And her real hair? Wild and free, the Sisterlocks covered more skin than that so-called dress. Bodycon, huh? Three straps of red fabric. One held onto her chest for dear life. A line connected it to another strip, clinging to her hips like it paid rent.
I was here for it. Every single second while seated on a ten-thousand-dollar gray couch. Arms spread wide, I soaked it all in.
The stylist stood near the wet bar, in silent assessment. She knew my strategy because ain’t no way Zuri would leave this house in that.
She just needed to think that.
“Montana.” Zuri’s sharp voice tugged my gaze away from how the red dress barely restrained her curves. “Can’t I see the other rack?”
The first rack held clothes fit for my cousin’s Barbies. The other? Business casual. She caressed a silk pantsuit as I approached.
“Wear that,”—I hardly let my gaze slide from her eyes to glimpse the power suit—“but your hair stays down.”
My thumb brushed over a loc in my hand. I’d told her the stylist had signed an NDA regarding that parachute on her head, but it took coaxing to get her to remove the wig.
“No,Big. Country.”
Little Mama ripped my name in half. I smiled. “Okay,Journey.”
“Z—” She cleared her throat, weary-eyeing the dark-skinned beauty who held my favorite outfit for Zuri. The NDA didn’tinclude her real name—Zuri Sweet Cheeks, MD. The little piece of her I had? All mine.
When I leaned close, Zuri’s heartbeat slaughtered my chest. I was calling it. Momma caused issues between us. Whatever they’d said. We’d gotten Zuri comfortable enough to welcome me real close without her heart skyrocketing. I kissed her earlobe and asked, “Which will it be?”
“Give you an inch, you steal an entire island!” Her retort snapped, then her eyes widened as if she was overthinking. “I’m not leaving my wig.”
Still thumbing her locs, I replied, “The power suit or the parachute?”
“Para what?” The cloud of confusion in her brown eyes vanished, and she shoved at my chest. I stood tall. “Parachute! No, you didn’t, Montana.”
“I did. The hair. The pantsuit. Take the whole rack. Tonight, though? I need your … last name.”Damn. That just came to me. She’d undone something in me. I tried to tell myself I was just using her name as collateral. To be honest, she damn near knew everyone I ever loved and hadn’t shared her last name. I wanted to know something about her. “Which is it, Sweet Cheeks? Ain’t gonna budge.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll freeze half to death. The wig can keep me warm.” Zuri smirked, poking my arm as if it were a coat she’d rather burn than wrap around her.
“Last—”
“No last name,” she said, chin tilting stubbornly, which placed her mouth a fraction of an inch away from mine. Damn those eyes. A flicker of realization darkened them. She tried to lower her chin, and I let go of the hair I wanted to tighten around my knuckles and touched her chin, keeping it tilted up.
My eyes scanned her again. Focused on those luscious hips, thick and sturdy enough to keep me from feeling guilty for my demands.
Defiance flashed on her face. “You don’t budge, me either. I’drather catch hypothermia! Don’t put those linebacker arms around me.”
“Batter, Zu—Journey.”
“No last name,” she whispered.
I rolled my eyes, then gestured for the stylist who approached with a black dress.
Short? No doubt.
But classy. Sexy without doing the most.
“This one. That’s it. Don’t start.” I handed the dress to Zuri, still crowding her space. My shadow swallowed hers.
“Fine,” she murmured.
I pressed my lips to her forehead, hands cupping her neck. That pulse, a drum beneath my palms. “Just so you know, I wasn’t letting nobody else peek at my sweet cheeks anyway.”
She smacked my chest hard, but I saw it. That smile she hid when she turned away. I smiled too, my eyes glued to the retreating sway of God’s greatest gift to the male species.
