Page 9 of No Gemini Does it Better
I scoffed. “It’s the audacity for me. You walk around here swinging your dick around like you pay bills in here! This is my shit, okay? Mine! It might not be much, but it’s mine. And I don’t appreciate you fumbling your way up in here, fucking up my life, when I didn’t ask for none of this shit.”
“I told you, all I need is a place to lay low until the storm blows over. After that, I’m out of your hair.”
I rolled my eyes before giving him a onceover. “Those all the clothes you got?”
“It’s all that was dry.”
I huffed. “Fine. Wait here. Let me see what I can find.”
He ignored me and started to follow me down the hallway to my room. “You gon’ let me hold somethin’ of your nigga’s?”
I cut my eyes at him. “I ain’t got a nigga, but something tells me you already knew that.”
“I did. I ain’t see no photos of no one around here that would even look like he could be at your side: no cologne, no pair of old ass Jordans by the door, or nothin’. Nah, I knew you were single from the moment I stepped in this mothafucka. It’s part of the reason I stayed.”
“Mmm,” I grumbled. “I have a couple of oversized sweatsuits I got from the thrift store that I like to paint in. The largest I have is an XL. If you can’t fit that, then I don’t know what to tell your big ass.”
“The hell your lil ass doing with an extra-large anything?”
“Sometimes I like to layer up. Do you want the clothes, or do you want to continue to judge me?”
He chuckled. “An XL is cool. Thank you.”
My brows rose toward my baby hairs. “Wow, so you do have some manners?”
“Shut up before you piss me off.”
“Tsk. Join the crowd.”
“Look, this ain’t gotta be all bad, aight?”
“Says the homeless nigga who finessed his way into my apartment.”
“I’m not homeless.”
“Then what are you?”
“I already told you my fuckin’ situation.”
“Yeah, an accident. I remember,” I replied while looking through my dresser drawers.
I pulled out a pair of gray sweatpants with teal blue paint stains on them and some unopened crew socks from a past Christmas stocking stuffer. “Here. Try these.”
“Thanks again,” he said before dipping back off into the bathroom.
I closed my bedroom door and quickly locked it behind me before peeling out of my wet clothes and changing into something more comfortable to move around in. When he came out, he found me in the kitchen putting a few doggie treats in Butta’s bowl and refilling his water. The poor thing was shaking like a leaf on a tree at the sight of outside. I didn’t blame him. With the way the wind was howling and bending the palm trees to its will, I didn’t want to risk us getting swept away like Dorothy and Toto inThe Wizard of Oz. He’d have to relieve himself in his crate, and I’d clean it up after.
But Butta didn’t seem to be the only male I found myself cleaning up behind. The minute I stepped into my bathroom, I was met with a crumpled wet towel on the floor—a mega pet peeve of mine, especially when I had hooks behind the door and a damn towel rack. Not only had the nigga taken it upon himself to take my clothes out of the dryer to dry his own, but he’d also helped himself to my body wash and shower.
“I take back what I said about you having manners. Who do you think you are, leaving your funky ass wet ass towel just lyingaround and shit? I thought I made it clear I wasn’t your maid. We pick up after ourselves around here.”
“My bad,” he acknowledged, stepping into the bathroom to grab the towel. He hung it up on the rack next to the shower, shutting me up for the meantime. “Happy now?”
I replied with a nod of the head. “Can you get out? I’m going to take a shower,” I announced.
“Where’s your phone?”
“On the counter.”
