Page 63 of Wicked Me
“No. Just wishful thinking,” I said without lifting my eyes. Then I pushed open the door behind her, just so I could move against her, feel what covered those nipples rub against my chest, and wrapped an arm around her to lift her inside.
As soon as I set her down, she punched me in the gut with the force of a gnat.
“I don’t need you carrying me into buildings. I’m perfectly capable of going through doors myself,” she whispered.
I gave a slow nod, as if I didn’t buy it, just to boil that temper of hers even more. “I thought I was being a gentleman by opening the door for you.”
“While staring at my boobs?”
“A gentleman with a boob fetish. What can I say?” I slid my gaze down her body once more to torture myself and rolled my lips together at the memory of her sweet taste.
When Paige crossed her arms over her chest, I chuckled, and she shot me a fierce look. It was so damn fun to see how hard I could crank the dial to turn her on.
Before I followed her into the building, I glanced down toward the end of the street and froze. The sign for Best Dressed Donuts, the place the ladyman Alex had raved about, blinked on and off like a warning. We had taken a different route to get here. I had been distracted by Paige, but this literacy center was a little too close to my other, hidden life as Hill’s drug whore at the corner of 131stand Chestnut. I quickly closed the door behind me to shut it out.
A black woman with multi-colored ribbons wound through thick braids appeared from around a corner. When she saw Paige, the woman threw her arms around her. “I thought I heard voices.”
“It’s so good to see you, Belle,” Paige said, all innocence and smiles. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
While they played catch-up, I wandered around the small lobby, eying the various dragon and stick figure drawings colored in crayon taped to the walls. The building smelled like old paper, which kind of reminded me of school, which made me even more uncomfortable than I already was.
I paused next to a side window and peered out, as if I expected a squad of police cars to be parked across the street. But I always wore my hooded sweatshirt when I was selling to cover my face. No one would recognize me. Still, being here, especially with Paige, shifted my breakfast to an abnormally high level up into my stomach.
Wild squeals exploded behind me, and a kid’s bike fired around the corner at breakneck speed. The drunk driver’s shrieks ended in a grunt when the bike hit the wall I stood next to.
“Keisha!” Belle barked. “Not inside. What did I tell you?”
Turned out the driver likely wasn’t a drunk, but a little black girl of about six with just a few teeth left and lots of spunk in her eyes behind all her beaded braids. She climbed off the bike and stared at the ground.
No, not a bike. A red tricycle. I had seen this girl before. She about ran me over on the corner that one night, too.
A swallow stuck in my throat. I clenched my stomach to keep from coughing, puking, anything that would draw attention to myself.
“Sorry, Momma,” the girl said.
“No, you’re not.” Belle pinched the bridge of her nose. “I swear, child.”
The girl stared up at me and screwed up her face as if she smelled something disgusting. Every muscle in my body stiffened.
What if she recognized me somehow, even without the hood. I wore the same jacket, had on the same shoes. It had been night, sure, but I’d stood underneath a streetlamp. Maybe it was another little girl on a tricycle, or maybe she’d been sleepwalking—sleepriding?—or maybe I was just some guy staring down at her like a perv.
I willed myself to relax. “Are you old enough to drive that thing?”
“That ain’t no thang, mister.”
“Isn’t. Isn’t a thing, Keisha,” Belle corrected.
“That there is Susan,” Keisha said, pointing to her tricycle.
“Good name.”
“And I’m six,” Keisha continued. “I’m plenty old. You want my expiration date?”
What was she, a high-energy gallon of milk? “You’re right. Six is way old.”
“Oh, my aching back! That’s what Momma always says, and she’s old, too.”
“Thanks, Keisha,” Belle said with a sigh.
