Page 13 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

A WEEK AND A HALF LATER . . .

Lil Mama: Pick my color.

Me: Orange? I guess.

Lil Mama: Do you like orange?

Me: It’s straight.

Lil Mama: [eye roll emoji] What is your favorite color, Low-Low?

Me: Black.

Lil Mama: of course.

“Nigga, you texting?” Free exclaimed, staring over at me with a ghastly ass expression.

“Little bit,” I replied, checking my phone once more.

I didn’t really text or even talk on the phone like that.

Most of my conversations over the phone consisted of work shit, and those talks lasted no longer than thirty seconds most times.

And on those rare cases when my siblings would text a nigga, it was typically a two-text conversation and nothing more.

So Banks had me doing shit I wasn’t used to, but I liked being able to shoot the shit with her when I couldn’t be around her to do the shit face-to-face, so for now, I would be a texting muthafucka.

“I hope it ain’t Banks you texting.” Free kept his eyes on me as he sat across from me at the card table. When I didn’t say shit, he asked, “Real shit, nigga, what is you doing?”

“We just cool. Chill out.” I ran my hand over my fade in contemplation.

“How many women you just cool with, Low? I don’ known yo’ ass for years, and you ain’t never been just cool with a bitch,” Free replied correctly.

“None until right now. This is different. I would never fuck on Banks behind Sif’s back. If it got to that point, I would tell him and her other brothers that she was my girl,” I spoke sincerely.

“So why you ain’t tell him you texting her and that y’all cool?”

“’Cause she don’t want me to.”

“Hm.” He looked off, still shaking his head in disproval. “Well, I hope this shit fizzles out ’cause when Sif find out you cool with his sister, shit is gon’ change, and not in a good way.”

I didn’t have a response as I began ruminating, Free’s words seeping into my fucking mind like venom. He wasn’t speaking anything but the fucking truth, but worst of all, I couldn’t really say if I gave a fuck or not.

I’d only spent a little time with Banks, but it’d done a number on a nigga. I felt like I was in another fucking world when I was around her. Like I wasn’t the same Willow Harris with an alcoholic mother, an absent ass father, and a brother who I worried about faithfully.

Being around Banks felt like I’d been sitting in a dark room for years just before a light randomly began shining through a crack in the siding. And I wasn’t ready to let that type of tranquility go, even if it was fleeting.

“Sister? Who y’all talking about?” Gaia switched into the room in a short ass dress. She was prissy but rough around the edges at the same time.

“Stop walking in the room without knocking, aight?” I shot back, and she froze mid-step before nodding.

“Sorry. What were y’all talking about?” Her eyes toggled between Free and me as he lit a blunt.

“Nothing. You check the traps off Denker yet?” I peered down at my watch.

“I was just about to but came to find out if I’m going alone.”

“Nah, Jere already heading over there. You behind like a muthafucka. Hurry up and bring that shit back by the time he do.” I dismissed her, feeling her stare at the side of my face for way too fucking long.

When I diverted my eyes in her direction, she seemed to snap out of it and rushed back out the room.

“Is the pussy good?” Free queried as soon as we were alone again.

“Try it out for yaself, nigga.” I shook my head, chuckling a little bit at the fact that he was actually pondering on the shit.

Free and I moved on to discuss more important matters, and by the time we were done, Jere and Gaia had returned with the money. We counted that shit up by hand, and by the money counter, to be sure the shit was right before sending them both on their way.

I went to take a piss, and just after washing my hands, I got a text from Banks.

Lil Mama: What you think?

She’d attached a photo of her black nails with rhinestones and all kinds of shit on it.

Me: I fuck with it. You got some pretty ass hands.

I frowned, sizing the picture up before a knock sounded off on the bathroom door. Brows bunched, I pulled it open to see Gaia standing there.

“Thought you left,” I said as she switched in.

“Not before I gave you your fix.” She smirked and reached to tug down my joggers as I locked my phone and set it down.

“You mean yo’ fix.” I eyed her as she descended onto her knees, stroking my dick that was already semi-erect from thinking about Banks’s pretty ass hands wrapped around my shit.

I let my head fall back as Gaia sucked me off for a bit until I slipped on a condom and bent her over the sink to finish off.

“So were you and Free talking about a girl?” she asked again once we’d cleaned up and started out of the bathroom.

“That ain’t nothing to be discussing with you.”

As I stated before, Gaia was convenient pussy. From the day I met her, I knew she would be. Women gave off a certain vibe when they were willing to let you fuck with little to no effort, and that was Gaia.

Chuckling it off, she said, “I know you’re not the relationship type, so it just piqued my interest that you and Free would be talking about a woman.

” She smirked, but I gave her nothing, as my mind had wandered to other shit en route to the outside parking lot of the warehouse.

“Rue probably wishes she knew that before she messed with you. You ran that girl to the church.” Gaia laughed.

Rue was a bitch I fucked with a few years back.

She was something like a girlfriend and only because she kept mentioning the shit.

I’d eventually agreed to get her to shut the fuck up, hounding me about it.

However, it made no difference on how a nigga moved, and she suffered the consequences of that shit. Now, she was heavy in the church.

Last year, however, she sought a nigga out, crying to me that although she was to be married in a week, she didn’t love that nigga the way she loved me and missed me.

I explained that nothing had changed on my end, fucked the shit out of her, and sent her back to her soon-to-be husband, who, according to the streets, she’d married anyway, despite her confession.

“Be back here at five a.m. to meet Free,” was all I said as I slipped into my whip.

“Damn, we can’t go get food?” Gaia shouted as I cracked my driver’s side window.

“Go cook something for yo’ nigga!” I barked before flooring it in reverse and speeding off.

By the time I got home, it was dark as fuck and late as fuck. All I wanted to do was make a fucking sandwich, smoke, then brush my teeth and shower.

I did all of that in the exact order, and as soon as I lay down, I couldn’t think of shit but Banks St. Thomas.

Going onto social media, I looked her up and started to navigate through her pictures.

She was beautiful, and her little body was the sexiest shit in the world to a nigga, even though her assets were smaller than what I typically gravitated toward.

Everything was just right. She wasn’t too thick, wasn’t too skinny, but perfectly in the fucking middle, and I wouldn’t change shit.

Her pussy was probably just as perfect too.

She even looked like she smelled good in her pictures, which I could confirm she did.

Just as I got to the bottom of her damn page, like a stalker, her name popped up on my phone, requesting a FaceTime. With no hesitation, I answered for her.

“You never responded to my text. You must’ve gotten caught up.” Her nicely shaped eyebrow hiked before she stood up, making it obvious she had her device propped up on something.

“I did,” I replied. “My bad. I told you I ain’t no big texter.”

“So you don’t text girls, you don’t call them, and you don’t cook for them. What do you do for them?”

“Make ’em cum if I feel like it,” I said, and she grinned widely.

“And that’s all they require?”

“Who knows. I don’t really stick around to find out. Even if I did, I wouldn’t care.”

“You are way too honest, Low-Low.”

“Only way I know how to be. What are you even doing?” I frowned, hating how she left the frame at times as she meandered about in her room.

She was wearing the same nightie she wore the night she cooked steaks, only this one was a soft ass pink and a little more see-through. In true Banks’ fashion, she didn’t have on any undergarments from what a nigga could see.

“Reorganizing my closet.”

“Stop leaving the camera, Banks.”

“Damn. You wanna see me that badly?” She walked up on the camera, and I hated that she had a nigga smirking. My cheeks felt weird as fuck, making me think I was blushing, which was against everything in the real nigga handbook.

“I would like to be able to see you, yes.” I nodded, lying back on my pillow.

“Okay, I can take a break.” She sighed dramatically. “You have so many tattoos.”

“I know.” I looked down at myself briefly. “It low-key became an addiction once I got my first one, and I just kept going.” I eyed my two sleeves and then my chest and abs.

“Thankfully that didn’t happen to me.” She turned to the side and lifted the fabric covering her ass slightly, expanding the already wide slit in it to show me the ballerina slippers tatted at the top of her ass.

“I just have this one and . . .” She turned to tug on the side of the dress by her breasts to show me another tattoo in script font.

She knew what she was doing, and something about her doing it turned me on physically and mentally. Her sex appeal was on overflow.

I wasn’t exactly a fan of overzealous ass females nor was I fan of the timid type. There was something about a woman who knew she was sexy, though, and had no issue being sexy or purposefully enticing. Banks knew niggas wanted to fuck her, and she also knew that they knew they couldn’t.

I was an exception, though, and she was making it clear to a nigga. I’d never been teased though. When I saw a woman I wanted, I usually got her immediately, so this shit right here was foreign to me.

“Fuck does that say?” I frowned, trying to ignore the flesh of her small breasts showing. My dick didn’t ignore the shit at all, though, as it started to rise in my knee-length jogging shorts.

“ Pirouette and Plié is life ,” she replied with a smile, letting the fabric go to conceal it.

“The fuck is that?”

Chortling, she replied, “They’re ballet moves.”

“Oh. I like that.” I nodded, trying not to think about the body parts she’d just shown me, but it was beyond difficult, teetering more on the side of impossible.

“I’m starting to like you, Low-Low.” She sat down, so I assumed she had the phone propped up on the vanity.

“Guess I gotta prepare for war then, huh?” I stared into her pretty ass green and honeyed eyes and hated the smile it brought about.

“I got a smile out of you! Yes!” She cheesed. “You are too fine to never smile, Low-Low. You get even finer when you do.”

“You must really think that ’cause you keep saying it.”

“I do. Women don’t tell you you’re fine as fuck?” She stared at me skeptically.

Shrugging, I glanced off and said, “I guess, yeah. It’s rare I have conversations with the same woman twice, so she don’t get a chance to tell me the shit multiple times.”

“Still, as handsome as you are, it should be commented on several times within one conversation. You are one of top three finest niggas I’ve ever seen, and I peeped that when I was just a teenager. I knew then I wouldn’t meet a man sexier than you.”

I chuckled inaudibly, watching her as she did some shit to her eyebrows in the mirror behind her phone.

“Top three, huh?”

“Yes, right at number two.” She paused to grin at me, making me give her a closemouthed smile I couldn’t contain.

“I’m just kidding, Low-Low. You know you’re number one.”

“We well matched then, lil mama, ’cause I don’t think a prettier woman exists.”

She simpered softly before putting the top on whatever the fuck she was putting on her brows.

“I hear that all the time, but I love it coming from you.”

“Cocky ass.” I chuckled, making her do the same.

For the next hour, she had a nigga on FaceTime chopping it up, laughing and shit like a bitch. Worst of all, when we hung up, I wanted to hop right back on that shit.

I could already see this was the calm before the fucking storm.