Page 91 of He Don't Play About Me
I paused for a second, looking at it before picking it up.
“Hello?” I said low.
“Wussup, mamas, you busy?” he said. I could hear the wind in the background.
“No, not really; I just got out of the shower,” I responded low.
“Good, send me your address and get dressed, I’ma come scoop you.”
I smirked at my phone.
“I didn’t hear a question in that,” I said as I sent him my address.
“You’re right, you didn’t,” he said with a lil’ laugh. “I’ma see you in a lil’ bit.”
And he hung up.
I looked at my phone after he hung up, and a small smile came over my face.
That was different.
Most niggas didn’t step like that off the rip. The crazy part was that I liked it.
I walked back into my room, going through my closet for a second before pulling out something simple but cute, something that hugged me right. But didn’t look like I was doing too much.
After getting dressed, I fixed my hair, which was still styled from the night before, and did my makeup. I had just applied my lip gloss and sprayed my perfume when I heard a knock at my door.
I smiled, grabbed my purse and my phone, and walked to my door, taking a deep breath before I opened it.
I opened it, and there he was. Same calm look on his face like the night before. He was in all black again, chains shining. He smelled like money, and something else I couldn’t put my finger on.
His eyes moved over me slowly.
Not disrespectful.
Just… taking it in.
“Damn,” he said low.
“Damn what?” I asked.
He licked his lips. “You look too damn good, that’s all.”
Love reached out his hand, and I took it, and he led me down the hallway and hit the button for the elevator. We waited there in silence, but he softly rubbed his thumb over the top of my hand.
And for some reason, I didn’t pull away.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. We stepped in, and he let go of my hand just long enough to hit the button before taking my hand again like it belonged to him.
As we stepped outta the elevator, Love nodded at some nigga in passing, holding my hand tighter. We walked through the lobby, and he walked me out to his red Lambo.
I slid in, smoothed my dress down while he came around, and got in.
He pulled off smooth, not in a rush, and not doing too much. I leaned back, looking out the window, then over at him, at the same time he was looking at me.
We both laughed.
“How long have you been in ATL?” he asked me.
