“Okay, so let me make sure I got this straight,” the woman, whose name I later learned was Amber, clarified. “Jason’s the director, Desmond’s a screenwriter, and Gage over here—with his fine, mysterious ass—is the producer?”
“That’s right, love, and he’s happy to meet you. Ain’t that right, Gage?” Jason asked.
“Huh? Yeah,” I said, caught off guard. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I stuck my hand out for a shake. She accepted it and, while firmly holding on, said, “No worries, Mr. Gage. I ain’t on theprowl tonight—I’m a happily taken woman. But best believe if I wasn’t, I’d be twirling my fingers in those thick curls of yours.”
I smiled. Part of me was flattered, the other part, relieved since Amber seemed to be too rich for my blood. Don’t get me wrong, her man was lucky to call her his, with her petite, slim-thick frame, hazel nut skin, and bowlegs, but her upbeat personality reminded me of Kelsey, and I’d basically be insane to do the same thing and expect a different result.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Well, if you’re already taken, I guess you’ll just have to send another one of your friends my way. Just make sure she’s as beautiful as you.” I winked. That line was straight out of Desmond’s playbook—he’d pull it quick anytime a woman shot him down. His way of saving face.
“No, she doesn’t. I’m awhy-choosetype of girl,” another woman chimed in, her words completely slurred.
“And on that note,” I said, raising my now-empty glass, “I’m going to head to the bar. Good evening, ladies.” I walked away from the table.
What was humanity’s obsession with connection? Clearly, we were designed for it—but it was theobsessionI couldn’t digest. Were the self-proclaimed boldness and security we all swore we had really that lackluster? So much so that we craved attention and validation from people who, if we spent time with them, reallygot to knowthem, we’d realize we weren’t even compatible with them.
Did the idea of needing to be with someone cloud our judgment so badly that we stopped seeing people for who they truly were and instead saw them for who wewantedthem to be? Was the potential we bet all our chips on ever there? Or were they just placeholders, stand-ins for the overhyped, unscientific “couple goals” narrative social media fed us?
But what the hell did I know? At thirty-five, I’d never been with anyone longer than six months mentally—and no one at allphysically. Maybe I should just say fuck all the formalities, let loose, get me a baby mama, and call it a day.
"Get out of your head, nigga," I muttered to myself.
RYZE had a good crowd for a weekday—not overly packed but buzzing enough to enjoy. I found the perfect spot at the bar, right across from the television. The Rosemoor Titans highlights were playing tonight, and star quarterback Easton Banks was on fire this season. It was no surprise they won the Superbowl. I pulled out a barstool just as a woman turned her head toward me, her eyes locking with mine.
Fuck, she was beautiful. Smooth almond-brown skin. Full, heart-shaped, pouty lips lined perfectly in chestnut with a nude tint that made my knees weak. Her eyes—dark brown yet so shiny and clear—looked like they belonged on a porcelain doll. And that hair—thick, full, curly. I could already imagine losing my mind if she ever wore it in one of those “pineapple” styles the natural-hair gurus talk about.
As she shifted on her stool, a faint wind carried her scent to me. Strawberries dipped in caramel with hints of sweet milk and powder. She smelled sweet and innocent enough to eat, but woman enough to leave white musk and burning wood in my senses. Inhaling her made my dick twitch, woke up the lion in me, and for the first time ever, I didn’t just want someone—I desired her.
I wanted to protect her, to rid the world of anything that could dim that glow or steal a smile from her lips. I wanted to be the one to put those smile lines around the deep dimples I’d just noticed when she gave me a shy grin. I wanted to build her the most perfect home from the ground up, with 24/7 armored security, guarding her as if she were made of glass.
Because she was.
And she was mine.
My porcelain doll.
My Dollface.
Mahasin
Now I know I’m drunk, but I ain’t that damn drunk. Since when did RYZE start hosting fine ass men like the one in front of me? His rich brown skin wrapped that warrior physique, making me want to take a bite. A full, thick beard framed his lips, while tight curls crowned his head; his sides tapered sharply, shaping his face into a captivating blend of danger and perfection. Have mercy. From what I could tell, he was tatted across the whole top half of his body, and I found myself wishing I could sneak a peek at how those Amiri jeans were holding his ass. Facing forward, the fitted black tee stretched over what I could only imagine was a perfectly etched chest. Indeed, I’d let him ruin me in the worst way.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice sultry enough to strip me down where I sat. Hunter’s voice was deep, commanding, but this man. His voice could talk my panties off through a pair of slacks.
“No,” I said shyly, praying he was staying and not stealing the stool away. When he sat, my body betrayed me—heat pooling, pulse quickening, my pussy instantly wet. And then he had the nerve to smell good, too. His scent was unforgettable—dark chocolate intertwined with smoked leather and bergamot. I leaned in without even realizing—my body was drawn to him, like it knew where it belonged before he even said hello.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asked, eyes lazy from whatever he’d just ordered another round of.
“No, please—be my guest,” I said, smiling way harder than I wanted to.
The bartender set his drink down—and she was smiling way harder than she needed to, too.
“And if you need anything—and I meananythingelse—make sure you wave me down. I’ll stop whatever I’m doing to make sure you’re taken care of,” she purred, her voice dipped in lust. She strutted to the other end of the bar so hard I was sure her back would hurt in the morning from the way that ass was dipping with every stride.
“Well damn, could she make it any more obvious that she wants to fuck you?” I said—unknowingly—out loud.
“Well, yeah,” he replied, chuckling. “She could’ve just said it. But I’m going to assume she thinks I’m good at picking up on clues… and horny enough to take her up on the offer.”
“Well, are you?”
