Page 43 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

“Aight. What you need?” He slipped his boxers on, then sat back down on the edge of the bed.

“I need you to do what you do best and watch me while I go through my solo routine,” I said.

Oddly, whenever Low watched me in that specific admirable way he watched me, I felt like I was on top of the world, and ballet choreography was effortless. I thought him watching me would have the opposite effect, but here we were.

“Aight. My pleasure.”

“Start the music,” I instructed, and he tapped the space bar on my laptop to do as I said.

Just like the times before, I seamlessly danced my solo with no issue, and not once did I have to internally pray that I didn’t mess up or try to abruptly remember each move, causing me to stammer occasionally. I felt loose and in tune with my body, the music, and the moves.

“That was perfect, at least to me. Looked just like this bitch on the computer.”

“Young lady?”

“Bitch. I don’t know her ass.”

I chuckled, shaking my head as I drank him in, letting him seep into my pores where I wanted him to stay forever.

“I need you to come to more of my practices, if you can. I know you’re gonna be at my show, so if you can . . . attend maybe two a week. If not?—”

“I can.”

“But you’re busy.”

“I’m also the boss. The boss can delegate shit so that he can do what the fuck he want to do,” Low explained, and I nodded, moving toward him to stand between his legs to admire his features, his bone structure, his scent, and everything in between.

I felt like I was in love with him, but I didn’t want to speak on it too soon in fear of sounding like the stupid bitch who fell in love with her first real boyfriend—by choice, don’t get it twisted—who had also taken her virginity.

Deciding against speaking, we fused our lips together, kissing passionately for a nice while before I pulled away to go through the solo a few more times with Low’s eyes on me.

“Can I show you my room?” Waverley exclaimed as soon as we walked through the front door of Low’s home.

Because his mama was in rehab, he had no qualms about inviting me over. I still wanted to meet her, but it may have been best for me to do so while she was sober and recovering.

“Wave—”

“It’s fine. Just take my bag to your room.” I nodded and slipped my hand into Waverley’s so she could lead me through the nice house.

It was cozy and lived in but not dirty at all. It was obvious Low took good care of everything, having to basically parent three children, one of them being his own mother.

It made me thankful for my parents but also made me want to commend my mother the next time I saw her, having been a mother to three kids by the time she was twenty-one.

When I was twenty-one—just last year—my days were filled with school, ballet, parties, and laying out either by the pool or at the beach with Kailey.

It was still like that, only now Low had come in and sprinkled gold on my already nice life.

I played with Waverley for a good while, dancing with her and showing her some harder moves we didn’t show in our junior ballet class. She had a lot of potential, and I hoped she took it all the way.

Low offered to order food, but I chose to cook some hot honey chicken thighs, loaded mashed potatoes, and green beans.

I listened to how he interacted with Waverley while I made my way around the kitchen, and it reminded me of our kid conversation.

Low would be a great father, and that thought alone made me fall even more in love with him.

I just needed my brothers to get on board and my father to treat him the way he did my brothers’ wives and ASAP.

After a while, Wyatt had come home just as I was finishing up.

“Hi, Banks.” He gave me a stiff nod, eyes slightly wide, letting me know he was still scared of me.

I kind of felt bad for how I’d threatened him, but then again, I didn’t, because according to Low, he’d pretty much been on the straight and narrow since.

“Hi. Are you eating?”

“What is—yeah.” He altered his question into a statement quickly.

“It’s almost done, so you can go put your stuff down and wash your hands.”

Wyatt did as I’d told him to, and moments later, Low and Waverley came into the kitchen.

“That nigga listen to you better than he listen to me, and I thought I was scarier.” He sat down at the table, adjacent to his little sister.

“I could’ve told you that you weren’t. Sorry.” I began piling the plates with food, and by the time I had one for Wyatt, he’d returned.

Low could only chuckle at my response, eyeing me with a look I couldn’t quite read.

I’d made extra food for them to have tomorrow night when I wasn’t here, but Low and Wyatt peeled off all six of the extra chicken thighs, the whole pot of loaded mashed potatoes, and half of the green beans, so there wasn’t anything left.

While I took a shower, Low put Waverley to bed, and just thinking about it had me smiling the entire time I cleaned up.

The night as a whole had me wondering what it would be like to live this way with Low except for with our own children.

Before him, I saw motherhood as this faraway thing I would once conquer possibly in my thirties but now it felt like a closer goal.

Low returned to his bedroom to take his own shower by the time I was laid in his bed flipping through channels on his TV that clearly got no watch time. Nothing was logged in, and it took forever to work smoothly and run the Wi-Fi it was linked to.

“Thank you for the food.” He got in bed next to me, smelling extra good.

“You’re welcome. Wish you and your brother hadn’t eaten it all so you could have leftovers.”

“It’s cool. You forgot I’m rich, unless chicken done skyrocketed in price and I ain’t know.”

“Shut up, smart ass. And who is gonna cook all that food again? Not me.” I lifted my brows in jest, focusing my attention on the TV since I knew he was watching me.

“You.”

“Sike. I have things to do.”

“Aight, well, Gaia cook good enough—” He blocked my hits with his heavy pillow, interrupting his own stupid ass statement. “You know I’m fucking with you. That girl ain’t never been to my house, and I wouldn’t eat shit she handed me let alone cooked for a nigga.”

“Why not? You’ll fuck her but not eat her food?”

“That’s right.” He licked his lips, glancing toward the TV for a beat before returning his eyes to mine.

He was shirtless and in a pair of boxers, basketball shorts, and socks, looking good enough to eat.

His body was so chiseled, garnished with plenty of tattoos on his brown skin.

His fade was always the perfect length, just like his beard.

“I’d do the opposite if I were a man. I’d rather eat her food than sleep with her.”

“It’s obvious you ain’t no fucking man with that thought. But I feel like eating a woman’s food will make you attached to her ass in some way.”

“Like voodoo?”

“Yeah.” He grinned at me. “But without the actual spells and shit. When women start cooking for you and shit, they get the impression that you theirs. I knew a nigga who barely fucked with this one bitch, but that ho could cook, and now they married with five crusty ass kids.” We broke out into laughter.

“I was fifteen at the time, but I never forgot that shit, so I don’t know, but I just never let a woman feed me who I didn’t fuck with like that.

Just like how I refuse to fuck raw, in missionary, or raw dog during missionary. ”

“Until me, you mean.”

“Told you, you got a lot of my firsts too, Peep.”

I smiled, thinking on his crazy logic. “So you don’t wanna be roped into a relationship with a girl you don’t like by raw, missionary sex and good food.” I was still giggling at the pure honesty in Low’s eyes.

“The first one is because I didn’t want a woman I ain’t fuck with heavy having my baby.

Not to mention, a lot of these females is on some nasty shit.

Far as the food, shit sounds ridiculous, but hell yeah.

Especially if her food as good as yours was tonight.

I’m a nigga, so it ain’t much I won’t put away when I’m hungry, but that shit tonight was fire.

Wyatt pickier, and he smashed that shit, so that says a lot. ”

“My mom always let me help her cook. She told me that was one thing she hated about having all sons—all they wanted to do was eat. She had a rule that they couldn’t come in the kitchen while she cooked, but then when I came, I was like her little helper.

I was frying salmon croquettes at six.” We chortled.

He stared at me then asked, “Not that I give a fuck, but what you do for money?”

We shared another laugh before I answered.

“I get an allowance from my parents every month—twenty-five grand. They told me not to work and just focus on getting my bachelor’s and excelling in ballet.

Then they gave me extra and my townhouse because I pretty much got A’s my whole college career. Sounds spoiled, huh?”

“Nah.” He shook his head, surprising me.

“For one, yo’ pops is rich as fuck and so is your mother.

I know they ain’t make all that money just to force you to struggle.

That’s some backwards shit. Secondly, you be on yo’ shit.

You ain’t like a lot of these rich ass offspring that fuck off and blow racks for no reason.

I fuck with the fact that they let you focus and pay your way.

That’s how them white folks do it, and that’s why they got generational wealth. ”

I bobbed my head, realizing Low would forever do things to make me like him . . . love him more.

“My mom said she didn’t have that luxury, so she wanted that for me.”

“I hope you pass that shit down.”

“Of course. Our kids will be good.” I winked at him, noticing how he tried not to smirk but failed.

“I would definitely be on that type of time if I had kids.”

“How is the barbecue spot coming?”

“Huh?”

“Huh? Negro, you heard me. Where are we at on that?”

“ We , huh?” He laughed, looking off momentarily. “ We at the beginning stages.”