Page 18 of Ms. Mosley

“What you know about stitching, Ms. Mosley?”

“A lot, actually. I was taught as a teenager.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s either stitches or you let that thing stay open and get infected. A severe infection can lead to permanent scarring or worse—amputation.”

“A nigga ain’t trippin’ ‘bout no scarring, but I ain’t tryna lose my fuckin’ hand.”

“Well,” I shrugged, leaving the ball in his court.

“Aight, say less. Let’s do it then, baby.”

∞∞∞

Prosper.

“Don’t call me that.” Ms. Mosley warned, frowning.

I admired the scowl, thinking she was sexy as hell when she was irritated. “I love callin’ you that though.”

She sighed in defeat before saying, “I’ll bring everything down and get you cleaned up. Then you go, okay?”

“Aight,”

After watching her safely walk into her place, I backed into a nearby parking space so that I could make sure I saw her clearly when she stepped back out. It took her a minute and I began to think she had changed her mind and decided to leave my ass out here, looking goofy. But the joke was on her because I wasn’t going nowhere. She had me worried that something might’ve happened in that muthafucka.

Just as I was about to go knock on her door, I saw her come out with a first aid kit. As she locked her door, I noticed she had changed her heels to neutral-colored Crocs, pinned her hair up, and put on her glasses.

“Thought you forgot about me,” I said as she slid into the passenger seat.

“No, couldn’t find my glasses.”

“You just losing everything tonight, huh, beautiful?”

“Prosper, let me see.” She smacked her lips, ignoring my flirtation.

Handing her my hand, I watched as she began to clean and prep it. Her touch was soft as fuck, and the warmth of her manicured hand against mine made it difficult for me to maintain my composure. Soon, I felt my dick hardening again.

Thankfully, the light in the middle of the car only illuminated my hand, drawing her focus solely on the wound. After cleaning it, she retrieved the needle and thread. But just before she started, I reached into the cupholder, grabbed my Styrofoam cup I was sipping on prior to the club, and settled back in my seat to relax.

“That’s not a good idea.” She cut her eyes at my cup.

“Why not?”

"You're drinking Lean, which contains codeine and is very dangerous. Not to mention, you've lost blood. This puts you at a higher risk of getting into an accident."

“Nah, I’m straight.”

“Prosper,” she stared at me, worried.

“You really care about my well-being, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just a good person.”

We stared at one another before I broke the silence. “I promise not to finish it, aight? Just sippin’ to alleviate the pain.”

Nodding, she went back at it. I didn’t even realize how deep the cut was until I watched her get me together. About thirty-five minutes later, I was straight.

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