Page 149 of He Don't Play About Me
She rolled her eyes with a soft laugh.
“I wanted to do things right, be married first.”
“We will be,” I said quickly. “We can get married tomorrow for all I care. All I need is you, damn people watching us.”
She turned over on her stomach to face me and had a smile on her face.
“I kinda like that small wedding vibe.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? What’s ya idea?”
“I don’t want nothing crazy, we could do a few friends, or just us. I just don’t want to feel overwhelmed.”
I nodded. “We can do it wherever you want. Beach, boat, flower garden…just say the word, and I will make it happen.”
She smiled a lil’, but I could tell she was still thinking.
“You serious about this?”
I sat up a lil’ bit. “Girl, why do you keep asking me that? I just told you I gave you a baby—you think I’ve been playin’ with you this whole time?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I don’t know… sometimes it just feels too good to be true.”
I leaned down, getting all in her face. “It’s real, you are here, you are going to be my wife, and the mother of ALL my kids.”
She nodded as I kissed her, then got back comfortable.
We stayed quiet for a lil’ bit, the waves were still the only noise around us. Her head ended up back on my chest, and I could feel her breathing slow down again
My mind was moving, not in a bad way; I was just picturing Islah in a dress, walking down the aisle to me, and me placing the ring on her finger. It was a beautiful thought that got interrupted by both of our phones ringing from the living room. We looked at each other.
“At the same time, tho?” Islah pointed out.
I nodded. “Yeah… I don’t like that.”
We took our time getting outta bed. Both of us needed to put on some clothes, as we moved around the room, our phones didn’t stop ringing.
“Maybe it’s people trying to congratulate us, you know, you finally posted the picture,” Islah added.
I nodded, but the hairs on my arms were standing up, a feeling I used to get back in the day when shit was about to hit the fan.
I didn’t let Islah know what I was feeling. We walked out to the living room, and Islah picked up our phones.
“Who is calling you?” I asked.
“Kenya, and Keith is callin’ you.”
I took the phone from him and walked off.
“Wussup nigga?” I said, answering.
“We have a problem,” Keith said. “The store was hit.”
I looked toward Islah while she was talking on the phone. Her face was all scrunched up while she was talking.
“What the fuck you mean the store was hit?” I asked.
“Somebody broke in, glass is everywhere, the counters are flipped, your office was broken into.”
