Page 31 of Gotta Jones For Ya
“And I mean every word,” I said, leanin’ in to kiss her slowly, syrup and all.
We kept eatin’ and talkin’ about everything and nothin’. Favorite cartoons, what we used to get whooped for, dumb shit we did as teens, music we grew up on. She ended up wit' her foot hooked over my ankle and her head on my chest wit’ my arm tucked under her neck like I ain’t never needed that hand for nothin’ else.
???
“Damn, I love that fuckin’ perfume.”
Nyomi laughed softly. I was posted in the doorway, keys in one hand, eyes on her as she came down the staircase. She had on a brown fitted halter top dress and some heels, lookin’ good as fuck. I just wanted to drag her ass back in the same bed it took us forever to roll out of.
We was already runnin’ late, though, and I knew my grandmama was finna talk shit. She didn’t play about Sunday dinners at her crib.
“Are you gonna compliment every single day?” she teased, brushin’ past me in that soft-ass material that clung to her ass like it knew what it was restin’ on. Perfection.
“I’ma compliment you ‘til the day I die. Then haunt you and keep goin’.”
She giggled and shook her head, grabbin’ her lil’ purse and the cookies she insisted I go out and grab. She said she wasn’t steppin’ foot inside my grandmama’s house empty-handed.
“I’m nervous,” she mumbled once we got in the truck. “Like… what if they don’t like me?”
I reached over, laid my palm on her thigh, and squeezed. “Don’t give a fuck who like you. I fuck wit’ you. That’s enough.”
She looked at me for a long second, lips pressed together like she was tryin’ not to melt and shit. “You always say the most gangsta shit in the softest way,” she whispered.
I smirked, backin’ out the driveway. “You gon’ fall in love wit’ a nigga. I’m tellin’ you.”
We hit River Ave, then cut down some blocks I knew too well. Nyomi bobbed her head toDuffle Bag Trappy’slatest EP, rubbin’ her thumb across the back of my hand on her thigh. “I feel like I’m meeting the parts of you that built the man I’ve been beating down these walls… literally and figuratively. I like this.”
I glanced over at her, jaw clenched tight just to keep from kissin’ her at the damn red light. “You gon’ make me crash this muthafucka.”
Twenty minutes later, we pulled up to my grandmama’s crib, and Nyomi adjusted the custom Cuban around her neck, then looked over at me.
“I look okay?”
I turned off the engine and reached for her chin, anglin’ her face toward mine. “You bad as fuck. Don’t question that shit.” Her breath hitched. I kissed her real soft, then grabbed the cookies and climbed out, coming to open her door. “C’mon, girl. They gon’ love you.” Before I even knocked, the front door opened like clockwork.
“There he go! Boy, you late!” Granny hollered from behind her screen door, apron on, gray hair twisted up in a silk scarf.
“My bad. Lost track of time,” I said, pullin’ Nyomi close to my side. “I want you to meet somebody.”
Granny squinted at her, then smiled. “Ooooh. She’s pretty pretty.”
Nyomi extended the cookie box like a peace offerin’ and shit. “Hi. I’m Nyomi.”
“Evie. Nice to meet you. Come on in, baby. Long as you got a good appetite and you ain’t vegan or none of that foolishness, you good.”
We stepped inside, and it was instant chaos. Frankie Beverly playin’ low in the background, my Uncle Buck and my two cousins Antt and Wayne laughin’ over drinks, and Mariah dartin’ underfoot wit’ a juice box and a lollipop.
Nyomi gripped my hand tighter. “You sure about this?”
“Too late now,” I smirked. “You already here. I gotchu.”
Ain’t nothin' like Sunday dinner at Granny’s. The second I sat down, that rich ass smell of baked mac, smoked turkey wings, and yams hit my nose like a warm-ass hug. Kitchen been smellin' like soul since we walked in, but now that everything was sittin' on the table, includin' bottles of L, shit was damn near spiritual. Collards still steamin', cornbread smellin' sweet, rice and beans simmerin' like it got secrets. My stomach was growlin' wit' disrespect.
To my right was Nyomi, tryna play shit cool, but I could feel her soakin’ up the whole scene after Granny blessed the food.
“You put your foot in this cornbread, Granny,” my cousin Antt said, slappin’ butter on his second slice like he was tryna build a damn sandwich wit' it. “I ain’t even put no syrup on it this time.”
“That’s ‘cause you finally got taste buds,” Keema snapped, rollin’ her eyes from across the table. “You twenty-eight and just now learnin’ flavor.”
