Page 29 of Love's Most Wanted
“Damn, a nigga can’t come in? You rude as hell.” He slipped past me, almost bumping my shoulder with his tall ass.
“I’m kind of busy right now, Unique. Just because you own the building doesn’t mean you get to pop up at my place whenever the want hits you.” I folded my arms.
“Smell like you had a candle lit. Fuck was you doing, masturbating?” He plopped down on my couch. “Lil deejaying ass.”
“No, what the fuck? And what does my candle have to do with masturbating?” I rounded the couch to join him.
“Set the mood.” He huffed, letting his head rock to the left to stare at me. “And if you wasn’t, you need to be masturbating. You a lil tight. Busting a nut will have you less wound the fuck up.” He winked.
He seemed to get more handsome every time that I saw him. I would always see a new feature that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Who said I needed to masturbate for that? I got friends that can handle that for me.” I hiked a brow, making him snicker a bit with a nod.
“You bet not. You married. Let me find out a nigga don’ hit while you my wife and it’s gon’ be a muthafuckin’ problem.”
“I’m your wife in name, Mr. Compton, and nothing more. Just like I’m sure you have slept with your women since that fateful night.”
“Fateful? Damn. That’s how you feel?”
“Kind of.” I shrugged. “When I get married, I want it to be real.”
He looked off, out of the floor-to-ceiling windows as he put one of my couch pillows into his lap. His side profile was one for the books, so I admired it as long as he had it in view.
“Sometimes you can make shit real. Arranged marriages still happen, and a lot of them muthafuckas fall in love after they say their vows.”
“True, but they at least intended to get married. We didn’t. It was an accident.” I put a pillow in my lap, too, but out of nervousness. I never knew the serious side of Unique, and I didn’t know if it was just awkward or if it made me take an interest in him. “Speaking of, what’s up with Mr. Duarte?”
“Said the bartender told him you were coherent the whole night, especially when you got an attitude with her.”
That stupid bitch better not had said that.
“She did not say that.” I was hoping he was joking, just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.
“Swear to God.” He chuckled cutely. “And the officiant claims we weren’t drunk. Mack believes he said that so he wouldn’t lose his fucking job ’cause you ’posed to turn muthafuckas away when they appear to be intoxicated.”
“This is terrible, Unique! Why the hell are you so calm?” I felt my brows dip as I took in his relaxed demeanor. “Mack said if he didn’t find evidence, we’d have to get a divorce.”
“So. I’ll pay for it if it comes down to that.”
“But then it will be on our records, Unique.”
“So.” He laughed again while wearing a confused expression. “What the fuck does that mean? You act like it’s a criminal record or some shit. Ain’t like you can’t marry the next nigga when you want to.”
“I don’t want that. You may not care about something like that, but I do. I want my first marriage to be my last.”
He began talking, but when I read the message on my phone, I went deaf and heard none of it.
Loser: Asia told Zosia I was trying to borrow the money and I had to tell her why. She think we still together.
Me: Who the fuck is Asia?
I typed a mile a minute, heart beating damn near out of my chest.
Loser: My assistant. I guess Zosia told her to report my moves or anything I did that was out of the ordinary. She told her about the cafe meet up then the money.
Shutting my eyes, I grunted involuntarily. Though I talked shit about exposing Zosia and AJ, I truly didn’t want to be one of those women. I planned to launch a makeup line one of these days and didn’t want to be remembered as not only the mistress but the mistress who got pregnant and crashed out on social media about it.
“You good?” Unique broke through my mental Olympics of trying to figure out my next damn move.
