15. Mahasin Paris Summers #3
“My man’s card can go for miles— all gas, no brakes ,” Kelsey whispered as she snickered in my face.
To make a long story short, we bonded after that. If there was one thing I respected, it was a bitch who loved the taste of revenge.
During our short-lived friendship, Kelsey would complain about how her man wanted her to do something with her life, respect his boundaries, have morals—you know, wife material type shit. She would always complain about him being weird and anti-social as well.
Gage’s job gave him access to the best parties with the biggest celebrities, but if it wasn’t a good look for work, he never indulged with the masses, which ultimately meant she couldn’t either.
Kelsey’s complaining ass thought I was being a shoulder to lean on when I was really taking notes—plotting.
So, when she got caught cheating and he dropped her, I made my move.
She called me crying, asking me to pick her up from this coffee shop and drive her home.
Which I did—and by the time she was getting out of my car to go inside, I blocked her ass from my phone and all social media accounts. I had no use for her anymore.
My new man would be sponsoring my shopping trips, and I no longer had to play the role of the broke best friend who needed to be covered.
To get on set at the film studio he frequented, I took a cross-eyed security guard down in the supply closet. A little fucking and sucking was a small price to pay for a life on easy street with Gage Blaque.
My timing was perfect. The day I was cast was the day he was at the studio supporting Desmond, the screenwriter I later learned was one of his best friends.
That day was going smoothly. I showed initiative by helping around the cast, randomly straightening up props, and even giving compliments to some of the worst actresses in the world.
My antics earned me small winks and a few “good jobs” from Gage, but it wasn’t until I purposely brought up a conversation about James Baldwin’s Tell Me How Long the Train’s Been Gone that I really got his attention.
I remembered Kelsey saying he was Gage's favorite author and that he could talk about his work for hours. Thank God for AI, because I would’ve thought James Baldwin was the one who told baby boomers to “Say it Loud.”
Everything was perfect until Desmond said my hair was too distracting in the video and gave me the option to either change my color or be replaced.
I’m a natural-born ginger, and there was no way I was hiding my long, curly tresses.
His cowardly ass didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself—he sent some little groupie-ass girl to do it.
I marched right into his office and damn near snatched his ass up. Told him he could kiss me where the sun doesn’t shine because I worked hard to be there, and I wasn’t dyeing my hair or leaving, so he better make it work.
And I did work hard to be there. You know how hard it is to keep a four-inch dick in your wet, experienced-ass pussy? It was like throwing a cashew in the ocean and expecting to find the shit.
The hoe fairies were on my side that day, because Gage was digging my outrage on his best friend. He thought I was raw, driven—a woman with “big girl goals.”
Please.
I wanted to be kept. Not working a day in my damn life and never having to struggle again.
And Gage Blaque? He was the sucker I needed to lick.
Kelsey had also mentioned that he was autistic. I didn’t look up what that meant, but my mama told me it just meant he probably didn’t eat much and didn’t catch on too quickly. Easy meal ticket, right?
However, my mama—ignorant ass and all—was dead wrong. Not only could Gage eat like a barbarian, but he was intelligent . His literacy, math, and science knowledge were out of this fucking world. I’d never seen anything like it.
If I weren’t so shallow, that alone would’ve hooked me to him, and the fact that he’s fine as hell with a body I’d lick and suck on all day.
But I was looking for a nigga to be paid , not smart.
My man could eat glue for all I cared—as long as when I swiped his card the receipt ran, I’d keep the house stocked with all flavors of Elmer’s.
His intelligence forced me to get in line. You know how many documentaries I had to watch? And a bitch had to pay attention —because he would want to discuss it at the end.
Yeah, no. I put in work.
And I’d be damned if she was going to end my shit.
The door finally opened. Gage walked in wearing a fitted black Balmain shirt and matching jacket, paired with tailored Brunello Cucinelli trousers. You could tell his hair and beard were freshly trimmed, and he smelled like Tom Ford’s Tobacco Vanille. My goodness, this man was fine.
“Hey,” he said, all casual, like he hadn’t kept me waiting. “Sorry, finalizing things for our baby shower went over.”
I let my face fall. “You mean her baby shower?”
“Nah, I said it right the first time— our baby shower.” He frowned. “Don’t start, P.”
“Maybe I need to start, so your ass could stop. You’ve been spending all your time with this girl and seem to be only concerned about this baby shower.”
“It’s our first kid, Paris. I want to do it right.”
“And what about doing right by me, huh?” I let my voice go small, wounded even. Men eat that up. “You forgot we had dinner?”
“I didn’t forget,” he said, coming closer to me with a bouquet of grocery store flowers. This bitch gets luxury boutiques, and here he is bringing me flowers from the refrigerator in front of the cash register.
“I got caught up.”
“Caught up with her.” I stood, snatched the flowers, and crossed my arms. “Do you know how many times I’ve sat here waiting while you ran to her?”
I didn’t even wait for him to answer. I immediately started running down every event, play by play.
“When she had that scare about her blood pressure, you left me at the restaurant. When she called crying because the crib was the wrong wood shade, you left a studio meeting with other producers and had me take notes like I’m your fucking assistant.
And when she said she was going to bed without eating because she couldn’t think of anything she wanted, you rushed out wearing two different shoes to get her food. ”
“I had to catch her favorite Italian restaurant before it closed. She can not go to bed without feeding my baby.”
He rubbed his hand down his face, and I could tell I was overstimulating him. Good. Let him feel it.
“Paris… I’m trying.”
“No, you’re prioritizing her ,” I said, forcing myself to cry.
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if Mahasin wasn’t pregnant and was just some random groupie he was fucking—especially since I’d started fucking on someone new myself.
A fine redbone named Kareem, who owned several seafood chain spots.
But the fact of the matter was, the bitch was pregnant—and I’d go as far as to say, Gage loved this girl.
And that was the problem. Those two four-letter words— love and baby —would have me out on my ass and back on the prowl.
“Gage, I’ve been down for you this whole time. Never judged you, never made you feel weird. Watched and learned about shit I would never need to know or use in life. And now I’m supposed to just take whatever time you have leftover?”
I thought I had his ass right where I wanted him, but that enormous brain of his activated, and he hit me with a line of questions I wasn’t prepared to answer.
“Why would not judging me, making me feel weird, and being ‘down’ ”—he made quotations with his hands— “be a task? When you're in a relationship with someone, shouldn’t you do those things as common decency? Am I a project to you, Paris?”
My damn stomach dropped to my ass. All I knew to do was scream and cry loud enough to disturb him.
And that’s exactly what I did, in my living room, looking like a hot mess.
He exhaled, closing his eyes for a long moment.
He was now overstimulated—and it was perfect.
When he got in that state, his thinking got foggy. His logic slipped.
“Look,” he finally said. “Right after the baby shower, I’ll take you away. Just us. Let’s go to Tennessee and stay at the cabins. No work, no calls, just me and you.”
“Really?” My eyes lit up.
“Yeah.”
“Can we go in December?” I asked, all hopeful. “Everything will have calmed down, and it’s the Christmas holiday. I know the scenery would make me happy.”
He hesitated for just a moment. December should’ve registered—but my cries and screams had thrown him off.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “December could work.”
“Can I book it? I already know what cabins I’d want to stay at,” I asked, stepping forward and resting my hands on his chest.
He pulled out his wallet and handed me his card like it was nothing—because to him, it was. “Yeah, just text me and my assistant the dates.”
I smiled. On the outside, it appeared grateful and loving, but on the inside, it was a devil’s smirk. I had already chosen the dates I would use—Christmas week.
One thing about Gage—he kept his promises. And when he realized we were leaving the state around the time his baby would be born, his character wouldn’t allow him to cancel the trip. Yeah, he’d be torn and probably devastated for the rest of his life if he missed the birth of his child.
But he’d have another birth to focus on.
Because I planned to poke holes in every condom that man brings on this trip.
Little Miss Doctor ain’t going to be the only one securing a bag.
He kissed my forehead, and I let him. For whatever reason, men have always believed that forehead kisses made everything better.
“You good now?” he asked, pulling back to look me in my eyes.
I looked up at him, avoiding direct eye contact because he was sure to see through my bullshit. I probably only managed to conjure up two tears—if I even had that many. “Yeah,” I said sweetly. “I’m good, Gagey Pooh.”
My plan was perfect in my head. One that would secure me for life.
That little punk-ass baby wasn’t going to ruin shit for me.
Gage could love that baby, Mahasin, and the one I’d get pregnant with on purpose—because I damn sure ain’t looking to be no slobbering-ass creature’s mother.
I wasn’t with Gage for love. What the hell did love ever do for anyone? Have you ever gone to your bill collector and said, “I love you,” only for the debt to magically disappear? Hell no.
I was with Gage for the lifestyle.
And I wasn’t losing it to real love .