And somehow, that irritated me less than it should have.
Because at least she was still acting like herself.
At least one woman in this city hadn’t changed. I broke the stem and stuck the rose in my coat pocket and followed behind Camille before she fell in her heels.
I took her back to my condo because I was still stuck in cycles I had not fully decided to leave. All I could think about was fucking her from the back, spitting in her mouth, then sending her home in an Uber before the sun came up.
On the elevator ride down, she pressed herself against me and smiled.
But my mind was not on her.
It stayed upstairs where Sade had been.
On the brief flicker in her face that told me I had gotten under her skin just enough.
$$$$$
We made it outside just after midnight.
I walked Camille to my car, unlocked it, and opened her door. She smiled like that meant something. It didn’t. I just had manners.
My Hellcat sat low. It was midnight blue with black rims and tinted out. This wasn’t my business car. This was my “by-night” car. Phantom League Car Club stamped into the backwindow the way everything else I owned carried a piece of me somewhere.
She slid in, adjusting her dress before pulling out a small mirror and freshening her lip gloss.
I closed her door, walked around, and got in.
The first thing I did was check my gun. Same spot. Same position. I adjusted it once, then leaned back and lit my blunt.
She kept glossing her lips, pressing them together.
In my head, I laughed.
Them thick ass lips gon' be on my dick in thirty minutes.
I shook my head once, low, amused with myself more than anything.
The engine came alive when I started it.
I pulled off smoothly, reached over, and turned the music on. The old school group Portrait came through the speakers, clean. “Here We Go Again” was the song.
I drove with one hand, smoking, letting the city open up in front of me.
I glanced over at her.
She was moving her head slightly, catching the rhythm, trying not to sing.
I smirked.
“I see you,” I said. “Go ahead. Show your real age, Miss Thirty-Eight.”
She burst out laughing.
“Okay, you got me,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s my song.”
“Yeah,” I said, taking another pull. “And I don’t like liars.”
She looked at me, still smiling. “I didn’t lie.”
