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"There’s one at the big grocery store and we have two others, thank you. But PawPaw can't stand the family who owns the other independent one. Granny yet praying for him about holding that grudge," she announced, her accent thick as fuck.
"I never knew what niggas meant when they said someone sounded like cornbread, but I swear I get it. You country as hell, Love."
She flipped me off as she walked into the en suite. I waited for her to come out with towels as usual, but all I heard was the shower running. I walked in on her stripping out of her cami and bra. She tossed them on the gleaming vanity and looked at me defiantly.
"What?" she spat.
I held up both hands. "Whoa! I ain’t tryna fight with you, tiger. I'm just used to you?—"
"We are no longer involved, so you don't get that treatment," she snapped before stepping into the shower.
I stared for a moment before laughing at her little attitude. That's how she wanted to play it? I was good with that. I stripped out of my clothes, grabbed a small towel, and opened the door of the shower. She grilled me, her pretty eyes frosty as fuck.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"What does it look like, Love? You too smart to be asking questions like that."
"Look, Real. You pushing it. Seriously. You know I don't shower with?—"
"Don't recite all them rules to me again. I'on give a fuck about them," I said, caging her in against the shower wall.
She looked up at me angrily. "This is not South Texas. You don't get to come here and run shit."
I kissed her little pout before letting my lips trail up her jawline to her ear.
"I'on wanna run shit," I whispered. "I just wanna run you. That's gon' happen wherever we are."
I sucked on her earlobe before letting her push me away.
"Get off me," she snapped.
"What you gon' do? Call one of Prime's goons to save you? Nigga on my side," I teased.
"I don't care about Prime and his crew. All I need is my Aunt Cynt."
"She's cute."
She looked at me, eyebrow raised.
"Who? Aunt Cynt? You better take her seriously."
"Cuz she got a little Glock?"
My smile widened.
"Cuz she knows how to shoot, and her boyfriend installed a switch on that 'lil' Glock. You gon' fuck around and leave here looking like you ready to strain spaghetti," she threatened.
"Yeah, okay."
Tossing my towel on my shoulder, I grabbed hers and spun her around. Slowly, I started to wash the smooth skin of her back. She sighed but didn't fight me.
"I mean, you gon' believe I'm on some CIA shit and kill me or you gon' keep washing me like that and scrub me to death?" her salty ass asked.
"Does it matter? You worm food in either one of them scenarios."
"Real!"
“Did I lie?”