“I had a good time tonight. Thank you.”
“So what is this to you, Chevelle? You want to play this out with him, be his toy or plaything that he deals with from time to time?” He was harsh when he spoke, and like two daggers, my eyes scathed him.
“Excuse me? The fuck you know about me and my children’s father?” I commanded, growing enraged.
“He’s just another thug, a nigga with no future but a jail cell or a grave. Is that what you want for your future? For your children’s futures?”
“Good night, Kemper.” I reached for the door handle, and his large hand grabbed my arm.
Narrowing both eyes filled with malice, he held me in place in the passenger’s seat.
“It would be best if you removed your hand from me right now. Unless you welcome violence.” I spoke through gritted teeth because he had me fucked up right now.
His grip loosened, and the shadows behind his dark gaze faltered. He realized he had crossed a line. Yanking my arm back, I pushed the door open and dropped one foot to the ground.
“When you’re ready to deal with a mothafucka that won’t shit on you at every turn, reach out,” he advised, and I scoffed at his audacity.
Without another word, I stepped out of the car and strutted up toward the house. I could hear the door slam shut as I made my way to the porch. Ledge started up the sidewalk, but I noticed that Kemper was also boldly stepping out of his whipto greet him.Great! This was the bullshit!Ledge and I hadn’t been apart three months, and here was his possessive ass antics kicking in.
“You on your way out, homie?” Ledge questioned, climbing uphill to the top of the driveway.
He had a blunt in his hand and was bringing it to his lips to take a toke when Kemper walked up on him. His nonchalant demeanor obviously only put more contempt into Kemper’s impression of him. Both paused near the sidewalk a couple of feet from where Kemper parked. Sizing one another up, Ledge blew smoke in his face, and Kemper didn’t budge.
“You real comfortable around here,” Kemper noted, canvassing him from head to toe.
“Always,” Ledge countered, ashing his blunt in front of him.
The squinting of disproval in Kemper’s eyes fixed on Ledge practically ignited fire. I decided to step off the porch.
“Ledge, what are you doing here?” I asked, huffing with irritation.
“And why the fuck are you following us?” Kemper’s nostrils flared, taking a couple of steps forward into Ledge’s personal space.
It was the first time I realized they were damn near the same height and weight.
“You paranoid.” Ledge brushed him off with a little laugh and took a couple of steps back. “Or maybe that detective life you living got you on edge, my nigga.” He took another pull from his blunt and backed away with an arrogant simper.
“Maybe you would like to come down to the station and answer some questions for me about your ‘friend’ Kitana. What you think?” Kemper asked, both brows furrowing.
He was turned all the way up, and so did my heart in my chest. This shit needed to stop. My kids were inside, and I didn’t want these fools trying to kill each other on my front lawn.
“Do whatever you need to do. I ain’t got shit to hide.” Ledge remained cocky, approaching the steps to the house.
I watched him let himself inside and spun around to face Kemper.
“Listen—”
“Nah, it’s all good. I get the picture.” He flicked the tip of his nose, a sign of anger that he was trying to brush off. “It’s pretty fucking clear. Take care of yourself, Chevy.” He went to get back in his car, and I watched him circle my driveway and drive downhill to be let out.
Lifting my head to the sky, I wanted to scream. I swear I fucking did. Ledge was good for fucking some shit up and making it about him. This nigga. Stomping toward the house, I slammed the door shut hard as fuck just to make sure he got the picture that I was not happy with him. Movement from the kitchen had me dropping my bag at the table in the foyer and parading back there to give him a piece of my mind.
Stalling, I had to catch my breath when I stepped inside. His shirt was off, revealing his bare, chiseled, and inked-up back. He was a work of fucking art, mothafucking Van Gogh with the shit, and instantly, my clit thumped mercilessly between my thighs that rubbed together. Who the fuck did he think he was throwing all that around my kitchen like this was his shit?
“What are you doing?” I demanded, glaring at him from across the room as he turned the stove on and went to the fridge.
“A nigga hungry, and I want to tuck my babies in. You think they still up with Granny?” he asked, taking eggs and sausage out of the fridge.
“Ledge, you been real good about boundaries lately?—”
