “I made you! You wasn't shit before me! And you wouldn't know shit about the game and wouldn't have a dollar to your name if it wasn't for me.”

“Man, whatever.” Cruze's voice rose in anger. “You chose that muhfucka over me, and now you stuck with him and all his problems. All I can say is make the best of it. I'm hanging up, now. Have a good life. Peace out!”

Ramona shouted something indistinct, but Cruze disconnected in the midst of her tirade.

And then he blocked her number. For the first time in his entire adult life, he truly felt free.

Thirty-Five

A
t fifteen minutes past seven, Arabia glanced at her watch, the heels of her Manolo Blahniks clicking impatiently against the gleaming marble floor as she paced the lobby of the Trump International Hotel and Tower in Midtown Manhattan. He was late. Fifteen minutes, to be exact. He was never late. And Arabia's first thought was,
he isn't going to show.

She let out an irritated breath. She'd spoken to him two days ago to set up their dinner date—although her seeing him tonight was the furthest thing from a
date
. Still, he'd texted her late last night to confirm the time and the place. And they'd agreed on meeting at seven p.m. here, then have dinner and drinks at Jean-Georges, which was located inside the five-star hotel.

So why wasn't he already here?

She checked her phone for any missed calls or text messages. There were none. She frowned, smoothing a manicured hand up over the side of her sleek chignon.

She captured the attention of several patrons and hotel guests, as well as a few staffers, all mesmerized by her stunning looks. However, not one of them caught her eye, or piqued her interest. So she kept her eye trained on the front entrance of the hotel and ignored their glances.

She was about to call him when she spotted him coming through the door. When his gaze lighted on her, he smiled walking toward
her. She smiled back. He was as handsome as ever in his navy blue custom-fit Brooks Brothers suit and Salvatore Ferragamo loafers.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted smoothly as he wrapped her in his arms and leaned in for a kiss, his lips catching the corner of her mouth as she turned her head. “Sorry I'm late. Got stuck in traffic.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I didn't think you were going to show.”

“What, and stand up a beautiful woman? Never, baby.”

Arabia smiled. “Well, I hadn't heard from you so I didn't know what to think. A text would have been nice,” she said pointedly.

“You're right,” he said sheepishly. “I apologize.”

“Well, apology accepted. Now shall we eat? I'm famished.”

“Ah, I like the sound of that.” He took her arm, tucking it over his as he guided her toward the restaurant.

The moment they arrived at the restaurant, the maître d' immediately ushered them to the table she'd reserved for them. She loved dining here with its luxurious white leather seating and pristine table settings. It was sophisticated. And the stunning floor-to-ceiling windows offered magnificent views of the city.

He sat across from Arabia, taking her in as if he were trying to commit every detail of her to his memory, right down to the tiny beauty mole slightly above the right side of her lip. God—oh how he loved kissing those beautiful lips.

“It's good to see you, Wellson,” she said as she reached across the table and touched his hand. She was going to miss him. But there was no time for sentiments. Their relationship had run its course, and she needed to end it. Let him go. And move on.

Wellson's gaze slid down to the hint of cleavage peeking out through the slits of her blouse. She smiled inwardly. She hadn't wanted to be over-the-top sexy, so she'd settled on wearing a sleeveless, pleated cocktail dress with a high-low hem which had
a relaxed silhouette that showcased a modest amount of cleavage. She paired the dress with a pair of strappy six-inch heels, and allowed her bare silky legs do all the talking. Although it was over, she still wanted his last image of her to be “Damn, she's sexy as hell. I'm going to miss all that good loving.”

She regretted the fact that she hadn't handled breaking things off with Eric in the most pragmatic way, but this time, she planned on doing things differently. Amicably.

She didn't want to hurt him, but it had to be done.

She didn't know what had gotten into her lately. But she wanted to cut all ties with her married lovers. No. Wait. She did know.
Cruze
had gotten to her, in her . . . and all over her. He was the root of her change. He hadn't changed her, per se. But he'd given her reason to
want
change.

Wellson laced his fingers with hers. “Good to see you, too. I've missed you.”

His gaze skittered to her ring finger. It was bare. She hadn't worn his engagement ring. And he wondered why.

Arabia smiled.

“What would you like to drink tonight?” he asked when a waiter quickly appeared. “Wine? Or—?”

She shook her head. “No, water is fine for now. I'll have wine with dinner.”

“Okay then. Make that two bottles of Fiji water,” he murmured to the waiter. “And we'll have the wine pairing with our dinner.”

The waiter took their orders and then quickly disappeared.

“So . . . I'm glad you wanted to see me,” Wellson said. “Because I've wanted to see you, too.”

Arabia swallowed back a sliver of what felt like . . . guilt.

“I have something I want to share with you,” he continued. “Something that I didn't want to tell you over the phone. The last three
years being with you have been incredible, baby. You've given me some of the—”

Oh God, oh God . . . she had to stop him.

“Wellson, wait,” she interrupted. “I have something I want—”

He put a hand up, stopping her. “Let me finish, baby.”

She cast her gaze downward, then slowly nodded, looking up at him through her lashes. She braced herself with a slow breath.

“As I was saying, you've given me some of the best years of my life, Arabia. And I don't know what I would have done had you not come into my life when you had . . .”

Arabia's pulse raced. She felt herself on the verge of throwing up the remaining contents of her shrimp salad from lunch. “Wellson . . .”

“Please, baby. Let me finish. Holding this in has been killing me.”

She blinked. An eyebrow rose in question. “What's been killing you, Wellson?”

“Well . . .” This time he reached across the table and slid his hand over hers. “There's simply no other way to say this except to just say it. I've met someone else.”

Arabia blinked. Wait, had she heard him right? He'd met someone else? As in someone else he was
fucking?
Or someone he . . .

She carefully drew back her hand. This was not what she'd expected to hear come out of his mouth. “You've met someone,” she repeated, more as a statement than a question.

He flashed her a wry grin. “Yeah. Surprise, huh?”

Arabia shrank back in her seat. “When?” she asked, feeling surprisingly crushed by the news. He slashed her, deflating her ego as the waiter returned bearing their entrees. Wellson didn't answer her question until the plates had been served and the waiter retreated.

Then he cleared his voice. “I met her on one of my flights here to see you,” he explained. “We talked most of the flight, then exchanged numbers once we landed.”

“Oh,” was the only thing she could manage to say. Suddenly her mouth had gone incredibly dry and she'd lost her appetite. She reached for her water, and took two long swallows. This was
not
how she pictured her night going.

“Tiffany's . . .”

She made a face. “Who?”

Wellson smiled. “Tiffany. The young woman I met. She's a flight attendant.”

Arabia tilted her head, and stared at him. “And how long have you and this Tiffany been an item?”

He loosened his paisley tie. “Not long—about a month now. I didn't want to mention anything until I was sure where things were going.”

She fixed him with a hard stare. “And now you're
sure?” Because bastard, once you leave, there's no coming back to this good pussy.

He nodded. “As sure as I'll ever be. Tiffany and . . .” He paused, gauging Arabia's reaction. There was none. On the outside, she was as calm as could be, but her insides were churning. She wanted to toss her water in his face. Sling her plate of black sea bass crusted with seeds and nuts at him. “We're in love.”

“In a matter of a
month?”
she asked incredulously. “Do you even know her?”

“I know all I need to know for now,” he said, the beginnings of a smile glinting in his eyes. “Don't you believe in love at first sight?”

She cringed inwardly. Sadly, she'd never been in love to know whether or not it bloomed at first glance, or after the first night of good fucking. So she didn't believe in any of that happy-ever-after fairytale shit.

“I didn't want to hurt you,” he gently said. “You're an amazingly incredible woman, Arabia. Passionate. Beautiful. Smart. Sensual. Any man would be honored to have you in his life.” And his bed, she thought. Don't forget that part.

She blinked. Oh, the irony of it all.
He
was leaving
her
for some young flight attendant bitch. The gall of him! He could have told her this shit over the phone, instead of having her traipse over here in all of her finery.

Oh, what a damn hypocrite she was. She'd planned on doing the same thing to him. But he'd beaten her to it. And now she felt . . . oh, hell—she didn't know what to feel about this. Her cheating married lover had fallen for a younger woman. Probably some bitch with Daddy issues.

Arabia smiled at him. “I'm happy for you, Wellson. Really. I wish you and . . .”

“Tiffany,” he offered.

“Yes. I wish you and Tiffany all the best.”

“As I do you,” he assured her, his tone filled with a sincerity that matched his gaze. “One day, Mr. Right will find his way to you, baby.”

Arabia nodded. “I'm sure he will.” She decided not to mention her own intentions for asking him out. What would be the point? He'd already made his.

But then another part of her wanted him to know.

So she told him, “I wanted to tell you, that I met someone too.”

Wellson's brow shut up, surprise registering over his face. “Oh?”

“Yes. I met him by chance at a meeting in Philadelphia.”
But I'd fucked him at a nightclub.

“Oh. I see. Is he married?”
Like
he
of all people should be asking me some shit like that. Mmph.

Arabia shook her head. “No, he isn't.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a small box. Placing it on the table between them, she slid it over to him. “I guess I won't be needing this anymore.”

Oh, how her heart ached returning the expensive bauble to him.

He frowned. “What's this?”

She swallowed. Her throat slowly tightened. “Your ring.”

He pushed it back to her. “I don't want it. It's yours.”

Though she didn't want to show it, relief danced in the pupils of her eyes. She loved her ring. “I can't,” she said, pushing the box back in his direction. “It wouldn't feel right.”

He shook his head, his hand over her hand again. “Consider it a gift for the three years of good loving you've given me.”

He managed to wring a laugh out of her.
“Good?
Is that what you're calling it?”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. Stupendous. How's that?”

“Better,” she said, a genuine smile curving her lips as she quickly curled her fingers over the box and slid it back toward her. She tossed the box back inside her handbag before he changed his mind.

And he threw his head back and laughed. “Arabia, baby. You're something else. I'll never forget the time we spent together.”

“Neither will I,” she admitted. And she meant it. There were truly no regrets. And, in a strange sort of way, she was relieved that he'd been the one to break things off.

“Good. Now can we eat?”

“Yes, by all means. I thought you'd—”

“So this is who you've been fucking now,” interrupted a gruff voice.

Arabia whipped her head around. When her eyes landed on who stood at her table, shock and dread churned through her veins, her face a wreath of horror.

Oh God. No. This couldn't be happening. This wasn't happening. Not here. Not now. No, no, no. She had to be imagining his presence. But the murderous expression on his face confirmed her greatest fear.

“E-eric,” Arabia croaked. She suddenly felt lightheaded. “What are
you
doing here?”

“I should be asking your whoring-ass the same thing,” he snarled. “But the answer is already sitting across from you.”

Wellson scowled, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “I'm going to need you to watch how you speak to her,” he warned. “Is there a problem here?”

Eric held up his hands in mock surrender. “No, my brother. No problem here. But she is one sweet piece of ass, isn't she? How many times has she had them soft lips wrapped around your dick?”

Oh God, no!

Wellson leapt up from his seat. “If you say another disrespectful thing out of your mouth about her, I'll kick your ass.”

Arabia's heart sank, embarrassment and shock flashing over her face. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard she thought she'd drop dead in any second. He was causing a scene. And Wellson was now caught up in the middle of it.

She swallowed hard. “Wellson, no, please.” She stood. “I'll handle it.”

His nostrils flared as he kept his stare locked on Eric.

Eric gave him a sardonic look. “You heard her. She'll take care of it. Like the way she used to take care of this dick; isn't that right, Arabia?”

And before she knew it, she whirled around and slapped his face, drawing more attention to her table. He didn't flinch.

“How dare you, disrespect me,” she hissed, her fingers curling into claws, slashing her nails across his face. “I told you it was over, Eric. And now you've taken to
stalking
me. How much more pathetic can you be? Go back to your crippled-ass wife. And leave me the hell—”