Material Girl 2 by Keisha Ervin Page A

locked eyes.
    Memories of the way they fought, then made up, hated each other’s guts, yearned for the other’s touch, made love until the sun came up, and how their love was never enough crammed both of their minds. Once she wrapped up her conversation with the customer, Dylan made her way over to her guest and said, “What the hell are you doing here? I swear to God, you’re like a pain in my ass that won’t go away.”
    “I had to see if what the streets were sayin’ was true,” State, her ex-fiancé, shot her a sly grin.
    Before Angel, State was the one who had Dylan’s heart on lock. His swagger ranked at a trillion, and his accomplishments as a successful record label owner, clothing designer, restaurateur, and co-owner of the 76ers was impeccable. On top of that, the brother was fine, with a capital F. State was a six foot, 190-pound Sierra Leonean and Ghanaian hunk who repped Hackney London to the fullest. That afternoon he looked dapper as hell in a two-button corduroy Gucci jacket, tricolor wool sweater, plaid flat-front pants, and Dolce & Gabbana Oxford wingtip shoes.
    “And what exactly is the streets sayin’?” Dylan placed her hand on her hip.
    “That the notorious wild child, Dylan Monroe, was knocked up and off the scene for good.”
    “Well, as you can see, the rumor is true.” Dylan rubbed her belly.
    “You just had to find a way to break my heart, didn’t you?” He shot her a sly grin.
    “Please.” She waved him off. “Your heart is made of steel. Ain’t no gettin’ through to that.”
    “You still mean as hell, I see.”
    “I have every right to be. You made me believe we had a future while the whole time you were married to someone else.”
    “When is the past gon’ be the past? I mean, c’mon, that was like, what, two years ago. It’s obvious,” he pointed to her protruding stomach, “that you got past it.”
    “As a matter of fact, I did. Now have a seat, big head. My feet startin’ to hurt.”
    “How?” He looked down at her feet as they sat down. “You wearing them thick-ass Dr. Scholl’s. No way could yo’ feet be hurtin’. You used to wear six-inch heels all day, er’day.”
    “Things have changed, honey. Nowadays, a sneeze makes my feet hurt and makes me fart.”
    “A’ight, Dylan, that’s enough,” State tuned up his face.
    “Whatever, that’s real,” she laughed. “You want something to drink?”
    “Yeah, I’ll take an espresso.”
    “Megan,” Dylan called out to her cashier, “can you bring us over an espresso and a glass of water, please?”
    “Coming right up,” Megan said cheerfully.
    “Homegirl kinda cute.” State admired her frame.
    “But is as dumb as a doorknob,” Dylan whispered. “The only reason I haven’t fired her is because she finally discovered concealer two months ago.”
    “Wow,” State chuckled. “The place looks good, though,” he looked around the bakery.
    “Yeah, but business sucks. As the economy gets worse, less customers and less orders seem to be coming in. It seems like I’m losing more money a month than I’m making, but I don’t want to close the place down. It would kill me, but I have to figure out my next step because advertising and giving out free samples ain’t working.”
    “Why don’t you get you an agent?”
    “An agent? What is that going to do?” Dylan eyed him, perplexed.
    “With an agent on your side, you can try getting a book deal, television show, and your own products.”
    “Wow, I never thought about that. I always thought that that was so far out of my reach.”
    “Look here,” State reached into his wallet and pulled out a card, “this is my homegirl Brenda. She’s a literary agent. Call her up and tell her that I referred you to her.”
    “State, you don’t have to do that,” Dylan pushed his hand back.
    “I want to. It’s the least I can do for breaking your heart,” he looked her square in the eyes.
    “You damn right it is,” Dylan took the card from his hand