I crook my finger, then pat the leather passenger seat. “C’mon, come get in.”
She hesitates, then walks toward me. I try not to smile at the ripped jeans, F&S Cleaning shirt, and Nikes she wore to “clean” today. For some reason, I’ve got this funny urge to see her in all of her glory because I know it usually costs a grip to even breathe her way.
When she gets to me, our bodies are so close I can smell her again. I clench my teeth while she grimaces and pulls herself into the passenger seat.
I close her inside and round the truck. When I climb behind my steering wheel, I reach into the backseat and grab the white tee I tossed back there.
As soon as I pull it over my head, she buckles her seatbelt and curls into the passenger door because deep down I scare her no matter how curious she is about me. I scare her so bad she does this thing with her body where she tries to move it as far away from me as she can every time I’m close enough to touch her. She’s like a lil’ chihuahua—full of bark but too scared to actually bite because she’s really just a tender lil’ thing.
I roll down the passenger window for her and back out of my yard. “Where you supposed to be at? I’mma take you there.”
She rolls her eyes. “Here.”
I snort out a low laugh.
I know better than that. She’s supposed to be up in New York in some big penthouse getting taken care of just like Smitty said, or in some cookie-cutter suburban house in Pearland with five kids and a dog—nothere.
We roll next to Smitty’s porch, and she pokes her head out, inhaling the outside air while resting her chin in the crook of her arm.
“You supposed to be cleaning at another one of Faye’s houses, or do I need to take you back over to Chantilly?”
“Who was that girl?”
We’ve only known each other for a day and a half, but she’s already questioning me about another woman. And here I go—answering her like a lil’ bitch.
“That was Rasheeda.”
“Oh…is she your friend?”
She even asks messy questions all prim, proper and siddity. Rasheeda would’ve just asked me if I was “fuckin that girl that pulled up.”
“Nah…she ain’t my friend.”
“Oh.” She sits straight up and grabs her seatbelt, pulling it away from her neck. “So, that was your girlfriend?”
“No.”
“But you just said?—”
“I’m fuckin her, not romancing her.”
“Taking care of her kid is romancing her, no? You held Ky like?—”
“Like his mama should’ve, but she ain’t mature enough to understand what a lil’ boy like him really needs.”
Her eyes get even softer, and my dick twitches like it did when I found her digging in my kitchen cabinets yesterday.
I grab her headrest, turning my head and backing out onto the street.
“Is his daddy okay with you making suggestions about his son’s extracurriculars and doling out life advice to him?” she chirps as one of her soft curls brushes my arm.
She still doesn’t ask where we’re going, but she’s got enough nerve to ask another messy question in that tone I think I like.
I snort. “I don’t know. Whenever you find his sorry ass, maybe you should ask him. You jealous or something?”
“Jealous?” she yelps.
“That’s what I asked.”
