Page 30 of It's Love I'm After

“Ooh, who’s that with Auntie A?”

“That purple dress she’s wearing is the bomb. I wish my big ass was that confident.”

“Damn, she’s finer than a mothafucka.”

Various chatter hits my ears while walking beside Germayne’s mom, but I keep my eyes forward, not wanting to draw any further attention to myself.

“Okay. I’m gonna go check on my daughter, but you’ll be good here. Don’t be afr?—”

“Aye, Ma. I see you introduced yourself and are making sure my precious cargo is taken care of.” Germayne’s voice cuts off whatever Mrs. Adele is saying, causing my eyes to roam his body from top to bottom.

Good God!

Germayne in scrubs is hot. Germayne in joggers is hotter. Germayne in a custom tux with a purple vest is like an overworked boiler.

My Lord, . . . my man, my man, my man.

“I’m gonna give you two some alone time. I’ll be back, Ms. Chaniya.” Mrs. Malone’s voice cuts into my raunchy thoughts.

“See, she’s not bad. You look amazing, Chaniya.” Germayne’s low octave hits me in my lower region, inciting thumping from my pussy.

“Thank you, handsome. You don’t look so bad yourself.” Raking my eyes over his body, I photograph every delicious feature.

The haircut is precise, the beard is glistening without a single hair out of place, bushy eyebrows are tamed and in order . . .Yeah, Germayne is gonna be the only person I see during this ceremony.

“I gotta get in position, but make sure you save every dance for me once this is over.”

“Of course,” I say breathlessly.

Chile, if it wasn’t for my recent period, I might have snuck out to grab a pregnancy test due to all the tears I shed at a wedding where I didn’t know anyone but Germayne. The flower guy was the highlight of the processional, with his grown behind twirling while throwing flowers down. What had my eyes glistening was the groom's emotional display while watching the bride come down the aisle. Now, I am about to scramble to get to the bathroom to inspect my face to determine if I need to return to the room to touch up my makeup. The last thing I want or need is to show up to the reception looking like I got in a fight with a raccoon.

“Can you tell Germayne I went to the restroom, Mrs. Malone?

“Hi, Mom Adele. You look so pretty today. This dress is serving looks.” A woman wearing heavy makeup, a white pantsuit that looks like she pasted it on, and bundles galore walks up, shifting Mrs. Malone’s attention from me to whoever she is.

“Now, I know your parents taught you some manners, chile. Didn’t you see me speaking with someone when you walked up? Don’t be rude.” Mrs. Malone’s frown and chastising tone have me fighting the smirk I want to allow placement on my lips.

“Oh. I didn’t actually see you talking, so I assumed you weren’t engaging with her.”

This bitch.

“Little girl, I’m not about to play these games with you. If you’ll excuse me, I must ensure everything is ready for my daughter and new son.” With that, Mrs. Malone walks away, leaving me alone with the woman now staring daggers into me.

Alright now, Satan. It would be in your best interest to tread lightly. I’m having a good day. Now go?—

“Who invited you?” The woman’s tone is hostile, and her nose twisting adds to her audacity, forcing me to school my features.

Why didn’t I walk away when Mrs. Malone did?

“I’m with the bride’s side. Chaniya, ple?—”

“Who? I’m a guest of the groom and have been acclimated with the family for years. I’ve never seen you before now.”

Oh, if it ain’t the dodo from Facebook. Take the high road or take it to the gutter . . . Hm, decisions, dec?—

“I’m still waiting for you to tell me who you’re with at this private ceremony and festivities.”

Gutter it is.

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