“Especially in that,” he added.
Now Danger understood what the fuck his pops had been preaching about all those years. Ahmad Sr. swore Kerri looked her best in those little house gowns; they kept him spoiling her. Looking at Caresha standing there, Danger couldn’t even argue with the man. In his head, he was trying to remember how much paper he had on him.
“Dude, get in here.”
Danger grinned and stepped inside. The second the door shut behind him, his hands found her waist as he smothered her face with kisses. Caresha burst out laughing as he pulled her closer.
“D.”
“What?”
“You all over me, and you wet.”
“And?”
That only made her smile wider. Somewhere along the way, their situationship had crossed into possessive territory. He touched her whenever he felt like it, pulled her into his lap at will, and called or texted her phone randomly throughout the day, knowing she was at work. He didn’t give a fuck. He constantly popped up with food she never asked for and found any excuse to be around her. And she had allowed it every single time…because she loved it.
“And…your ass gon’ get me wet. No thank you. Back the hell up.” She pushed at his chest. “Stay your ass right there and take that shit off before you come on my carpet.”
Danger looked down at the small tiled entryway by the front door before glancing toward the living room.
“I know you ain’t trippin’ on me ‘bout this old-ass carpet. That shit needs some water anyway.”
Caresha folded her arms, mugging him while suppressing a laugh.
“Don’t you start your shit before I put your ass back out in that rain. Might be old, but my shit ain’t dirty, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
Danger looked around once more and had to agree. She was clean; he noticed that the very first time he stepped foot in her apartment. The air carried the scent of Island Mist carpet freshener, and faint vacuum lines stretched across the living room floor. Still, the carpet had seen better days. The beige color had long since faded, giving it a worn look no amount of cleaning could fix.
Danger shook his head, chuckling at her smart mouth. There she was, back to shit-talking him. The last couple of times he had left her house, she had been curled up against him in bed looking vulnerable. Soft. Quiet. But now she was back giving orders and fussing at him. He honestly didn’t know which version of her he liked more: the vulnerable side that was slowly breaking the ice around his heart or the bossy, shit-talking side that kept him entertained. Both had him thinking about her way more than he cared to admit out loud.
Danger finally reached down and removed his vest. He hung it on the hook near the door before coming out of his shirt. As he tossed it to the floor, his eyes landed on the dining room table. A comb, clips, natural oils, and loc gel sat neatly arranged for his hair. Something about seeing it all laid out made something warm settle in his chest. Caresha had been waiting up for him…at three in the morning…after the long day she had already put in at work.
Danger unbuckled his jeans, and Caresha’s eyes drifted over him before she quickly looked away. Of course, she had seenhim in nothing but his boxers before, but this felt different. They were up and moving around. The lights were on, and she could see every detail of his massive outline. Even when soft, he was hung like a horse.
A smirk tugged at Danger’s mouth as he watched her reaction. “You acting like you ain’t never seen my dick print before.”
“Shut up. Not like this.” She shot back, bending down to grab the wet clothes off the floor. “Give me these.”
His eyebrow lifted. “For what?”
“I’ma wash and dry them for you.”
Danger nodded, handing over his socks. “Appreciate you.”
That right there was one of his favorite things about her. No matter how much attitude she threw his way, Caresha always found a way to be sweet. Whether it was sitting beside him in silence while he grieved, rubbing his back after a long day, or doing something as simple as washing his clothes, she showed that she cared. Like him, she had put in effort during the short time they had known each other.
Caresha disappeared down the hallway toward the laundry room. A few minutes later she returned and stopped in her tracks. She noticed that all the hair products had been moved from the dining room table to the coffee table.
Danger sat comfortably on the floor with his back against the couch and his long, tattooed legs stretched out in front of him. He had stolen one of her big couch pillows and wedged it underneath himself for comfort. Caresha smacked her lips. The few times he’d visited, he acted as if he paid rent in her apartment, doing whatever the fuck he wanted.
“Why are you on the floor and, most importantly, why your ass sitting on my damn pillow?” She asked, fussing all at the same time.
Danger looked up and pointed behind him. “Cause I want you to do it right here. But I don’t want my ass hurting sitting on this hard-ass floor.”
Caresha stared at him, then the couch, then back at him again.
“Come on, Ree. I ain’t tryna sit in no chair like I’m just some customer. I wanna sit here. Be close to you. Feel your body next to mine.”
