Page 2 of Made to Love Ya
I tipped up and kissed him, but I noticed he never closed his eyes. I sighed with exasperation when I turned around and noticed that he’d been staring at Roshanda’s ass cheeks as she headed into her bedroom.
“Do you have to do that?”
“What?”
“Stare at her ass like that. You know she only does that because she loves being the center of attention.”
“And I’m a man. It’s natural. I’m gonna look. I ain’t fucking her or nothing.”
“Yeah. Because she’s like a sister, right?” I replied and headed into the kitchen.
“Come on, ma. Chill with all that. I’m tired. I don’t want to fight tonight, thickness.”
Ricky always called me that when he was trying to butter me up.
“Wash your hands. And what do you want?” I asked him.
“What’chu mean what I want?”
“The only time you call methicknessis when you want something from me or you’re guilty of doing something that you had no business doing.”
“Listen, neither is true in this instance. But if you want a nigga to head home, then say that shit. I’m tired. Told you that. We gonna argue, or we gonna eat and fuck later?”
“We can eat,” I replied, smiling brightly at him.
“That’s what I’m talking ’bout. Fix a nigga a plate,” he stated, swatting my ass.
“Go wash your hands.”
“I’m going.” Ricky groaned as he left the kitchen.
I took a moment to grip the edges of the counter. I closed my eyes and breathed in and out several times to regain control. By the time Ricky returned with washed hands and Roshanda with a little more clothing but not much, I had a grip on my emotions.
We ate, drank, talked about everything under the sun, and laughed. It was a chill evening until later.
“Girl, I’m slumped,” Roshanda stated as she sprawled across the loveseat.
Ricky and I were seated on the couch. I had my feet pulled up on the couch with my head resting on his shoulder. He was relaxed against the couch and had one arm wrapped around me.
“Go to bed,” I replied.
“It’s too early to go to sleep, but I swear all that good food you cooked got me tired as hell.”
“Compliments to the chef,” Ricky muttered and kissed the side of my head.
“Yeah, but if the chef keeps cooking the way she does, she’s gonna have me as big as a house. Chè tryna make me a big girl like her ass,” Roshanda stated and laughed.
Ricky squeezed my thighs and remarked, “Yeah, baby. You gotta cook some healthier shit. You don’t slow down, your ass ain’t gonna be able to get out the house.”
I pulled back and mugged him, offended as hell by his words.
“Excuse me? If you have a problem with my weight, Ricky, then say that shit.”
“Ain’t no problems over here. I just be worried ’bout you sometimes. That’s all.”
“Worried about what?” I asked as Roshanda propped up on her elbow and turned sideways to stare at us.
I saw the smirk on her lips as if we were her entertainment. Roshanda was always starting shit and then being the first to dip out.
