Chapter 34 Farrah
I could tell Mekhi was trying not to think, which meant he was absolutely was thinking, and way too hard.
He’d barely said anything since I came home, but he was sticking close to me.
At least he wasn’t pacing anymore; I thought his ass was going to burn a hole in the carpet earlier, all that back and forth.
I guess he’d burned through that energy, but he still looked worried, like his mind was being pulled in too many directions.
The only thing that had my permission to worry Mekhi Venzant was me. So, I made an executive decision. It was time I helped him keep a firm hold on his Black card like I’d promised at the museum.
“Get on the floor,” I told him, hands on my hips, standing in the middle of his living room like I owned the place. “We playing Spades.”
He stared at me like I’d spoken in tongues. “I’on know if I got cards, Little Thug,” he said finally.
“What do you have, then?” I asked.
He looked like he wanted to deny me, like he just wanted to sit in his worry. I wasn’t having that. Trell, whoever he was, didn’t get to have that much power and control. So, I waited patiently, but with a look that told him I wasn’t giving up.
“I got Monopoly.”
I rolled my eyes. Of course, he had Monopoly. Money was the bottom line in every aspect of his life, I guess.
“Well, get the damn box,” I demanded.
He frowned at me. “For what?”
“To relax yo’ stiff ass!”
He looked at me for a solid five seconds.
No expression. No humor. Nothing. He looked like he wasn’t up for my bullshit.
I didn’t feel like arguing with him… wait, who I was kidding?
I always felt like arguing with him. But I hoped I wouldn’t have to.
Then, finally, I saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Yessss! Victory.
Two minutes later, we were on opposite sides of the board, cross-legged on the rug like we were kids at a sleepover.
His place looked too expensive to be this comfortable, but somehow the low lights, the polished floors, and him sitting there in his A-shirt, muscled arms bare and rippling, made everything feel regular.
“Don’t cheat,” I told him.
He raised a brow. “Why you saying that to me and not yourself?”
“Because you look like the type to cheat,” I said, eyes narrowed.
I got a full smirk this time. “And you don’t?”
“I’m honorable,” I exclaimed on an offended gasp.
“Girl, you a whole lie out here,” he countered.
“Wow,” I said, hand over my heart. “I’m hurt.”
“That’s alright,” he murmured with no sympathy. “You’ll be a lot more hurt when you start landing on my properties.”
He said it calmly, like he wasn’t smack-talking me while setting up the game pieces, but I caught the hint of swagger in there. Just enough to let me know he was feeling more like himself. He was warming up enough to challenge me. Good.
Once everything was set, I picked the little silver car. He picked the top hat like he was eighty years old.
“What kinda man under thirty picks the top hat?” I quipped.
“Entrepreneurs pick the top hat,” he answered.
“So, you admit you built your personality around rich-man shit, but wanna call me bougie. Mm-mm-mm.”
“I admit that I’m gon’ win,” he said, smug smile in place.
“You ain’t even rolled yet.”
Another eyebrow raise, this one confident, cocky. “And?”
“And you talking real bold for someone who’s about to get these hands in Boardwalk violence.”
This time, I got a full smile, a flash of those pretty whites against the velvet darkness of his complexion. “Shut up and roll the dice, Little Thug.”
I laughed and rolled first. Seven. I drove my little car to Connecticut Avenue. It was a nice little gain.
“See?” I said. “Regular degular warm-up roll.”
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, already unimpressed.
He rolled. Twelve. Damn show-off. We made it past Go once, and it was like entrepreneur mode was activated. He dropped that hat right on Tennessee Avenue and bought it without blinking, like he was signing a quick million-dollar wire transfer.
“Already investing?” I asked.
“Never too early to build wealth.”
“Oh, my God,” I groaned. “You speak like capitalism is foreplay.”
He smirked. “I can make anything foreplay. You don’t know that yet?”
I threw one of the little Chance cards at him before rolling.
By the time we were twenty minutes in, he was demolishing me.
I wasn’t going to admit it out loud, but I’d never seen someone play Monopoly like it was a real-life investment plan.
Every move he made was too calculated for me.
He was over there building a little empire all quiet and deadly.
I realized he wasn’t just good in business—he was dangerously good.
Smart. Strategic. Ruthless when he needed to be.
It was a little unfair, honestly. I needed a financial advisor or something like a miracle. See, this why I couldn’t stand his ass.
“You only got three properties,” he pointed out.
“I’m saving my money,” I lied.
“You saving it for what? The rapture?”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m saving it for the right investment.”
My voice was all haughty, like I knew something he didn’t.
I didn’t know shit.
“Farrah, you missed three good opportunities already. If you need some help—”
I would never admit that shit! I might as well keep lying. “That’s because the math wasn’t mathing.”
He stared at me.
“That don’t even mean anything,” he said flatly.
I turned my nose up at him. “Don’t worry about what it means.”
“I’m very worried. You make sure I review your retirement plan… when you get one.”
“You too emotional,” I said, waving him off. “Roll the dice.”
He scoffed. “That’s wild, coming from you.”
“I’m chill. Not emotional at all,” I denied.
“You chaotic as fuck, Little Thug.”
“I like to call it whimsical,” I argued.
“I like to call it delusional.”
I swear I couldn’t stand this man. “Roll the damn dice, Mekhi.”
He rolled and landed on his own property, of course. I stared at the board frowning.
“This game is racist.”
He laughed then, a real laugh. It was low and warm and rich. Man, I loved that sound. It made me feel like I was easing his mind, exactly what I wanted to do.
“Your turn,” he said.
I rolled. The dice clattered across the board, bumping a few houses before stopping. On his space. Again. His most expensive one. That mothafuckin’ Boardwalk. With a hotel.
I froze.
He leaned back slowly, hands on his knees, eyes locked on me, smug with amusement.
“Go ‘head and run me my twelve hunnid, shorty.”
“Twelve hundred?” I screeched. “Why is a piece of cardboard costing twelve hundred American dollars?”
“Property value,” he said simply, shrugging those broad, beautiful, brown shoulders.
“You lying. You rigged this game,” I accused.
Mekhi rolled his eyes. “Yes. You right. You caught me, dammit. I confess, I cheated. I hacked the dice with my mind.”
I threw my car at him. “You don’t gotta be sarcastic.”
“You don’t gotta land on my hotel.”
“You don’t gotta be petty.”
“You do gotta pay me. Han’ it here like a good girl.”
Ooh, that “good girl” had me—Pay attention, Farrah! I did some quick math. It was bad. I fluttered my lashes, bit down on my lip, got ready to plead my case—
“You bankrupt?” he asked, messing up my plan.
“I—” I looked down at my tiny pile of sad cash. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
He waited.
Silently.
Patiently.
Like he had all the time in the world to watch me accept defeat.
“Fine,” I huffed eventually. “Take it.” I shoved a few bills toward him.
He didn’t even take them. He just crossed his arms, lifted one eyebrow, and leaned back like a king on his throne.
“Ain’t enough.”
“This is abusive,” I whined.
“This is numbers.”
“This is sexism.”
He snorted. “I thought it was racism. It’s sexism, too?”
“That’s how the patriarchy is; those things work together. Anyway, it’s clearly sexism because you winning.”
“So, women can’t lose?”
“Not to you!” I muttered.
He laughed. “That’s crazy logic.”
“Men created Monopoly. They wanted me to fail.”
He shook his head, the faintest smile playing at his lips. “Girl, pay me my money.”
I sighed dramatically and stared down at the board. I had two choices; I could pay him and die financially or… I could try to flirt my way out of it.
Guess which choice I made?
I slid my sad little dollars back into my pile and folded my hands, trying to look all innocent.
“Okay… so maybe I don’t pay you in cash.”
Another raised eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he said softly. “What you mean by that?”
Here we go. Men were so predictable… and I thanked the Monopoly gods for it! I leaned in, elbows on my knees. I tilted my head and let my voice drop an octave.
“I mean… maybe I give you something else instead.”
He blinked once, slowly. His eyes went darker, softer, but his expression stayed unreadable.
“Something else,” he repeated. “You tryna barter?”
“Negotiate,” I corrected.
“Negotiate what? What you got, Little Thug?”
I traced one finger along the edge of the board, sliding it in his direction.
“My… services.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Your what?”
“My services,” I said again, biting back a smile. “In exchange for the debt.”
He stared at me for a few seconds, then shook his head like he was trying not to grin. “You wild,” he said.
“You like it.”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“You lying.” I guess I was a little conceited.
“What kinda ‘services’ you offering?”
I pretended to think. “Premium ones.”
“You tryna seduce your way out a bill?”
“It’s twelve hundred dollars! That ain’t a bill. If it was a crime, it wouldn’t be a misdemeanor. That’s a felony.”
He laughed again, something in him loosening. He needed this, the distraction, the silliness. It even felt like he needed me. Me. The thorn in his side. His eternal aggravation. Mekhi Venzant needed what I was offering.
And I was happy to give it.
I shifted closer, crawling forward until we were only inches apart. The game board was pushed aside, half forgotten.
“You accept my offer?” I asked, sounding breathy.
“And what offer is that?” he countered, voice low.
I moved closer. “Whatever you want.”
He caught my waist gently, moved me until I settled into his lap. His hands stayed there, feeling big and warm and a little protective.
“Farrah, this how you handle losing?” he murmured.
“No,” I said, leaning in so my lips brushed his jaw. “This is how I handle losing to you.”
He let out a breath, almost a laugh. “You trouble.”
“So you tell me. You love that, though.”
His hands tightened on my hips just slightly. “Maybe.”
“You wanna come collect your payment?” I whispered near his ear.
He exhaled harder, a sound I felt in the most interesting places. Then he pulled back to look at me fully, brushing a thumb over my cheek.
“You tryna distract me,” he said softly.
I cupped his face with both hands. “I’m tryna take care of you,” I corrected.
He kissed my palm. “I know.”
His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer against him. He kissed me, then, all deep and slow, started lowering me onto my back. I felt the board under me, pieces digging into my skin, his damn hotels falling. Neither of us cared.
“You still owe me twelve hundred,” he whispered.
I laughed breathlessly. “You better keep kissing me.”
“This your payment plan?”
I leaned close, lips brushing his. “I’ll add interest.”
He sighed. “Fine. I accept your terms,” he said, pretending it was a hardship.
I knew better, I smiled up at him.
“Then come collect.”