Page 19 of Ms. Mosley

“Who taught you to stitch, baby?” I questioned curiously, but she remained quiet. “So, we back to the quiet game?”

“When you address me properly, I’ll speak.”

“Who taught you to stitch, Ms. Mosley.” I gave in, only for the moment though.

Pausing as she applied the gauze to my wound, she glanced up over her glasses and said,

“My father. He’s a surgeon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s dope but weird as fuck. I mean I get he’s a surgeon but what’s the reason you needed to know that? He just decided to teach you that shit out of the blue or there was a purpose?”

A faint grin tugged at the corner of her lips, but she quickly concealed it. “You have a very potty mouth, Mr. Shakur.”

“You don’t like that, baby? I can change it.”

“Jesus,” She huffed, visibly defeated.

“There was a purpose. One day, Steph cut her leg badly while we were camping. I watched my father stitch it up, and he noticed my interest. From then on, he made it a point to practice with me. Honestly, he taught us many things because he wanted us to be self-sufficient. I can change a tire better than a man.”

“I think that’s dope,” I nodded my head, applauding her pops. He sounded like a good nigga. “But wasn’t needed.”

“Why not?”

“Cause one day you would meet and marry me, and when you mine, you don’t touch tires. In fact, you hardly touch anything at all. I do everything for you.”

She shook her head. “Alright… I think my kindness tonight has you confused. Let’s get something straight. I’m not yours and will never be yours.”

I leaned over the console, closing the small gap between us. “Was it just kindness when you let me hold you in that club? Or was it you genuinely feelin’ me? ‘Cause even your body told me you were mine.”

Her brows dipped. “No, that was me drunk, and I can admit that it was totally out of line. But I promise it won’t ever happen again.” She released my hand and grabbed her kit to leave. “Good night, Prosper.”

“Nah, hold up, mama. I didn’t mean no disrespect.” I hurriedly reached for her as she opened the door, purposelyallowing another wince to escape me. I pretended as if the pain from my wound was more intense than it was.

“Fuck,” I laid it on thick.

“You need to ease up on that hand.” She fell right into my trap, her eyes brimming with concern. Ms. Mosley had a heart of gold; I had noticed that too over the past few months of her being my professor.

“Those stitches can bust if you’re not careful.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I fell in line before she took off on my black ass for real.

“Prosper, what else do you want? I really need to go."

"Just wanted to let you know that you forgot your keys." I dangled the keys I had discreetly taken from the cupholder earlier near my chest.

“Now, how you gonna get inside your crib without ‘em?”

Her nose flared.

“Or better yet, how will you get around tomorrow?”

“Give them here.”

Ms. Mosley tried to reach for the keys, but I quickly concealed them near my left side. If she wanted them, she’d have to come across my lap and take them,which was exactly what I craved for her to do.

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