He glances behind himself, doing a double take at what’s in my hands. He hops up, and my breath stalls.
I mean, I know it’s getting hotter, but it’s storming. Where is his shirt?!
Muscles and tattoos ripple as he swaggers toward me. Shaddy reminds me of a brown skinned 50 Cent. There’s this video… it’s of 50 rappingMany Menfor the first time on this crowded ass stage…
The sex appeal oozing from that video rivals the sex appeal oozing from Shaddy now.
Then he’s got the whole, brooding “I’m fighting demons” vibe going on… which is concerning, sure, but also, very sexy.
Until he snatches my sundae from me.
“Hey–”
He takes my spoon and scoops a huge chunk, taking it into those full lips of his. “What I say about no dairy?” he says after he bobs that Adam’s apple.
I ball my face up. “You’renotmy baby daddy, Rahshad. You can’t tell me what to do. If I wanna be constipated at the expense of vanilla and chocolate goodness, that’s. My. Prerogative.” I punctuate my point by poking those big man titty pecs of his, and he has the nerve to flex them.
“That’s not what I heard,” he says, eatingmoreof my sundae. “I heard I am ya baby daddy. Shit, I’m pressing niggas over you. Got PC on my line asking how I know you.”
His jaw clenches when I look away. “He’s a jokester.” I grab my half-eaten sundae and make my way to the couch with him on my heels.
“So PC and Trippy the other rap niggas you know?”
I fill my mouth with as much sundae as I can before smirking at him. He waits me out, watching me swallow ice cream and banana chunks by the gallon, getting more and more impatient as the seconds tick by.
When I lick the spoon, he snaps his fingers at me.
“I’m not a fucking dog, Rahshad, don’t you snap at me. And who I know isn’t your business. In a minute Ima stop this lil role play shit you got going on. Especially since you actually do have a girlfriend.”
A dark look passes through his face as he scoots back some. “My bad… about snapping and what Sahara’s dumb ass said the other day. But she’s not my girl, not anymore at least.”
Curse myself and my empathetic nature. I groan, setting my bowl and spoon on the ottoman before getting comfortable. “Okay, lay it on me. What happened? Besides her trying to make you a reality tv star,” I snicker.
He shrugs, but at my pointed look, he sighs. “It’s not that I don’t wanna tell you, it’s just… I don’t talk about my shit foreal. Not tryna bore you or make you feel like I’m complaining about shit. I ain’t got shit to complain about.”
I feel my neck lock up but I don’t let it jerk all the way. The last thing I need is to hurt myself. “How you gone be my fake baby daddy and keep shit from me?”
He smirks, showing that lil dimple on top of his cheek. “You gotta pick, Mace. Are you my baby mama or not?”
I lean back on the arm of the sofa and fold my hands on top of my stomach. Shaddy’s eyes go to it, an unreadable expression on his handsome face.
“Eyes up here… I haven’t decided yet. But until I do, we’re still friends, and friends talk about things.”
“So you be talking with all your friends? Even PC?”
I grin. “Yup.”
He narrows his eyes at me when I cackle. Too easy.
“Don’t be grouping me in with yo hoes, Mace,” he says, and I fight off the intense wave of arousal that floods me from his low tone, and hone in on being annoyed he’s trying to reprimand me.
“Man, look. Let’s not even go there… we friends, Shaddy. How about this: I’ll tell you something about me; something you can’t find on your computer. Then you tell me what happened with Sahara.”
Shaddy rubs his chin through his beard. “I can ask anything I want?”
You sure can, daddy.
“Yup,” I shrug.
