Page 20 of Body Language
I blinked.
Then smacked my lips so hard it echoed.
“Man of who?” I muttered under my breath, but not low enough.
She didn’t say a word. She just walked out the room slow, hips calm, face unreadable. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Arlette crossed her arms.
“Really, motherfucker? You just gon’ flirt in my face?”
I looked at her, unbothered, then I dropped my voice and said it straight so she could really get it through her fucking head.
“Man, chill the fuck out. You not my girl.”
She blinked, trying to hold her composure, but her eyes said everything her mouth wanted to scream.
“Stop doing that shit every time you see me with somebody,” I said, stepping back, giving her space like she needed it. “Touchin’ me. Claimin’ me. That shit’s dead. Been dead.”
“What the fuck ever, Kendrix,” she snapped, brushing her hair out her face like she needed something to do with her hands. “I got a club to run.”
She turned, heels already clicking toward the door.
But right before she walked out, she paused just long enough to say:
“I’ll find you when it’s over, so you can take me home.”
She didn’t even wait for a response. Just slammed the door behind her like that meant something. I stood there for a second, shaking my head.
“Take you home? You lucky I still hold the door open for you, the fuck.”
7
Niveah
I don’t know what type of shit Arlette and that man from the VIP room had going on, but the way he curved her ass was so effortless and boldly disrespectful. He did it right in front of me, so yeah, that told me everything I needed to know. That man ain’t give a damn about her being there. His eyes were locked on me like I was his next investment.
I wasn’t looking for anything serious, though—let’s be clear. But that nigga was paid. And I had plenty of bills that needed to be paid too.
If the math is mathing and the eye contact is communicating… Who am I block my blessings?
I was sitting in our dressing room chair, legs crossed, robe half open, sipping ginger ale like champagne while Ty finished curling the last section of my hair.
I had already changed into my final outfit. The red one-piece hugged me like it had a vendetta and glittered like money. My heels were laced tight and vicious, blood red with gold tips.
It was the final dance of the night. The main event with Ty and I.
She knew putting us as the closer was genius. We were gonna walk out there and empty every wallet like a damn tax collector.
“When you say fine,” Ty said behind me, comb in one hand, edge control in the other, “was he fine? Or was he fine fine?”
I smirked. “Girl. Fine as fuck. And you know I don’t say that about just anybody.”
Ty clicked her tongue. “Yeah, ‘cause a nigga pockets will make him look better to me. But you be needing the face to match.”
“Nah. He could be the richest man on Earth, but if he look like Shrek?” I looked at her in the mirror. “That motherfucker still a big green booger to me.”
We both screamed laughing.
She flicked the comb, laid my last baby hair with a flourish, and said, “Alright, you done. And bitch… you look like a homewrecker in a romance novel. 10 outta 10.”
