It's round two. Who will win in this fight of stubborn pride? Read on and find out.

Bea was dreaming. The familiar bristled head between her thighs had to be the imaginings of her traitorous unconscious mind. Because only in sleep her walls she built since that disastrous first meeting will crumble down like Girl Scout cookies and allow any thoughts of the bastard to fill her mind.

Dream Lance licked her slit then captured dream Bea's taut bundle and sucked hard. Live Bea arched her back at the same time as dream Bea. The dream couldn't compare to the reality but still it was too much for her to let it continue.

She fought against it and tried to wake up against it. Her eyes pressed closed as if to break it out but the dream went on as she drifted closer and closer to blissed wakefulness. But it was the timely and incessant ringing that pushed her out of the dream and awake, panting in her bed with a throbbing ache instead of a raging one.

The ringing came again and Bea turned over to her left side. Picking up her phone she thought she could kiss whoever had decided to call her at the perfect time. Then saw the screen flash Felicite''s photo and number.

Bea sighed. She tapped the phone and placed it by her ear. "Felicite' don't you ever give up? I already said there's no Lance and me."

"No. I believe you're wrong but that's not why I'm calling."

Bea rubbed her eyes, sat up from her bed and leaned back against the headboard. "Then why did you call?" she grumbled. The sunlight streaming through her window was the only indication that she was up too early to deal with Felicite' playing matchmaker even if she said that wasn't why she called.

"I don't know how to say this."

"Spill it already. It's not like you to hesitate when you feel you're in the right."

Felicite' ignored her jab. What she told her next made her wish she kept her mouth shut and didn't push her friend to spill her guts. Because now she certainly felt like spilling hers. In disgust. And more than a little anger.

Bea flung the blankets off her legs and jumped out of bed. "What the fuck is he up to?"

She was so angry Bea gave new meaning to being spitting mad. She paced up and down her bedroom wishing she could shoot fire out her mouth she would and she knew who she'd like to incinerate to ash. But the bum wasn't anywhere near and she didn't know where he lived. But she knew where he worked.

"He? Wait a minuted Bea, don't you mean them? I know you wanted to remain anonymous but it's all over social media about BN Residential and the African-American history find. Like they're taking credit-"

"Yeah. Credit that we did. And I know the dickhead responsible."

"Who? And what does all this mean for you?"

"Lance. They guy I stupidly fucked on my table. Believe you and me I'm going to find out."

"Bea don't be hasty. Let's get together, figure out what all this means and strategize first."

"No I got this." Bea walked toward her dresser, opened the the top drawer and started rummaging around. She pulled out a lacy black bra and matching lace thong hipster then stalked to her master bathroom. "Thanks for calling. I'll call back once I fix things with this asshole."

Bea ended the call as Felicite' was still speaking and placed it down on the bathroom sink. She turned the hot water on full blast, hopped in then out in minutes. As she rubbed moisturizer lotion onto her skin she thought of all the times Lance called. Which she ignored. At first she didn't recognize the number so let it go to voicemail. When she listened to his messaged Bea programmed his number to her phone. Something she was glad she kept to herself or else her friends would really have a field day about it. Another thing she didn't feel worth mentioning was the number of times, seven, she listened to it just to hear his voice. But really how romantic could "Ms. Lowell, we at BN Residential would like to work together with you on this rather new development you discovered" be?

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