Page 16 of Body Language
Then maybe it was the lighting. Maybe it was the sway of my body.
But something broke open in them. Like they forgot I was there at all. Like I was the music. The light. The background of their boldness.
“That fool still coming tonight?” one asked, low but not low enough.
“Yeah,” the other one said, sliding into his seat. “His ass thinks he's slick. Don’t even know we already onto his play. Soon as he flash that bet, I’m baitin’ him and we cleanin’ him out.”
“Oh, he getting tricked tonight. Believe that.”
I kept dancing. But my ears? Wide open. My body rolled down the pole, back arched, knees bent, heels landing softly. I hit the floor in a slow crawl, flipping my hair like I couldn’t hear a thing. More men came in, dap’d up their friends, grabbed drinks, whispered side bets.
The dealer walked in next. Buttoned up, sharp as hell, “We ready to start?”
And then…
That voice.
Deep. Smooth. Calm like danger that doesn’t raise its tone.
“The most important player hasn’t even made it in the room yet.”
I was mid-spin, upside down again, but I felt it in my spine. The way that voice slid into the room and laid itself down like power.
I lifted my head, curious, because if your voice sounded like that—your face better match.
And Lord…It did.
He wasn’t flashy like the rest. No chains swinging. No loud colors. No diamonds fighting for attention. Just a crisp black suit. Tailored to the body of a man who worked out but didn’t brag about it. A fresh fade. And a beard that looked like God shaped it Himself.
What got me was …. He didn’t walk to the table first. He walked to me.
Direct. Intentional. Quietly arrogant in that way that rich, fine men who don’t need attention always are.
He stopped a few feet from the stage and just looked at me. Not hungry. Not thirsty. Just… curious. Present.
I never had a man look at me like that. Or maybe I just never wanted one bad enough to notice.
He didn’t throw money. Instead, he nodded to the man standing behind him. The man knelt down, opened a leather briefcase, and pulled out a thick stack. Fine ass mystery man bent down and placed it gently at the base of my stage. Didn’t say a word. Just rubbed his beard, smirked slightly…
And that’s when I saw it. The Shamballa bracelet.
Real ones know. 18k beads. Diamond-encrusted. Retail price is every bit of forty bands.
He rubbed his hand across his beard again, and I couldn’t help but follow the motion of his wrist. That bracelet glittered like it had secrets. And I wanted to know all of them.
My hips moved slower. My lock on him deepened. I didn’t even know his name…
But I already knew,I wanted him.
6
Kendrix
I made my rounds. Gripped every palm at the table with that same firm shake that said “Yeah, I’m him.”
Eye contact. Nod. Small smile, but nothing extra. Just enough to remind these niggas I wasn’t pressed to be here. They were pressed to play me.
Half the room had been begging for this game for months. Always talking shit. Always claiming they were “up next.”
