Green Eyed Monster

Who Gets The Carrot?

I wake up just before 8 a.m. Lola's room door is open, but she's gone. I hurry to look for her SUV, and it's still parked in the driveway. I go into the kitchen to make coffee, and Solomon's swimming in his grandmother's pool. I look for Lola, but she's not there with him. 

Now watching him, he does two more laps and then exits the pool. He gets out, facing towards my home. He doesn't dry off with a towel, but stands there, air-drying, pressing his fingers against his eyes, clearing them. He pulls his trunks out and looks down at his penis. He's examining it. Is he admiring it? 

Placing his hand down his trunks, a burst of water runs down his leg. He snatches out the little safety strip that was taped along the crotch area from the store. He lets his trunks snap back and then looks right into my kitchen window. I hurry and move to the side. Slowly, I peek around the corner, and he's staring towards the front of the house.

Creeping from window to window, I watch him. It's then he's greeted by Mrs. Tolbert's other neighbor Miss Gypsy. That's not her real name, so why do we call her that? Because she has all kinds of tricks up her sleeve. 

Gypsy and I are the same age. She's a widow of nine years now. Her shirt is so revealing, it's embarrassing. Each time she speaks, she touches Solomon. Mrs. Tolbert comes out, and Solomon hurries inside. My scowl turns into a satisfied smirk. I return to the kitchen, and he's back by the pool, so I decide to drink my coffee on the patio. 

He sees me and waves. Waving back, I sit. I'm wearing my favorite nightgown and kimono set. Solomon's wearing a tee now. From across the fence, he asks, "May I have some coffee?"

    "Sure, help yourself."

Solomon goes inside and makes himself coffee. He returns and sits in front of me, but I continue reading my book as if he isn't there.

He says, "So, I hear you like sports."

Turning my book page, I answer, "Yes, I love sports."

    "Cool. Who's your favorite team?"

    "Golden State."

    "Figured."

Removing my shades, I close my book, look him in his eyes and ask, "How'd you figure that?"

    "It's not hard, because most women are. The stars of the team are attractive men."

    "So you think I pay thousands on season tickets and travel the country supporting this team because they're cute?"

He shrugs, giving a deriding smirk. Then I say, "If I were a preteen, that would probably be my reasoning why, but I'm a grown woman. What do I look like, a kid to you? Or am I just that immature to you?"

    "Relax, Mae. You're none of that. That's just my view. Shoot me, I was wrong. ...Well, personally, I'm a soccer fan, or more so a Ronaldo fan."

    "You sure you're not a fan because the star player is so attractive?" He gives an enticing grin. I giggle.

    "I do like the Warriors, too. Since you're a season ticket holder, maybe I can hang out sometimes."

    "Of course."

Suddenly, he looks up behind me. I turn, and it's Lola. Her lovely hair, which I worked so diligently on, is wet. We three remain in awkward silence for a few moments. It's then I ask, "Where are you coming from? The beach?"

Nodding, Lola kisses my cheek, but with her eyes fixed on Solomon, she says, "Hey King, I mean Solomon."

Giving a sexy smirk, he answers, "What's up?"