"I'm nothin' but a workaholic. I don't mean to be, but ain't nothin' else going on in my life right now. If I had a man to consume my time, I'd probably slow down. Well, it hasn't worked out that way for me. So, I do what I know best. Work. I take work home with me almost every night. I have to do somethin' to keep my mind occupied.

     I don't know a soul down here. When I moved here, I went to this place called Crawford's with a girl from the job, named Gayle. She said, "Gurl, nice lookin' men hang out there." I wasn't looking to meet nobody. So I went with her. It's hot down here, so I wore a sea mist strapless dress. The men were all over me.

     All the men that did look like somethin' was with somebody. Of course, I get all the strange ones in my face. This one guy, who looked like somebody straight out of the GQ magazine, came strolling over to our table. I thought that curly hair mess had played out.

     "Can I get you ladies something to drink?" He asked us, looking directly at me.

     I didn't want to come off rude, so I said, "Sure, why not." Why'd I do that? He wouldn't go away. He sat with us all night. Blocking. He ended up working me and Gayle's nerves so bad, we left early. I haven't been back in Crawford since.

     Southern men have some strong accents. I can barely understand what they're sayin'. I'm gettin' tired of straining my ears. I know they're not all from Charlotte, but a lot of 'em are from the south. Only a few are from up north. I can tell by the way they dress. Some of 'em look like they stepped straight out of Compton or Crenshaw. Sportin' those scarves around their heads. Need to go get a haircut--or comb their heads, 'cause that mess is not appealing. I know there's women out here that go for that rough look. To each his own. It don't do nothin' for me. And I'm not tryin' to stereotype nobody.

     I seen some professional black men since I've been here, outside of work, I mean. That was the time when our floor had an office party down at CJ's, a club inside the Adam's Mark Hotel. Only the black people from the office showed up, of course. I realized when I got there that CJ's was just like Quincy's up in Philly--urban black professionals go there to network on Thursday nights. Some football team was in CJ's celebratin' that night. This guy who I imagine was a football player--All I know is, he was built like one--asked me if I could breastfeed him. I'm serious. I picked up my drink--I wanted to throw it on him--and got away from his ignorant ass.

     I don't have much luck with men. I always go for the ones with too much game or no damn sense at all. They're drawn to me like a magnet. Before I left Philly, I was dating this guy named David. He turned out to be a real loser. It was cool in the beginning. You know how men do. They like to wine and dine you so they can bump and grind later. Well, David was Jamaican. Really possessive, I might add. That brother was crazy as a ding bat. We was kickin' it for about six months before I found out how crazy he was. He call himself screening my calls. One night he was at my place and he hung up on my uncle. When I asked him what his problem was, he said, "Tell your man don't call here again." That really pissed me off. But, he drew the line when he started stalking me and telling me I was his wife. I don't recall him ever proposing. My mother warned me about him. Then, I found this number in his pocket when I was washing his things at my place. I never called it. It turns out, I get a call from this same number--I had caller ID--and the woman on the phone tells me she's married to David. She told me some other things, but that's not important. I stepped to him about it and sure enough, he denies the whole thing. I had to stop messing with him. He wouldn't stop harassing me. I got a restraining order put against him and even after that he still called me in the middle of the night talkin' bout he loved me and how sorry he was. Yeah. Whatever! I changed my phone number and moved in with my mother for awhile. Who needs all that drama.

I knew Miles was seeing somebody! He thought I didn't know, but one of his friends told me about her. And he married her. That really hurt me. I told myself I'd never let another man have my heart like that again. That's what I said. But, I'm not gon' lie. It ain't that simple. Not when you love somebody more than life itself. It wasn't easy dumping that man out of my system.

    I had this thing about dating men I worked with. It was a no-no. Miles was smooth though. He worked for IBM. He reminded me of that the minute he asked me out. I was an auditor, working at Ernest & Young. I studied for the CPA for two months--I'd just finished college. Passed it on the first try. They offered me a position making forty-five thousand. About four months later, in walks Miles---came in to upgrade our computers for new software. He was fine as ever. I noticed him, but I wasn't trying to get involved with nobody. I had my mind on this job and proving myself.

     Every morning he'd come in the office carrying two cups of coffee. One was always for me. When everybody left at night, he'd stop in my office and chat with me.

     "Why're you always the last one to leave?" He asked me one night.

     "I'm new with this company, so that means I have to put in extra time and work extra hard proving my credibility--and even harder when you're a young, beautiful, black woman."

     He laughed. God, I told myself, this man is "foine." He had the whitest teeth I'd ever seen. A narrow gap between the two front ones.

     "I hear that," he said. I knew he liked me.

     After about two weeks, he stepped to me, asked me to go out to dinner with him. I was real hesitant at first. But, I was starting to like him. He made me laugh and he was very polite. Anytime he had something, he'd offer it to me first. Miles possessed all the qualities I like in a man. I accepted. I fell in love with him. He broke my heart. Case closed.