Page 36 of Gotta Jones For Ya
I blinked, lips parting. “Worse?”
He chuckled, low and deep, putting the blunt in the ashtray in the nightstand before leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Worse,” he repeated, lips brushing my skin. “Like… now I pull up when I feel like it. But if you mine? I’m already there. I’m on your line all day. Poppin’ up on your lunch break. Fuckin’ you stupid before your clients. Sleepin’ in your bed every night. Buyin’ you gifts just ‘cause. Nuttin’ in you every single time.”
My stomach flipped.
“And if a nigga even look at you too long, I’m on go,” he added, real calm. “Not ‘cause I’m insecure. That’s just the type of nigga I am, baby.”
I stared at him, wide-eyed. My heart did this dumb little skip, and I had to look away before I melted too loud. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, just leaned into his chest, eyes locked on the TV but my brain was somewhere else entirely.
How’d I go from telling myself I wasn’t looking for nothing… to this? To him. To feeling shit again. Knuck didn’t say anything either, just rubbed on my thigh, kissed my temple, and let me sit with it.
And I did. I sat with it. With the way he made me feel. The way he kept shit real, even if the truth was crazy. The way he moved for me. Protected me. Wanted me in ways I hadn’t been wanted in… ever. My walls didn’t fall. They crumbled.
I turned toward him, propped up on my elbow, and looked him dead in the face. “I’ll… give you a chance,” I said.
His brow raised. “Word?”
“But if you fuck up,” I said, holding in a grin, “I’m gonna have your grandma bust a cap in your crazy ass.”
He burst out laughing, deep and warm like it came from his soul, and snatched me up into his lap so fast I squealed. “Aye,” he said, nuzzling into my neck, "don't even say that ‘cause she’ll do that shit.”
I giggled into his chest. This nigga…
This ridiculous, possessive, unhinged man. We were supposed to be a one-time situation. Just “fly me out and blow my back out” arrangement. And for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel scared about where I was falling. I knew Knuck would catch me. Crazy and all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Six Months Later
Nyomi’s apartment smelled like lemon pepper and garlic butter when she walked in on FaceTime, as usual. I was sittin’ at her island, rolling up, TV low in the background, and them takeout bags sittin’ on the island like I just got done cheffin’.
“You home already?” I heard her mama ask.
“Literally just walked in,” Nyomi told her, turnin’ the camera to show me. She strutted over in them Moncler boots I bought her last month, hair styled in long ass braids wit' curls, ass sittin’ crazy in some ripped jeans. She sniffed the air, then peeked into the bags. “It smells good in here, babe.”
“You know that,” I gripped that ass, smirkin’ before takin’ the phone from her.
“There goes my future son-in-love!” she said loud as hell, grinnin’ into the phone.
I fucked wit’ Nyomi’s mama. At first, when we met over FaceTime a few months back, I thought she was bougie as all hell but she grew on a nigga. Most people just wasn’t used to how I was but she realized quickly how much Nyomi meant to me. Opened up her mind and we been cool as fuck.
“What’s up, Ma? You good?” I asked her, sparkin’ up the blunt.
“Of course. I can’t wait to get back to Arbor Hills soon to finally see you two live in action,” she said and Nyomi rolled her eyes hard.
“Lady, you don’t sit still long enough for that to happen.”
”Whatever, girl. Keon, what you feeding my baby tonight? It better not be that greasy-ass Chinese again.”
I chuckled, exhaling smoke. “Nah, we classy tonight. Got lemon pepper salmon, roasted potatoes, and garlic butter green beans. I even got that fancy ass lemonade she like.”
Her mama laughed so hard I could hear her set the phone down for a second. “As long as my baby gets fed. You taking good care of her?”
I glanced at Nyomi, who was tryin’ not to smile. “You already know.”
“Mmhmm. I don’t play about my baby.”
“She doesn’t,” Nyomi muttered, tryna brush past me to grab a fork. I pulled her back into me, kissed her temple.
