Why did I put that lily in my hair? Ed used to love when I put flowers in my hair. He said it brought out my eyes. He used to stroke my hair and say he loved me.

I used to die from his touch. Now I don’t want him looking, touching or thinking about me.

It was after 6 p.m. and Happy Hour was from 4-7. She didn’t care about the free buffet, either.

She wasn’t hungry and she didn’t have a craving for food. Her craving went deeper than well-prepared dishes.

Her craving tied in to her husband and trying to love a man who didn’t love her.

The place had great dining; drinking, people, laughs, fun, and dancing yet her heart didn’t want to be there.

Then why did I even come?

She loved coming to that particular sport’s bar because it wasn’t like all the others. It was very people-friendly and it catered to her needs in ways she wished her husband would...

Maybe I should go home. I really don’t feel like being around people. Not today. She wasn’t like most women yet she needed and desired and wanted a solution to her burgeoning problems.

Looking at her pricey watch, she tossed her bang from her lightly made-up face and looked around.

There were a lot of black folks in there doing what they did best: trying to take each other home and fuck each other’s lights out.

She grooved to Marvin Gaye. “Let’s Get it On.”

I don’t think so, Georgia thought.

A few men tried to hit on her but she wasn’t interested. A tall fellah grabbed her hand, trying to get his game on and she shot her buzzer before the game winning shot.

“I’m married. Release me or catch a rape beef.”

He had never run so fast in his life. She rolled her eyes, and set her small Chanel purse on the counter, lowering her head.

I love him. God, I took vows. I meant them, too. Did he?

Why did he turn on me? I can’t believe this. And Princess. God. I love that girl so much. With everything in me. She’s my partner in crime. I trusted her with all of my secrets and my fears.

I know all of hers. I know she is afraid of the dark. I know she hates being alone. I know she was picked on
throughout her twelve years of school and when she was a teenager she used sex to validate herself and that quickly turned into a profitable business.

Why would she turn on me and take my husband?

“Ma’am,” said the bartender, looking as good as he want to be. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Marvin Gaye ended and Barry White started. She loved that song. She and Ed made love to it a million times. I Wanna Do it Good to Ya.

God. Shoot me.

Snatch my hair out.

“Ma’am…”

She focused on him with a frown.

“Oh, sorry. Yes. Give me a Husband on the Rocks.”