Page 81 of Body Language
She tilted her head, that slick ass smile still on her lips. “You should always worry…”
She paused, letting that shit hang before adding,
“…but nah. He’s just an old friend.”
An old friend.
I don’t like old friends. Especially ones that walk in dropping her real name like they own the rights to it.
I kept my face straight, but inside, I was ready to drag her “old friend” out that private room.
20
Niveah
I felt Kendrix’s eyes burning holes in my back as I walked away, but I didn’t speed up or slow down. I just let my hips talk for me.
I knew Kendrix was pissed. That little rub on his beard told me all I needed. But here’s the thing …
I didn’t give a fuck.
Yeah, I liked him. I love the way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was a whole universe he was just discovering. But let’s be clear, he wasn’t my man officially.
And since he wasn’t my man, I didn’t owe him a damn explanation.
Not about where I was going. Not about who Sincere was. Not about a damn thing.
Men kill me. They want you tied down like a dog on a leash while they run the streets like strays. They give you crumbs and expect loyalty.
Nah. Fuck that.
All I ever asked Kendrix for was simple:
Keep your shit tight. Keep the drama far away from my money. Don’t let your mess spill into my life. I never told him it was mandatory to give up his line-up because, technically, I was never given the title of his girlfriend.
That’s the problem with men. They want you to hand over your freedom while they give you nothing but vibes and excuses. They want you to prove you’re different while they still out here doing the same shit.
I’d rather starve than settle for crumbs.
So yeah, I knew he was mad as hell, probably plotting a hundred ways to stake his claim. But until he figured out how to give me what I needed—titles, honesty, security, peace—his little mean mug didn’t mean shit.
I don’t chase. I collect.
The private lounge door closed behind me with a soft click, and just like that, the noise from the floor dulled to a low hum. The lights were dim, candles flickering on the side tables.
Sincere sat with the same smooth skin and cocky-ass grin. He hadn’t aged a day since I met him at eighteen. If anything, he looked richer. Broader. Like time had only sharpened him up.
“Well, look at you,” He said. “Still know how to stop a room dead, eh?”
I smirked, sliding into the seat across from him. “And you still know how to make an entrance, huh? Had security looking like you’re the Prime Minister.”
He laughed, teeth flashing. “Gyal, when you walk with money, people walk behind you.”
“Mm. I see you haven’t changed.”
“Neither have you.” His eyes trailed over me slow, taking his time. Not thirsty, just… appreciating. Like I was fine art and he’d bought the whole gallery. “Though I like the new shine. You finally letting the world see what I always told you. You’re dangerous when you’re in your element.”
I crossed my legs, leaning back, unbothered. “Being dangerous pays bills.”
