My Best Friend and My Man Read online

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1 VERON

  2 DEMETRIA

  3 VERON

  4 DEMETRIA

  5 VERON

  6 DEMETRIA

  7 SEAPHES

  8 VERON

  9 DEMETRIA

  10 SEAPHES

  11 VERON

  12 SEAPHES

  13 VERON

  14 VERON

  15 DEMETRIA

  16 VERON

  17 SEAPHES

  18 DEMETRIA

  19 VERON

  20 SEAPHES

  21 DEMETRIA

  22 VERON

  23 DEMETRIA

  24 VERON

  25 DEMETRIA

  26 SEAPHES

  27 DEMETRIA

  28 VERON

  29 SEAPHES

  30 DEMETRIA

  31 VERON

  32 SEAPHES

  33 DEMETRIA

  34 VERON

  35 SEAPHES

  36 VERON

  37 DEMETRIA

  38 VERON

  39 DEMETRIA

  40 VERON

  41 SEAPHES

  42 DEMETRIA

  43 VERON

  44 SEAPHES

  45 VERON

  MY BEST FRIEND AND MY MAN READER’S GUIDE

  ALSO BY CYDNEY RAX

  PRAISE FOR MY BEST FRIEND AND MY MAN

  PRAISE FOR MY HUSBAND’S GIRLFRIEND

  PRAISE FOR MY DAUGHTER’S BOYFRIEND

  COPYRIGHT

  For Brandon

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Can you believe I forgot to acknowledge Brandon in my last book? So sorry…I love you very much and am so proud of you. Keep up the good work.

  First, to my fantastic editor Lindsey Moore, my awesome agent Claudia Menza, the book designers, the copyeditors, and my incomparable publisher, Three Rivers Press—let’s keep doing this. Secondly, mega thanks to my publicist Melanie DeNardo. You are a magical PR person.

  I received so much love for My Husband’s Girlfriend. Thanks to media outlets such as Ebony magazine, Today’s Black Woman, Jewel Magazine, the great Patrik Henry Bass of Essence magazine, Publishers Weekly, Disilgold Soul Literary Review (thanks, Heather Covington), Black Expressions Book Club (thanks, Carol Mackey), Booking Matters Magazine, Tee C. Royal of RAWSISTAZ Book Club, Urban-Reviews.com, Romantic Times Book Reviews, Upscale magazine, all the bookstores, and especially the book clubs that selected and read My Husband’s Girlfriend. Special thanks to Design Divas and SistahFriend Book Club—you ladies are incredible. I cannot thank you enough for all your excellent support and positivity. I appreciate all the libraries around the country (and even overseas) that have included my books as part of their circulation.

  To authors: Margaret Johnson-Hodge (thanks for always having my back), Lexi Davis (thanks for helping me with the chat), William Frederick Cooper, Shelley Halima, Shelia Goss, Fred Smith, Alex Hairston, J.D. Mason, Marissa Monteilh, Chelsia McCoy, Philana Marie Boles, T. Styles, Marsha Jenkins-Sanders, Tina Brooks McKinney, R. Moreen Clarke, Desiree Day, Margie Gosa Shivers, Dwan Abrams, Poet Extraordinaire Aberjhani, Joel McIver, Michelle Buckley, Cheryl Robinson, Trisha Thomas, Brenda L. Thomas, Thomas Green, Phil Thomas Duck (I see a pattern here), Eric Pete, Dywane Birch, Shani Greene-Dowdell, Naiomi Pitre, and Darren Coleman.

  To my supporters and friends: Wilt Tillman, Glendon (W&G, thanks for your input), BookDivas, Chayo E. R. Briggs (I love you, Papi), Kim Floyd, Darrell B., Mo Bennett, Lillian W., Cynthia Gibbs., Tere R., Mary M., Joan, Cynthia H., Allison B., Pam J. Ward, Claudia, Martha, Jolene, and, last but not least, Dilip (my former boss and energetic, unstoppable PR guy).

  To my fam: Mom, sister, D. Thomas, aunts, cousins, uncles, etc. (folks who have been coming out of hiding). Thanks also for buying and spreading the word about my books.

  Finally, to the readers, the fans, the supercool MySpace, BlackPlanet, and Yahoo 360 supporters, all the awesome folks who take time to read the books and send an e-mail or sign my guestbook—y’all just don’t know. Keep that feedback coming.

  I’m at www.myspace.com/cydneyrax or www.cydneyrax.com. I love when you give me a chance and tell me that you get what I write, even if you don’t agree with the actions of my characters. May glorious blessings continue to flow in everyone’s lives.

  —1—

  VERON

  It’s Saturday, February 14th, and I’m home alone. It’s sad, but I’m perched at the computer desk in my modest but comfortable apartment, debating if I should log on to MySpace to see if I have any new friend requests. I last logged in twenty minutes ago.

  I bite my tongue so hard I nearly taste blood when the phone rings. Unexpectedly, it’s Ferris Landers.

  “What you doing?” he growls in that slow, sexy tone that I love.

  “Uh, what’s going on with you?” I dodge Ferris, not wanting him to know I’m not doing a doggone thing.

  “I know we ain’t seen each other in a couple months, and I ain’t called in a while, but I was thinking…I know you love sushi…”

  “Yeah,” I say, impressed that he remembers, “among other things.”

  “And does your ‘among other things’ include second row tickets to see John Legend perform at the Aerial Theater?”

  “Oh yeah, it does!” I smile, barely keeping a delighted squeal from reaching Ferris’s ears.

  “So, if you wanna ride with me, let me know.”

  Man, if you only knew how much I wanna ride you, I think to myself. Ferris is the first man to introduce me to the wonderful world of doggy style, and I’ve wanted him to ram my back bumper ever since. I love the feel of his sculpted, hairy chest slumped across my backside, him accurately banging my G-spot like a pro, us moaning and bobbing up and down while waves of pleasure consume us till we’re happily exhausted and ready to cuddle for the rest of the night.

  “You know, all of that sounds great, Ferris. I’d love to go. When is the concert?” I ask, thinking about what we could be doing after that concert.

  “Tonight,” he replies in a barely audible voice.

  I’m dateless. It’s Valentine’s Day. But still. Men aren’t supposed to ask a girl out with this kind of notice.

  “Tonight?” I huff.

  “Mmm hmmm.” His voice sounds so mushy and gentle my anger doesn’t last.

  “Ferris,” I softly remind him. “I usually prefer to be asked out days in advance—”

  “I know, baby girl. I know.”

  “And normally I don’t accept last-minute dates,” I firmly state, lying my butt off. “But for you I’ll make an exception. As it turns out, my schedule has opened up tonight, and I probably can squeeze in some sushi and Legend.”

  “Whew,” he exclaims in an overexaggerated fashion. “I was worried you’d turn me down, so let’s go chill out and enjoy each other’s company.”

  My ears warm at just hearing Ferris’s commanding voice. I love it when a man takes charge; it makes me feel like he’s strong, and I definitely prefer to have a strong man by my side, instead of one who only wants to do what I want to do because he’s not smart or confident enough to make his own decisions.

  “So what time will you pick me up?” I ask in a sweet voice.

  “Uh, can you meet me at Miyako at six?”

  “Meet you? As in driving myself to a date?”

  “Ye-ah,” he says. “So you gonna meet me?”

  And for the millionth time, instead of telling a man how I really feel, instead of showing my disappointment, I bite my tongue, and I sullenly reply, “Sure.”

  Miyako is a popular Japanese restaurant located on Kirby Drive, about five minutes south of downtown Houston. It’s not a lavish spot, but
the small dining room doesn’t make me as mad when I remember that its small booths invite intimacy. I love sitting hip-to-hip with a man who I love, accidentally rubbing elbows or feeling his leg bump into mine and making me shiver. Ahhh, yes.

  So I shove my anger aside about what I feel was disrespect. You know, the man wanting me to meet him somewhere instead of making an effort to pick me up. It’s almost like some guy agreeing to kiss you on the lips, but only if he’s certain that no one else sees us. It just upsets me. But when my mind paints a portrait of Ferris and me huddled together, feeding each other fresh, salty raw fish, and laughing it up while we toast and sip on sake, I let anticipated joy stamp out any negative feelings. Plus, it’ll be great to brush up on my doggy style skills.

  I’m relieved Ferris arrived at the restaurant before I do. I see him waiting in a U-shaped booth next to the window. He’s just like I remember: he loves to sit with his jaw slightly tilted, like he’s cooler than cool. He’s wearing a dark brown soft leather jacket that looks wide enough for me to squeeze into in case I get chilly later on.

  “Hey, baby girl, you look nice tonight,” he says, leaving the booth and rising to his feet.

  “I do?” I ask, hoping Ferris isn’t saying something just to be saying it. You know how some guys do: they push those buttons and say the right thing so they can gain a woman’s favor, but their words may not always be heartfelt.

  Ferris nods slowly as he sits back down. He gazes deeply into my eyes, penetrating me, a gesture that always gives me wobbly knees. A surge of warmth rushes through my veins as I sit down, and I know it’s okay to truly relax. Enjoy. Get rid of the gritty edge that threatens to overtake my spirit.

  “Look, baby girl, if I say you look fierce, you look fierce.”

  “But you didn’t say I look fierce.”

  He laughs and taps his tiny white porcelain cup against mine, tilts his head, sips sake, and moans as it slides down his throat.

  “I see you’ve ordered drinks for us already.”

  “I know what you like, baby girl.”

  All I can do is smile, savor good feelings, and thank God I’m doing something fun for a change.

  “Well, Ferris, thanks for being so thoughtful. But I have to ask you—why haven’t I heard from you in a while?”

  “Because you ain’t called.”

  “Don’t even try it,” I say, pouting. “I called you quite a few times with no response.”

  “Well, you must’ve dialed the wrong number, because I didn’t get the calls.”

  “Did your number change?”

  “Nope.”

  I just stare at him.

  “No, seriously, I’ve been busy working. Working so hard that all I do is fall in bed at night and catch some sleep. So I’m sorry ’bout that.”

  Nothing I can say to that. I shrug as if to say okay. “Tell me, how were you able to get second row tickets to this Legend concert?”

  He coughs and clears his throat. “Just well connected. You know how I do.”

  “Ah, well, good for you…and me.”

  I nibble on some eel unagi, which tastes both salty and sweet, and I listen while Ferris updates me on the soap opera drama of his manager job at Verizon. I try to sit there and just listen and hang out, but eventually I have to ask. “Ferris, whatever happened to us? It seems like you were feeling me at first, then you kinda disappeared. Usually I don’t like to ask men these kinds of questions,” I hurry to explain, “because I’m not sure they want to answer them. But I’m trying to do something different,” I continue. “So let’s talk about what happened.”

  He pouts and frowns. “I was feeling you, Veron, for real, though. I loved kicking it with you, kissing you, making sweet love to you.” I squirm in my seat and try not to grin too idiotlike. “You were everything I wanted—”

  “I were? I mean, I was?” I say, my eyes glazing at his kind words and the thought of our new possibilities.

  “You had it going on, baby girl. You got ass and class,” he jokes. “But it was me. I wasn’t ready for a woman like you.”

  His kind words were supposed to soothe my heart, my ears, and my anxiety about why Ferris would wait till the last freaking minute to secure a date with a woman he supposedly likes, even though he hasn’t called her in months. But although he was saying all the right things, I sensed coldness inside his warmth. It felt as if I was sitting inside a bubble bath of lukewarm water, whose bubbles were turning icy and numbing, rapidly dissolving. And I was aching to trust what I was hearing and feeling what Ferris was telling me.

  “Hello, hello,” Ferris says, but he’s not looking directly in my eyes.

  “Mmm hmmm,” I pout.

  “No, man, I am just hyped we hooked up again, especially tonight. Wooo, boy.”

  “Oh yeah, why is that?”

  “Well, you know, I was just aching to see my girl…from the front and the back.”

  I sit up straight in my seat and cross my legs.

  “I’ve missed you, Veron. Some women out here, man, they can’t get with the doggy style, acting all Holy Ghosty and stuff, like they too good to turn they asses around.”

  My cheeks glow, and I giggle in spite of myself.

  He smiles, knowing he’s won me over. Then he continues offhandedly, almost muttering. “Plus, shoot, even though I have connections I had to pay out the ass to get these good seats. And since Shelly and me got into it last night, ain’t no way I’m—” His voice lowers to a murmur. He grabs his cup and swallows more sake, some of which spills clumsily from his mouth, as if he has no muscle control.

  “What did you say?” I slide up out the booth and stand up. “Who is Shelly?”

  “W-what?”

  “What nothing,” I say loudly, towering over him. “Who the fuck is Shelly?”

  “Sit down, Veron,” he says calmly. “You know you don’t curse. You’re starting to lose cool points with me.”

  “I don’t care about cool points,” I lash out, my vision getting blurry.

  I’m standing so near this man that I smell the coconut-scented moisturizer spread throughout his thick hair. I’m torn between popping him in his eye and kissing him on his sake-flavored lips.

  Ferris attempts to grab my right hand. I jerk away, my face burning.

  “Look, baby girl,” he mutters.

  “Nothing to look at. How could you do this to me, Ferris? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

  “Why would I have to say anything? What are you talking about?”

  His fake innocent look feels like a loud slap. Then I do something I wouldn’t have done six months ago. I abandon an entire tray of uneaten California rolls. I leave a good-looking employed man sitting alone in a restaurant. I leave behind the old Veron. I am determined to find a new one.

  My heart is searching for answers, for peace, for a man who truly wants the best for me. Why didn’t my woman’s intuition kick in about the last-minute date thing? Why was I so afraid to tell Ferris no? This incident just reminds me of many encounters I’ve had with men. It’s time to self-reflect and admit the mistakes I’ve made, and there have been many. But just because I don’t always make the best decisions, does that mean I can’t still have joy? A perfect day? Someone there to care about me, to understand me, to be solid so I don’t have to be constantly worried that I’m not his number one?

  This is why I’ve got to have a serious one-on-one with someone who is successful in the areas of life where I fall short. This is why I must start listening to, observing, and maybe even emulating my best friend/babe magnet Demetria Sparks.

  Demetria, who’s a little older than me at thirty-something, is the only woman I know who has men competing to take her on dates. Men who smile when they walk close beside her in the shopping mall just because they’re associated with her. Guys falling all over themselves to treat her right, to win her over.

  Now mind you, Demetria has it going on in the looks department. She is African American mixed with Brazilian, and her e
xotic features always have men craning their heads to take extra long looks. Her dark brown eyes are about as wide as those of an elegant gazelle. And her eyelashes are so long and fluttering, you can’t help but stare and get lost in her allure. So sure she’s cute. But these days, with so much affordable cosmetic surgery available, who isn’t considered cute? That’s not all it is—she’s got something else, something that keeps these men crazy about her. I want to know what it is.

  Demetria and I met when I was studying for an associate degree at Houston Community College and she was working in the Communications Department as an assistant to the department chair. But then she snagged a better job as an administration manager for the City of Houston. By that time I’d earned my degree and was antsy for something challenging, so she told me about a job opening as an administrative coordinator and arranged for me to be interviewed. I got the job and we’ve hung out and grown even closer while working for the city.

  The more Demetria has excelled in the workplace, the more her confidence has grown. She began meeting all kinds of men, upgrading from the normal scrubs she used to kick it with—and she started hanging around upper-class establishments where the men were restaurant owners instead of struggling waiters, architects instead of construction workers. And I always quietly sat in the background, observing. I was patient at first, thinking her being on a roll with men would last about as long as Paris Hilton’s so-called boyfriends. But I’m starting to accept the truth: Demetria Elayne Sparks has everything I need.

  —2—

  DEMETRIA

  Veron invites me to tag along with her while she does a little bit of shopping at Bed Bath & Beyond in the Meyerland Plaza Shopping Center. I guess she had a bad date last night, plus she told me she wants to buy two sets of sheets and some big-ass fluffy pillows for her bed. Her big, lonely bed. No, let me stop—that isn’t a righteous way to think. Lord knows I could be Veron, couldn’t I? But thank the same Lord that I’m not. I don’t roll like her, and I guess that’s why she needs to pick my brain.

  “Anyway, Demetria,” Veron says, “seconds after I left Ferris sitting alone in Miyako, he called on my cell. He kept calling me all night, but I didn’t answer. I gave him the Busy button at least ten times.” Veron smiles. I guess she wants me to pat her on the back and tell her “You go girl” for being strong, but not answering a man’s call ain’t nothing. In my book, a consistently strong woman has to do much more than ignore a man’s pestering calls for one night.