“Did you hear me?”

Of course I heard her. But at the moment, I was busy framing the sandy brown skin of the local Mexican mommies against that beautiful backdrop. They continued to walk by and sneak peeks at me under our oversized umbrella. They were more interested in me than the white boy models. Ten of us were there for a summer swimsuit issue of Fabulous magazine, and I was the only black man. I guess you could call me the token sex god.

“Terrance, I’m talking to you.”

No, it was more like she was bothering me, and I didn’t feel like dealing with her conversation. I was taking a much-needed break from my hustle, and I planned on enjoying it. Talking about the future of a tug-of-war relationship was work. Now why would any guy want to work in such beautiful surroundings unless he absolutely had to?

“This is what I’m talking about. You never acknowledge me when I’m trying to talk to you. You’re so fucking rude. You know that?”

She was being rude to me. I had been working my tail off down there in the baking heat of Mexico. But did she care? Evidently not. She only wanted to address her issues. I was rarely the type to argue, but that never stopped her from trying to provoke me.

“Hello? Is anyone home? Earth to Terrance.”

I finally looked into her Gucci sunshades, under her straw sombrero, and asked her, “Andrea, what do you want me to say? I’m not gonna tell you what to do. I thought you told me you were a grown woman. Well, you make your own decisions then.”

As much as I was paying attention to the local girls, who were shaking their tail feathers with purpose and flirting all around us, Andrea’s beauty was stunning. There’s nothing like a fine black woman with a history of strong mixed genes. Everything about her look was perfect; five-nine, one twenty-five, flat stomach, strong thighs, pretty feet, luscious lips, long, thick hair, flawless skin, photogenic like a baby, and curved like sculpture. But none of that mattered to me. I wasn’t going to allow her looks and insatiable attitude to hold my emotions hostage.

“I’m not asking you to tell me what to do. I know I make my own decisions. I just want to discuss things with you.”

She paused to see if I would respond to her, but I wasn’t up to it. Discussing things with women took a lot out of a guy, especially when those things involved relationships. It wasn’t the kind of shoot-
from-the-hip discussions I would have with guys about our feelings for a woman. You said what you felt and moved on. But discussing relationships with a woman held infinite consequences. Every single word you used was a trap. So I learned to use my words sparingly with most women.

“Do you want me in your life or not?” Andrea asked me. “Just let me know something.”