Chapter 8
EIGHT
I’ve been sitting on this address for a little over a month. Like I knew he would, Quintus came through that Monday after I asked him. Real talk, it’s been a battle to not drive to the address, knock on that muthafucking door, and stall that bitch ass nigga out.
The house is only twenty-six minutes from here, but on the strength of my promise to my baby Kyrah, I’ve fallen back, especially tonight. We have reservations at her favorite Mexican spot and I promised to pick her up at seven. It’s fifteen till and I’m a man of my word.
After killing my engine, I grab the bouquet of flowers I picked up from the florist. Although we’ve been fucking with each other for two years, this is our first date, so I had to come correct. I had a bouquet of all purple flowers since it’s Kyrah’s favorite color.
Before my finger can ring her bell, the door opens and my beautiful baby stands there looking fucking amazing. A purple and black dress hugs every inch I’m obsessed with and the see-through part over her left thigh has me speechless.
“Are those for me?” she asks with a smile.
“If all of this is for me,” I fire back because damn she looks good as fuck.
“It is all for you,” she says while accepting the flowers.
“Thank you for these. Come in. I need to put my shoes on and grab my bag.” When she turns to walk away, my damn knees buckle.
Her lips and ass are perfection. After closing the door, I step right behind her and rest my hands on her hips as she laughs. “You really like this dress.”
“I like the dress but love the woman wearing it. I’m walking behind you like this for the rest of the night too. Nobody deserves this view but me.”
“Only you, Shiro,” she says and I swear my shit gets hard.
“Keep talking like that and we might miss our reservation. I’ll put you on this counter and do some things.”
“You can definitely do that after dinner. I need to get out of the house tonight,” she says before turning and kissing my cheek. “Thank you for these; they’re beautiful. Purple’s my favorite color. How did you know that?”
“I peep everything about you, baby. Everything.”
After placing the bouquet on the island counter, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me for real this time. My hands grip her juicy ass as she sinks into me.
“God, I needed those tonight. Needed you,” she says and simpers. “I’ll be right down so we’re not late.”
“I guess I’ll wait here then, ’cause if I follow you and this ass upstairs, we won’t make it to dinner,” I say, then place my hand under her chin. “And while we eat, you can tell me why you need this tonight and why your eyes are like that.”
“Like what?”
“Not normal. You’re gonna tell me what’s up though, right?”
“I will,” she says with a nod. She pecks my lips again before leaving me in the kitchen.
I’m getting a bottle of water from the fridge when I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. I pull it out and see a number I don’t have saved, so I ignore it. When it rings the second time, I answer.
“Shiro.”
“Oh, hey,” she says and I immediately recognize the voice. Matika.
“Why the hell you calling my personal line?” I ask, unable to hide my annoyance.
“’Cause… Um…I’m going to be late tomorrow,” she says, stumbling over her words.
“So why didn’t you leave a message on the shop line like you supposed to do? And where the fuck you get my number from anyway?” I bark, because I know for sure I didn’t give her my number. I don’t do that.
“I got it from the list of emergency numbers under the keyboard. It had yours and Tre’s.”
“And you thought this was an emergency? Hang up, call the shop, leave your message like you’re supposed to and don’t call this number again unless it’s an actual shop emergency.”
“Shiro…but… I’m just…”
“I’m not repeating myself. Good night, Matika.”
After ending the call, I just stare at the phone. What the fuck was she thinking? Annoyed as hell, I text Tre. He’s opening tomorrow, so I give him the heads up that Matika is going to be late.
Me: Matika going to be late in the AM
Tre: U still at the shop?
Me: No with bae.
Tre: And u checking the VMs?
Me: No. She called my cell
When he takes a minute to respond, I text again.
Me: Emergency contact sheet.
Tre: U want me to check her?
Me: I already did.
Tre: Bet
Still blown, I down my water and shake that shit off before walking out of the kitchen.
My baby comes down the stairs looking sexy as hell and all thoughts of Matika and her bullshit stunt disappear.
I can’t think about or see anything other than my fine ass baby.
She loves to wear heels and I love to watch her in them.
When Kyrah takes her last step down, I’m here to take her hand and pull her soft body into mine.
I’m so obsessed with this woman, every inch of her.
“You’re ready?” she asks after lifting her eyes to mine.
“For you, baby, I’m always ready, but I need you to be ready for me after dinner.”
Her head tilts to the side slightly then her pretty smile appears. “And what exactly do you need me to be ready for?”
“I want you to keep your heels on for me,” I admit.
After pursing her lips, she says, “I think I can make that happen.”
“Good ’cause I want to make them touch behind your head.”
“What? Um…I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Trust yo’ man. It’s possible as hell. I can just see the shit in my head and it’s beautiful,” I say and she laughs.
“Beautiful? Shiro, I’m going to need a whole gallon of water to be flexible enough to do that. Please, you better see something else.”
“Nah, don’t try to fuck up my artistic vision. That gift is hereditary,” I say and she really laughs.
Shaking her head, clearly peeping my bullshit, she says, “I swear. If it’s hereditary, why am I just now hearing about this artistic gift of yours?”
“It comes and goes. Don’t question it.” After pressing my body into hers, I add, “Plus, I’m an artist and I’m sensitive as hell ’bout my shit.”
“I’m ignoring you.”
“A’ight. Wait till them heels up. You’ll see,” I tell her, then kiss her lips.
We leave the house through the kitchen and enter the garage. Since she has on a new pair of heels, she insists that we take her ride to avoid her pebbled walkway. Of course, I drive, but with one hand. The other rubs her exposed, thick ass thigh.
The restaurant is on the mountain and takes about twenty-five minutes to get there. After letting her out in front, I park her ride and meet her back there. With her hand in mine, we enter the restaurant and are seated immediately because of our reservation.
“I can see why you like this spot,” I tell her once we’re seated comfortably in the private, half-circle booth.
“I’ve never been inside actually. I’ve just had the food through delivery.
I like this though, especially these,” she says, casting her eyes on the bottles of tequila on the walls.
The entire restaurant is a vibe. It’s very modern, dimly lit with a gold-like glow, with the appeal of a steakhouse.
Our booth is shaded by a large tree and large candles provide the golden light around the rim of the booth.
“I’ve always wanted to come inside, so thank you for bringing me,” she says before reaching over and holding my hand. “You look so handsome, by the way.”
“Just trying to match my beautiful lady.”
“Bienvenido a Abuelito’s. I’m Consuela. What can I get started for you tonight?” our server asks as soon as she approaches our booth.
“A mango margarita with tajin instead of a salt or sugar rim and a Black Ops Black Barrel on the rocks with a splash of sour,” Kyrah says and I smile.
She knows my drink.
“Oh, and the tableside guacamole with the red tortilla chips,” she adds after closing the menu
“They will be right out to make your guacamole,” Consuela assures us before walking off.
“This guacamole is heaven. I love everything I’ve ever tasted here, but the guacamole, so damn good.” She smiles then turns to me. “How was work today?”
“I thought we were gonna talk about you.”
“We are, I promise, but we spend so much time on me and my drama. Tonight is our first date. We look damn good and are about to enjoy some really great food. Let me ask about my man, please,” she says before pecking my lips.
How can I say no to her?
“It was straight. Busy like always. I had time to work on my bike though. It should be ready to ride by the new year.” In January, I got a pretty ass 2002 Harley-Davidson Softail FXST for four grand.
It only has a little over forty-one thousand miles on it.
She had been sitting for a while, so she needs the carburetor rebuilt, new tires, and a new starter.
I’m also adding a passenger pillion for my baby. “You gon’ ride with me, right?”
“On a motorcycle? Shiro, I don’t know about that. They can be dangerous.”
“The bike isn’t dangerous; the driver is and that ain’t me.
Especially when I’m driving my love around.
I ain’t letting no one or nothing hurt you, not even me,” I tell her, meaning every damn word.
That’s why I still have her fuck ass ex-husband’s address in my phone.
I keep hearing her words about leaving him alone, but the man that I am is having a hard ass time heeding them bitches.
“I know,” she says with a simper. “But you are all too familiar with all this ass, hips, and thighs I have.”
“Nah, I’m not familiar,” I begin, then lean in closer to her ear as my hand rubs her exposed, soft ass thigh. “I’m fucking obsessed.”
Her smile is big as hell when she says, “Right, but I’m talking about a little ass motorcycle seat. I got too much.”
“It fits perfectly when you sit on my face,” I say and she laughs softly.
“Definitely not the same,” she says, amused.