Pop Singer: A Dark BWAM / AMBW Romance Read Online Free PDF

that was flying away from my forehead, leaned close into the mirror to make sure that I didn’t have any nose hairs or something really disgusting, and then I walked away to the front door.
     
    “And we’re off,” Latasha said.
     
    Because our jobs were really close, we often carpooled together. Latasha drove better than me. So we rode in her car. I always got into the passenger seat first, calling shotgun even though neither of us needed to.
     
    I kicked up my legs, turning the air-conditioning on high. Even in the springtime, the humidity in Dallas, the heat—it really was cray.
     
    It was almost as if God was angry for all of us down on planet earth. I swear. Like he was beating a drum or smashing his radiant fist right on our heads.
     
    My skin turned into a limp noodle always. I closed my eyes once I was against the hot leather seating of Latasha’s beat up convertible. She might’ve been a manager at a bank, but she couldn’t afford a new car with her student loans. She still had a lot—up to her eyeballs in debt.
     
    “Now,” she said, “where are we headed to?”
     
    I played along. “To work.”
     
    Latasha turned the wheel. She pulled out of the parking lot. Around us, there were glittering steel roofs, the entire apartment complex lording over us with its huge shadow, its protection of black about to unveil us into the hot sunlight. I put my hand down by the air vents, cranking all the way to maximum cool. I looked over to Latasha, as she tilted her head backwards.
     
    “We’re going to work,” I said again.
     
    “That’s right,” Latasha said, her earrings swinging about her face. “And what are we going to do today?”
     
    “We’re going to have a great time,” I said.
     
    I turned on the music. Some R&B tunes, a quick beat to bring us out of our sadness. The post-college world was not what we expected it to be. Filled with dreary tasks and all sorts of deadlines. People to answer to and bills to pay. Being an adult definitely sucked.
     
    Of course, I had my out: in the form of a letter in my right hand, my sweaty, right hand. My two weeks’ notice, clutched close to my thigh, underneath and next to my purse. My two weeks’ notice!
     
    What would absolve me of all of my duties at the daycare.
     
    No longer would I have to answer to the rude and unwashed.
     
    No longer would I have to deal with the enormous task of handling other people’s children.
     
    The thankless task, I should say. Because so many people would come on in and expect five-star service for so little pay.
     
    I kicked up my feet and stared at the horizon. Latasha turned the wheel again, pulling onto the road.
     
    “So,” Latasha said, “we’re going to have a great time. Now what does that mean?”
     
    “It means that you’re going to make a lot of money and I’m going to finally quit my job!”
     
    Latasha laughed. Then I giggled along with her, turning up our jam. We rocked back and forth to the music, enjoying the sultry voice. The song was called Never Again and it was sung by Lylyah Swinger. God. I loved her back then. We almost made the highway break in half from all of our car’s bouncing up and down. My shoulders slammed into the window next to me, and I had to roll them down so I could force my arm out against the sky.
     
    “Yes, girl!” Latasha would say. “We’ve got so much going on for us, girl. We don’t have to answer to anybody. Think positive. Yes!”
     
    Although both of us knew that wasn’t true at all. We would have to answer to bosses in the future. To bills. To all sorts of demands and requests from society.
     
    We would have to deal with our adult world no matter what. No matter how gruesome it got.
     
    “Now,” she said. “When you go to work, don’t think too hard about all of the stuff that you’re gonna have to do. Just think about handing in your two weeks’ notice and being done with that, girl.”
     
    “I’m just so ready for it. But I’m