Page 89 of Body Language
I laughed every time my phone lit up. Not because I didn’t miss him, but because men really be thinking they invented the game.
Yes, I left with Sincere.
Yes, I let him walk me to his car, real cozy like.
But no, I didn’t stay.
Baby, I hopped right in Ty’s car and told her to keep it cute but keep up. And when I say this man didn’t even notice someone was following him? That’s how you know he was gone. Mind cloudy, vision blurrier than that Hennessy he had in his system.
He pulled up to Arlette’s crusty ass crib like she was peace in a storm.
And when that front door closed behind him?
I sat in the car and waited. For hours. When I saw the lights go off in her house like it was bedtime? That’s when I said, “Oh. Okay.”
You wanna play? Cool. Let’s really play.
Next morning, I was on a private jet headed to Turks and Caicos, ho.
Sincere had asked me to come chill days ago and I’d said no, but I can show Kendrix better than I can tell him.
While he was laid up in that dusty ass twin-sized bed, inhaling regrets and back shots with a girl who’s shaped like every bad decision he’s ever made, I was sipping fresh fruit juice in a bikini that probably cost more than your last rent payment.
Feet in the sand.
Phone onDo Not Disturb.
And peace wrapped around my body like the sunlight itself said, “You ain’t gotta deal with that shit.”
See, that’s what men don’t get. We spin the block with a damn blueprint. We don’t just play the game because we built the board. And while they’re still fumbling the ball… We’re already three power moves ahead.
He thought I was sitting at home mad. No, baby. I was getting rubbed down with hot oil and island breeze while he was getting lied to in polyester sheets. I was in a private villa with ocean views, my own chef, and two security guards stationed at the front gate like I was the daughter of a diplomat.
Sincere hadn’t touched me or even tried, because he knew the program.
He knew I was the one who made the moves. The one you present options to… and wait for me to pick the one that benefits me the most.
Every morning, a new delivery came to the villa.
Day one, it was a Cartier bracelet with “MissCommunication” engraved on the inside. Cute. Day two, A black AmEx card with my name on it and a post-it that said,
For convenience. Or chaos.
Day three, a limited-edition fragrance that smelled like secrets and sex appeal.
Only ten bottles were created and in circulation. Number six was mine.
Day four, a silk box from Saks. Inside was a custom dress flown in from Milan.
And still, he didn’t lay a hand on me. He knows I’m not impressed by attention, I’m moved by intention.
We’d laughed, we ate, and we would vibe on the beach, drink tequila, and he’d tell me stories that had me forgetting what city I was even from.
But when it was time to go to bed, he went to his and I went to mine.
That’s what Kendrix didn’t understand.
A nigga could spoil me, worship me, put me in heaven on earth, but unlessIdecide to unlock something more, It’s just an offering.
