Page 7

7

Raya

It’s a perfect day.

The sun is high and bright. It’s a relatively mild late summer day for Atlanta, only eight-two degrees. There’s even a light breeze. I roll my window down for a second just to feel it on my skin.

Then I roll it back up.

The air is still on inside my car. I can’t sweat out my hair. I just flat ironed it this morning, and Ace hasn’t seen it yet.

I stretch my arms over the steering wheel, staring at the glass doors of his office building. The sun catches on the edges, making it hard to see inside, but I don’t need to. I already know the treasure that building holds.

Him.

He’s wearing a tan suit today, looking like Obama incarnate. Clean. Sharp. When he walked in this morning with his briefcase, I got so turned on, it completely altered my plans for the day.

I called in sick. Jonetta dry-cussed me out like church ladies do, but it didn’t faze me. I was too keyed up to face a bunch of feral children.

I shift in my seat as heat ignites in my lower body. Ace carried his briefcase like the weight of the world is in inside. And why shouldn’t he? He’s a builder. A creator. He makes shit happen.

I love him so much.

I sit here and watch.

And wait.

I’m waiting for him to emerge.

I’m also waiting for him to remember he hasn’t called me.

And for him to learn I’m not going anywhere.

It’s kinda cute how he thinks he’s setting the tempo here. Men and their petty hot-and-cold bullshit. He just doesn’t know yet—when it comes to petty, I’m so much worse.

It takes a while, but he finally strolls out of the building, walking like he owns the whole fucking block.

His phone is in his hand, but he’s not looking at it. Instead, his gaze sweeps the parking lot. Before I have a chance to duck down, it lands on me.

His jaw clenches.

I paint on a smile, but it doesn’t disarm him. He storms over to me, his eyes roaming the Corolla.

“Raya? What the fuck?”

I roll down my window, tilting my head, giving him my most innocent expression. “Hey.”

His eyes flash with anger. “Are you following me?”

“Of course not. I happened to drive by and saw you.”

“You happened to…” he folds his arms, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t go to work?”

“I didn’t have to work today.”

“It’s Monday.”

“And?”

His nostrils flare. “Look, this shit ain’t cool.”

“Me driving past your building isn’t cool?”

His lips pull back into a snarl. “You know what the fuck I mean.”

His aggression excites me. I put the car in park and exit slowly. I take a step toward him. He takes a step back. It’s subtle, but I see the wariness in his eyes.

But there’s something else, too.

His lustful gaze moves over my body, heating me from within. I walk right up to him, spurred on by my arousal.

“What do you mean, Ace? Explain it to me.”

He stares down at me, pressing his lips into a hard line. I feel weak.

“You on some stalker shit, Raya. I don’t like that.”

I smile slyly. “What do you like?”

“Fuck you mean?”

I let my eyes drop to his mouth, then lower. I can never get enough of him in these suits.

“It seemed like you liked me, but then you didn’t call, so what should I make of that?”

“Make whatever you want, but don’t be driving past my fucking job, Raya. I’m serious.”

“Or what?” I gaze into his brown eyes and sense a weak spot. I can feel the moment his irritation shifts. His eyes darken. His breathing deepens.

I know this look.

He’s trying to convince himself that he’s mad, but his body is betraying him.

“What are you gonna do? Hm?” I step so close he has no choice but to inhale the scent of my perfume.

He blinks slowly, his arms uncrossing, dropping to his side. “Raya…”

“You gonna tie me up?” My voice lowers, smoothing into silk. “Slap me across the face with your dick? Wrap your hands around my throat and choke me?”

His Adam’s apple pulses violently as he swallows hard. “You wild.”

“You’re mad at me,” I say. “You wanted to fuck that night, and I said no.”

“Nah.”

“Yeah.” I reach out and graze the front of his pants, letting my fingers trace the outline of his burgeoning erection.

His body tenses. His eyes dart in every direction, but he doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t move. I step closer. My fingers work up and down, rubbing lightly. I love the way he hardens against them.

“It feels like you forgive me.”

His fingers encircle my wrist, squeezing to the point of pain. My lips part when I feel his vice grip, but no sound comes out.

“Nah,” he rasps. “It feels like you want this dick. If that’s the case, just say that.”

“That.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. I return the expression as he loosens his grip. He releases my wrist, but his fingers trail over my skin, slow and deliberate.

A shiver runs down my spine.

“Bring yo ass on,” he orders, and I have no choice but to obey.

I watched for so long, and now…oh my God, I feel like I’m dreaming. I’ve finally made it inside Ace’s condo!

Something about it feels comfortable. Maybe a little too comfortable. I let my guard down in here.

Maybe it’s the fact that it smells like him—clean, masculine, like cedar and something else beneath it. Or maybe it’s the way the light hits the walls. It makes everything look golden and warm, softening the edges of the space.

Or maybe it’s the fact that he fucked me so good, I forgot my own name.

I lay on his chest, my nails tracing lazy circles on his skin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. This is exactly where I’m meant to be, and I know that by the limpness of my muscles and the quiet in my mind.

All is right in the world.

His hand rests on my lower back, his fingers drumming against my spine like he’s in deep thought.

I tilt my head up and stare at his handsome face, resisting the urge to ask him what he’s thinking. I learned from Ferris that men hate that. So instead, I say, “I bet I know what you’re thinking.”

His eyes open and focus on my face. There’s amusement there. Of course. Because men love games.

“What am I thinking?”

“You’re hungry.”

The deep rumble of his chuckle makes me warm all over.

“I could eat, actually.”

“I know. So how about I go downstairs and fix you something?”

“You serious?”

“Of course. Why do you sound so surprised?”

I know why. It’s because it’s never this easy.

Men my age complain all the time about how disappointing we women are because we don’t do shit like make them sandwiches after sex. Apparently, that’s both a lost art and a litmus test for how much we give a fuck about them.

And I think they’re kind of right—we really don’t give a fuck about them. But why should we? They’re useless now. They don’t go off to war, they don’t build houses, they don’t grow crops or raise animals. They don’t hunt. They don’t provide. They barely even fuck you worth a damn.

Ace got that last one right, at least, so if he wants a sandwich, I’ll be on my Panera today.

He leans up to peck my lips. “I appreciate you.”

I don’t respond, instead taking my time getting out of his bed and sliding my dress back over my body.

I feel his eyes on me, watching every movement.

“Mmm,” he hums as I bend to pick up my panties.

I smile, but I say nothing.

Instead, I go to his kitchen, taking a quick scan before I get to work.

It’s too clean.

There’s normal, ‘I like things tidy’ clean, and then there’s ‘nobody really lives here’ clean. No mismatched dish towels, no mail stacked up on the counters, no random magnets on the fridge, not even a stray grocery bag.

Everything is sleek. Stainless steel appliances, dark gray cabinets, black granite countertops. No signs of a woman’s touch, which is for the best, because I don’t want my nervous system activated after finally feeling calm again.

I look for pictures, but there are none. It’s so…cold. It’s like a model home—perfect, but empty.

Which means I fit perfectly inside of it.

I open the fridge and scan its contents, finding the usual fare…eggs, chicken, deli meat, milk, a couple of styrofoam takeout cartons. Beer, of course.

He’s such a man.

I run my fingers over the cool shelves, wondering what it will look like when I move in. I’ll stock the fridge with fresh fruit and vegetables and those cute little bento boxes, which I’ll fill with lunch so that when he goes to work, everybody will know his woman takes care of him.

He’ll appreciate that about me.

I grab what I need and set everything on the sleek black counter. I could slap something together, but I don’t. I take my time.

I toast the bread to a warm crisp. Not too crunchy, though. Ace has beautiful teeth. Gotta protect those. I layer the honey roasted turkey carefully, then spread the avocado across the meat, topping it with a slice of cheddar cheese. I add a drizzle of spicy mayo, a sprinkle of black pepper, top it with the other slices of bread, and cut it diagonally, because I already know that’s how Ace likes it. I’ve seen him eat sandwiches before.

This is what our life will be like. He’ll sit at the kitchen table after a long day at work, unwinding while I rub his shoulders and tell him about my day. I can see my slippers sitting next to his by the door, my scent clinging to his sheets, my things blending seamlessly with his.

I haven’t imagined our wedding yet. I don’t wanna get ahead of myself, after all. But that’s the next logical step.

I grab a plate from the cabinet and place Ace’s sandwich on it, carrying it back to the bedroom with a smile. When I step inside, he’s sitting up against the headboard, shirtless, scrolling his phone. His head lifts the second I enter.

I set the plate on his lap, watching for a reaction.

“Here you go, king. I hope you love it.”

He stares at it, then up at me, something warm flickering across his face.

“You tryna make me fall in love with you, huh?”

I tilt my head, smiling sweetly.

“This is just who I am,” I purr. “I like to see my man happy.”

I watch him closely, noting the way his face twitches when he hears my man . It’s fine, though. It was just a test, but it will be true soon enough.