Page 7 of No Gemini Does it Better (BLP Signs of Love #2)

Just the heat radiating off his body as it brushed against my ass was enough to set off the sprinklers inside my apartment.

I glanced around, taking in the reality of my life.

It was small, just enough for one person to live comfortably.

My couch doubled as a guest bed on rare occasions when someone stayed over.

Books piled high on every surface because I never managed to find time to order a new bookshelf, let alone put it together.

Additional work clothes hung on a rack in the living room because my bedroom closet was too small.

And now Kareem, with his broad shoulders and his life upheaval, wanted to squeeze himself into this tiny space.

“You got your chips, so can you please back your big ass up?” I managed to ask, still frozen in place.

“These the only snacks you got?”

“You should be thanking your lucky stars that you found those. They’re probably stale anyway,” I admitted.

He smacked his juicy pink lips. “Shame.”

“I’m gonna check the pantry. There might be a couple of cans of ravioli in there or something. Will that suffice, my king?” I asked, my voice littered with sarcasm as I curtsied in front of him.

“Shut yo’ ass up before I make you bend the knee forreal.”

There was something about the way his deep voice seemed to curl around every word that had me biting my lip. Did this nigga just tell me to get on my knees? And if he did, why wasn’t I offended?

Kareem was quick witted, annoyingly charming, and had a silver tongue that attracted me almost more than his physical features, but finding out he was a Gemini gave me pause.

Beyoncé wasn’t lying in her “Signs” song—Gemini had a switch that could flip at any given moment.

Things between us had seemed to mellow out, but something told me there was still another shoe waiting to fall.

I hadn’t managed to think of a quick retort, so I walked over to the pantry instead, effectively ignoring him. After a few seconds of complete silence, he took the hint and left the kitchen. Once he scarfed down the small bag of chips, he started to move my coffee table.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peering around the pantry door.

“I’m about to work out.”

“What? Right now? In the dark?”

“You got a million candles lit up in here right now. I can see just fine,” he said before pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it on the couch.

I’d been so mad the first time I saw him in my apartment that I hadn’t taken the opportunity to study his physique.

Simply put, Kareem was cut. He had a broad, athletic build like a linebacker with tattoos all over his upper body and an eight-pack of Godiva-colored abs.

He got down on the floor into a plank position, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away.

The flames from the candles danced around him, creating a cast of warm light over his sweet melanin skin.

He started doing regular pushups—two sets of thirty—then started showing off by putting one hand behind his back while looking right at me.

I instantly clenched my thighs. Oh goddamn.

What is this devilish creature doing to me?

I was at full blown war with my internal desires, trying to smother them.

But the more I looked at him, the harder that became.

With a dead cell and no telling when the power would be restored, or the storm would cease, I couldn’t phone a friend to talk my thoughts out of the gutter and knock some sense into my horny ass.

Twenty minutes later, he’d completed his workout—one-handed pushups, ab crunches, and jumping jacks—and was on his way to the bathroom to shower again.

I’d tried my best to keep busy in the kitchen by wiping down countertops that didn’t need to be wiped or reorganizing the pantry in the fucking dark—anything to keep my eyes off of him.

I cleaned and reorganized until I’d worked up an appetite and decided to fix myself a bowl of cereal.

I didn’t want to open the fridge unnecessarily, but desperate times called for desperate matters.

Besides, I didn’t know how long the power would be out, and I wasn’t a fan of my groceries going to waste.

“You got a pretty nice shower, by the way,” he stated when he returned from the bathroom, smelling good enough to eat.

I couldn’t lie. I appreciated his dedication to good hygiene, even if he was a squatter. He’d put back on the sweatpants I’d loaned him earlier but remained shirtless. With the A/C out, I guess he figured it was too fuckin' hot to be wearing too many clothes anyway.

My lean shoulders rose and fell. “The water pressure could be a bit better, but yeah, it gets the job done.”

“Shit, it felt like heaven to me.”

“If this is supposed to be convincing me that you’re not homeless, you’re not doing a good job.”

“What kind of cereal you got?” he asked, changing the subject to the contents inside my cereal bowl. “Better not be nothin’ nasty either like Raisin Bran or some shit.”

I grunted. “It’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch, nigga. Don’t insult me like that.”

“Bet. I’m finna grab a bowl.”

“Of course you are. Help yourself. Just make sure to make it quick when you open and close the fridge.”

I glanced over at Butta, who had finally stopped barking in his presence, seemingly warming up to the thought of sharing his space with another male.

Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped seeing him as a threat, and so had I.

We ate in silence, listening to the clanking of the spoons against the ceramic bowls.

Just as I was about to speak, I heard the loud, annoying sound of him slurping the milk.

I frowned. “Ew.”

“There you go with that ew shit again.”

“Sorry, it’s just annoying. You really are obnoxious.”

“So?”

“So? Now I see why you’re single.”

“How you figure that?”

“Because no woman in her right mind would put up with all of . . . this,” I said, waving my pointer finger around at him.

He scoffed. “You’d be surprised what a female will put up with when the dick is good.”

I swallowed hard, recovering with a loud scoff. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m serious. A bitch will bend over backward for a nigga if he’s slanging good wood. If you ain’t know that, that means you’ve never fucked a nigga that had you climbing the walls,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“My sex life is not up for discussion,” I confirmed.

“You uncomfortable talking about sex?” Kareem asked, head cocked to the side.

“No. I’m grown. Why would I be?”

“I don’t know. By the way you actin’, you seem too wound up for that type of talk.”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t see the point in talking about it with a stranger.”

“Then don’t.”

“I won’t.” I snapped back before curling my feet underneath me on the couch.

Butta was at the other end snoozing while I cracked open a book to read by candlelight while the storm raged outside. Kareem sat on the floor next to the pile of clothes he’d left in my arm chair.

“It’s too quiet around here, and I’m bored.” He grunted. “I don’t see how you can sit and read in the dark.”

“The same way you just worked out in the dark.”

“I need some entertainment.”

“You don’t read? I didn’t realize you were such a child.”

“I read plenty. I’m just not in the mood to fall asleep right now unless you wanna hear a nigga sawing logs in here.”

“I don’t.”

“You got any liquor? Board games? Something?”

The unopened bottle of Hennessy I’d carefully packed into my checked bag came to the forefront of my mind. “Actually, I do.”

I wasn’t sure if I was in the mood to drink with a stranger, but I still found myself heading over to my suitcase to retrieve the bottle without a second thought.

“You drink Hennessy?” he asked, brows heightened in surprise when I presented him with the bottle.

“I do. Do you have a go-to drink? I don’t have many chasers.”

“I don’t need a chaser,” he confirmed.

“So we’re gonna sit here and drink in silence like a couple of alcoholics?” I inquired.

“You got a better idea?”

I paused. “We could take turns asking each other questions. If I guess the answer wrong, I gotta drink, and vice versa.”

“That’s a dumb ass game. We’re strangers. Of course, we won’t know the answers.”

I sucked my teeth as my brows downturned. “Nigga, you’re dumb. I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

“Yo, chill. Shit’s been cool so far. Don’t make me switch up on your ass.”

“Okay, Mr. Gemini,” I teased while going into the kitchen to retrieve two glasses. “So, you said you’re a twin?” I asked, reaching into the cabinet.

“Yeah.”

“What’s that like?”

“Just like any other sibling aside from the fact that we share the same face and DNA.”

“That’s not trippy for you?”

“It’s the only thing I know,” he answered honestly. “So, nah.”

“Is he the person you talk to the most?”

“He’s the only person I talk to.”

“Y’all kinda sound like me and Soleil. I mean, I do have two other best friends, but life gets in the way for us sometimes, with work and other things.

However, Soleil won’t let me go twenty-four hours without a phone call.

She’s probably freaking out right now since I haven’t called her.

I told her my phone was gonna die, but I didn’t expect the power to go out so quickly. ”

“Yeah, me neither. If I’d had it my way, I would’ve had this entire place to myself while Mother Nature did her thing outside.”

“Did you plan to let my dog starve to death?”

“Not if he acted right,” he answered with a lazy shrug.

I shook my head before pouring some liquor into my glass and passing him the bottle. “Here. Pour your own troubles.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

After he set the bottle down, he held up his glass to mine. “What are we toasting to?”

“To surviving the night,” I said, gently tapping my glass against his.

“I wish we could listen to some music or somethin’,” he commented after taking a swig of liquor.

“What kind of music do you like?”

“I’m an old-school Gemini, so I like old-school R&B from the seventies and eighties, and nineties.”

I giggled before tossing back some liquor. “I was joking earlier when I asked, but seriously, how old are you?”

“I just turned thirty-two last month.”

“Not too much older than me. I’m twenty-seven.”

“You don’t look it.”

“How old do I look?”

He paused before answering, giving me a onceover. “I’d give you anywhere between twenty-two and twenty-three, max.”

“Well, you know what they say, black don’t crack.”

“It sho’ don’t.”

“So, do you live around here?”

He swung his head. “Nah. I was passing through when the storm hit. I’m from Georgia.”

“What brought you out here? Was it work-related?”

“Yeah, definitely more business than pleasure,” he answered.

“What do you do for work?”

“Once upon a time, I used to drive trucks.”

“Once upon a time?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, what do you do now? Like, in the present day?” I queried.

“I’m into a little of everything—consulting, business management—y’know, boring shit like that.”

“I don’t know enough about it, but it doesn’t sound all that boring to me.”

Every time I told someone what I did for a living, I could always tell they were either immediately bored to death by the way their eyes glazed over or felt sympathetic toward me for willingly taking on other people’s problems with limited resources at my disposal.

“What would you do if you had a week off from your job?” he asked, flipping the line of questioning back over to me.

“A whole week?”

“Yeah.”

“I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” I responded genuinely.

“Think.”

“I—I don’t know. Sleep, probably try to take a trip somewhere, or maybe do a staycation and order takeout every night and binge-watch shit on Netflix. I’m a pretty simple girl, if you haven’t noticed.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

“Really?”

“Nah, not at all. I like a woman who likes to chill. I mean, I can yap it up with the best of ’em, but that doesn’t mean I wanna do that shit all the time. I like my me time and shit too.” A naughty thought popped into my head, which caused me to giggle out loud. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” I answered, giggling again.

“Spill it.”

I swung my head back and forth. “It’s nothing. Forreal, it’s nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, then just say it.”

“Fine,” I said with a huff. “I was just thinking the reason you like your me time is to be able to jack off to porn like most niggas do.”

“What’s wrong with masturbation?”

“Nothing, it’s just?—”

He cut me off. “You don’t play with your pussy?”

“I didn’t say that, I?—”

“Then do you? Yes or no, Sawyer? Do you play with your pussy?”

“Of course I do. It’s a natural, human thing to?—”

“Then why does it make you giggle when you think about me doing it?”

“I never said I thought about you doing it, Kareem, I just?—”

“You just what?” he probed, cutting me off for the fourth time.

“Could you please stop fucking cutting me off? Damn! I’m just trying to?—”

“To what? Get the thought of me jacking off my dick out of your head? Yeah. I bet you are.”

I huffed with defeat. I couldn’t get the nigga to shut the fuck up. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Too much for you?”

“I’m not in the mood for your mind games, aight?”

“Who said I was playing mind games? I’m just asking questions like you wanted me to.”

“We never agreed to play.”

“Well, it looks like we are. Ready for the next one? Here we go. How rough do you like it?”

I choked on the liquor in my throat. His vulgar question had visibly caught me off guard. “What makes you think I like it rough?” I asked through coughs.

“Something about chu. I can tell.”

His accusation instantly made me sweat, and I started to squirm uncomfortably in my seat, pussy slipping and sliding against my wet panties.

The liquor had him in a no-limits mood after only a shot or two, and I didn’t know how the hell to respond.

As badly as I wanted to change the subject, my mind was drawing blanks about anything nonsexual to discuss.

“Sawyer?” he asked, drawing me out of my scrambled thoughts.

“What?”

“How wet is your pussy right now?”

My heart plummeted to my feet. “I–I.”