“Cautious,” Mozzi rebutted, pinching the blunt between his fingers and bringing it to his lips.
He sparked it, took a pull, and leaned back on his elbow to watch her as she paraded around his room. Chrome finish was his go to, along with black, gray, and white. He had blackout curtains, and Coast found herself wandering into his walk-in closet to peep his set up. His suits lined one side, all organized and hanging neatly, while the other side housed all his casual attire.
One wall was entirely dedicated to his shoe collection, which resembled a local Finish Line, all arranged by colors on the shelves. In the center was an island with drawers, some filled with underwear and socks, others filled with his many jewelry pieces. There was another closet since it was set up for a couple, his and hers, but it was empty.
“The shit my homegirl bringing through is for you. You can put all your shit on the other side.”
“I don’t need your hoes shopping for me.” Coast turned her nose up at him.
“Yo, Royal ain’t no hoe. At least not one of mine.” Mozzi held the smoke in his lungs before exhaling. “That’s my nigga Brim’s chick. She’s a personal shopper over at Lindstrom’s. She hooks me up with all my shit.”
“You don’t even know my size.”
“Pssh, play with somebody else.” Mozzi took another pull from his blunt. “I got you some shit a little bigger though, just because I know you’ll be expanding sooner rather than later.”
Coast got quiet, and he peeped it as she paused at the sliding door to stare out at the lake behind his house.
“What’s up with that? Why you don’t want to talk about the baby?” He stood and walked over to join her.
“Because I don’t know if I want a baby,” she responded, slowly turning her head toward him.
“Why not?”
“Please don’t keep pressing me about this.” She sighed and turned her attention back to the gorgeous setting outside his home.
There wasn’t another house for miles, and she admired how the sun glistened off the water and into the trees. She wondered how far it stretched and what was beyond that. It all was very picturesque, and she lowkey wished she had a camera or her sketchpad to capture it.
Mozzi could practically see the wheels turning in her head.
“I’m just saying. I know you’re probably scared?—”
“You don’t know shit!” Coast snapped and whipped her head back in his direction.
“My mama was younger than you when she had me. Sixteen to be exact. I probably shouldn’t be here.” He studied the blunt in his fingers, and for the first time, he wasn’t jeffing with her or trying to be funny or cute. “Went through a lot with a teen mother. Saw things I shouldn’t have.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
His gaze wandered over to her.
“You have more resources than she ever did. A support system. Nobody gave a fuck about us. My grandma was as much for the streets as she was, another teen mother. Shit runs in the family, I guess. Kids raising kids. No real guidance. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“Why? Because of Bee?”
“Because of me.” Mozzi told her, very confident in his words.
“You don’t even know me.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m here.” He shrugged. “Get used to it. If you want to shower now, you can. I got some shirts and sweats in the middle drawer of my dresser over there.” He strolled to the door, leaving a trail of weed smoke behind as Coast faced his bed and took in the rest of his room.
Deciding to shower, she grabbed a t-shirt and pair of his briefs from the drawer and went to run a shower in his massive, spa like bathroom. There was a free-standing tub and a big shower encasing beside it with a double sink and mirror set up as well. Moments later, she found his body butter and moisturized herself before slipping into his clothes, grabbing a hoodie that smelled like the YSL cologne he wore, and making her way back downstairs where voices now carried. With her hands in the pocket of his hoodie, Coast paused in the doorway, and all eyes turned to her. Grinning, Mozzi licked his lips and canvassed her in his clothes, fresh faced and fine as hell.
“There she is.”
He was joined by a heavy-set brother with rich, dark chocolate skin, and locs draping past his shoulders, and a pretty brown skinned girl with tight, juicy red curls that stopped above her shoulders. The two piece Fendi short set and wedge sandals were fire on her full five-foot nine frame. She’d carted in two racks of a variety of designer labels and two rolling bags filled with accessories, underwear, perfume, and handbags for each look.
“The fuck is this, Yal!” Mozzi yanked a hanger off the rack with an ivory crochet style skirt set.
“It’s Chanel,” she told him, matter of fact. “The shoes I paired with that go with anything too.”
