Black and Blue: The Storm

3.

"Why do you still have the robe your ex gave you? I mean, it was in the back of your closet, but it was still there, you know?" As much as I would've liked for it to have not to, I knew that the incident would resurface, just like I know that I owe her an explanation. I held my stare upon her, while I let the bitter truth pour from my lips, "because even though we've been living apart for years now, I can't bear to part ways with it. I don't know why, I just can't. What I do know is that I don't want this to be something that you dwell on. She and I are done, with no chance of reconciliation. I'm here with you and I want to be here with you."

A small smile formed on her face, her head nodding with reassurance. My phone rang atop of the table, Stink, appearing across the screen. I grabbed my phone and pushed the chair back from the table, "it's my daughter. I'll be back in a second, yeah?" Zena nodded and grabbed her margarita, while I excused myself from the table. "What's up, stink," I maneuvered to the entry and exit door of the Mediterranean restaurant. "Hey, daddy. What you doing?" I pushed the door open and sauntered into the night air, "having dinner. What are you doing?"

"Nothing." The sadness in her voice didn't go unnoticed. I bent my left leg and planted my foot against the cement of the establishment, leaning against it for support, "why you sound so down?" She sighed deeply, "I miss you. Can I come back?" Nina went back home to New Orleans, after spending two months here with me, in New York. Her departure from me is always the same, tears and pleas to stay just a little longer, and although we've been doing this routine for the last four years, it's never get easier for either one of us.

"I miss you, too. Give me three weeks and I'll come down there for the weekend. How does that sound?" She groaned, "ugh, three weeks is like three years." I chuckled, "you have to work with me, baby. I have some things here that I need to take care of and then I'm coming for you, my baby."

"Okay," she drawled. My heart filled with warmth, knowing that if my baby girl isn't anything else, she's a daddy's girl. "I'll text you when I get home, daddy gotta get his grub on. I love you."

"I love you, too."

I disconnected the line and slid my phone inside of my pocket. I made my way back to the table, seeing the food had arrived, and pulled my chair out to take a seat. Zena looked up from her phone, "we're on The Mix's Instagram page," she handed me her phone.

"What's The Mix?"

"I keep forgetting you're a caveman that's not on or into social media. The Mix is a celebrity entertainment blog, basically all of the latest news and juicy tea on celebs." I looked down at her phone, a photo of us that had to be taken minutes ago appearing.

Sports reporter, Zena Patrick, was spotted locking lips with sports agent, Elijah Davis, as the two entered The Medi, an upscale Mediterranean restaurant in Manhattan. If the both of them are this sexy, we can only imagine how beautiful their babies would be.

I knitted my eyebrows and looked up at Zena, "you saw paparazzi?" She shook her head, "you know they blend in nowadays. What do the comments say?" I looked back down to the phone and read over a few comments.

He looks like he'd ruin my life and I'd let him. That one sent a laugh through the restaurant, lacking any ounce of etiquette.

She fine, he fine, DAMN!

He either has wack head or a small dick, he's too fuckin' fine to have both be good. I broke my attention away from the phone, bringing my gaze to Zena, "why they trying to play me. Picking on me and shit." Zena grabbed the phone from my hands, biting her lip to cease guffaw that threatened to escape her lips. I took the phone out of her hand, "they got me fucked up. How do I tell them to suck my dick?" That sent her spiraling with laughs, that rang through my ears while I continued to read the comments.