Page 36 of Claimed By A Blue Eyed Menace

I ran a hand down my face, jaw clenched tight. “Goddamn, it ain’t even noon yet,” I muttered to myself, before aggressively flooring the accelerator and speeding off into yet another storm of chaos.

PARKER

I n e e d e d t h i s. The second my girls started rolling in, the heavy cloud of everything finally lifted.

“Bitch, I can’t believe your ass actually let us through the door,” Mecca said, stepping in first, carrying a bottle of D’USSÉ in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. Her jet-black weave was bone straight and stopped at her waist, her edges laid to perfection. “Thought yo’ jail warden ass husband was gon’ have us banned.”

I rolled my eyes, snatching the bottle from her. “He is not my jail warden.”

Retia, who was right behind her, snorted. “Girl, yes, the hell he is.” She walked in with a fresh set of nails that had to be at least three inches long, white French tips that she used to pop open a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos like she was born to do it. “Don’t act like you don’t know that man is probably gon’ pop up in here if we get too loud.”

I smirked, knowing damn well they weren’t wrong. Shooter was controlling as hell. But today? Today was about me. “Y’all act like I’m miserable or something.” I flopped down on the plush sectional, pouring myself a drink. “I’m fine.”

Kalea, the last one to step inside, raised a brow as she shut the door behind her. “Oh? So that little text you sent us, all pressed, was just for fun?” I glared at her as she kicked off her heels and curled up next to me. “Exactly.” They all burst out laughing, and I shook my head, sipping my drink.

The penthouse smelled like lavender and my expensive-ass candles, but the second Retia sparked up, the scent of weed started weaving its way through the space. I didn’t even care. This was my time to unwind, to stop thinking about Shooter and all the ways he was starting to get under my damn skin. But of course, I couldn’t escape him for long.

“So…” Mecca drawled, leaning forward on the couch. “How’s married life treatin’ you?”

I made a face. “Pass.”

“Uh uh, bitch. You can’t pass on that,” Retia said through a mouthful of chips. “We need the details. And by details, I mean, is that dick dickin’?”

Kalea burst out laughing, nearly choking on her wine. I rolled my eyes, but my body betrayed me. Heat crept up my neck as flashes of last night hit me all over again. The way he touched me. The way he made me feel. The way I couldn’t stop wanting more.

I reached for a Cheeto to distract myself. “It’s fine.”

Mecca sucked her teeth. “Uh uh. That little blush? You ain’t slick.”

“I’m not blushing,” I said quickly. “Y’all are tripping.”

Retia exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and narrowed her eyes at me. “So you mean to tell me, you locked up in this penthouse, livin' with a fine-ass, rich-ass, dangerous-ass nigga like that, and you don’t got nothin’ juicy to tell us?”

I hesitated because I actually did have plenty to say. I could tell them about the way Shooter handled me last night like he had all the time in the world to ruin me. The way his hands fit perfectly on my body, the way he made my toes curl, the way I woke up aching for him again, only for him to get dressed like nothing happened and tell me to do laundry like I was some little housewife. I could tell them that I hated how much I liked it, but I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

“Married life is… an adjustment,” I finally settled on.

Kalea side-eyed me. “That sounds like some PR-approved response.”

Mecca leaned in, smirking. “Translation: that man got you open.”

“No, he doesn’t,” I snapped, too quickly, making them all holler in laughter again.

Retia grinned, passing me the blunt. “So what’s the deal? You in love already?”

I coughed mid-inhale. “Hell no.”

“Uh huh.” She took the blunt back, nodding like she already knew the truth. “That’s what you say now.”

I sucked my teeth and reached for my drink again, refusing to engage. The conversation eventually moved on to gossip—who was messing with who, which girl we went to school with was now suddenly a ‘soft life’ influencer, and how one of our old flings was apparently in jail.

The music played low in the background, some old-school R&B setting the vibe, and the wine kept flowing. It was exactly what I needed… and then my phone buzzed. I glanced down at the screen, my stomach flipping the second I saw Shooter's name.

I hope your little playdate going well.

I narrowed my eyes, my fingers twitching over the keyboard.

Mind ya business.

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