Page 5 of Real's Love
Tate keptme close to him as he gently rubbed the lathered towel over my body. I was grateful that the things he was saying didn’t need answers. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Sex… twice. I didn’t regret it, but I couldn’t deny that it was a major event in my short life. Tate had been gentle enough, and I was grateful. Women talked, and at least I didn’t have the nightmare stories some did of their first times.
He wanted me to stay. Tempted me with kisses. Promised me breakfast in bed and a birthday shopping spree in one of the state’s larger cities. I didn’t know why, but I just wanted my little apartment and my bed. I needed to process it all or something. So, after a little cuddling and the long shower, I re-dressed and pulled my backpack on as he opened the bedroom door. We’d just made it into the living room when the front door opened, and a couple of giggling, obviously tipsy women spilled in.
“Fuck,” Tate grumbled behind me.
One of them quickly typed on the alarm’s number pad then two pairs of eyes shifted to us. For a moment, they were silent. And then, the laughter started again, this time with a malicious edge. I recognized one of them—campus beauty queen and mean girl, Phaedra Bellamy.
“Damn, Tate, you fucking whales now?” she taunted as her equally beautiful, equally slim companion chuckled.
I stepped forward, ready to defend myself, but Tate pulled me back with a whispered, “Chill, Youngin’.”
I rolled my eyes but bit my tongue for him.
“Shut the fuck up, Phae. Why you in my house?” he growled.
She tossed her artfully weaved barrel curls and glared at him. Waving a key, she sucked her teeth.
“My boyfriend lives here, too, remember? He wanted me to come ahead,” she explained dryly before gesturing toward her friend. “I thought I’d bring you a surprise since y’all won the step show, but since you out here slummin’—"
“You got one more time,” I said, voice low, moving toward her bitch ass again.
This time, Tate wrapped both arms around my waist and carried me toward the door.
“Keep your gifts, Phae. I’m good,” he snarled as he hustled me out the door.
I waited until we were far enough from the doorway to elbow him in the stomach.
“Let me go!” I hissed, all the sweet feelings of earlier evaporating.
He set me down, only to whirl me around.
“The fuck you mad at me for?” he challenged.
“Why this bitch think it’s okay to bring you gifts like that, Tate? Then, you won’t let me punch her in her slick ass mouth. She betta?—"
I stopped mid-rant when I realized he was laughing. Face tight, I mushed his head.
“Ay, stop, girl!” he chuckled, grabbing my arm loosely and trying to pull me into a hug.
“What the hell is funny?” I demanded, trying to fight him off.
“You, yo’ little jealous ass. Don’t nobody want Marcia’s tired ass. Hell, I got my hands full,” he said, finally succeeding in pulling me against his hard body.
“No, Tate! Why she think it’s okay to?—"
He kissed me then, his tongue stroking every inch of my mouth before curling around mine seductively. I felt myself giving in.
“I’on know why that girl thinks anything. All I know is that I love you, Youngin’. You the only gift I want,” he said, voice husky.
His words stole all of the fight from me, melted me like ice under the hot Louisiana sun.
“I love you, too,” I murmured before he kissed me again.
I floated home. Really, there was no other word for it. I didn’t remember driving or parking or climbing the stairs to my place. My mind was solely on Tate and his words. And I guess my face told it all because Theory and Epiphany, who were on my pull-out couch, took one look at me and immediately followed me into my bedroom. Emory was snuggled in my bed, half-asleep but still texting. She glanced up at me, then did a double take.
And then she and Theory were screaming so loud and demanding details so much that I had to smack her with a pillow before my neighbors called the cops.
“Tell us!” Em finally demanded in an urgent whisper.
