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Because it was the second time Shakira had been referred to as such, I couldn’t help muttering, “She’s not even my girl yet.”
Did I like her?
Obviously.
Did I want her to be my girl?
Of course.
But we hadn’t had a conversation about it yet, which meant I wasn’t making any public claims; though that still didn’t stop Hunter from chuckling when he argued, “Bro, you texting her mid-workday on some lovey-dovey shit. She’sdefinitelyyour girl.”
If that was the qualifier, then it was what it was since Shakira and I most certainly had a nice little vibe going over text. And the fact that it matched how we got down in person was what made it all the better, the chemistry between the two of us truly like nothing I’d ever experienced before.
I mean, the shit was…effortless.
And fulfilling.
Andexciting.
Like, legitimately had me looking forward to whatever would come next.
But for now, there was only one thing I knew was for sure on our agenda, that thought leading me back to my inbox where I finally replied,“I will happily call you Kiki every day of the week.”
