Page 10 of Gotta Jones For Ya
“Like why you tried to kick me out beforeandafter breakfast.” I stroked the top of her thigh slowly while I drove.
She sucked her teeth. “'Cause I needed my Sunday back.”
“To do what?”
“Regular people shit. You know, laundry, clean up, cook…”
“Nah,I’myour Sunday now. That shit can wait.”
She looked at me. “You’re so damn cocky.”
“And you so damn fine. Them two things go together like me and you, baby,” I shrugged.
She turned her face toward the window to hide the smirk she didn’t want me to see, but I peeped that shit loud and clear.
By the time we pulled up to the nail salon, Nyomi was still tryna act like I was some temporary dick wit' a day pass, not the whole damn event. She hesitated gettin’ out like she didn't wanna be seen wit’ me. “You’re coming in, too?” she asked.
“Damn right,” I said, killin’ the engine and steppin’ out like I owned the whole damn lot. “What kinda nigga drop his woman off to get pampered and don’t sit in to witness the results?”
“I’m not your—”
“C’mon.” I didn’t let her finish. I was already holdin’ the door open. Inside, the salon smelled like lavender and polish remover. Soft music playin’ and shit, chairs vibratin’, and techs wit' masks smilin’ behind their eyes. They sat us down side-by-side. I posted up like it wasmyappointment. One arm slung over the side, the other resting on my knee, watchin’ her wit' that hungry look I know she felt.
The techs giggled. “Aww, y’all make a cute couple,” one of ’em said while takin’ her hand.
Nyomi jumped on it. “We’re not—”
“We together,” I cut in, looking her tech dead in the eye. “She just a lil’ shy.”
Her head snapped toward me. “Knuck—”
“Paint ’em some kinda purple,” I told the nail tech. “Her favorite color.”
“Purple?” the tech blinked.
“Yeah,” I said, eyes on Nyomi, who looked back at me wit' her mouth dropped. “I pay attention, baby." She gon’ blush but not say shit, and that silence told me everything. I leaned over as she got started, brushin’ her wrist wit' my knuckles. “If your favorite color is purple, why you always wear white or French tip?”
Nyomi side-eyed me again, mouth twitchin’ like she was tryna hold in a grin. “It’s classic. Timeless.”
“Nah,” I said, eyes trailin’ up her bare thigh. “Timeless is the way you sound when you moan. That shit’ll live rent-free in my head forever.” The tech snorted behind her mask.
Nyomi whispered, “Can you not?”
I leaned back in my chair, all smug and chill. “I could not, but I prolly won’t.” I watched her nails and pretty ass feet get done, filled, and painted to perfection. “You hungry?” I asked, slidin’ my black card into the reader.
“I just ate.”
“Breakfast was two hours ago.”
“Youforcedbreakfast,” she argued, snatching her receipt.
“Call it what you want, you still swallowed every damn bite of them banana pancakes.” She went quiet again, and I reached for her hand. “Exactly. Next stop, this lil’ boutique.”
She turned to me mid-stride. “Keon, I don’t need you buying me any—”
I stopped her wit' a look. That deep, calm one I only gave when I was dead fuckin’ serious. “Damn. Can’t I spoil you? Why you fightin’ me on this shit?”
“You don’t need to.”
