Excerpt

The Single Sister Experiment

“Tell my baby I'll see him on Sunday,” Joan said.

Quickly, Joan hung up the phone, not wanting to hear James thank her for not acting like the
cursing, shouting, out of control, desperate woman she usually did.

She threw her cell phone at the wall so hard it cracked into pieces. Immediately, there was a
knock at the door. Fearing someone on the hotel's staff heard the loud noise; she quickly
picked up the pieces of the phone and tossed them in the trash. She tried to think of a
believable lie for the noise as she smiled and gently opened the door.

“What's up, baby?”

She was not prepared for what greeted her on the other side. It was lying, handsome, “sweat
out your perm but you don't give a damn, never going to talk to you again” Darren standing in
her doorway.

“What are you doing here, Darren?” Joan said, poking her head out of the door to see if
anyone else was with him. Once she saw Darren was alone, she leaned back inside, his stare
awaited her.

She liked the way he was gazing at her, as if she looked appealing to him in her satin forest-
green pajamas.

Darren's parents owned real estate throughout the country. One minute he was in New York ,
the next Atlanta , and then Miami . The problem was that he never told Joan when he was
leaving even though they were supposed to be in a relationship.

They had planned a weekend getaway a year ago. Joan was packed and ready to go but
Darren never called or showed up despite her frequent phone calls. He phoned days later
saying he was golfing in Santa Barbara . He offered to buy her a plane ticket so she could
come join him, but by that time, she had enough of his behavior. She told Darren it was over
and he could no longer come in and out of her life whenever he pleased, and now he stood
before her.

Joan placed an irritated look on her face. “I thought I told you to get lost and stay lost.”

Joan had never met a man who walked with such boldness as Darren Quentin Foster. She
always wondered if it was a front or if he really believed he was King of the Universe.

He spoke today as he always had ...direct and with confidence. “My frat is having a convention
here. I saw you getting on the elevator the other day. I called out to you, but apparently you
had something on your mind or else you need a hearing aid.” He grinned broadly at Joan.

She glared back at him, admiring his thick lips, cinnamon colored skin, and broad shoulders.
She looked at his suit, first noticing the quality and then wondering if he still had that rock-hard
six-pack hid away underneath it. She glanced at the sparkling stones in the face of his watch,
only to notice his big hands. Happy hands she used to call them, because each stroke of his
hands would induce a deeper state of bliss. She had thoughts of him picking her up and
placing her on top of the cherry wood dresser so he could insert his reliable stress reliever
inside her stress-prone flesh.

Without being invited, he walked into her hotel room. As the door closed behind them, he
picked her up, and sat her on the bed, reminding her of what an exciting, fearless lover he
used to be. Reminiscing back, she remembered trying to do everything within her power to
look normal in a crowded restaurant while Darren was hidden underneath the table supplying
her body with spasm after spasm of pleasure.

As Darren lowered himself on the bed, he pulled her to him, embracing her tightly and kissing
her firmly on the lips. Instantly, Joan started to feel her tense muscles loosen. His hands
caressed her thighs and his tongue made circles on her neck. Allowing herself to become
more relaxed, she reclined on the bed and quietly moaned in delight.

“What are you doing?” Joan suddenly heard a familiar voice in her ear, only it was much louder
this time.

Jumping up like Darren's touch was fire; Joan ran out the door and stood in the hallway with
her back pressed up against the wall. Darren ran after her with a puzzled look on his face,
jarring the hotel door with the latch. He then stood in front of Joan, but she refused to gaze into
his eyes.

“Listen, um . . . Darren, you have to go,” she stammered. “Please forget me and move on with
your life.”

Darren had heard this before, only to convince her to change her mind. Therefore, it did not
surprise her when she looked up and Darren appeared not to have heard one word she had
said.

He closed in on her, putting one hand tightly around her waist and used the other to bring her
face to his face. With his lips right next to hers he moaned seductively, “Baby, why are you
tripping? Don't you know I need to be near you?” He pulled himself closer to her body and
cupped her bottom with both of his hands. He whispered seductively, “Don't you need to be
near me?”

Joan said nothing; she only moved her face away from his lips. The grip he held on her body
so was tight she could feel his heart beat. Part of her wanted to push him away, but the part
her of that wanted to be securely in Darren's arms was stronger.

Darren looked down both sides of the hallway, seeing they were alone, he slid his hands
underneath her pajama bottoms and moved his head so he could kiss her neck.

Joan prayed something would happen to get her out of this situation because she was not
strong enough to get out of it herself. As if an answer to her request, a housekeeper tripped
coming out a door across the hall, sending her and the cart to the ground. Darren hurried to
help her.

Desperate to help herself, Joan ran inside her suite, quickly locking the door behind her. Upon
entering, Joan spotted Darren's shiny platinum watch on the night-stand; he must have taken it
off while they were kissing. She was angry now. Darren came knocking on her door with the
intent to have sex. His goal was to have his way with her and then move on to the next event
he had planned for the day.

As much as she wanted to grab the watch and throw it at Darren, along with some expletive
phrases that would hurt him as much as he had hurt her, she knew the only person she should
be angry at was herself. Darren only treated her the way she had allowed herself to be
treated. But this is where it would all end.

She walked across the hallway with tears falling down her face and delicately handed the
watch to Darren, who still had an innocent look on his face. Without a word, Joan slowly
returned to her room and climbed into bed.

She opened her purse and pulled out a picture of her, James Sr., and their son. She used to
put the picture under her pillow and hope somehow, some way; they would be a real family one
day.

Joan picked up a pillow off the bed and imagined that it was Raquel's face. She punched the
pillow twice softly. She felt silly at first but before she realized it, she was on her knees crying
profusely as she punched the pillow wildly.

She was supposed to be James's wife. She was the one that was supposed to give birth to the
daughter he always wanted. She was the one who was supposed to lie next to him every night.
She was the one he was supposed to kiss when he left for work. She was the one he was
supposed to make love to in their very own house in their very own room. It was supposed to
be her, not Raquel!

Joan punched the pillow across the room and it landed on the floor. She got out of the bed and
started slamming the pillow on the floor repeatedly. The pillow burst, but still she did not stop.
She threw what was left of the pillow across the room again. Then, a sudden pain in her right
arm caused her to lie back on the floor in agony.

Tears and mucus were running down her face. Her eyes were so sore she could barely see.
She whispered while rocking back and forth, “Why do I have to be alone? Why do I have to cry
myself to sleep at night? Why does he not want me? Why not me? I gave him everything I had?
No woman could love him more.”

Joan cried until she was exhausted. Eventually the pain in her arm subsided. She washed her
face and blew her nose on the pillow she had been hitting and placed it in the laundry bag.
She walked to the bed, picked up the remote and turned on the television, hoping to get lost in
someone else's pathetic life.