Quincy's fork seemed to be suspended in the air. In the two years since Michael's transition, it felt as though I had told the same story, minus my seductive theatrics, about twelve million times. It had been mainly recalled with my therapist. God blessed her heart. But the two times I decided to have lunch or coffee with a man I knew liked me, that story had been the catalyst to the end of the first "date" and nail in the coffin for not getting a second. I didn't care. I loved Michael, always will and my therapist tells me not to withdraw from society, to transform my grief into being productive and proactive in my life. So, if expressing my pain was a deal breaker for those panty prowling jackasses, so be it.

As for Quincy, he had wandered to my table after being put off by the crowded bar and grill and not finding a clean, almost quiet place to consume his wings, mac and beer. Of course it was a weird request. Who in their right mind asks a perfect stranger if they can sit with them. But insane or not, he requested a seat, my dense behind agreed, and he earned time with a dinner companion reliving the experience from hell. Leaning back in my seat, I waited for his swift departure. Instead, he just sat there, with his empty fork levitating, staring into my pitiful soul. Then, he said the wildest thing, "Are you okay?"

"Huh?"

"Are you okay? That's a lot for anybody. I'm messed up just hearing it. So, are you okay?"

"Ummm." I sipped my too sweet tea to buy time for gathering my thoughts. Other than Marley, no one had asked me that question. A few moments later, I replied with a refreshing sigh. "You know, I actually think I am."

Quincy laid down his fork, sipped his beer, then shook his head before stating, "I believe only the strongest people go through the most fucked up things."

"Well, I'm not strong." I pushed couscous around on my plate before allowing myself to be brave enough to glance in his direction. When I did, his crooked smile was appealing.

He asked, "You're still here, right?"

"Yes."

"You're seeking help to get your emotions and thoughts in check, correct?"

"Yes?"

"You just worked your ass off to get a promotion, did you not?"

I smiled, lowered my heated cheeks towards my blackened salmon, then mumbled, "Yes."

"Well, you're strong as hell in my eyes."

I eyed him with immense suspicion. "What's your deal?"

"Deal?"

"Yeah, your deal. What, you wander through shitty bars and prey upon lonely women?"

"How was I to know, before you just announced it, that you were lonely."

"I don't know. Psychopaths have some kind of desperation radar, maybe an app or something."

His laughter was contagious. Unable to hold back my own amusement, when I regained my composure, I asked again. "So, what's your deal?"

Quincy leaned onto his elbows, then focused on my eyes. "What you see is what you get, Dana. I needed a place to sit and enjoy my meal, I asked you, and now, I'm very happy that I did. You're quite the dinner date."

"This isn't a date."

His snarky reply. "The next time we meet, it will be."

"Whatever, silky, not so smooth."

He laughed, then pulled out his Black card to pay my check.

"Thank you, but am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Not in the least bit. I'm merely repaying the kindness you extended to me."

On the way to my car, Quincy asked for my number. Reluctantly, I placed it in his phone because whether I wanted to admit it or not, it was nice not being judged, left at the table and just listened to without paying for the privilege to spill my guts. He called me so I could lock in his number, waved goodbye as I drove away, then stood in front of the bar. I pulled out of his line of sight, then parked. I wanted to see what he was about to do next. Enthralled with his phone, Quincy didn't budge when a white Range Rover stopped in front of him. A huge mass of man hopped out of the driver seat, ambled around the SUV, then opened the back door. Quincy smiled, pat the behemoth on the shoulder, then vanished inside. Who was this man?

_______________________________

Of course Marley knew. "You had wings with Quincy Winters?"

"Yeah, so?"

"Girl, I swear I would leave Daniel's ass just to suck the meat off that negro's bone."

"First of all, I've seen the devastation you cause a bone, so eww. Second, Daniel will off you, your momma and this Quincy dude if he even thinks you said that, and 'c,' he's handsome, but not all that."

"I will chalk your naivety up to your current phase of mourning, but for the record, Quincey Winters is the actual shit."

"Who the hell is he?"

My phone beeped.

"Check your texts," Marley ordered.

Air drying from my fresh shower, I lay across the bed, adjusted my crushed nipples, then clicked Marley's message. The article title read, Once The Youngest Real Estate Investor, Now He's A Tycoon and Bachelor.

"Psh, so. He owns some real estate big whoop, so does my Auntie Margie."

Laughing as she replied, Marley teased, "Your Auntie Margie owns one trap house and a dirty ass motel. Trust me, she and QW are not the damn same."

"Anywho," I replied, not interested in sheltering my annoyance. "I still think this dude is strange."

"Did you give him your number?"

"Yeah, why?"

"He ain't that strange then, or are you ready to literally come off your silicone riding buddy and get some from an actual man."

"You know I hate you right." I slid "Gus" back under my pillow, then sat up along the side of the bed.

"You can, and that's why you love me. What time are we leaving in the morning?"

"As soon as you can break free from Daniel's ole clingy ass."

"Leave my man alone, you know his momma abandoned him when he was three. He has issues."

"Marley, that heffa lives in your basement. She's back!"

"Well, you need to get back too. Get your ass back out here in these streets, get you some real dick and get your ass on social media so you can know what the hell is going on in the world. One of the wealthiest, single, fine as fuck, Black men in Axum wants to see you again, and you're tripping. I swear if you don't call that mofo, I will. I'll tell him I was you at the bar only with a lot more makeup."

"Get off my phone, Marley." I shouted while laughing so hard I tooted.

"I am... love you, girl."

"And I love you. See you in the morning."

When the call ended, I oiled, twisted my hair, then donned my favorite bonnet. Michael bought it after thinking my first favorite was extra material before he threw it away. Sitting naked, staring at my plump, golden skin, chunky cheeks and brown eyes, I thought about how much Micheal loved every part of me. I was still working on giving myself that same grace and grieving his loss. But I didn't have time for 'feelings.' Yes, Quincy was cute, strange, seemingly nice, but that wasn't enough for me to risk being devastated by the emotion of love, even "like" ever again.

After pulling on my panties and one of Michael's t-shirts, I lay in bed and chatted about my day with him like I did each night. When I got to Quincy, I paused. It just didn't feel right. "I love you, babe." I whispered as tears plopped onto Micheal's face, smiling at me from the patina picture frame. Switching off the light, I dozed. The first image was of Quincy, naked, slung like a prize winning stallion, begging me to take a ride. As though on automatic pilot, and under the cloak of darkness, I prayed Michael would forgive me as I clutched "Gus" and succumbed to the urge, not to pleasure myself, but to do so, for the first time, with another man on my mind.