Page 27 of Hooked on Loving Him

Ashari P:

Oh, so the purple bonnet and matching mu-mu won’t work?

“What the hell is a mu-mu?” I ask, frowning. Ms. Aretha laughs heartedly as if I’ve told the best joke she’s heard today.

“The best comfort wear us women can invest money in. It allows us to be completely free. Although I’m surprised you’re asking.”

“That’s only because Ashari is insinuating that it’s what she has in mind with me telling her to dress comfortably but unlike she would at her crib.” I regurgitate Ashari’s words, causing Ms. Aretha to laugh again as my brows wrinkle, unsure of what’s so funny about what I said.

Placing the spoon down, Ms. Aretha grabs her phone and begins tapping before extending the phone toward me.

“This is a mu-mu, baby.”

My face drops, a frown forms, and deep wrinkles spread on my forehead when I see the old lady gown she’s showing me. Shaking my head, my fingers quickly move over the keyboard in response to Ashari.

Me:

Hell nah. As a matter of fact, how many of those shits do you own?

Ashari:

LOL. Fine. See you at seven, Kayshon *kissing face emoji*

“Hold up, she ain’t answer about how many of those granny dresses she has,” I say.

“Leave it alone, Kayshon. Go make sure those workers got your design right,” Ms. Aretha says, pushing me toward the backyard with a smirk I’m not feeling.

“Did you make this food?” Ashari asks, causing my dick to twitch at seeing not only her enjoying her meal but the little moans escaping her mouth with each insert of her fork.

Fuck! We ain’t gonna make it through the end of this night without me dipping my dick in her.

“Kayshon?” Ashari calls my name, forcing me out of my head and the thought invading my mind.

“What’s good, Shari?”

“You ain’t paying me any attention. I don’t like that.”

Trust me. The attention I’m paying you is about to have your pretty ass bent over, taking deep strokes.

“My bad. What did you say?”

“Did you cook this? If so, I might need you to come chef it up a few times a week. It’s so good.”

Ms. Aretha had done her thing with the meal Ashari and I are indulging in, and while I want to, I know it would be wrong to take the credit for it. However, seeing Ashari’s eyes close while sinking her teeth into the parmesan-crusted lamb chop in her hand makes me strongly consider it. Tonight's menu is parmesan-crusted lamb chops, loaded mashed potatoes, broccoli, and a pineapple upside-down cake for dessert. According to Ms. Aretha, the asparagus I had bought would cause me to forfeit sampling Ashari’s treat, whatever that shit means. We’re eating in my formal dining room, which I never get a chance to use despite it being set up all the time. When we’re done with dinner, I have a special setup for us in my backyard that I’m hoping Ashari approves of.

“Nah. Uh—damn, Shari, you’re killing me,” I say, staring at her lustfully as another moan escapes her throat, causing my dick to jump and push against my pants.

“I’m sorry. Who do I need to thank for this deliciousness?” Ashari asks, giggling lightly.

“Ms. Aretha.”

“Oh, good. She’s close enough that I can beg her to run this back for me the next time I see her.” The jovial expression covering Ashari’s face makes the room feel lighter and brighter with her single act of appreciation.

My chest expands greatly at knowing Ms. Aretha had been on to something with taking over tonight’s meal and allowing me to win some brownie points with Ashari.

“Aye, what’s your stance on staying friends with an ex?” I ask, desperate to change the sexual energy stirring within my body as I take a bite of the mashed potatoes on my plate.

“Hm. That’s random as hell. Did the cat lady beg you to run between us, and did you want to get my opinion without asking or something?”

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