“Five o’clock.Big teeth. Flashy fit. He has been staring at you all night.”
“Staring, not spending. If he wants my attention, the least he can do is buy us a drink.”
“You know what–hell yeah,” Saga giggled. “Hell yeah.”
I shifted my weight as I turned away from the bar to get a glimpse at the person Saga was referring to. As she’d mentioned, all fifty-eight teeth of the man in the bold yellow fit were showing. He raised his cup, acknowledging my attention. I didn’t return the favor. Instead, I looked past him.
“Here you are–” the bartender said, garnering my attention. “Another round of green apple martinis.”
With furrowed brows, I asked the question both Saga and I needed an answer to.
“Who should we be thanking for this round?”
A head nod led our eyes in the opposite direction. My heart was pinned against my chest before I landed on him. He didn’t raise his glass. His lips didn’t curl into a smile. His demeanor didn’t change. He lined the cigar in his hand with the weed from his other hand. I watched intently as he placed the blunt to his lips and began to lick from one end to the other, rolling simultaneously. Within seconds, he was holding the finished product against a lighter, pulling to ignite the fire at the tip of it.
I closed my eyes briefly. My walls pulled together.
Get it together, bitch. Alarms sounded in my head.
“You have awakened the beast.”
“So has Dooley, so it’s best he steers clear of me.”
I placed the cup to my lips and took a sip. Nelly’s voice blared over the loudspeakers.
“Ahhhh. That’s my shit!”
Saga grabbed me by the hand and led me through the crowd. The DJ altered the track, restarting Tip Drill twice before letting the record play. By the time Nelly’s introduction began to play again, Saga was bent over with her hands on her knees. In the stretchy black fabric, an earthquake of an unbelievable magnitude surfaced.
My drink shook, slightly spilling onto my fingers. So did my body as she pressed into me.
“I said it must be ya ass cause it ain’t your face,” we sang together. “I need a tip drill. I need a tip drill.”
Ignoring the sweetness dripping down my hand, I used the dry one to pat her ass. Saga was talented. She did things with her body that left me mesmerized. She looked and smelled good while doing it.
Seduction was her superpower.
So was sexiness.
And sultriness.
And persuasion.
And timeless.
Saga was the total package. Her long legs were coated in chocolate. Her eyes were big and round. Her lips were fluffy. The waist, which the human anatomy confirmed, was nowhere to be found on Saga’s frame. What she was missing in her waistline, she recovered in her bust and butt. Her breasts were like melons on her chest. Her ass was ridiculous. Not only was she body, but she was brains, too.
She was a college graduate who couldn’t land a job in her field. She’d been trying since she completed community college. She’d tallied ninety-six rejections since graduating. After one hundred, she made a promise to stop asking anyone to give hera chance and to make one for herself. Without a doubt, she knew those rejections would come. Five applications had been submitted this week alone.
I rubbed my hand across her body. The fabric of her clothes melted against her skin like lava. The two-piece was painted on.
Onlookers stared daggers into our frames. We didn’t give them the satisfaction of our attention. In a world of our own, we entertained one another.
Tip Drillwas followed by lyrics that were impossible to forget.
“Cash Money Records taking over for the ’99 and the 2000.”
Saga was behind me now, hand on the arch in my spine as I gyrated to the beat. As my serotonin was maxed, I tried remembering the last time I felt this good. This free. This comfortable. This happy. This enthused. This selfish. This pretty. This purposeful.
