Page 28 of Sinful Chains

“She’s stubborn as fuck,” Cruz said, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel.

“So are we,” I muttered.

Titan glanced back at me. “See if you can work on her. Cruz struck out—“

“Aye! I didn’t strike out,” Cruz defended. “I didn't even get a chance to talk to her about the house. I…got distracted.”

"Nigga—"

"By her pussy."

"Ohhhh," me and Titan said in unison just before the three of us burst out laughing.

“Understandable,” I said. “San is very fucking distracting.”

Titan grunted. “Yes she is. I've been so busy with this fucking resort, I haven’t had time to see about her. But please believe I'm eagerly anticipating the day she distracts me. I want her to distract thehellout of me.”

We shared a laugh.

“It’s all good,” I reassured. “I’m keeping her sexy ass busy these days.”

Cruz quirked an eyebrow. “So you and Ri finally had the conversation. I guess it went well.”

I smiled into the darkness. “Wellis an understatement.”

I leaned my head back against the side, closing my eyes again, anticipation tingling up my spine as I thought about the fact that me and San had only just gotten started.

Chapter nine

“Do Ihaveto go under the dryer?”

Gina sucked her teeth. “You ask me that every time.”

“Because it’s hot as balls, and my hair should be moisturized enough already.”

“It’s very important to keep the proper moisture-protein balance,” she said, smirking. “And with three men in your bed, I have a feeling you’re overloaded on the latter.”

I swatted at her leg, laughing when she jumped out of the way.

“Fine,” she agreed. “No dryer this time.”

“Thank you! I lowkey feel like y’all only do the dryer because you need us out the way so you can work on the next client.”

“I can neither confirm, nor deny,” she said as she led me over to the bowl.

After my shampoo, condition, and steam, Gina put me in her chair. I zoned out while she detangled me, watching in the mirror, staring at myself, liking what I saw.

“Your ends look good,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “No trim today.”

She blew me dry, sectioned my hair, and went to work flat ironing my strands to a smooth, glossy finish. The pull of the comb, the heat on my scalp, the swivel of the chair…it all felt like a ritual. It was familiar. Comforting. And it allowed my mind to wander.

To Storm.

Gina had been my stylist for almost ten years and best friend for longer, so she knew me well. She tilted her head, setting the flat iron down. “What’s going on? Something’s going on.”

I hesitated. I wanted to talk about it, but I wasn’t sure how to put it into words withoutsounding crazy. Without makingStormsound crazy.

“It’s…complicated.”

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