Page 86 of Are You Going to Love Me

She gushed. “I love it.”

“Good, it’s dropping tomorrow.”

What he didn’t tell her was that the money he was going to make off of performing it would buy Poppi’s Place and have the deed in her name. Eden was showing him what love looked and felt like, whether she knew it or not. For that, Eden was going to forever be straight. Even if, by some stroke of fate, they were pulled from one another.

“That’s probably the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“I’m just getting started. You gon’ run off?”

“You gon’ pick me up and drop me? Or try to break my spirit?”

“Hurting you is going to hurt me. I’m already too attached for that. Plus, ain’t no bitch in my blood.”

“Max Baby,” Eden purred. “You want me living on my knees?”

“Nah, just stand beside me and I’ll stand by you.”

“I’ll stand after I thank you.”

Eden lowered herself to her knees and freed him. His hardness back in her mouth was a sight. How quickly she adjusted to his size and took his forcefulness without complaint. If Eden needed him to slip down the mountain after claiming to never love again, he was. She had him suspended somewhere between delusion and trying to figure out if this shit was really real. Was she filling each day with laughter, and on the days when he didn’t hear her voice, had his brain rewired itself to focus on joy?

After a quick romp in the living room, he held her against him, listening to her breathe. There was days of this. Fucking turning into passionate sex, cuddling, sharing fears and dreams, her watching him cook.

It was Thursday, and Maximus had forgone his braid appointment to enjoy the final hours with Eden before heading across the country.

“Max,” Eden called, sauntering away from the door with a bag of hair products.

“I’m in the basement,” he called back, his raspiness flowing through the open door.

Following his voice, she found him in the middle of the open area. “What’s this going to be? Your studio?”

“That’s the plan. Being in the studio all night, where I can’t control who’s in or out, don’t sit well with me.”

“I get that. Everyone needs a creative space,” Eden said, looking around the space. “I can’t wait to see what it looks like when it’s done.”

“It’s gon’ be dope.” Maximus glanced down at her. “What’s in the bag?”

“Brushes, spray bottle, oil, and gel. You don’t have anything in here for your hair, and you’re leaving me in a few hours, so...”

“You saying I can’t go like this?”

“Absolutely not,” Eden quipped. “You above a bun? That’s all I have time for, otherwise I'd braid it myself.”

“Never above your hands in this.”

Eden grinned. “Meet me in the living room.”

Maximus didn’t delay. He climbed the stairs behind her. Any chance to be between her legs, sexually or intimately, he took it. Seated on the floor, he closed his eyes while Eden detangled, tamed, and brushed his curls into submission.

“Tell me something,” Eden hummed, as she brushed through the thick strands of hair. “Where did you get all of this hair from?”

He rumbled, pulling himself out of the clutches of sleep. “My pops. He was a pretty nigga. Trae Way Gangsta from the northside. Nigga used to wear silk shirts and shit. Pull up to the house, cocaine on his nostrils and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. There’s a bunch of us curly-headed niggas running around Waynesville and Hasley.”

“Ohhh, I see,” Eden buzzed, enthralled with his hair slipping through her fingers.

“He would always cut our hair on the porch so we could look like we belonged to him. I never wanted to look like that nigga, walk like him, talk like him. Nothing. So, I grew it out and let it stay in a big ass ‘fro or braids.”

“I get it. Any plans on getting it braided again?”

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