Page 51 of Hooked on Loving Him

“I never strapped up even when I was old enough to understand what raw sex could lead to. I always silently begged God not to give me a child through the loose pussy bitch I often released my nut into.”

Kyce’s aggressive tone and cussing without hesitation have me staring at him as my brain spins on its axis.

“I n-never busted in her raw, and fucking her was something I did, even on the heels of her being with someone else,” I say.

“If nothing else, Rema Gardner knew how to play on the dysfunction our natural families left behind. What’s always been interesting to me is that she knew what our weaknesses were long before we did.”

Nodding, I wordlessly agree as we resume walking, and I allow silence and the noise in the neighborhood to provide a backdrop necessary for my thoughts. It's wild that Rema didn’t have confirmation of my aversion to reproducing, yet she lied about being pregnant. My mind goes back to thinking about Lance and his shit that, even years later, is still causing him to be my puppet master. In a split second, Ashari’s image pushes Lance’s face out of the way, and I damn near trip over my feet at the sight of her.

“Mhm. God is always on time,” Kyce says when I grab the stroller to keep myself from falling.

The next day…

“You have a nice house, Kayshon,” Mrs. Weeks says.

Smiling, my arm tightens on Ashari’s waist as we walk onto my back deck, where the fireplace is already going. Ashari’s parents and sister are at my place, so we can meet and get to know one another. Instead of having Ms. Aretha prepare the meal we just consumed, I made some baked spaghetti, a Caesar salad, and homemade garlic bread to allow myself to host without pressure. It’s also crucial for me to get to know the Weeks without including my family in the mix. There willbe plenty of time for a whole family get-together, but for now, I want Ashari’s parents to see the type of man they can be comfortable with their daughter attaching her life to.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weeks,” I say as Ashari and I sit on the lounger across from her people, and her mother frowns.

“While I appreciate the respect, please call me Mrs. Ashanti. My mother-in-law often made me call her Mrs. Weeks, and I have a little PTSD every time I hear that name,” Mrs. Ashanti says.

Nodding, I acquiesce to her request because if no one else understands PTSD, I do and could write a book on the shit.

“Let it go, Ashanti. Momma meant well. She just didn’t know how to?—”

“Pull your lips from her wrinkled ass titties,” Mrs. Ashanti says, cutting her husband off as Ashari giggles, and I fight to prevent myself from joining in on her humor.

“Lord, can we please talk about something else?” Amari says, shaking her head.

A sense of contentment fills me at Ashari’s back resting on my chest and the lighthearted atmosphere surrounding my backyard.

“Let’s talk about when these two are gonna give us some grandbabies. With you gallivanting around like a chicken head, I doubt you’re gonna settle down any time soon,” Mrs. Ashanti says as Ashari stiffens against me, and my body fills with tension.

This isn’t a question I want to discuss, nor is it something I expected, with this being our first official meeting. Silence echoes around the area as familiar barking pierces the air, letting me know Jawaan and Cleo are somewhere close by. Somehow, Sassy has gotten comfortable being at Kyce and Masani’s house, which makes me happy with Ashari and me spending more time in each other’s beds.

“Uh, so neither of you are gonna answer? I need to have something to discuss with my girls other than how Jeffrey snores louder than a polar bear,” Mrs. Ashanti says after neither Ashari nor I speak on the current topic.

“It’s too soon,” Ashari says lowly.

The uncertainty within her statement causes a pang in my chest as I subtly squeeze her waist before kissing her neck.

Damn, I’ve got to put Ashari at ease because this right here ain’t gonna work.

“The better question should be when this nigga is gonna stop buying the milk for free. Hell, if I’m being honest, I want a ring before a burp cloth,” Mr. Weeks interjects.

“Right. I want to be the bridesmaid-zilla that causes Ashari to lose her shit,” Amari says, effectively shifting the tense air around the deck.

“Before I could ever ask Ashari to give me an eternity with her without?—”

“Getting an up close and personal glimpse into gatherings and shit post-wedding. I don’t blame you because this one time at?—”

“You better not say band camp, or I promise I’m kicking your ass out of here.” Ashari cuts her sister off as everyone but me laughs.

“What am I missing?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing other than Amari’s infatuation with theAmerican Piemovies that causes her to randomly chime in with a Michelle band camp analogy, even when the situation doesn’t call for it,” Ashari says, shaking her head.

“I blame you for that because had you not put the movie on to pretend like you were grown, she would have been normal,” Mrs. Ashanti says to Ashari as my brows hike instantly.

---