Lust. || BEYNIKA

Chapter TWO

Onika Cookie Maraj.

THERE’S nothing worse than going to a wedding alone, especially when I’d had a date approximately forty-eight hours ago. Before I realized the guy I was seeing was also still seeing the woman he claimed he’d broke up with well over six months ago.

How did I find out this amazingly bad news? The supposed ex called my cell and chewed me out while I was looking over wallpaper samples with a client. Talk about humiliating. Talk about my life turning into a Jerry Springer episode. She made me feel like a cheating whore-bag out to steal her man, the very last thing I am. I am not a man-stealer. I know some women are attracted to men in relationships but not me. Taken men are too much trouble, thank you very much.

I hung up on the still-ranting, supposed ex-girlfriend and promptly called Rahmeek, letting him know I couldn’t see him any longer. He’d hardly protested—no surprise. What a jerk.

So now I sit here alone. At the single and dateless table, because when I called the bride and told her I wasn’t bringing my date after all, Sanaa flipped out. Claimed I would mess up her carefully orchestrated seating arrangement and oh my God, couldn’t you just bring your date anyway and deal?

I think my saying an emphatic no resulted in me ending up at the desperate and single section as punishment.

Sighing, I prop my elbow on the edge of the table and rest my chin on my fist, watching all the couples dancing, the bride and groom in the center of the floor, grinning up at each other like fools. They look happy. Everyone looks happy.

I’m jealous of all the happiness surrounding me. Weddings remind me I’m alone. For once, I wish I could find someone. I’ve had a string of bad luck with men my entire dating life. I pick wrong, my mom has told me more than once. She describes me as a fixer. I take the broken guys and try to put them back together again. “Humpty Dumpty syndrome” is what she calls it.

Gee, thanks, Mom.

My brother says I’m too young to want to settle down, but I’m nothing like him. He just wants to screw around and stay single forever. Micaiah doesn’t know what I want. Do I though? I’m not sure. I thought I did. I thought Rahmeek had potential.

Turns out he went splat all over the ground. Definitely couldn’t put him back together again.

Maybe I shouldn’t take everything so damn seriously. Maybe I should let loose and do something completely and totally crazy. Like find some random guy and make out with him in a dark corner. I miss having a man cup my face and kiss me slowly. Thoroughly. Unfortunately, Rahmeem wasn’t that great of a kisser. Too much thrusting tongue, though I firmly believed I could help him correct that annoying habit.

He didn’t give me a chance, which is fine, because really, chemistry is everything. If I don’t feel a spark with a kiss, then the guy is clearly not right for me.

If I’m going to consider a relationship with a guy, that’s what I want. What I need. A spark. Chemistry. A few stolen kisses, wandering hands, whispered words in a quiet corner where someone might catch us. He’d press me up against a wall, cradle my face in his hands, and kiss me like he means it . . .

I frown. I’m sitting alone contemplating a wild wedding reception hookup with a faceless guy. Since when did I become so desperate?