“Damn, baby, I ain’t mean to wake you,” he says, almost sounding apologetic. But I know enough to know that this mofo isn’t sorry about shit. “I thought you might be up thinking about this dick.”

He chuckles.

I roll my eyes, letting out a disgusted sigh.

Now had this been six or seven months ago, I would have graciously accepted his call with the promise of wetting his dick up nice and slow. And with Vince, the one thing I was always guaranteed was a dose of mouth-watering, powerhouse dick. But that was then, and this is now.

“Oh, really?” I sarcastically inquire, sitting up in bed. I am pissed that he has awakened me from a delicious, pussy-pleasing dream—one that has left me sopping wet. I turn on the night lamp, sighing. “Well, I’m not! So why are you calling me so early?”

“You’ve been on my mind.”

“Ohhhhkaaaay. And you had to call at me this hour to let me know this, right?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

I suck my teeth. “Since when?”

“C’mon, baby,” he says, lowering his voice. “Don’t play. You know how I feel ’bout you. I got you on the brain like crazy. I’ve been real fucked up lately, missing you and shit.”

Now a lonely, simple-minded bitch would fall headfirst for this line of bullshit he’s dishing out. And before you knew it, he’d be slamming his dick in her ass, twisting her guts out. But I’m not the one.

“Humph,” I grunt. “That’s a shame. I haven’t talked to you in months. Now all of a sudden, you got me renting space in your head.”

“Yeah, something like that,” he says. “I still don’t dig how shit went down with us. You dissed a brotha, setting egg timers ’n shit, talkin’ ’bout my time expired. What kinda shit was that? You was on some real foul shit, for real, for real. But just like this big-ass dick, it’s all good.”