Read My Sister's Ex for Free Online Page A

near two hundred pounds and built like a Minnesota Vikings linebacker squeeze her thunder thighs into an itty-bitty thong? That’s like King Kong trying to wear shorts designed for a Barbie doll. Nasty. I can imagine that the crack of her ass swallows up the thong so much it’s almost like she’s strung dental floss up her butt. Ughhh!
    My eyes dart about, and I spot a ruler sitting on her desk. I make a face and, using the ruler, carefully pick up her panties so I can take a closer look. They’re purple (Marlene’s favorite color) and see-through. Frowning, I lift the ruler up high over my head so I can inspect the evidence from every angle.
    Unfortunately, the thong is so damned skimpy and stringy that I can’t tell if there’re any sex stains on them. She probably wore the thong on purpose, trying to be cute and sexy. If I don’t find out if she had sex with Jeff this way, I certainly can find out another way. Just go ahead and call me Columbo, or Kojak, or any one of those Charlie’s Angels (nineties version).
    Doesn’t matter. I will figure out this mystery so we can all come clean one day. Me, Marlene, and Jeff.
    I reach back into the laundry basket and search through dirty clothes, trying to find the outfit she wore last night. A purple and lavender dress with a plunging neckline. When I saw Marlene twirling around in the dress last night, I didn’t think anything strange.
    I remember she asked, “You like this? You think a man would like it?”
    “Why you asking me if a man would like it? I thought you were going to church.”
    “Men are at church, too, right, Rachel? Jeez, let me get out of here. I don’t need all this drama over a simple question.”
    She left in a huff, and I figured there was someone at church she was trying to impress. Boy, was I ever wrong.
    I glance in the woven wastebasket that is perched next to my sister’s end table. There’s nothing in there: no movie ticket stub, no receipts, no concrete evidence to explain where she was with Jeff.
    The alarm on my watch goes off, so I know I have no time to be prying in Marlene’s stuff. It’s time for me to be somewhere, and, considering the circumstances, I am glad to be going out and getting away from the apartment.
    A half hour later I am sitting in the front row of my women’s self-defense class. My best friend in the world, Alita, comes in late. I can hear her clearing her throat. She’s sitting right behind me, in the second row, where we normally sit. Today, though, I’m sitting in the front row.
    “Hey, why are you up there?” I hear her whisper discreetly in my ear.
    “I’ll tell you about it during break.”
    “Damn.”
    My girl knows me like the back of her hand. We met five years ago at the iFest, one of Houston’s annual international cultural festivals that are held downtown. Each year features a different country, and there are dozens of booths that sell colorful clothing, spicy food, and unique items that represent the country. I remember seeing her and doing a double take because she is a dead ringer for Halle Berry. Caramel-colored complexion, petite, bony, beautiful dark eyes, sculptedcheekbones, and that famous short precision haircut Rihanna wears these days. I couldn’t resist saying hello to Alita and, of course, telling her she looks just like the famous actress.
    “I know. I get that all the time. I wish I had her money, though, you know what I’m saying? Wouldn’t mind having any of her exes’, too, ’cause they all fine as hell and richer than all my exes put together.”
    “Me, too, girl.”
    We’ve been tight ever since. And although my girl is attractive and gets lots of attention, I call her Hardly Berry, just to make sure she doesn’t get the big head.
    The self-defense class was her idea. She believes women need to protect themselves and be strong in every area of their lives. I wasn’t hearing it, didn’t feel like sitting in on the classes, but she promised to buy me a ticket to