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Shakira
He lookedlike he needed a hug.
I didn’t even know who the dude was, nor how he’d ended up in my house,at my party.But his sad boy energy had me wanting to wrap my hand around the back of his head and pull it down to rest against my titties where he could lay until he started to feel better.
Or do other things there until he started to feel better.
After all, even with the somber vibe he had going, he was still fine as hell. And maybe that’s why his sadness was making such an impression on me because,well, fine men in my home were never sad to be here.
For a second, I thought about asking around to see who he was, who he’d come with, if he had multiple children with multiple women; you know, the important things. But after realizing I didn’t really care about any of that, I went in for the kill, approaching him at the kitchen island with a soft smile when I said, “You look like you could use a hug, sir.”
To me, it was an easy in.
A line that could be interpreted as caring, or flirty,or…
“I’m good.”
Wait, what?
My face scrunched as I watched him take a casual sip from the red cup in his hand, hardly paying me any mind even as I told him, “I mean, I wasn’t exactly offering. I wasjust… stating an observation.”
“Gotcha,” he replied shortly.
Dismissively.
Is he dismissing me?
“Nah, he’s just in his feelings,”I decided, trying not to let his energy faze me too much when I introduced myself. “I’m Kiki, by the way.”
Finally, he turned to give me his eyes. And once he did, those thick-in-a-sexy-way eyebrows of his went up a little as he grinned and said, “Nice to meet you, Kiki.” But just as quickly as the words left his lips, he returned his attention back to the group of folks who were congregated in the living room nearby, leaving me confused about what to do next since I wasn’t used to someone not being interested in,at least, having a conversation with me.
Lowkey, he had me messed up. But for whatever reason, I still gave him the benefit of the doubt, trying to be cool about it when I asked, “You’re not gonna tell me your name?”
He turned my way again. And this time, his little grin from earlier was notably a smidge wider when he responded, “My bad. I figured you already knew what it was since you came over here offering me hugs and shit.”
“Again, I wasn’t offering,” I clarified. “And I only said it because you looked sad, not because I knew who you were.”
At that, he nodded, taking another sip from his cup before he stated, “Kiki. That’s your real name?”
“It’s what everybody calls me.”
“That’s not what I asked you,” he challenged, making me a little hot between the thighs because his voice was so deep, and a bit raspy, and deliciously commanding.
In fact, his entire demeanor felt commanding but in a quiet way. Like it seemed as if he could take control of the room at any time if he wanted to and was justchoosingnot to.
I liked that shit.
“I’ll tell you my real name when you tell me yours,” I flirted, raising my personalized red cup to my lips for a quick sip that the man watched intently before he finally gave me an answer.
“I’m Snoop.”
Giggling, I argued, “That isnotyour real name.”
“It’s what everybody calls me,” he mocked, making me roll my eyes as I groaned,“Very funny.”But after another sip of liquor, I held up my end of the bargain, telling Snoop, “My real name is Shakira. But literally no one ever calls me that.”
“Why not, Shakira?” he asked, the amused smirk on his face once he said it somehow telling me he was about to drag that shit out. But from him, I kind of liked how it sounded, even blushing a little by the time I answered, “Cause people know me as Kiki.”
“Do you not like being called Shakira?”
