Page 30 of He Snatched My Soul

“Thank you.” She blushed.

“That’s what I like to see. Don’t ever let another nigga knock your crown off.” I pecked her lips. “The night is still early. How about we watch some movies in the theater room?”

“Only if we can pop some popcorn, and I get to pick the movie.”

“Whatever you want, Juicy. But I’m choosing the movie. You won’t be having me watching one of those chick flicks.” She laughed and agreed.

When we got to the villa, we went our separate ways to shower. I also needed to check my emails. Just because I was out of the country doesn’t mean the grind stops. When I was fresh out of the shower, I threw on some ball shorts, a tee, and my Nike slides before powering up my Mac and responding to some emails. Most of them were about the grand opening, with a few appointments confirming a few jobs I had lined up for the next month.

By the time I got done, I was ready to smoke a blunt. I grabbed my phone, my stash, rolled a fat one, and headed to the backyard to blow one in the air. I figured I had time since I knew Modesty took forever to take a damn shower. Turning on the solar string lights when I entered the backyard, I made sure to turn on the fire pit to keep the mosquitoes at bay. Those shits are treacherous out here. As I sat on one of the double-seated lounge chairs, my phone beeped with a notification. I pulled it from my pocket and unlocked it. I saw it was a text message from the weird area code. I knew it was Anastasia hitting me up again. We ain’t have shit to talk about, so I didn’t understand why she kept hitting my line.

My ex and I hadn’t spoken since the day she hopped her ass on that plane, taking part of my heart with her. For weeks, a nigga was in a slump. I felt like my whole world was falling apart. That was my first time experiencing heartbreak and the last time I ever gave my heart to another bitch. When Anastasia and I first met back in Melville High, it was love at first sight for my young ass. I was cutting class when I spotted her as she stepped out of the nurse’s office. I remember thinking how beautiful she was. She looked like chocolate goodness with two thick braids that flowed down her back. I was so caught up in her that I didn’t speak until I heard her silky voice. I couldn’t believe that this girl had me, Jamian, the most popular boy in school, who had all the girls on his jock, stuck like Chuck.

“Um, excuse me? But could you tell me what floor the gym is on?”

“Sure, baby. It’s on the fourth floor. If you want, I can show you.” I tried to get my mack on.

“Thank you.” She smiled. “My name is Anastasia Abara, by the way. What’s yours?”

“Jamian Armstrong. Your last name? Are you African?” I asked her as we headed down the hallway.

“Yes. My parents are from Kenya. Are you from here?”

“Yup! Born and raised, baby.”

“I could tell. I love your accent.”

“Thanks, baby.” The wink I gave Anastasia had her blushing bashfully.

That day, we exchanged numbers. A week later, I took Anastasia out on our first date, and the rest was history. We became the “it couple”— even in college. I just knew that Anastasia would be the woman I’d marry and bear my kids to.

Like the last few times my past tried to reach out, I cleared her message without even reading it. I lit my blunt and laid back in the chair. Closing my eyes, I released a cloud of smoke into the night sky when I heard the porch door creek open, and Modesty came strolling into the backyard, dressed in some high-waisted spandex shorts and a cutoff belly shirt. Seeing her fat pussy print caused me to pause mid-toke to lick my lips.

“Hey, big head. I thought we were going to watch some movies?” She gave me that pretty ass smile of hers. Kicking off her slides, she got comfortable next to me. She smelled like some fruity shit. I think strawberries. Whatever it was, it had me ready to eat her up.

“We are. And the only head on me that’s big, is this.” I grabbed my dick, smirking.

“Negro, please. It’s average,” she lied through her teeth.

“Had you squirting.”

Modesty’s eyes widened in embarrassment.

“You are so nasty.” She didn’t deny it. She pulled some stuff out of the small bag I just noticed she bought outside with her. It looked like nail polish. “I need to paint my toes. What color should I paint them? White or pink?” She held up the two colors.

“Didn’t you just get them crusty-ass feet done?” I fuck with her, taking another pull of my blunt.

“The lies you tell. My feet are prettyyy. Look?” She laid her feet across my lap and wiggled her pretty toes. “Now, what color?”

“White. Now get your feet off me, women.” I tickled the bottom of her feet.

“Stop, Jamian! That tickles!” she giggled, never moving her legs from my lap. She opened the polish and began painting her toes.

Now, high as fuck, I rested one hand behind my head and the other rested on her thigh as I watched Modesty do her thing. While she focused, as usual, I got lost in her beauty. Her hair sat on the top of her head in a messy bun, and her lips were shiny with lip gloss. I don’t know what it is about this woman that made me crave her presence. She made me want to be buried deep inside of her as she dug her nails into my back. She must have felt my eyes on her because she looked up at me with those brown eyes glistening under the solar lights.

“I told you, Mr. Armstrong. Stop looking at me like you like me.” She gave me a mischievous grin.

“I do. A lot actually.” With a sly grin, I raked my hand up her thighs until they were between her legs.

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