Page 22 of Death By Chocolate

Mandy steps back, then looks me up and down. “A roommate and a client, huh? Then why do you look like he sucked first and last month’s rent out your clit.”

“Damn,” Silvio hisses. “I can’t hear this. I’m out.”

He bolts for the stairs, not even waiting on the elevator. Damn it, he never gave me a real answer about their conversation.

“Shut up, Mandy. You don’t know shit.”

She sucks air between her teeth, and the sound makes a popping noise. Oh, she thinks she’s safe. Testing my nerves like I won’t snatch her soul in front of all these people.

“I know yo’ ass got a ho up.”

“Ah,” Cookie chimes in. “Pretty sure you mean a glow-up?”

“Don’t be autocorrecting me, Miss Grammarly,” she chirps, in that sing-song voice she uses in her TikTok videos. “Bitch, I said what I said.”

“Who you calling bitch?” Cookie steps up. “I’ll box your feather-weight ass like Leila Ali.”

“And when I wake up,” Mandy is animated, and it’s drawing attention. Thank God, Xeno can’t see us. “I’ll say the same damn thing. I ain’t never scared.”

“Mandy, yo’ messy ass. Fuck you.”

“Damn,” she laughs. “You hostile for a bitch who’s getting dick on the regular.”

“I ain’t getting no dick,” I hiss in my inside voice.

“Oh,” she nods, “he holding out. Why you didn’t tell me?” she whispers. “Diesel and I got these gummies—”

“Mandy, I don’t need to drug a man to get dick. Keep all that shit you and that nasty behind rancher do to each other out of my face.”

“Huh,” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Diesel got me living my best hoe life.”

Stunned at Mandy calling herself a hoe, I say. “And you bragging about some man tossing yo’ tiny ass salad? ”Her mouth drops open, momentarily speechless. She recovers, and now she’s mad. She started it.

“Bitch, no, you didn’t. H.O.E life stands for happiness-over-everything, Miss Black Panther with your fucking super suit.” Mandy claps back. “I’m trying to help you, but since my advice on living your best life ain’t appreciated, Mandy raises both forearms over her chest, forming an X, ”Wakanda forever, bitches, bye.”

I signal to Cookie that I’m done with this conversation. “Bye, Mandy.” But she makes H.O.E. sound appealing. Can I have a chance at happiness with Xeno? The possibility intrigues me.

She grins and blows me an air kiss. “Bye, Felicia. And hold on to Xeno’s fine ass, you’re nicer when he’s going downtown.”

“Oh, why you always got to start some shit,” I growl, at her oral sex reference. “If I didn’t want a workout, I need one now.”

Cookie bumps her shoulder against mine. "I don’t judge, Dani. If you’re happy, I’m happier. But take care, alright? He’s not just some random hookup you can ghost when you’re done with him.”

“No shit. But thanks, Cookie." I snort, not sure I’ll vanish where Xeno is concerned. When I think of running, it’s to Xeno, not away. We laugh, and it's good, real good. There's comfort in knowing someone's got your back, in and out of the ring.

Cookie then points to my bandage. “Until that’s healed. You work on your Tiger.” Tiger Kung Fu is a one-armed martial arts style of combat. “Afterwards, I want to see your wing chun strike.”

“Done.” Both were rapid-fire, close-quarters, self-defense techniques made famous by the Beatrice Kiddo character in the Kill Bill movie franchise.

Cookie attacks, snagging my right arm and wrenching at an odd angle. I can’t help the grunt of pain. With both arms useless, I must leverage my weight to throw off center. It’s a move my mother taught me years ago. She stumbles, and I resist the urge to headbutt her. This is training, not the real thing.

Ninety minutes later, I catch sight of Xeno in my peripheral vision. He leans against the wall to my right, watching me like he owns the place. Something akin to pride fills his gaze. He’s not intimidated by my skills, he’s impressed. My insides melt under his attention. I lift my free arm in surrender, letting Cookie know I’m spent. Every muscle in my dominant arm aches. My back is screaming from blocking her repeated strikes. Though she never touched my injured side, in no way, shape, or form did she go easy on me. I should thank her for reminding me who I am, of the job. But, right now, all I want is food and water. So, why do my eyes stray to Xeno’s. When he sees me looking, he pushes off the wall. Silvio enters through the exit door in the back of the room. He hangs back, his eyes shadowed with a mix of concern and something darker, more dangerous.

Xeno doesn’t notice. He prowls more than walks to where Cookie and I are. He stops in front of me, studying, discerning if I’m okay without asking me anything. It’s like he has to decide for himself if I’m okay.

Finally, he says, “You look good,” before he lowers his head and claims my lips.

I should be used to the taste of him, the intensity of his effect to overwhelm my senses, but I am not. Each time, a rush of adrenaline floods my veins, lighting a fire deep inside that heats my core, and brings me to a boil.

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