Page 11

“Should we be eating this?”

Ana?s asks as I place the sundae in front of her.

“Not at all,”

Denver snickers, but he picks up a spoon, too.

“It’s lactose free; your uncle Shaddy doesn’t think I know. So I feel like it’s okay to eat.”

“It’s nine in the morning, TT Mace.”

I just shrug and scoop up enough ice cream and caramel to fill my mouth, and my niece and nephew do the same.

“If we finish it fast, Dal nor Peanuthead will know. C’mon!”

We set off to work, then, and polish it off without anyone getting a brain freeze. I’m washing the dishes when Peanuthead comes down, and I think I’m in the clear until he peeks over my shoulder.

This nigga is psychic, I swear. And the fact that no one has put him to work is astonishing.

“You look suspicious as fuck, Dub. What was in that bowl?”

I work to keep my voice even. “Cereal.”

“Then why is it three spoons? Lil Mama, what was in this bowl?”

We both turn and fold our arms at the kids. Ana?s’s eyes switch from me to her daddy, before tears begin gathering in them.

She doesn’t wanna lie, and that’s her go to.

Denver, however, loves to lie, and picks up his sister, scowling at Nut.

“Why are you talking to her like that?”

he hisses, rushing her out the room. He winks at me, and I wink back, before focusing on a scowling Nut.

“What?”

I flutter my lashes.

He drags his thumbnail across his neck before stomping out the kitchen toward the garage.

Whatever.

“Mace, you ready?”

Dal walks in dressed down, and I smile when I think about what our day consists of. I grab my purse and hook my arm in hers. “Ready.”

We’ve dreamed about this day since we were eleven; Dal’s wedding dress fitting. I’ve been anti-marriage since I first started having feelings, but Dal is a lover girl foreal. I’m talking, a fully decorated scrapbook dedicated to her dream wedding.

And another one dedicated to her dream dress.

Years ago I sketched it out for her. It was the first time I took my drawing seriously, and she kept it all this time. And now, we’re in this hoity toity dress shop waiting for her first fitting with the completed dress.

I call the group facetime and one by one the girls–and Rico–pop in. Patience and Autumn are hugged up in the bed with little Rue on Pay’s chest. Brina’s in her nursery I think, chewing on her lip. Van hops on from her office at Storyville. Even Wyn comes on from the studio. She’s in one of our group chats, but rarely answers in there, opting to only leave a thumbs up or laughing face at one of our shenanigans.

Rico comes in, but then he scowls, leaves, and then comes back with his gun placed on his lap.

Autumn just shakes her head while Wyn flips off the camera.

“We didn’t miss anything right?”

Brina asks.

“No. They’re still in the back. Have y’all gotten your dresses yet?”

“Yup,”

Autumn cheeses.

“Me and Pay got ours last week. Pay’s not listening to me about taking it easy, so we’ll probably have to take hers in some before the ceremony.”

“That’s why I’m waiting until two days before to get the final alterations on mine. I got my waist trainer on now.”

Brina flicks her tongue and we all cackle.

“Mine is hanging up on the back of my door. I can’t wait.”

Van looks off wistfully.

Wyn just takes a sip of her cup.

“I’m trying to lose another five pounds so I don’t need spanx in mine… something wrong, Richard?”

Rico’s eyes do this weird thing where the brown in them goes flat.

“Hazey, are you sure you need your twin among the living? I promise you, it’s not as bad as it seems.”

“Rico, be nice,”

Autumn, Pay, and Brina say at the same time, while Wyn just snickers.

“Promises, promises… Mace I can’t wait until you drop my new niece. I’m tryna turn up with you and your homegirl.”

Wyn smirks into the camera, but Brina just shakes her head.

“You and True never need to meet,”

Brina chuckles, right as YT hopes on.

She props her phone up on something, and when she moves out of the camera, we see a man tied up in a wooden chair struggling.

“Whoa–”

“True–”

“Oh, I love her–”

“So this is YT in action,”

Rico purrs into the camera, squinting.

YT squints herself, before shaking her head.

“I don’t fuck niggas prettier than me,”

she proclaims, sitting on the man’s lap.

“And your sex appeal will have me killing you and fucking your corpse. We can be cordial though.”

Rico runs his tongue ring across his top lip before smirking.

“I see why my chocolate goddess doesn’t want me around you.”

There’s commotion in the back of the shop that makes me sit up.

“Aight y’all, shush!”

I turn the camera around and hold it out, just as Dal comes walking down the hallway.

Gasps echo on the line but I can’t take my eyes off my best friend.

She’s gorgeous.

It’s a mermaid style, lace dress with a sweetheart neckline that holds her boobs perfectly. The dress itself hugs her frame, and while the white lace is strapless, the designer matched her skin tone with the illusion lace that covers her cleavage, shoulders, all the way down to her wrists. Patterns were hand sewn onto the slight train of her gown.

She smiles shyly at me through the mirrors as she does a slow turn, before stopping to face me.

“What do you think?”

“Oh, Dal…”

“You’re gorgeous!”

“I second that.”

I prop the phone up on the table next to me and stand, making my way to my best friend.

Our faces mirror each other, tears barely staying inside our lids.

I take her hands in mine and squeeze them.

“No words, describe…”

I try to breathe through the lump in my throat.

“You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?”

she breathes, and I nod so hard I get dizzy.

“I love you, Dally. I’m so happy I get to witness you have your happily ever after, and I know Mo is smiling down on you, too.”

The floodgates break, and her face crumbles. I know Dal struggles with the guilt of living and loving when Mo died. It’s partly why she’s seeing that shrink every week.

But she deserves this. She deserves a man who loves her. She deserves the big wedding, the public declarations of love, the complete family. She deserves happiness.

“I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be without you, Mace. DW and M Deezy foe life.”

“And YT!”

YT screeches from the phone, making us all laugh.

We walk back to my phone, and Dal picks it up to beam at our friends.

“I love y’all… seriously.”

“We love you, too, Dal,”

Pay simpers.

“We going up foreal. Two more months, whoo!”

Wyn screeches. Rico shakes his head and leaves the call.

“Call us when you get home. Love you!”

Brina says, wiping her eyes. She hangs up just as Set comes into the camera, asking why she’s crying.

We say our goodbyes to our girls and I pocket my phone before taking in my best friend again. She looks like a doll.

“C’mon, this calls for celebratory tacos.”

For once, my bladder being weak is a good thing.

Because right by the bathrooms is that Olive Oil looking bitch Sahara.

Of course I use the restroom first. Whooping ass on a full bladder is the quickest way to pissing on yourself.

But oh, baby, when that bladder is empty, I wash my hands, and march right out of that bathroom to that table.

Got the nerve to be canoodling with some nigga in the cut like she just wasn’t jumping all in Shaddy’s face for the same thing.

“I know that ain’t who I think it is!”

I huff, planting both palms onto their table.

Sahara narrows her eyes, but I see her discreetly look around the restaurant.

When I glance at her date, I do a double take. I’ve seen this nigga before.

In my texts. This is YT’s lame ass ex.

I grin at him.

“Does YT know you’re in the city?”

He blanches like the bitch he is.

“Can you move? Your fat ass is breathing all over my food.”

I slowly turn my head to the bitch in front of me. So pretty on the outside; I see why people like her. But that personality… Shaddy doesn’t strike me as a superficial nigga, but shit, maybe I don’t know him that well.

Just like she don’t know me at all. ‘Cause who the fuck is this bitch talking to?

I snatch the fork from the table and imbed that shit in her hand. When she screeches, I lean on it more.

“Shut the fuck up,”

I say through my teeth. She whimpers, but shuts up.

I glance around the restaurant; it’s loud in here, so no one is really paying attention, especially since we’re in the back. His ass is still terrified I know YT, and looks like he’s ready to bolt at any minute.

“You really need to treat others the way you want to be treated, Sahara,” I coo.

“Now, what if this fat bitch decides to take a bite out of that pretty lil hand? Huh?”

I snatch the fork out of her hand, making her yelp again.

“Oh shut up, it’s superficial… but make Shaddy sad again, and the next one won’t be.”

I stand up straight and pocket the fork. I know not to leave no evidence.

With a final look at the table, I bow.

“You guys have an amazing lunch. Something tells me you won’t be having too many of those in the future.”

I walk back to the patio with an extra pep in my step, and arrive at my own table just as Dal is getting up with our togo boxes.

She eyes me.

“What took you so long?”

I just shrug, hooking my arm with hers and leading her to the car.

“Pregnancy shit. You wouldn’t get it. C’mon… I wanna make Shaddy sing The Prince of Egypt soundtrack to me.”

The corner of her mouth lifts.

“You like him, huh?”

I roll my eyes.

“He’s imprinted on me and my baby like his name is Jacob. I’m just making the most out of my unfortunate circumstances.”

She snorts as we make it to the car.

“Oh, my name is . Poor me. Yet another fine, rich man has fallen under my spell; this time he wants to play stepdaddy, too. Whatever shall I do?”

She’s still cackling even as she starts the car and eases into traffic.

“Girl, don’t let that nigga hear ‘step’ anything… but no, Shaddy is… pretty okay.”

That’s as close to a compliment as a nigga gets from me out loud. I basically rated him a perfect ten.

“He’s also very fragile, Mace. And you know how these niggas get about you… if you’re not trying to take it there, then don’t. Let Autumn tell it, the nigga is crazy, and I don’t have time to be keeping the Triplets off him and my baby.”

Am I trying to take it there?

Nah… I don’t think so.

No. That’s my bestie. That’s Beanie’s daddy only. Not my baby booski.

I wave her off.

“Shaddy’s harmless. And the Triplets got over what happened at Mo’s memorial,”

I snicker.

“See! You can’t even say that with a straight face! I’m serious, Mace. Leave Shaddy alone. I’ve seen the way he looks at you… cut it off before it’s too late.”

“Fiiiiine.”

I roll my eyes and look out into the cityscape.

Dal just sighs and turns up the music. She knows I’m full of shit. Just like she knows I’m about to do the exact opposite of what she said.

Ya know, for the plot.

“The fuck are you doing? What’s that smell?”

I stiffen, then slowly start turning my head toward the door. Shaddy’s standing there, arms folded, nostrils flared, lookin me right in the eyes.

While my leg is hiked up so I can see my pussy in the mirror, open bottle of nair in hand, ready to slather it on my mons pubis.

I mean, I haven’t had no dick since before I found out I was pregnant, but this bush that’s grown in the absence of that has gotten out of hand. And entering my third trimester, I officially can’t see my girl, at least enough to shave or wax.

This is the next best thing.

“Um, do you mind?”

He comes all the way into my bathroom and snatches the bottle of chemical hair removal solution from my hand.

“The fuck you doing with this?”

I carefully lower my leg to the ground and fold my arms.

“If you must know, I need to get this hair off my vagíne and–”

“Why do you call it that?”

he interrupts me, before glancing down.

“Why you putting this shit on yo pussy? Isn’t it sensitive?”

“I can’t see-”

“And why the fuck you tryna melt the hair off yo pussy anyway? I know you not tryna get yo rocks off with my baby in you?”

My nails dig into my palms as we face off. His jaw is clenched tight as a scowl takes over his face. I don’t even bother correcting him; I’m sure if he could, he would alter Beanie’s DNA so that she really was his.

“Damn, a girl can’t do a little self care?”

“You can’t even see yo pussy, Mace. Why do you care if it’s hairy of not?”

I swear in point-five seconds I’m going to scream. And then knee him.

He must see my resolve, because he smirks down at me.

“You want me to shave your pussy for you, Mace?”

*record scratch*

What?!

So many thoughts start sprinting through my mind. Dal’s words from earlier echo, but they sound muddled. Something about leaving him alone? I dunno.

But I do know this is a very, very bad idea. No one, absolutely no one, who has seen my pussy up close leaves the same. And no one who has seen my pussy can resist her.

It’s why I had to start waxing myself.

These powers I’ve been blessed with… they come with great responsibility. And letting Shaddy get that close to my superpower? Even I recognize that could have disastrous consequences.

Am I that committed to the plot right now? Do I really need my pussy bald?

“I also gotta start giving you a perineal massage anyway. Can knock out two birds with one stone.”

He throws the bottle away.

“Come up to my crib and we can do it there.”

When he closes the door, I peer at myself in the mirror, like mirror Mace will magically have some answers for me.

“Well, you do need the perineal massage,”

she says, shrugging.

I pick up my shorts and put them on slowly, like maybe through some divine intervention, Dal or the kids or even Peanuthead will need me. But no. Even when I creep through my room, then down the hall, to the kitchen, then out the backdoor, everyone’s scarce.

It’s not even that late. Where the fuck is everyone?!

The backyard is quiet too, as I walk down the cobblestone path to the garage. I feel like I’m walking to my execution.

I mean, yeah Shaddy rubs my belly, but this is different. More intimate. My cheeks burned when our lamaze instructor mentioned the massages, but Shaddy’s face was stoic. He was even on his phone, and didn’t ask a thousand questions like he usually does.

I didn’t think we’d actually be doing it.

He wasn’t even researching it! Nigga was playing a simulation game.

I take one step at a time on the side of the garage until I’m at the top. Shaddy opens the door before I can knock, and moves so I can come in.

The decor is definitely masculine, all black and gray, with his huge computer station in the corner. The screen is moving a mile a minute, all his different mysterious programs, probably.

How he has the time to be an evil genius, a rapper, and my baby daddy is beyond me.

“Take off them shorts and go sit on the towel on the couch.”

I turn to the left and follow his directions, shimmying out the shorts and placing them on the couch beside me. The coffee table is moved out some, and I see clippers, an old school razor, gloves, a handheld mirror, shaving cream, and–

KY Jelly?!

Jesus, still my heart.

And please Lord, stop me from getting wet.

Shaddy closes the door and goes into the kitchen to wash his hands. As he’s walking back over, he takes his shirt off, muscles rippling as he tosses it on the ground.

“Um, why you take your shirt off?”

He moves a pillow onto the ground and sits down in front of me.

“I’m finna line you up. I don’t need your pubes on my white tee… relax, Mace. It’s not that serious.”

His hands rub on my calves before he moves them onto the couch, spreading me like a Thanksgiving turkey in front of him.

And fuck, I’m leaking.

His nostrils flare, but his face is completely stoic otherwise. Once I’m spread, he puts on the gloves and plugs in the clippers.

“I’ma cut the hair down some, then go over it with this razor. Both of these blades are new and sanitized. It’s not gonna be painful, but I need you to really relax so you don’t jerk and I accidentally cut you, aight?”

His eyes hold mine captive, and there’s not a hint of arousal in them, even though my wet pussy is inches from his face. He’s not trying to make any innuendos or trying to push up on me.

He’s genuinely just trying to help me, like always. I want a baldy, and he’s giving me one.

My pussy clenching ruins the moment, for me at least, and I nod before laying my head back on the couch.

He puts on some music to help drown out the sound of the clippers. It feels weird, like someone’s fingertips grazing my skin, and all too soon it’s over, and the cold shaving cream makes me flinch.

“It’s cool, Mace. I got you.”

He rubs those big hands up and down my legs, and I physically feel my arousal pooling at my opening.

Only a few more minutes of torture.

The razor is much the same, and he’s very thorough and clinical when he does have to touch me. Those gloved fingers skate over my clit by accident, and it takes the spirits of all the women who came before me to hold back my moan.

“Aight. Don’t move; I’ma go get a hot towel.”

He wipes his hands on the one I’m sitting on and gets up.

I don’t exhale until he’s in the bathroom.

Twenty minutes into this shit, I’m now painfully aware I haven’t had sex in six months, five days, and twenty-two hours. I haven’t even masturbated. It’s been work, shenanigans with Peanuthead, doing pregnant people shit, and trying to force myself to create. I haven’t even really thought about being with a man foreal. Yeah, I talk all that shit about getting a nigga to play stepdaddy, but it’s all hot air. Once Beanie comes, it’s all about her.

But having a man–an attractive, rich, intelligent one at that– rubbing his hands all over my intimate parts makes me yearn for someone to get lost in.

And for the life of me, I can’t remember all the reasons why it can’t be Shaddy.

I mean, he’s Beanie’s daddy anyway, right? What harm could it do?

He comes back with two towels in his hands and takes a seat. The first one is hot, and he wipes me down properly. The second one is cold, but that one’s over much sooner.

He drops the towels on the coffee table and picks up the mirror.

“How’d I do?”

I lift up and I can’t help but beam. Hey girl! I missed you!

“Damn, you did yo shit, foreal. You gone hook me up every month until I pop? I can’t be in the doctor’s face with a bush.”

He sets the mirror down and grabs the lube before turning to face me again.

“You worried about the wrong things.”

“You gone put on more gloves?”

He shifts his eyes to me.

“You want me to?”

Do I?

He’s acting so fucking nonchalant. Come to think of it, besides talking about Beanie, he pretty much acts unbothered when it comes to me.

I don’t know how to feel about that.

Which has me telling him.

“Nah. It’s cool.”

He arches a brow.

“You sure? If you’re uncomfortable–”

“Just massage my pussy already, Shad. Damn!” I snap.

He licks his lips and smirks. And for some reason, I think I just got in trouble.

He pours a generous amount on three of his fingers before setting the bottle down and gripping my thigh.

“Spread your legs more.”

Did his voice just get softer?

I spread them more, but my neck locks into place. My eyes refuse to leave his. This feels like a game of chicken, and the first one to look away loses.

He must have forgotten I grew up with an older brother.

I don’t play to lose.

I barely wince when one finger slides into me. I’m embarrassingly wet, but neither one of us says a word. He pushes down on my perineum and slides his finger from right to left.

“That’s okay?” he asks.

I nod once, and he bites the inside of his cheeks.

Another finger slides in, as his thumb begins to rub my taint.

My nipples tighten, but I hold in all my moans.

“Why lube and not oil?”

I breathe, before pulling my lips into my mouth.

“I didn’t have time to dilute any oil so it doesn’t fuck witchu. Lube works just the same. I’m about to add another finger, aight? I gotta stretch you out.”

I barely get my okay out before another finger fills me.

And then he starts rotating.

Stretching me out like he said he would.

Piercing hennessy eyes never leaving mine. Never checking to see just exactly what he’s doing to me.

Because this ain’t no got damn perineal massage.

Especially when his fingertips graze my G-spot and I feel his fingers curve inside of me.

He carries on with his torture. There’s no end in sight. Just his fingers working me, filling me, curving inside, stretching me.

And like a bitch in heat, my hips begin to move with them, trying to chase an orgasm that’s been building since he first told me to come up here.

“Shaddy,”

I whisper.

“Yes, Mace?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

He starts to slow his fingers but I clench around him.

“Don’t stop,”

I blurt out.

“Don’t stop what? The massage?”

He blinks, but keeps moving, working me agonizingly slow.

“I’m right there, please–”

“Please what, Mace? Use your words, shorty.”

I lick my lips and lift my chin. I was not familiar with Rahshad Kaleel Washington’s game. But I’m a quick study, and Mika Davenport ain’t raise no punk bitch.

“Rub my clit,”

I mutter.

“And curve your fingers up.”

Shaddy’s fingers stop altogether for a fraction of a second before he rotates them until they’re grazing my G-spot. I grunt softly when he curves his fingers.

His eyes never leave mine, and I can’t blink, so I don’t miss the darkness that begins to take over his face. He pulls his other hand toward him while letting a glob of his spit fall from his mouth onto his thumb. How he knows where to drop it without looking? I don’t know.

My eyes begin to roll to the back of my head when his fingers begin to move inside of me.

“Nuh uh, Mace. Eyes on me.”

They flutter open, and the moan that slips out when his wet thumb starts rubbing tight circles on my clit is obscene.

My hips move more and more, chasing my orgasm. The wet noises coming from me are fighting with my moans to see who’s the loudest. My toes curl as my heels are barely on the couch, keeping my legs open.

And all he does is peer back at me. Face blank, even as his arm muscles contract. He hasn’t looked at my pussy once. It doesn’t even look like there’s lust in his eyes.

Just darkness. And maybe a hint of morbid joy?

I don’t have time to decipher that because my orgasm finally crests, and my pussy sucks his fingers all the way in.

“Oh, fuck!”

I shout. His gaze is the only thing keeping me tethered to this realm, as he finger fucks me through the first orgasm I’ve had in months. My legs quiver violently as I give him everything I’ve got, and a second one quickly overtakes the first.

“Wait, wait–”

But he doesn’t. He keeps working me, thumb keeps circling me, and I squirt all over him, his chest, shoulders, and beard.

He just. Keeps. Staring. At me.

My eyes roll back and my head hits the back of the couch, but he doesn’t reprimand me this time. He just slows his hands as my orgasm dies down, and when I’m back to earth, and my legs close without my permission, they finally leave me.

When I use the rest of my energy to lift my head up, I see he’s about done wiping his fingers with one of the towels. Did he even taste me?

After he wipes me down, I somewhat get my answer.

“Aight. You bald, and ya perineum is massaged. We should probably do this every day, but I can see it’s a little much for you, so we can start off every other day until you hit nine months, and then do it every day until Beanie comes. That cool?”

He peers at me, straight face, no trace of humor or lust at all like he didn't just make me squirt.

I’m so bewildered I just nod.

He massages my thighs.

“Okay. I’m finna shower. You can lock up when you get yourself together. Goodnight, Mace.”

Did I just imagine this? I couldn’t have, right? I mean, in the dim lighting, I can’t even see if my juices are on him.

But then he stands up, and I see that one-eyed monster of his standing at attention, tenting his basketball shorts.

Oh, my. My baby daddy is hung.

He doesn’t even try to hide it. Doesn’t adjust himself. Doesn’t even wink. He just turns and disappears into the bathroom, closing the door lightly behind him.

Oy vey.

I think I’m in trouble.