Page 54 of Own It

“Once I’m showing progress, I can get back to work, right?”

“Of course.”

I stayed with Zaire until he fell asleep, then made my way out of the bedroom.

Leaving, I bypassed Ayan and LaMia, both watching me like a hawk as I declined to speak.

No one was watching Daylin, so I hurriedly hopped in my whip to floor it back to the house.

Once there, I went straight to her room and walked in to see her massaging her own foot while trying to read.

“Here.” I unlocked the cuff, then sat on the bed next to her, taking her foot.

“Oh, . . . thanks.” She simpered, massaging her sore wrist. She let out a moan as I kneaded her small feet. “So you’re not one of those men who are afraid of feet?”

“Nah. Yours are nice though. I can’t decide if I love your feet or the back of your knees more.”

She grinned.

“The backs of my knees?”

“Yeah. Saw ’em tonight for the first time, and they’re sexy.” I chuckled, knowing it sounded wild, but it was true.

Seeing Daylin mosey around the party in heels—ass, thighs, and calves sitting up—had my dick hard every time she was in motion. The backs of her knees were especially sexy and hella soft looking.

My hands continued working on her feet before I moved down some to apply pressure to her calves.

We locked eyes as I did so, and after a few moments, Daylin snatched her feet from my hands and lap.

“I wanna finish my book.” She refused to look at me.

“My bad. I saw you and just wanted to help,” I spoke a half truth. I did wanna help, but I didn’t go around massaging women’s feet for the fuck of it. I wanted to massage hers.

“It’s fine. Good night, Rakim.”

“Good night.” I rose to my feet, peeping how she kept her eyes bolted to the pages of the book resting on her lap. “Fuck.” I mumbled while on the other side of the door.

zaire godfrey

“Where am I taking you?” Mylo, Rakim’s driver and henchman that he allowed us all to use when necessary, asked.

“Perry’s,” I replied, shutting the door and checking the time on my phone.

I felt antsy as fuck, mainly because I hadn’t popped shit in days since I’d passed out. Rakim putting me on leave in a sense sort of woke me the fuck up, letting me know he was serious. Typically, Rakim was forgiving, letting shit slide, so long as it didn’t have disastrous consequences, so for the nigga to tell me I couldn’t work, he must’ve been fed up.

However, getting off this shit cold turkey was harder than it fucking sounded. I’d depended on pills—whatever the fuck I could find—heavily, and going on four days without the shit had me feeling off and like I was about to crash. I refused to go to any kind of rehab because I wasn’t that far gone in my opinion. Niggas that needed rehabs wouldn’t have made it four damn days without anything, so I was ahead of them.

“You need some company?” Mylo offered halfway through the drive. I’d been so wrapped up in my damn thoughts and clocking how long I’d been sober that I low-key forgot the nigga was driving me.

“Nah. I’m good. I don’t need you watching me for Rah.” I stared out the window, moving an errant loc that had begun to dangle in my face.

“Wasn’t gon’ watch you, Z. Was just gon’ chill,” he lied . . . I knew it.

Mylo was cool peoples, but we didn’t kick it like that unless Rakim was in the mix. This random offer obviously had an ulterior motive, and I was a grown ass man. The day I went to the club with a muthafuckin’ babysitter, pigs would fly.

“I’m straight.”

Mylo left the shit alone, thankfully, and twenty minutes later, he was pulling up in front of Perry’s out in Hawthorne. It was a mid-level strip club, so not too many rappers or high-level drug dealers and scammers would be in attendance, like some of the more popular and upscale joints such as The Pink Cherry. However, Perry’s had good food, pretty bitches, and a lot of times, the right niggas to source what I needed to mellow out. I wasn’t on that tonight though.