Page 12 of Love Next Door
“Nah, ya li’l ass ain’t that fast of a learner. You’re a hustler is what you are.”
She giggled and reached for my hand as the deejay played Chris Perry and Solemn’s
“Fantasy.” My hands rested on Abril’s hips as she swayed to the music. I pulled her closer to me, and we skated around one full time before she spun around with her back to me.
I wrapped her in my embrace, and she looked at me over her shoulder.
“You trying to get your scrapes and grinds in.”
“Baby, trust me, I don’t scrape and grind. I get right up in there, and if I were in there, there would be no mistake about what I’m doing.” I smirked when she shivered.
I could see her tongue pressing into the side of her cheek as she tried to hold back her smile. Abril’s hips felt perfect in my hands, and I imagined how they would feel if she were rising and sliding down my erection.
The music switched to Jovi Noelle’s “Make Me,” and she started bouncing her ass. “All right now. You gon’ get what ya asking for,” I warned. The giggle she released hit me hard down low. We skated for another hour, and she spent that time showing out for me, surprised when I could keep up with her.
“Are you hungry?” I asked as we headed for the door of the skating rink after we had removed our shoes.
“Famished.”
“A’ight. Let’s drop your skates in the car and get something in that belly.”
Long eyelashes fluttered before her cheeks turned a deep red.
“What’s in that pretty little head of yours, mami?”
“Nothing,” she replied shyly.
“Think your head went straight to the gutter.”
She bit her lip as I unlocked the trunk of my car so that we could put the skates away. “Skipped the gutters and went straight to the sewer.”
“Damn, like that, li’l mama?”
Her response was a coy smile and a lift of her eyebrows as she pranced away from me. I could see the slight curve of her ass from underneath her denim shorts. “Where are you going?” I asked, jogging to catch up with her.
“To Groove Theory.”
“How do you know that’s where I’m taking you, ma?”
She smacked her lips and rolled her eyes. “Man, quit playing with me. You did not bring me on a date to flaunt Groove Theory in my face and not take me there. Please tell me you ain’t gon’ play in my face like that. It’s the quickest way to have me go home in an Uber and blast you on Sociogram and ClickPix.”
I chuckled. “Baby, trust me. My following is loyal.”
“I don’t know if all 671,343 followers will remain loyal when I tell them how you play women,” she warned.
I grabbed her hand at the entrance of the most popular restaurant in the city. The attire was open, so people were dressed down or dressed up. Turning her to face me, I replied. “I never play a woman. Everything I do is to cater to and please her. Glad to see you stalking me on my socials like that.”
“Whatever, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Welcome to Groove Theory,” the maître d’ greeted us as we walked inside.
“Reservations for Mr. Maxwell.”
He smiled, nodded, and waved a server over who led us into the restaurant and to the stairs. When we reached the rooftop, Abril swung her gaze to me. “Not only did you get reservations to a restaurant that requires six months’ notice, but you also got rooftop seating?”
“Told you that everything I do is to cater to and please,” I answered as we followed the server to the blue seating in front of the neon aquarium. The stars were out, and it was a beautiful summer night.
“Did you already have these reservations for you and your ex?” she asked hesitantly after we placed our order of ribs and macaroni.
