Chapter 4 Lesley #2
I leaned forward as she stepped through the curtain, and this one stopped me cold. Gold velvet that moved like liquid, cut to show just enough while leaving everything to the imagination.
“Whew shit,” I murmured.
“Too much?” she asked, turning her back. “Zip me up.”
I crossed the room slowly, taking the zipper between two fingers. Her skin was warm beneath the gold, soft as tissue paper. When our eyes met in the mirror, I said, “That’s it. It’s perfect.”
“Gloves?”
I nodded, needing to look elsewhere before I did something about that dress.
She slipped them on, elbow-length velvet with a slight shimmer. Black. Classy. The kind of gloves that made you want to take them off slowly with your teeth.
She glanced at me then, and I caught it. A flicker in her eyes, asking a question without saying a word.
I stepped in closer, letting her feel my breath on the curve of her ear. “Yes, I see you. Don’t ever doubt that beautiful.”
Her lips parted, just a fraction. My hands were still at the zipper, and I had to remind myself we weren’t alone in this boutique. My hands slid into my pockets. I wanted to touch her, but I backed up a step instead. Needed to reclaim some space.
“You gon’ wear that around my family?” I asked, voice lighter, teasing.
She smirked. “Is it really that cute?”
“Cute was not the word I was going for, but yeah.” I shook my head at her, trying to lighten the weight between us.
She turned back to the mirror, gave herself one last look, then did a little spin. The dress swayed with her body with a mind of its own.
I watched her reflection, arms still folded. “Why you single, Coco?”
She stopped mid-spin. Glanced over her shoulder at me like she hadn’t expected that question, not from me.
Then she turned fully, arms crossed over her chest now, and she removed the gloves. She let out a low laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Because peace is expensive, and men usually come with interest rates I’m not willing to pay.”
I raised a brow. “That supposed to be deep?”
“It’s supposed to be honest,” she said, tone flat but not cold. “Being single is easier. Less of a headache. I don’t have to explain myself to anybody. I don’t have to worry about making space for someone who doesn’t know what to do with it. I work a lot, my business is my boyfriend.”
I nodded, slowly. Her words were sharp, but not bitter. She wasn’t trying to push me away, just making sure I understood what loving her would cost.
“Sounds lonely, though,” I said after a beat.
She shrugged. “Lonely ain’t always bad. Sometimes it’s just... quiet. And I like my quiet. Maybe one day I’ll share more. How are you different than me? We both live lonely lives.”
I didn’t answer right away. Just watched her, taking in every inch of her in that damn dress. Red had been my favorite—until now. Gold suited her. It shone on her. She’d have more of it in the closet before nightfall. That was a promise.
“I hear you. I respect it. But don’t get it twisted, being able to hold it down solo don’t mean you don’t need somebody solid in your corner. And that’s me.”
Her eyes locked on mine, holding just a second longer than necessary. She was thinking about saying the thing neither of us had said yet. I could see it.
Then she smiled, and it was the most unguarded thing I’d seen from her all day.
“Well,” she said, turning toward the dressing room, “I don’t want to need or be needed. I want to be wanted. And want someone back. Out of desire, not duty. Needs come with expectations. Requirements. Survival. I’m not here to survive anybody. I want to be chosen, not depended on.”
She disappeared behind the curtain, and I didn't move right away. I was left wondering if I’d ever been wanted that way… or if I even knew how to do the choosing right.
She stepped out looking like she'd said more than she meant to.
“Look, I’m not a real ass bitch give a fuck ‘bout a nigga, but I am a real ass bitch need a real nigga—and if not, stay away.”
“Well, we’re good then, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah. We shall see. Everybody says they’re real until it comes time to show that.”
I stopped walking and turned to face her. I stayed calm, but she caught the shift. “Coco, I’m not everybody. Don’t put me in the same category as niggas who disappointed you before. When I tell you something, that’s what it is.”
She searched my face, and I could see her deciding whether to push back or accept what I was saying.
“You're right,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m still learning you.”
“That’s all I need to hear.”
We left the store with her holding my arm. Subtle, but not nothing. Maybe that was the problem; those little gestures were starting to feel normal.
Her hand on me felt too damn good. I’d spent my life keeping people at a distance, and here she was, slipping past every defense I’d built.
That was dangerous. She was making that feel stupid.
But watching her laugh at some TikTok clip, her favorite damn thing, I knew the truth: if she was the weapon, I’d still choose her.
Every time.