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Wives, Fiancees, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta

By´╝ÜSheree Whitfield

Prologue

“Atlanta is the Hollywood of the south, baby, what did you expect?” Norman said as he sipped his peach margarita. “Your hubby is gone half the week for practice. Did you really think he’d spend his time sitting in the hotel room pining away for you? Child, bye!” Norman waved his hand and wrapped his lips around his straw, fluttering his eyelids while sucking in the fruity, frozen alcoholic beverage. “Ahhh!” he said, then looked over at his friend.

Sasha Wellington pursed her lips as she stared down at the large plate of loaded nachos she’d been smashing. She suddenly lost her appetite. She frowned and pushed the plate away from her.

“Ooooh, you did think that, didn’t you?” Norman let out a harrumph and then shook his head with dismay. “You acting more naïve than the ugly, fat girl in high school who thinks the captain of the football team really just wanted to take her out for ice cream. And you ain’t no more a virgin than this margarita I’m drinking with an extra shot of tequila. So quit playing with me.” Norman rolled his eyes, perturbed at how gullible his friend was turning out to be.

Sasha was even more pissed off at herself. Her husband hadn’t come home last night. They’d been married for half a minute and he was already out chasing ATL hoes, just like her ex-coworker, Casey’s husband. Sasha had stood by watching Casey accept all the crap her husband piled on her, all the while vowing to herself that she’d never be that woman. Sasha had been warned by Casey, though, about this kind of behavior; the typical behavior professional male athletes are known for. But Sasha hadn’t thought it would happen to her, and damn sure not this soon! She expected her husband to come home to his new wife.

“You can stop sitting over there looking like the victim,” Norman said. “You know I give it to you straight with no chaser. I have a saying that sometimes people don’t get what they deserve in life, but some of them sure do get what they ask for.”

“I thought you asked me out to make me feel better,” Sasha said. “I feel ten times worse than I did when I left my house.”

“Norman is not one to butter the roll, honey.” Norman spoke in the third person, which meant he was really about to go in. “I tear it apart and devour it bite by bite. If you wanted to get all buttered up and sweetened with a sugary coating, then you should have called ya mama up. Chick, you knew the deal when you got with Terrance. Now take the hand you were dealt and play it.” Norman downed the rest of his margarita. “Or get played by the hand.” He motioned to the bartender for another drink.

“Make it two,” Sasha called to the bartender. Norman frowned but Sasha shook her head. “It’s for you. Since I’m eating for two, you have to drink for two.” Sasha nodded down at her stomach.

Bringing up the fact that there was a baby growing inside Sasha’s womb changed the mood. There was silence as a melancholy feel took over both Sasha and Norman.

“What am I supposed to do about all of this?” Sasha felt the tears coming. She couldn’t believe that she’d been married for two days and she already wanted out. Maybe those other wives of pro athletes had something she didn’t. Or were more tolerant of marital infidelity. Sasha knew she was the best that Terrance would ever have, so how dare he step out on her, and on their wedding night no less?

Norman put his hand on top of Sasha’s. “You know what you’re supposed to do, girl. You do what every other last one of them wives does.”

“Look the other way and be miserable?” Sasha said with attitude. “Oh, no. Not this born to be a boss chick! I will not sit around and allow my husband to have side-chicks posting pics of themselves and my man on Instagram. Seriously? Where they do that at?”

“In the NBA, in the NFL, in the—” Norman started counting on his fingers until Sasha cut him off.

“It was a rhetorical question, Norman, geesh.” Sasha placed her elbows on the bar, crossed her arms, then looked down defeated.

She had no concrete proof that Terrance had spent the night with another woman, but she wasn’t stupid. No man stayed out all night unless he was cheating. If Sasha’s grandmother had told her once, she’d told her twice; the only things open all night long are 7-Eleven and legs! Sasha got sick to her stomach imagining some groupie’s legs wrapped around her husband.

“You can look the other way, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable while doing it,” Norman said as the bartender placed two margaritas down in front of him. “Atlanta’s golden boy, Terrance McKinley, has the money. As the new Mrs. Terrance McKinley, live the lifestyle you want, queen.”

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