Page 46 of Church Girl
Not your man. Not your man, a voice inside reminds me.
Yeah, butshedoesn’t know that, my inner bitch snaps back.
I’m siding with the bitchy voice. It’s just rude for ol’ girl to be batting her lashes and flirting with him right in front of me. I know she sees me sitting here. I have a lot of issues, but invisibility isn’t one of them.
Whoa, girl. I blink. Where did that attitude come from?
“You can bring a bottle of D’ussé and—” he glances at my nearly empty glass “—another cranberry vodka for her. And send some girls over for us.”
She cocks her head, her gaze running over him in a slow, obvious scan. Subtlety? She don’t know her. Anger simmers in my stomach, and I lift my glass, downing the rest of the alcohol.
I’m not the only one over here thirsty.
“I can do that. Anything else? If a lap dance is what you want, I would be more—”
“Aye, what’s your name?” Von interrupts her with a hike of his chin.
The waitress’s smile widens. “Draya,” she says.
“Yeah, check it, Draya. You disrespectful as fuck.” The smile drops from Draya’s face, her expression going slack at his blunt words. But nope, he’s not finished. “You see my girl sitting here and haven’t even looked her way or asked her what she’d like to drink or eat. That’s literally your job. Wait on people and serve. I don’t like that. So no, you can’t give me a lap dance. You can’t even bring my drinks because I don’t trust your thirsty ass not to spit in my shit. So hand over that order to another server and don’t come back up in here.”
He turns to me, lifting his hip off the couch and removing his wallet. Draya stands there, unmoving, mouth open for several seconds before whirling around and stomping out of the section.
Wow.
“What?” He removes a thick wad of bills then returns the wallet to his pocket all nonchalant like he didn’t just tear that woman a new one. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Did you...? Why did you...?”
I can’t finish the sentence, but I don’t need to because he pins me with a look that asks,Really, though?
“She got me fucked-up. I don’t do that catty shit. What kind of man would I be if I let her disrespect you right in front of me? Why would shewanta man who would do that?” He snorts. “Nah, no way I was letting her play in your face like that.”
“But I’m not your...girl,” I say, using the word he’d given Draya to describe me.
“And?” He arches an eyebrow. “Did she know that? Did she care?”
Since I’d just made that same point to myself, I don’t reply. We stare at each other. I want to avoid that steady, beautiful gaze, afraid of what he will see in mine, but I can’t. Lust swirls inside me—lust, need and a softer, warmer emotion I don’t want to name.
I have a kindness kink. Be nice to me, say soft words, treat me like I matter, and I will spread ’em open for you.
It’s humiliating. No one has ever defended me like that. No one. And now, I can’t separate desire from gratitude. Longing from thankfulness.
“Someone wanted dancers?”
I jerk my head away from him and watch, my lips parted in confusion as three women enter the section. Is that what he’d meant by “send some girls over here”? Strippers? To do...what?
The “what” is answered right away.
One of the women—a dancer with beautiful pecan-colored skin, a long jet-black weave that reaches her behind and a red bra, thong and matching heels—stops in front of Von, standing between his spread thighs. But he waves toward me.
“This is for her.”
Her? Does he meanme?
“What?” I gasp as the stripper moves toward me with a smile, turns, grabs her ankles and starts clapping her butt cheeks to the Latto hit the DJ’s spinning. She’s right there, inches from my face, and I gape at her, mesmerized by the rhythmic bounce and shake of her ass. “Umm, Von?”
“Relax, ma. You came out tonight to enjoy yourself rather than sitting home watching Tubi.”
