Taste of Ms. Alexander

Chapter 18

AMANDA "ASIA" ALEXANDER

With my eyes still closed, I stretched my hand across the bed, searching for the warmth of an erect morning cock. Instead, my fingertips met nothing but cool, empty sheets. A deep sigh left my lips. He was gone.

I peeled my body off the bed and made my way to the bathroom, my movements slow and heavy with disappointment. My eyes flickered around the room as if searching for something. Some sign that he had at least thought about me before leaving. Maybe a note, a text, even a damn glass of water on the nightstand. Nothing.

Why was I even hoping? This wasn't a romance movie. Anthony wasn't even the kind of man to leave sweet messages or linger in bed. I should have known better. Why the hell did I keep doing this to myself?

Is it the toxicity that excites me? The thrill of being told what to do by a man who barely respects me? They say past experiences should be lessons, yet here I was, a willing participant in my own downfall. A hamster on a damn wheel, running, running, running, but never getting anywhere. I was so frustrated, I raked my fingers through my hair, groaning as I massaged my scalp. Then, RING! RING! RING!

The sharp sound of my phone shattered my thoughts. I exhaled through gritted teeth and stormed over to the counter, swiping the screen to answer the video call.

"Hi, Mommy!" I greeted, forcing a smile.

Truth be told, I hadn't spoken to her since I got back. Not because we weren't close, but we just weren't the type to talk every single day.

Now, let's talk about my mother. At 47, she looked so damn good that people constantly mistook us for sisters. Back in secondary school, my classmates practically worshipped her. The way they'd lose their minds every time she picked me up was embarrassing. You'd swear it was some celebrity sighting. They'd bombard me before the last bell even rang, asking, "What time your mom coming today? What car she driving? She wearing the black dress again?" Just so they could run outside and gawk at her.

She lived for it. She loved every bit of the attention.

"Amanda," she started, already sounding amused, "why Joann calling my phone foreday morning to tell me foolishness?"

I frowned. "Huh? What she call to tell you now?"

"Joann say I must tell you stop bringing man in she place."

My eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head.

"So I ask her, Joann, why you don't go and tell Manda yourself?" Then she start up," my mother continued.

I grabbed a bar stool and sank into it. "Wait. Wait. Who tell her I had a man here?"

"She say Mavis send her a video on WhatsApp."

My body stiffened.

Mavis. That fucking marma woman from upstairs.

"Apparently, them two is best friends now," my mother went on. "Mavis say she was pulling into the yard around four this morning and see a tall, black rasta man leaving from downstairs. Say how this  nah the first time she see him."

I scoffed. "So Mavis out here doing security work now?"

My mother ignored me.

"Mavis even manage to record a little clip of him walking past her car before getting into a black Mazda. Couldn't see who was driving cause of the dark tint, but Manda..."

Her voice dropped into something playful.

"Who this sexy rasta man be?"

I sighed heavily.