Page 18 of You Deserve Good Things

Chase + Daniale

I was patient. Hell, I had always been patient, played it cool, let women do what they did—act like they didn’t want a nigga, toss the “I’m good” line like it wasn’t a damn lie.

I’d let ’em dance in denial, play that back-and-forth game.

But this shit with Daniale? This was different.

She was different. She might not wanna admit it yet, but she was already mine.

Her soul had already signed the damn lease—I was just waiting on her to recognize she’d been living in my heart rent-free since day one.

That was why tonight, I was setting the damn record straight.

We were sitting in this moody little hookah lounge off the corner of Montrose—low lights glowing amber like melted honey, thick smoke curling in the air like whispered secrets.

The music was low, heavy bass thumping like a slow heartbeat, people all around us vibing.

. . but I didn’t see none of that. All I saw was her .

Daniale.

Slick mouth. Smart-ass attitude. Nails long enough to scratch a man’s soul and a face so fine it could cause traffic on foot.

Lips sitting plump and glossy like they were dipped in temptation.

She was sipping on her drink, legs crossed, her body moving to the beat just enough to drive a man insane, acting unbothered like she wasn’t burning up under the surface.

But I saw it, the way her eyes flicked to me every few seconds like I was gravity, and she didn’t know how to fight the pull.

The way she licked her lips like they were dry when they weren’t.

She was tryin’ to play cool . . . but baby girl was crumbling .

I leaned back, legs spread slightly, postured like the king I was, my arm slung across the back of the booth while I watched her with a smirk that said, you not gon’ win this war, mama.

“You look good, Dani,” I murmured, voice low and slow like syrup on a summer biscuit.

She side-eyed me over her glass. “I know.”

I chuckled. “Cocky as hell.”

She shrugged like she didn’t just throw gasoline on my desire. “It ain’t cocky if it’s facts.”

That made me grin, slow and wicked. “You something else, mama.”

She leaned her chin on her palm, feigning innocence. “You love it, though.”

“Damn right I do.”

That made her breath hitch. She tried to hide it, but I caught the way her thighs shifted under the table. Mmhm. She felt me.

I picked up my drink and took a slow sip, letting the glass kiss my lips like I was trying to seduce her through every motion. When I set it down, I locked eyes with her.

“Look, baby,” I said, calm as a quiet storm about to tear shit up.

She raised a brow. “Oh, hell. You ’bout to say something deep, huh? Let me prepare.”

I smirked, but my eyes didn’t waver. “Nah. I’m just letting you know what it is.”

She leaned in slightly. “And what’s that?”

“I don’t do maybe, Dani,” I said, my voice rough and real. “You mine. Ain’t no more playing like you don’t feel this. I’m done letting you pretend like we ain’t already wrapped up in each other.”

Her smile froze. Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak.

“Oh, so we making declarations now?” she finally said, trying to keep it light, but her voice had that telltale quiver to it.

I tilted my head, grin curling at the corner of my mouth. “Baby, I don’t declare nothin’. I just state facts.”

She let out a breathy laugh, shook her head, sipped her drink again like it could cool the heat rising in her chest. But her hands were trembling just enough for me to notice.

“You wild,” she whispered.

“Nah,” I murmured, voice dropping lower, my gaze heavy. “But I will get wild if any nigga ever think he gon’ step to you.”

She blinked, like she didn’t know whether to melt or swing on me. “Chase?—”

I cut her off, my voice low, steady, final.

I leaned in, fingers trailing slowly across her thigh under the table, my touch light, teasing.

“Any nigga ever approach you? Ever try you?” I tilted my head.

“You better be prepared to give his eulogy, ’cause I promise you, niggas will not play in my face about my wife. ”

Her breath caught like a hiccup in time.

“Wife?” she echoed, like the word shocked her out of her seat.

“Yeah. Wife,” I said, bold and blunt. “You think I’m out here tryna wife just anybody?”

She looked away, lips pressing tight. Yeah. She was feeling it, but she still wanted to act tough.

“You don’t even do relationships,” she whispered.

“Yeah. Until you .”

I let the silence hang, like thunder before a storm.

Then I dragged my hand a little higher. She tensed, but her legs didn’t move. She didn’t stop me.

“Start getting used to the idea,” I said, voice firm, but low and soft.

She finally looked up at me, eyes wild with heat and confusion and hope all tangled up like wires behind an old stereo.

“You really think you own me?”

I chuckled, leaning in close enough to kiss her but pulling back just to make her want it more.

“Baby . . . I already do .”

She sucked in a shaky breath and stood up, grabbing her purse like she was escaping the damn devil. I knew it was only a matter of time before she stopped fighting it. Before she let herself have me. When she did, she wasn’t ever gon’ be the same again.

I smirked, pulling my hand away, giving her a little space.

I wasn’t gon’ press her too hard. Not yet. She already knew what it was. When she was ready, she’d come to me.

She adjusted her purse, her face unreadable.

“Where you goin’, baby?” I asked, voice lazy, leaning back.

She turned her head, brows raised.

“Home,” she said. “I need to think.”

I grinned. “About me?”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched, and I knew she was fucked up behind me. She didn’t answer. Just turned and walked off. I just sat there, letting her go for now.

But I knew the truth. She wasn’t going nowhere. Not from me. Not from this. She was already mine. She was gon’ stop fighting it and act like it eventually.