“The fuck that mean…you,” he mocked. “I think the words you’re looking for are thank you. I could’ve let your clumsy ass fall, but I’m a gentleman.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“Damn, first I’m a creep, now I’m stalking you?”
“I’m just saying. I go from not knowing you to seeing you everywhere I go.”
“Some would call that fate.”
“Others would call it stalking.”
“Climb off your high horse, shorty. I’m recording,” Logic gloated. Something about those two words made his chest stick out a little more.
“You’re a rapper?”
“Nah, I sing.”
“For real?” Tyler squinted. She didn’t take him for a singer, but then again, you couldn’t judge a book by its cover. Chris Brown looked like a singer, but the light-skinned nigga could rap his ass off.
“Nah, I’m fucking with you.” He grinned, displaying his pretty white teeth.
Tyler tried not to stare at his lips, but they were perfect. Not too pink, but not too dark, and they looked so damn suckable. Her eyes quickly captured his thick eyebrows, long lashes, and drowsy eyes. When his jaw clenched, she could see the slight dimples in his cheeks. The hair on top of his head was thick, and his facial hair could use a line-up, but the man was fine. As if he could hear her thoughts, Logic ran his tongue across his bottom lip. “I’m a handsome ass nigga, huh?”
“W-what, no,” Tyler rushed out, feeling her cheeks warm as embarrassment flooded her being.
“I rap,” Logic admitted.
“Huh?”
“I was just fucking with you. I don’t sing, I rap.”
“Can you rap?” She squinted. “You don’t look like a rapper.”
“Can you sing?” he rebutted with furrowed eyebrows. “You don’t look like a singer.”
“I don’t know. According to you, I sound pitchy.” Tyler tooted her lips. “That’s what you said the day you bumped into me, right?”
“You did. Pitchy as fuck,” Logic reiterated, causing her mouth to drop open at his honesty. “But I know that you can really sing, so I took it as you having a bad day.”
“First of all, fuck you. My pitch was perfect, and second, you act like you listen to my music.”
“I do, well, more of your older music, back when you were on YouTube doing covers and shit.”
“Y-you listened to my YouTube channel?” Her heart skipped a beat.
Only her fans, her real day one fans, raved about her YouTube Channel. Back then, she was a teen in her aunt’s basement singing about being free, happy, and safe. She didn’t have a fancy microphone or laptop. Tyler didn’t even know how to edit her videos back then. All she did was sit the phone in the middle of the bed and sing her heart out. There were a few times when she did covers, but mostly all of her songs were original. Back then, she had her own voice.
“Yea. I fuck with YouTube. Shit, I listen to those artists more than I do the mainstream artists. There’s a lot of undiscovered talent there.”
“And do you listen to my music now?” She wondered out loud, not sure why she even cared.
“Nah.” Logic stroked his chin. “All you sing about is being cheated on and I don’t like that shit. You’re too pretty to let a nigga play in your face.”
“I-uh,” Tyler stammered over words she couldn’t find. She wanted to explain to him that she didn’t even write her ownsongs now. The label had someone else writing her music because she didn’t do well with writing fuck that nigga songs. The music she wanted to sing was scribbled in a notebook hidden in the back of her closet. Carla and the label claimed no one wanted to listen to a bunch of sad ass songs, but for her, the songs were way more than that. They told her story, they were her voice.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“I wasn’t, and for your information, I know I can sing. I don’t need you to validate anything for me.”
