Master of Power #1 by Erica Storm Page B

and too invested in what’s she’s watching. 
    Then Tamika points and waves her hand at the television, “Like don’t fuck him and give him a piece that’s so good that he’s willing to confess to his brother that he’s in love with you, bitch. You could have been sucking both those fine dicks, you stupid bitch. Oh, if I had one of those men, I would know what to do. Look at him. Isn’t he the kind you want to rub your lips on his face?”
    I’m still raking my comb through my hair trying to get it ready. “He’s not my type. Get ready,” I moan because I want to get this over with so I can come back and get in the bed and get some rest. Tamika doesn’t look up she’s is still talking to the television, and I’m putting on my makeup. 
    I turn to Tamika and I say to her, “Why do you watch those Spanish soap operas? You can’t speak Spanish and you can’t understand it. It would be different if it had subtitles.”
    “Have you ever watched these things? You don’t need to speak Spanish. It has more drama and incest than Game of Thrones. And for your information, I’m learning Spanish,” she said dismissively while never looking in my direction. Her eyes are fixated on the picture. “I’m practicing my Spanish just in case I run into one of those hot Latin lovers.”
    “There are plenty in New York. You should have run into one by now.” I didn’t think it was the time to remind her of her Hispanic boyfriend who had a wife and two children. She didn’t find out about them until it was too late. Too late meaning, he had fucked her everywhere and then some, and she had fallen in love with him.
    “Yeah, but I don’t meet the ones that have money, and if you can’t spend it what is it worth?” Tamika says. She probably talks to my mother too much because she’s sounding just like her and I can’t tell the difference between them anymore. She’s starting to look like my mother, too. Tamika wears blond weaves in her hair. Maybe that’s because she hangs with my mother more than she hangs out with me.
    I looked at her, I’m almost dressed for the conference, and she hasn’t taken her shower yet. I shouldn’t have asked her, but I did because I’m curious. “Why do you go places with my mother? I call you to go to dinner or the movies with me, and you tell me that you’re going out with my mother.”
    “Because she’s more fun than you are, we can discuss the Spanish soap operas, and she gives me advice about men,” she says to me taking her clothes out of the drawers in the hotel room. Another thing about her that gets on my nerve. She makes herself at home no matter where she is. I hang my clothes in the closet, but my bras and panties are in a bag in my luggage. Tamika puts hers in a drawer in the hotel room.
    “You’re taking my mother’s advice?” I question. “She’s not in your age group. Times have changed. Her advice is not relevant. She hasn’t had a man in years.”
    “There’s a lot you don’t know about your mother. She’s dating this guy that’s more than ten years younger than her,” she says with a smirk.
    “My mother is fifty. Even forty is too young.”
    “Well, she told me not to tell you, but I think he’s more in the range of thirty something. I saw him and he’s good looking and he’s built. Looking at his hands and feet he’s packing something serious and it’s not a gun. A woman could get hurt. But I say hurt me, please.” Tamika always says that. My mouth opens and I shut my eyes in disgust.
    “What the hell?” I shouted.
    “That’s what I said. He must be laying some serious pipe in her.”
    “Why did you have to tell me that? Now I have to visualize my mother with some pervert.”
    “That’s not my definition of a pervert. Just because he finds your mother hot and ready is no reason to label a man as a pervert.”
    “Ok. Stop right there. No one wants to know that their mother is having sex and with a man that’s close to their