Page 13 of Riot

“Hell nah.”

She blinked, then tilted her head. “Why not? You takin’ somebody else?”

I looked her dead in the face, grin fading. “Nah. I ain’t takin’ nobody. Especially not you.”

Her smile dropped. “Wow. You didn’t have to say it like that.”

I shrugged, unfazed. “We fuck. That’s it. I don’t do dates. I don’t do relationships. And I sure as hell don’t bring nobody around my family.”

Her expression twisted, offended but trying not to show it. “We’ve been messing around for months, Riot.”

“And?” I said, eyes sharp. “You want a prize or somethin’? You suck my dick good. You know how to ride. Cool. But this ain’t goin’ no further than that. Don’t start getting ideas just ‘cause I let you spend a little time in my suite.”

“You won’t even let me come to your house.”

“Exactly,” I snapped. “That’smy house.You should feel lucky I take you on shopping sprees and let you suck my dick in five-star hotels. That’s more than most bitches get.”

She sat up fast, grabbing her clothes off the chair. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“I been told you that.”

She yanked her dress over her head and struggled to zip it, hands shaking. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m nothing.”

I didn’t respond right away. Just made my way to the bed and leaned back on the pillows, arms behind my head, watching her like a movie I’d already seen.

It wasn’t that I hated women.

I just didn’t trust ‘em.

Not after what happened with first and only girlfriend ever, Malia.

That bitch damn near ended me.

Nah. I’ll never trust another woman the way I trusted her.

The only woman I trust now is my mama, and sometimes I wonder about her.

Shari grabbed her heels, face red, lips trembling. “You don’t evenlikeme. You just use me.”

I smiled. “We’re both getting something out of it.”

She stormed toward the door, heels in her hand, muttering something under her breath.

Just before she pulled it open, I called out, “Same time next week?”

She hesitated for half a second.

Then slammed the door behind her.

I laughed, shaking my head, reaching for my phone and texting my driver.

That was the thing about women like her.

They always come back.

After Shari stormed out, I took my time getting up, showered off the remnants of her neediness, and threw on something clean. Black tee. Designer jeans. Wrist heavy. Cologne sharp. I liked the man looking back at me in the mirror. Still standing. Still solid.

I slid into the backseat of my black SUV and headed to the tailor. We were getting fitted for Creed’s wedding—something I still couldn’t believe was actually happening. My big bro, the coldest, most calculated nigga I knew, was finally about to jump the broom. Hell must’ve froze.

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