Page 10 of Forced Perspective


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FOUR

brooke

“Why did you do that?!”I asked Kyir, shoving my way into his apartmentmuchlater that night.

Booty call hours.

I’d called myself giving him the silent treatment.

But the closer we got to the next day—to when Nick had generously invited me to shadow him—the more my excitement built about the opportunity Kyir had so casually hand-delivered.

It was cool as hell.

Except, I didnotwant to be “that” girl, who built up her name on referrals from people who were already… authenticated by the culture. As silly as it might seem to others, for me there was something attractive about getting it out the proverbial mud, hustling and grinding until people knew my name.

Hell, even before the point of people knowing my name, them knowing mywork.

Because it was just good.

I wanted that to come because I earned it, not because someone was potentially trying to curry favor with Kyir, who was not my damn man. I’d already had a little taste of what might happen if people thought it was something it wasn’t, and it was bitter as fuck.

The more I thought aboutthatangle, the more sullied and soiled my excitement felt, the more it all just felt… icky.

I had to let him know.

I hadn't even called or texted in advance, my very first time simply showing up to his place without any type of warning. It was risky, I knew, but when I sent a text simply saying buzz me in, he had done so without any type of rebuttal.

And now he was standing between me and my potential escape route wearing a smirk I wanted nothing more than to wipe off his damn face.

With my pussy.

“Damn… you mad at me?” he asked, looking, as usual, better than he had any business looking. His skin was wet and the only thing covering his nudity was the towel around his waist, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower.

I forced my gaze to his face, pulling on the annoyance of my attraction to actually answer. “Y-yes!” I snapped, cursing myself internally for faltering over the words.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced as he sauntered up to me, grabbing a fistful of my shirt to yank me towards him.

“Brookie,” he muttered right against my lips, in a tone that completely contradicted how aggressively he’d grabbed me. “You know I don't believe that shit, right?”

Boththings made me want to whimper, but I held it in.

“Youshould,” I countered, with all the bite I could muster. “That was not your place.”

“Oh, shit,” he said, putting a hand to his chest. “Myplace. And whatplacemight that be? You don't like collaboration? I can't even help out a friend?”

“That isnotwhat that was and you know it.”

“What was it then?” he questioned, not breaking his gaze. “I saw a prime opportunity towards the pursuit of dreams you’ve laid inmybed whispering about. Afraid to speak it too loud because you’re paranoid some hater motherfucker somewhere might say you don't really deserve it.” He shrugged. “I don’t know… I feel like that'sexactlythe type of thing a friend is supposed to do.”

Maybe he was right.

He wasprobablyright, but it wasn't exactly the type of thing I could just… freely admit. So I rolled my eyes instead, declaring, “You make me sick.”

That just made him laugh before he leaned in, pressing his lips to mine.

“Prove it.”

“You’re just trying to make me fuck you.”

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