Page 27 of Anything Necessary for Her
“So how many women do you cook for, Willow?”
Smirking a bit, he responded. “If Waverley counts, then just one until tonight.”
“You have never made food for a woman outside of me and your sister? Your mama doesn’t count.”
“I haven’t.” He gave me eye contact. “I don’t typically do shit like this, Banks.”
“Damn, the girls you smash can’t even get some waffles?” I jested, making him laugh, which had become the highlight of my days.
“They can, just not mine.” He took down some of his orange juice.
“I’m special, then, I see.”
“You already knew that.” He tapped my thigh innocently, but all of a sudden, I felt anxious and slightly balmy.
We talked some more before he rose, having to leave and do some work.
Like always, I walked him to the door, but this time before he opened it, he hooked his arm around my shoulders to bring me in.
For a moment, we stared into one another’s eyes, him moving the errant strand of my hair from my face as if he wanted to see me better. Leaning down, he kissed the corner of my mouth, causing my nipples to harden and my pussy to contract a little. Being up against his hard chest, encased in his strong arms, and smelling his scent had me super turned on.
Reaching up, I caressed his handsome face as his forehead lowered and pressed against mine. I felt a little drunk, though I’d had no drink or anything that would have me intoxicated, so I knew it was him.
“Low,” I whispered as our noses grazed, knowing if he tried to fuck me right now, I would allow it.
Our faces were so close that when he said, “Good night, lil mama,” I felt his sugar and cinnamon tainted breath on my lips, making me lick them as if I could taste it.
As soon as he let me go and backed away, I immediately felt like whatever stupor I’d been in had vanished like an evanescent bubble.
“Good night,” I murmured as he swaggered past the threshold and to his truck.
A WEEK AND A HALF LATER . . .
Lil Mama: Pick my color.
Me: Orange? I guess.
Lil Mama: Do you like orange?
Me: It’s straight.
Lil Mama: [eye roll emoji] What is your favorite color, Low-Low?
Me: Black.
Lil Mama: of course.
“Nigga, you texting?” Free exclaimed, staring over at me with a ghastly ass expression.
“Little bit,” I replied, checking my phone once more.
I didn’t really text or even talk on the phone like that. Most of my conversations over the phone consisted of work shit, and those talks lasted no longer than thirty seconds most times. And on those rare cases when my siblings would text a nigga, it was typically a two-text conversation and nothing more.
So Banks had me doing shit I wasn’t used to, but I liked being able to shoot the shit with her when I couldn’t be around her to do the shit face-to-face, so for now, I would be a texting muthafucka.
“I hope it ain’t Banks you texting.” Free kept his eyes on me as he sat across from me at the card table. When I didn’t say shit, he asked, “Real shit, nigga, what is you doing?”
“We just cool. Chill out.” I ran my hand over my fade in contemplation.
