Page 64 of Dope Boys: Most Wanted
“You got a closet full of fly shit. Put it on, we got reservations,” he stated.
“Oh, you planned this?” Reign asked, pleasantly surprised. “Not a by the seat of the pants type of day. I’m with it.”
“Good, take this with you and go get ready,” he softly urged, pointing to the plate.
Reign picked it up and roamed back up the stairs. Markus’ heated gaze on her back could have melted the clothes from her body if he wanted to. That mere heat she felt forced her up the stairs quickly in search of reprieve. Markus was inching into her space and kicking the baggage and all the bad shit that had happened out of the way to make space for him. Fear was still in the driver’s seat. While the gas she needed to run had been cyphered, the brakes were still functioning, and fear was trying to put an immediate stop to the feelings attempting to hijack the ride.
In the mirror, with a mouth full of apples and a jelly mask, she bitterly laughed at herself. Laughter was a nice replacement for the river of tears she’d cried. Even if it were a condescending gripe that left her full mouth. “Like you got space to fit that nigga in your space.”
Space, capacity, volume, and whatever other metric she had to fill didn’t seem like much, but what she knew was that Markus was big. Not just in his stature, but who he was. He’d fill, occupy, settle, and own every crevice of her that she allowed him to touch.
Five nights, and she’d gotten used to her foot in his hold. His heavy breathing lulled her to sleep. His presence. She’d gotten used to him. Too close. Too personal. Another inch of space closer, and he could break what was left of her.
Reign’s mind didn’t stop running circles around itself until she was dressed in a distressed houndstooth oversized jacket that could double as a dress against her small frame. Black tights over her legs and a pair of leather boots. Markus rested on the ottoman by the front door, handling business per usual. Once his brain was alerted that she’d consumed his presence again, his eyes lifted, nose inhaled every note of her scent, and his lips curled at their ends.
A high ponytail cascaded around her face, makeup perfectly blended, lips painted in a chocolate and nude combo. His grunt was what stalled her fear-driven engine. The subtle bite of his lip as he straightened. Markus wore an Ameechii sweater, jeans, and sneakers. The durag still atop his head.
“Do you need a haircut?” she questioned, taking him in and trying to school herself not to have the same reaction he had.
“Yeah, I don’t know what to do with this hair,” Markus spoke, watching Reign take off back up the stairs.
“Come on,” she called over her shoulder. “Let me fix that.”
Markus took off behind her, coolly hiking two stairs at a time. Reign’s steps were even as she entered her bathroom. Markus entering her space felt…heavy. Sure to keep a safe distance from her in a room engulfed with the scent that could have him blowing his cool in the wind, he leaned against the bathroom door.
Reign looked at him in the mirror, softly nipping the inside of her lip so her brain wouldn’t go off the rails with all the wild thoughts. “Why are you over there? Come, sit, take that off.”
She pulled the bench out and motioned to it before returning to rummaging through hair products. Markus sat, untied hisdurag, and welcomed the dance of her tiny fingers through the tight, low-cut curls atop his head.
“You know, when you demanded that I cut your hair, I was wondering why you didn’t embrace this,” she spoke, spraying a mixture of water, oil blend, and leave-in conditioner into his coils. As she massaged the product in, she studied the way his eyes were focused on her before drifting closed.
He grumbled, “Look too much like my pops.”
Reign hummed, still massaging until his hair looked good. She stepped back to the counter to wash the product off and dry off her hands. “Well, it’s done. Ready?”
Markus reached out, pulling her close enough for their scents to transfer. Reign’s hands fell softly on his shoulders. His on her hips, and his lips twitched with that need. The tuck of her lips and the dance of her eyes prompted him.
“Thank you. Let’s go.”
Relief flooded her as he released her from his hold. He stood and motioned her toward the door. A sigh of relief came from them both. In the car, they fell back into their day-to-day routine until arriving at the Majestic Museum of Art. The valet greeted them and took Markus’ keys as he stepped out. Reign sat inside until Markus rounded the back of his car to assist her out.
“I like how you weren’t going to have me put that nigga through the sidewalk because you wanted to be hardheaded,” he spoke with a laugh, holding his words.
Reign gave him a soft smile. Not forced, not monitored, not disingenuous but luminous and beautiful. Soul stirring.
“You look like somebody today. Didn’t want you to mess up your fit,” she replied, walking inside in stride with him.
“Damn, what I look like every other day?” he questioned, pulling out his phone and handing it to the young girl at the podium. She scanned the digital tickets off his screen, handed it back, and gave them each a pamphlet.
“Enjoy the collection.”
Reign nodded in thanks and moved with Markus inside. “Like you a nigga in the streets. Simple but not inconspicuous.”
Markus grunted. “Damn.”
“It’s not bad, it’s just your style. It’s not flashy, but you know…you still look like you touch packs.”
“I do.”
